tions, ideas, institutions, trades, enterprises; | in after years by the German cotillion and all of which, like noble families and dynas- the English galop. Du Tillet, Roguin, Carties, spring up, come to perfection, and fall. dot, junior, the Count de Grandville, and Whence comes the severe impartiality with Jules Desmarets were at the gaming table. which this theme of increase and decay is Du Tillet had won three thousand francs. applied to all earthly organizations? For The first rays of dawn appeared and paled death itself, in times of plague or epidemic, the light of the candles: the players rose now advances, now slackens its course, now and witnessed the closing dance. In the revives and now sleeps. Our globe itself is houses of the bourgeois, the transports of perhaps a mere rocket, a little more durable the breaking up rarely pass without the enthan the rest. History, in perpetually re- actment of a few extravagances. The peating the causes of the greatness and de- important characters are gone: the intoxicacline of everything that has been seen on tion of the motion, the communicative earth, ought, one would think, to warn man- warmth of the atmosphere, the spirit lurking kind of the proper time to arrest the play of in the most apparently innocent beverages, their faculties; but neither conquerors nor have by this time softened even the old actors, neither women nor authors, ever ladies' stiffest joints, and they complaisantly listen to its salutary voice. take part in the dance, and yield to the folly of the moment; the men perspire, their hair comes out of curl and hangs down limp over their faces, giving them a grotesque and laughter-provoking aspect; the young women become giddy, and the wreaths upon their heads begin to rain flowers upon the floor. The Momus of the bourgeois appears, and mirth follows in his train! A burst of laughter welcomes him, and everybody gives himself up to tom-foolery, knowing that on the morrow labor will reclaim their service. Matifat danced with a woman's bonnet on his head; Célestin abandoned himself to buffoonery. A few of the women frantically clapped their hands together when required by the figure of this interminable dance. César Birotteau, who should have regarded himself as having arrived at the apogee of his fortunes, chose to consider this halting-time as a new point of departure. He did not know-and neither nations nor kings have sought to write them in inefface able characters-the causes of the downfalls with which history is rife, and of which both mercantile and sovereign houses have furnished such terrible examples. Why should not new pyramids be erected, to keep continually before the world this principle, applicable not only to the politics of nations but to the economy of private individuals, that whenever the effect produced has ceased to be in direct connection and in equal proportion with its cause, disorganization has begun! Such movements, however, are everywhere to be seen, in the traditions and stories which speak to us of the past, which embody the caprices of ungovernable destiny, whose hand effaces our dreams and shows us that the greatest events are summed up in an idea. Troy and Napoleon are nought but poems. May this history be the poem of the obscure domestic vicissitudes in behalf of which no voice has been raised, all destitute, as they appear, of great ness; while on the contrary, and for the same reason, they are immense. We are not now treating of individual woes, but of the sufferings of a people. The ball, like a blazing rocket, died out and came to an end at five o'clock in the morning. At that time, but forty carriages remained of the hundred and odd which had filled the rue St. Honoré. The company were dancing a country dance-dethroned "What a good time they are having!" said Birotteau, delighted. "I only hope they won't break anything," said Constance to her uncle. "Your ball is the most magnificent I have ever seen, and I have seen a great many," said du Tillet to his former master on bidding him good night. In that sublime composition-the eight symphonies of Beethoven-there is a fantasia with all the grandeur of an epic poem, which is the burden of the finale to the symphony in C minor. When, after the dallying preparations of the sublime magician so admirably interpreted by Habeneck, the leader of the orchestra, a wave of that enthusiast's hand rolls up the rich curtain of the scene, summoning forth with his baton the dazzling theme in which all the powers of music have been concentrated, poets, whose hearts then beat within them, will comprehend how Birotteau's ball produced, in his simple life, the effect produced upon them by this teeming air, to which, perhaps, 252 the symphony in C owes its supremacy over its brilliant sisters. A radiant fairy darts forward and raises her wand. The listener hears the rustling of the purple curtain, Gates of gold, raised by angels' hands. sculptured like the portals of the Florentine Baptistery, revolve on their diamond hinges. The eye is lost in splendid views; at one glance it embraces a colonnade of marvellous palaces, in which flit beings of heavenly birth. The incense of glory smokes, the altar of happiness flashes, you breathe a perfumed air! Creatures, whose smile is divine, clothed in white tunics edged with blue, pass lightly before your eyes, disclosing faces of superhuman beauty and Cupids hover forms of infinite grace. around, shedding the light of their torches upon the scene. You feel yourself beloved: you are blessed in a happiness which you inhale without comprehending how, bathed in the waves of that harmony which flows in living streams, and runs for all, with the nectar they have chosen. The sweet aspirations of your heart are for one instant realized. The enchanter, having convoyed you through the heavens, plunges you back, by the profound and mysterious transition of the violincellos, into the morass of cold realities, to drag you forth once more, when you thirst anew for his divine melodies, and when soul cries out, Again! The your psychologic analysis of the culminating point of this glorious finale will answer for that of the emotions showered on César and Constance by this wondrous festivity. Collinet, Birotteau's chief musician, had performed the finale of their commercial symphony upon his squeaking three-holed fife. Weary, but blest, the three Birotteaus fell asleep by daylight, to the dying murmurs of this ball, which, in buildings, repairs, furniture, refreshments, and dress, cost, though César was far from suspecting Such it, hard upon sixty thousand francs. was the issue of the fatal red ribbon fastened by a king to a perfumer's buttonhole. Should César Birotteau meet with misfortune, this absurd expenditure was enough to bring him before the correctional police. A tradesman who goes to expenses considered inordinate in his position, may be found guilty of simple bankruptcy, as distinguished from fraudulent bankruptcy. It is perhaps worse to go before a petty tribunal charged with folly and indiscretion, than to appear at the bar of the court of assizes for one immense imposture. In the eyes of certain people, it is better to be criminal than weak. A JAPANESE ODE. BALZAC. [YAMAGAMI NO OKURA, one of the poets of Japan, wrote during the 8th century while in the revenue service some fine poems, preserved in the "Collection of o Myriad Leaves." To Prince Tachibana-No-Hironari on his departure as ambassador to the court of China, wishing him a prosperous voyage and a happy return. A. D. 733.] In the great days of old, When o'er the land the gods held sov'reign sway, Our fathers lov'd to say That the bright gods with tender care enfold The fortunes of Japan. For every living man May feast his eyes on tokens of their love. Countless are the hosts attendant On the heav'n-established throne May the great immortal dwelling, On the isles that line thy road, And the gods who in the swelling Billows make their dread abode, Gather round and safely guide thee, While, that nought but good betide thee, The Great Spirit in whose hand Lie the fortunes of our land, And all the gods of heaven and earth, Flutt'ring down on airy pinions, From the country of thy birth Waft thee to Cathay's unknown dominions! And when, thine embassage concluded, Hither again thou think'st to come, May the same great gods that brooded O'er thy going, bring thee home; May their fingers help thy vessel Surely with the waves to wrestle, And the white bones all clattering together. The traveller outworn with life's pilgrimage SECOND VOICE. How peaceful the grave! its quiet how deep! Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep, And flow'rets perfume it with ether. FIRST VOICE. There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead, And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed, And snakes in its nettle-weeds hiss. SECOND VOICE. How lovely, how lone, the repose of the tomb! No tempests are there:-but the nightingales come And sing their sweet chorus of bliss. FIRST VOICE. The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave: 'Tis the vulture's abode :-'tis the wolf's dreary cave, Where they tear up the earth with their fangs. dreary, 254 [MICHAEL V. LOMONASOV, a poet of Russia, 17111765, was educated in Germany, became University Professor at St. Petersburg, and published many scien OF PARADISE. [JACOB BOEHME (sometimes translated Behmen), the most celebrated of the German mystics, born at Görlitz, 1575, died there in 1624. He was a shoemaker and a Lutheran, with remarkable intuitions and religious genius, but fanciful and diffuse in his recorded opinions. Boehme professed to be divinely illuminated, and passes for a religious enthusiast. His works were translated into English by William Law, the pietist, (1764, four volumes, 4to).] Moses says, that, when God had made tific, historical and philosophic writings, besides poems.] man, he planted a garden in Eden, and there 'Tis a calm and silent even, What a lovely child is seated At the helm-a trembling child! "Thou wilt perish, boy ill-fated! Whelm'd among the surges wild.' Help me! help me! gentle stranger! Pity's warmth, that never freezes, As by feather'd arrows led. Garlands at our feet were thrown; Then I look'd my wanderer afterI was left-the bark was gone. On the stormy shore I laid me, Careless of the surge's spray; Sought the child who had betray'd me, Saw him laugh-and row away. Lo! he beckons-lo! he urges— Through the noisy waves I fly: Off he speeds across the surges, Laughing out with louder joy. Wet and weary I retreated To the scene of revelry:- Wanderer! if that boat should ever he put man, to till and keep the same; and caused all manner of fruits to grow, pleaand sant for the sight and good for food; planted the tree of life also, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil in the midst. Here lies the veil before the face of Moses, in that he had a bright shining countenance, that sinful Israel cannot look him in the face; for the man of vanity is not worthy to know what Paradise is; and albeit it be given us to know it according to the inward, hidden man, yet by this description we shall remain as dumb to the beast, but yet be sufficiently understood by our fellow scholars in the school of the great master. Poor reason, which is gone forth with Adam out of Paradise, asks where is Paradise to be had or found? Is it far off or near? Or, when the souls go into Paradise, whither do they go? Is it in the place of this world without the place of this world, above the stars? where is it that God dwells with the angels? and where is that desirable native country where there is no death? Being there is no sun nor stars in it, therefore it cannot be in this world, or else it would have been found long ago. Beloved reason; one cannot lend a key to another to unlock this withal; and if any have a key, he cannot open it to another, as antichrist boasts that he has the keys of heaven and hell; it is true, a man may have the keys of both in this life-time, but he cannot open with them for any body else; every one must unlock it with his own key, or else he cannot enter therein; for the Holy Ghost is the key, and when any one has that key, then he may go both in and out. Paradise was the heavenly essentiality of the second principle. It budded in the beginning of the world through the earthly essentiality, as the eternity is in the time, and the divine power is through all things; and yet is neither comprehended or understood of any earthly thing in self-hood. |