Sergeant Hill, who was much celebrated as a lawyer, and eminently qualified to find out a case in point on any disputed question, was somewhat remarkable for absence of mind, the result of that earnestness with which he devoted himself to his professional duties. On the very day when he was married, he had an intricate case in his mind, and forgot his engagement, until reminded of his waiting bride, and that the legal time of performing the ceremony had nearly elapsed. Being once on circuit, and having occasion to refer to a law authority, he had recourse as usual to his bag; but, to the astonishment of the court, instead of a volume of Viner's abridgment, he took out a specimen candlestick, the property of a Birmingham traveller, whose bag the learned sergeant had brought into court by mistake.
During the long vacation, the sergeant usually retired to his country seat at Rowell in Northamptonshire. It happened, during one autumn, that some of the neighbouring sportsmen, among whom was the present Earl Spencer, being in pursuit of a fox, Reynard, who was hard pressed, took refuge in the court-yard of this venerable sage. At this moment the sergeant was reading a case in point, which decided that in a trespass of this kind the owners of the ground had a right to inflict the punishment of death. Mr. Hill accordingly gave orders for punishing the fox, as an original trespasser, which was done instantly. The hunters now arrived with the hounds in full cry, and the foremost horseman, who anticipated the glory of possessing the brush, was the first to behold his victim stretched lifeless on the ground, pinioned to the earth by plebeian pitchforks. The hunters were very anxious to discover the daring culprit who had presumed to deprive the field and the pack of their prey; when the venerable sergeant made his appearance, with his book in his hand, and offered to convince them that execution had taken place according to legal authority. The sportsmen got outrageous, but the learned sergeant was not intimidated; he knew the force of his authorities, and gravely invited the attention of his auditory to a case from one of the old reporters, that would have puzzled a whole bar of modern practitioners to controvert. The effect was ludicrous; the extraordinary appearance of the worthy sergeant, not in his bargown, but in what these adventurous mortals called a mere bedgown; the quaintness of his manner, the singularity of the occurrence, and the novelty of the incident, threw them completely out.
LIBRARIANS
Budæus, a very learned man, librarian to Francis the First of France, was one day engaged in deep study, when his servant came running to him in a great fright, to tell him that the house was on fire. "Go," said he, with perfect calmness, and hardly raising his eyes from his book, "and inform your mistress, 'tis her concern, you know I never interfere in domestic matters."
Knowledge.—The famous Duval, librarian to the Emperor Francis the First, often used to reply to questions that were put to him, "I do not know." An ignoramus one day said to him, "But the emperor pays you for knowing." "The emperor," he replied, "pays me for what I know; if he were to pay me for what I am ignorant of, all the treasures of his empire would not be sufficient."
Bautru, a celebrated French wit, being in Spain, went to visit the famous library of the Escurial, where he found a very ignorant librarian. The King of Spain asked him his opinion of it. "It is an admirable one, indeed," said he; "but your majesty should give the man who has the care of it the administration of your finances."—"Wherefore?" asked the king. "Because," replied Bautru, "the man never touches the treasure that is confided to him."
MAGNANIMITY
At the siege of one of the strong towns in Flanders, during the wars of Louis XIV., it was necessary to reconnoitre the point of attack. The danger was great, and a hundred louis were promised to any one who would undertake it. Several of the bravest of the soldiers appeared indifferent to the offer, when a young man stepped forward to undertake the task; he left the detachment, and remained absent a long time; he was thought killed. While the officers were deploring his fate, he returned, and gained their admiration no less by the precision than the sang froid of his recital. The hundred louis were immediately presented to him. "Vous vous moquez de moi, mon général," was his reply; "va-t-on là pour de l'argent."—[You are jesting with me, general; one does not perform such actions for money.]
Colonel Hawker, who commanded the 14th Light Dragoons in most of the serious engagements in the Peninsula, having formerly lost an arm in action, was attended by an orderly man, who held a guiding rein to the bridle of the colonel's charger; this attendant being slain by his side, just as the enemy's cavalry had broken the line of the 14th, by a heavy charge of superior numbers, great slaughter ensued on both sides, when a French officer immediately opposed to Colonel Hawker, lifted up his sabre, and was in the act of cutting him down, but observing the loss of his arm, he instantly dropped the point on the colonel's shoulder, and, bending his head, passed on. A truly noble adversary!
St. Louis.—Louis IX., after his captivity among the Saracens, was, with his queen and children, nearly shipwrecked on his return to France, some of the planks of the vessel having started. He was pressed to go on board another ship, and so escape the danger, but he refused, saying, "Those that are with me, most assuredly are as fond of their lives as I can be of mine. If I quit the ship, they will likewise quit it; and the vessel not being large enough to receive them, they will all perish. I had rather entrust my life, and the lives of my wife and children, in the hands of God, than be the occasion of making so many of my brave subjects suffer."
Magnanimous Rebel.—Sir Phelim O'Neil, one of the leaders in the Irish rebellion of 1641, while in prison, previous to his trial, was frequently solicited, by promises of a free pardon, and large rewards, to bear testimony that the king (Charles the First) had been actively instrumental in stirring up that rebellion. It was one of the arts of the factions of that period to throw the odium of the massacre which followed the Irish rebellion upon Charles; but whatever may have been the political sins of that unhappy prince, impartial history has not ranked this among the number. Sir Phelim declared, that he could not, in conscience, charge the king with any thing of the kind. His trial was drawn out to the length of several days, that he might be worked upon in that time; but he persisted with constancy and firmness in rejecting every offer made to him by the commissioners. Even at the place of execution, the most splendid advantages were pressed upon him, upon the condition of falsely accusing King Charles in that point. Men saw with admiration this unfortunate chieftain under all the terrors of death, and the strongest temptations man could be under, bravely attesting the king's innocence, and sealing the truth of his testimony with his blood. When on the ladder, and ready to be thrown off, two marshals came riding in great haste, and cried aloud, "Stop a little." Having passed through the, crowd of spectators and guards, one of them whispered something into the ear of Sir Phelim, who made answer in so loud a voice, as to be heard by several hundreds of the people. "I thank the lieutenant-general for the intended mercy; but I declare, good people, before God and his holy angels, and all of you that hear me, that I never had any commission from the king for what I have done, in levying, or in prosecuting this war; and do heartily beg your prayers, all good Catholics and Christians! that God may be merciful unto me, and forgive me my sins." On this the guards beat off those that stood near the place of execution, and in a few minutes Sir Phelim was no more.
Admiral Thurot.—It has been said of the French naval commander Thurot, that he was strictly honest in circumstances that made the exertion of common honesty an act of the highest magnanimity. When this officer appeared on the coast of Scotland, and landed in order to supply his three vessels with provisions, he paid a liberal price for every thing he wanted, and behaved with so much affability, that a countryman ventured to complain to him of an officer, who had taken 50 or 60 guineas from him. The officer, on being called on to vindicate himself against the charge, acknowledged the fact, but said, that he had divided the money among his men. Thurot immediately ordered the officer to give his bill for the money, which he said should be stopped out of his pay, if they were so fortunate as to return to France. On another occasion, one of Thurot's officers gave a bill upon a merchant in France, for some provisions that he had purchased. Thurot hearing of the circumstance, informed the countryman that the bill was of no value; and reprimanding the officer severely for the cheat, compelled him to give another on a merchant, whom he knew would pay the money. What makes this act of integrity still more striking and praiseworthy, is, that Thurot's men at this time were so dissatisfied, as to be ready to break out in open mutiny.
The Chevalier Bayard.—The town of Bresse having revolted against the French, was attacked, taken, and sacked, with an almost unexampled fury. The chevalier Bayard, who was wounded at the beginning of the action, was carried to the house of a person of quality, whom he protected from the fury of the conquerors, by placing at the door two soldiers, whom he indemnified with a gift of eight hundred crowns, in lieu of the plunder they might have lost by their attendance at the door. The impatience of Bayard to join the army without considering the state of his wound, which was by no means well, determined him to depart. The mistress of the house then threw herself at his feet, saying, "The rights of war make you master of our lives and our possessions, and you have saved our honour. We hope, however, from your accustomed generosity that you will not treat us with severity, and that you will be pleased to content yourself with a present more adapted to our circumstances, than to our inclinations." At the same time, she presented him with a small box full of ducats.
Bayard, smiling, asked her how many ducats the box contained. "Two thousand five hundred, my lord," answered the lady, with much emotion; "but if these will not satisfy you, we will employ all our means to raise more."—"No, madam," replied the chevalier, "I do not want money: the care you have taken of me more than repays the services I have done you. I ask nothing but your friendship; and I conjure you to accept of mine."
So singular an instance of generosity gave the lady more surprise than joy. She again threw herself at the feet of the chevalier, and protested that she would never rise until he had accepted of that mark of her gratitude. "Since you will have it so," replied Bayard, "I will not refuse it; but may I not have the honour to salute your amiable daughters?" The young ladies soon entered, and Bayard thanked them for their kindness in enlivening him with their company. "I should be glad," said he, "to have it in my power to convince you of my gratitude; but we soldiers are seldom possessed of jewels worthy the acceptance of your sex. Your amiable mother has presented me with two thousand five hundred ducats; I make a present to each of you of one thousand, for a part of your marriage portion. The remaining five hundred I give to the poor sufferers of this town, and I beg you will take on yourselves the distribution."
One of the finest actions of a soldier of which history makes mention, is related in the history of the Marechal de Luxemburg. The marechal, then Count de Boutteville, served in the army of Flanders in 1675, under the command of the Prince of Condé. He perceived in a march some soldiers that were separated from the main body, and he sent one of his aides-de-camp to bring them back to their colours. All obeyed, except one, who continued his road. The count, highly offended at such disobedience, threatened to strike him with his stick. "That you may do," said the soldier, with great coolness, "but you will repent of it." Irritated by this answer, Boutteville struck him, and forced him to rejoin his corps. Fifteen days after, the army besieged Furnes; and Boutteville commanded the colonel of a regiment to find a man steady and intrepid for a coup-de-main, which he wanted, promising a hundred pistoles as a reward. The soldier in question, who had the character of being the bravest man in the regiment, presented himself, and taking thirty of his comrades, of whom he had the choice, he executed his commission, which was of the most hazardous nature, with a courage and success beyond all praise. On his return, Boutteville, after having praised him highly, counted out the hundred pistoles he had promised. The soldier immediately distributed them to his comrades, saying, that he had no occasion for money; and requested that if what he had done merited any recompense, he might be made an officer. Then addressing himself to the count, he asked if he recognised him? and on Boutteville replying in the negative, "Well," said he, "I am the soldier whom you struck on our march fifteen days ago. Was I not right when I said that you would repent of it?" The Count de Boutteville, filled with admiration, and affected almost to tears, embraced the soldier, created him an officer on the spot, and soon made him one of his aides-de-camp.
MUSICIANS
Handel had such a remarkable irritation of nerves, that he could not bear to hear the tuning of instruments, and therefore at a performance this was always done before he arrived. A musical wag, who knew how to extract some mirth from Handel's irascibility of temper, stole into the orchestra, on a night when the Prince of Wales was to be present, and untuned all the instruments. As soon as the prince arrived, Handel gave the signal for beginning, con spirito; but such was the horrible discord, that the enraged musician started up from his seat, and having overturned a double bass, which stood in his way, he seized a kettle-drum, which he threw with such violence at the leader of the band, that he lost his full-bottomed wig in the effort. Without waiting to replace it, he advanced bare-headed to the front of the orchestra, breathing vengeance, but so much choked with passion, that utterance was denied him. In this ridiculous attitude he stood staring and stamping for some moments, amidst a convulsion of laughter; nor could he be prevailed upon to resume his seat, until the prince went in person, and with much difficulty appeased his wrath.
Handel being only a musician, was obliged to employ some person to write his operas and oratorios, which accounts for their being so very defective as poetical compositions. One of those versifiers employed by him, once ventured to suggest, in the most respectful manner, that the music he had composed to some lines of his, was quite contrary to the sense of the passage. Instead of taking this friendly hint as he ought to have done, from one who (although not a Pindar) was at least a better judge of poetry than himself, he looked upon the advice as injurious to his talents, and cried out, with all the violence of affronted pride, "What! you teach me music? The music is good music: confound your words! Here," said he, thrumming his harpsichord, "are my ideas; go and make words to them."
Handel became afterwards the proprietor of the Opera House, London; and presided at the harpsichord in the orchestra (piano-fortes not being then known). His embellishments were so masterly, that the attention of the audience was frequently diverted from the singing to the accompaniment, to the frequent mortification of the vocal professors. A pompous Italian singer was, on a certain occasion, so chagrined at the marked attention paid to the harpsichord, in preference to his own singing, that he swore, that if ever Handel played him a similar trick, he would jump down upon his instrument, and put a stop to the interruption. Handel, who had a considerable turn for humour, replied: "Oh! oh! you vill jump, vill you? very vell, sare; be so kind, and tell me de night ven you vill jump, and I vill advertishe it in de bills; and I shall get grate dale more money by your jumping, than I shall get by your singing."
Although he lived much with the great, Handel was no flatterer. He once told a member of the royal family, who asked him how he liked his playing on the violoncello? "Vy, sir, your highness plays like a prince." When the same prince had prevailed on him to hear a minuet of his own composition, which he played himself on the violoncello, Handel heard him out very quietly; but when the prince told him, that he would call in his band to play it to him, that he might hear the full effect of his composition, Handel could contain himself no longer, and ran out of the room, crying, "Worsher and worsher, upon mine honour."
One Sunday, having attended divine worship at a country church, Handel asked the organist to permit him to play the people out; to which, with a politeness characteristic of the profession, the organist consented. Handel accordingly sat down to the organ, and began to play in such a masterly manner, as instantly to attract the attention of the whole congregation, who, instead of vacating their seats as usual, remained for a considerable space of time, fixed in silent admiration. The organist began to be impatient (perhaps his wife was waiting dinner); and at length addressing the performer, told him that he was convinced that he could not play the people out, and advised him to relinquish the attempt; which being done, they were played out in the usual manner.
In 1741, Handel, who was then proceeding to Ireland, was detained for some days at Chester, in consequence of the weather. During this time he applied to Mr. Baker, the organist, to know whether there were any choir men in the cathedral who could sing at sight, as he wished to prove some books that had been hastily transcribed, by trying the choruses. Mr. Baker mentioned some of the best singers in Chester, and among the rest, a printer of the name of Janson, who had a good bass voice, and was one of the best musicians in the choir. A time was fixed for this private rehearsal at the Golden Falcon, where Handel had taken up his residence; when, on trial of a chorus in the Messiah, poor Janson, after repeated attempts, failed completely, Handel got enraged, and after abusing him in five or six different languages, exclaimed in broken English, "You schauntrel, tit not you dell me dat you could sing at soite?" "Yes sir," said the printer, "so I can, but not at first sight."
Mozart, walking in the suburbs of Vienna, was accosted by a mendicant of a very prepossessing appearance and manner, who told his tale of woe with such effect, as to interest the musician strongly in his favour; but the state of his purse not corresponding with the impulse of his humanity, he desired the applicant to follow him to a coffee-house. Here Mozart, drawing some paper from his pocket, in a few minutes composed a minuet, which with a letter he gave to the distressed man, desiring him to take it to his publisher. A composition from Mozart was a bill payable at sight; and to his great surprise the now happy mendicant was immediately presented with five double ducats.
When Haydn was in England, one of the princes commissioned Sir Joshua Reynolds to take his portrait. Haydn went to the painter's house, and sat to him, but soon grew tired. Sir Joshua, careful of his reputation, would not paint a man of acknowledged genius, with a stupid countenance; and deferred the sitting till another day. The same weariness and want of expression occurring at the next attempt, Reynolds went and communicated the circumstance to his royal highness, who contrived the following stratagem. He sent to the painter's house a German girl, in the service of the queen. Haydn took his seat for the third time, and as soon as the conversation began to flag, a curtain rose, and the fair German addressed him in his native language, with a most elegant compliment. Haydn, delighted, overwhelmed the enchantress with questions; his countenance recovered its animation, and Sir Joshua rapidly seized its traits.
Haydn could be comic as well as serious; and he has left a remarkable instance of the former, in the well known symphony, during which all the instruments disappear, one after the other, so that, at the conclusion, the first violin is left playing by himself. The origin of this singular piece is thus accounted for. It is said that Haydn, perceiving his innovations were ill received by the performers of Prince Esterhazy, determined to play a joke upon them. He caused his symphony to be performed, without a previous rehearsal, before his highness, who was in the secret. The embarrassment of the performers, who all thought they had made a mistake, and especially the confusion of the first violin, when, at the end, he found he was playing alone, diverted the court of Eisenstadt. Others assert, that the prince having determined to dismiss all his band, except Haydn, the latter imagined this ingenious way of representing the general departure, and the dejection of spirits consequently upon it. Each performer left the concert room as soon as his part was finished.