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moyen de le conduire souvent où elle voulait."* She stooped to conquer. Alike, in their several ways, a Maintenon and a Chausseraye resemble the tactician whose management of her lord and master is recorded. by Pope,
Who, if she rules him, never shows she rules;
Both Maintenon and the other, however, had a trying time of it. This art of dissimulation was no easy work; above all, the ars celare artem— there lay the difficulty-hic labor hoc opus fuit. So it was in Queen Caroline's case. According to Lord Hervey, her predominant passion. was pride, and the darling pleasure of her soul was power; but she was forced to gratify the one and gain the other, "as some people do health, by a strict and painful régime." She was at least seven or eight hours tête-à-tête with the King every day, during which time she was generally saying what she did not think, assenting to what she did not believe, and praising what she did not approve; for they were seldom, his lordship affirms, of the same opinion, and the King "too fond of his own for her ever at first to dare to controvert it—consilii quamvis egregii quodvis non ipse afferret, inimicus: she used to give him her opinion as jugglers do a card, by changing it imperceptibly, and making him believe he held the same with that he first pitched upon." Like the mild Rebecca in Crabbe's tale
Gwyn to his friends would smile, and sometimes say,
Mr. Crabbe was a shrewd observer, by the way, of tactics like these, and has portrayed more than one phase of them in his stories of real life. In another poem, for instance, he describes the supple practices of insinuating dependents, and how
this patient, watchful kind
With gentle friction stir the drowsy mind:
And sometimes give, and sometimes take the lead;
Will now a hint convey, and then retire,
And let the spark awake the lingering fire.||
And again, in a third, he makes a "sad husband" come to
see that those who were obey'd,
Could like the most subservient feel afraid;
L'homme croit souvent se conduire lorsqu'il est conduit, is one of La Rochefoucauld's least impeachable Maxims. Gibbon bears record of the devout Empress Pulcheria, who alone, among all the descendants of the
great Theodosius, appears to have inherited any share of his manly spirit and abilities, that "while she moved without noise or ostentation the wheel of government, she discreetly attributed to the genius of the Emperor* the long tranquillity of his reign." We might, on this ground, apply to her the compliment addressed by Shakspeare's bluff Harry to his repudiated wife, in respect of her
rare qualities, sweet gentleness,
Her meekness saint-like, wife-like government,-
Ministers as well as wives,-greybeard statesmen, those "ruling elders" of the realm, as well as queens and royal mistresses, have profited largely by adopting Caroline's method. Cardinal Granvelle maintained his influence with Philip II. by what Mr. Prescott calls his singular tact in suggesting hints for carrying out his master's policy, in such a way that the suggestion might seem to come from the King himself. § What Butler tells us of Hudibras and his man, pungently illustrates a more conscious following the lead:
The knight, who used with tricks and shifts
To edify by Ralpho's gifts,
But in appearance cried him down,
The resolution as his own. ||
Clarendon tells us of John Hampden-Mr. Hambden as he styles himthat he made so great a show of civility, and modesty, and humility, and always of mistrusting his own judgment, and of esteeming that of whosoever he conversed withal, that he seemed to have no opinions or resolutions, but such as he contracted from the information and instruction he received from the discourses of others, "whom he had a wonderful art of governing, and leading into his principles and inclinations, whilst they believed that he wholly depended upon their counsel and advice." In a later volume of the history, on the occasion of Hampden's death, we meet with the same prominent feature in the portrait retouched: He was of that seeming humility and submission of judgment, as if he brought no opinion with him, but a desire of information and instruction; yet he had so subtle a way of interrogating, and, under the notion of doubts, insinuating his objections, that he left his opinions with those from whom he
*Her brother, Theodosius the Younger. (A.D. 414-453.)
King Henry VIII., Act. II. Sc. 4.
§ Prescott's History of Fhilip II., vol. i. book ii. ch. ii.
Clarendon's History of the Rebellion, vol. i. book iii.
pretended to learn and receive them.”* Clarendon lays stress on this characteristic as a masterpiece of art. Sir Archibald Alison's portraiture of Maurepas affords a somewhat parallel passage-albeit M. de Maurepas differs yet more from John Hampden than does Sir Archibald from Lord Clarendon. "With these talents and dispositions, Maurepas was not long of acquiring," writes our evidently Scottish historian, "the entire direction of the king'st mind. His system was, to study his disposition, and secretly or unobservedly discover his wishes; never to contradict him openly, but to give him the appearance of deciding himself upon everything, when, in truth, he was only yielding to the statements and representations which he had previously, and with sedulous art, laid before him."+
Of Sophie Dorothee's pertinacious adhesion to the Double-Marriage scheme, Mr. Carlyle remarks, that, poor lady, she was very obstinate, and her husband very arbitrary—a rough bear of a husband, yet by no means an unloving one; a husband who might have been managed. "She evidently made a great mistake in deciding not to obey this man, as she had once vowed. By perfect, prompt obedience, she might have had a very tolerable life with the rugged Orson fallen to her lot; who was a very honest-hearted creature. She might have done a pretty stroke of female work, withal, in taming her Orson; might have led him by the muzzle far enough in a private way,-by obedience."§ But her Prussian Majesty wanted tact, and, in consequence, Friedrich Wilhelm was his own master. She was no adept in that art of vanquishing by seeming to submit which is a perfect common-place with modern novelists, in their pictures of female domination. Mrs. Jack Tibbets, in Washington Irving's sketch, is introduced as "a notable, motherly woman, and a complete pattern for wives, since, according to Master Simon's account, she never contradicts honest Jack, and yet manages to have her own way, and to control him in everything." Like a good wife, Mr. Lister tells us of Lady Jermyn, "she had made it her pride to understand her husband thoroughly. She knew all his weak points; and this, considering their number, was no small praise. But she made no silly display of her authority, and generally managed him without his knowing it."¶ So again with one of the many clever ladies in one of Mrs. Gore's many clever novels: "Under the semblance of submission, she exercised unlimited influence over her husband. His superior in abilities, she contrived, with a little dexterity, to make him go where she liked, and do as she pleased."** One of Currer Bell's heroines says of her guardian and his better half: "I know his wife, over whom he tyrannises in trifles, guides him in matters of importance." "Three times," professes a latter-day Wife of Bath, "have I been bereft of the tenderest of husbands. I have, however, this satisfaction, to know that I managed them all to my heart's content, whilst they-dear, simple lambs!-believed
* Clarendon's History of the Rebellion, vol. iv. book vii. † Louis XVI.
Alison's History of Europe, vol. i. ch. iii. § 18. $ Carlyle's History of Friedrich II. of Prussia, vol. i. p. 633. Bracebridge Hall: "The Farm House."
Granby, ch. iv.
†† Shirley, ch. xxxvi.
** The Hamiltons, ch. xxiv.
they managed me. Whoever has the women, is sure of the men, you may depend, Mr. Slick of Slickville gives us his word for it; "openly or secretly, directly or indirectly, they do contrive, somehow or another, to have their own way in the end, and though the men have the reins, the women tell 'em which way to drive." Of that fussy little General, Sir George Gorgon, Mr. Thackeray reports, that "he bullied his daughters, and seemed to bully his wife, who led him whither she chose." Elsewhere the same satirical limner presents to us, as a type, and no exceptional or uncommon one, a demure-looking woman perfect in all her duties, constant in house-bills and shirt-buttons, obedient to her lord, and anxious to please him in all things; silent, when you and he talk politics, or literature, or balderdash together, and if referred to, saying, with a smile of perfect humility, "Oh, women are not judges upon such and such matters; we leave learning and politics to men. Yes, poor Polly," says Jones, patting the back of Mrs. J.'s head good naturedly, "attend to the house, my dear; that's the best thing you can do, and leave the rest to us." Jones loquitur. And then subauditur the satirist, apostrophising Jones. "Benighted idiot! She has long ago taken your measure and your friends'. She knows your obstinate points, and marches round them with the most curious art and patience, as you see an ant on a journey turn round an obstacle."§ All which may be taken, apropos of Caroline's tact with Georgius Rex, in illustration of the Lady's thesis in "Hudibras,"-speaking of and for her sex,
Casta ad virum
matrona parendo imperat¶-that line of the old "mimic poet's," as Publius the Syrian is styled, has been popularised into a proverb.
* Punch's Complete Letter Writer, letter xxxv.
†The Clockmaker, Second Series, ch. ii.
Thackeray's Miscellanies, vol. iii. "The Bedford-Row Conspiracy."
§ Ibid., vol. ii. "Sketches and Travels in London."
THE GHOST'S HAND.
A CHRISTMAS STORY.
In the present day, Utility and Matter of Fact are more in vogue than anything that savours of the Imagination, therefore Ghost Stories, which are generally supposed to be creations of the imagination, are not so favourably received as in the days of our forefathers, when tales of spectral appearances and magic power were as eagerly listened to in baronial halls as in the peasant's lowly hut. Nevertheless, Table-turning and Spirit-rapping are the common talk of the day, and many who deny that they believe in spirits are still anxious to witness the extravagant exhibitions of those who cleverly perform seemingly marvellous and inexplicable acts. Still, there are a few who feel some interest in the old bonâ fide Ghost Story, and if there be any such among the readers of the New Monthly, they will, perhaps, not think me intruding upon their leisure if I relate a strange occurrence which happened to me many, many years ago, before a wrinkle had made its appearance upon my brow, or my once dark hair had assumed the silvery hue of declining years, and which, at the time, made a deep impression upon me.
My health had not been good, and I was recommended by my physician to spend three or four months in travelling abroad, free from all the fatigues and anxieties of business. I laid down for myself no plan, but went from place to place as the fancy took me, stopping where the beauty of the scenery charmed me, or where I met with agreeable companions. Towards the close of the lovely month of September, weary of racing from one hotel to another, I determined to halt for a few weeks at the pretty town of C-feld; the environs pleased me, and moreover I had one or two good introductions to the principal families in the neighbourhood, and was always sure of finding pleasant, well-educated companions at the table d'hôte among the officers of the Prussian regiment which was quartered there, for in those days, as I believe it is sometimes the case now, the officers in Germany generally dined at the best hotel in the town.
I rode and walked a great deal, for the weather was fine, and I had nothing better to do with myself. I had not long been located at C-feld before I had explored all the surrounding hills, valleys, and woods, but in no direction did I turn my steps oftener than to the picturesque little forest of C-feld. I was delighted with the loneliness of its winding paths, now with the branches of the tall trees on either side twining in a loving embrace as they met overhead, and almost excluding the light of day, and now turning into an open space upon which the sun poured its vivid rays, as if in double force, to revenge itself for not being able to penetrate the layers of thick foliage which hid the moss-grown trunks it longed to reach.
One side of this wood skirted a hill, where a lonely hermit had dwelt in years long gone by. Many straggling steps rudely cut in this hill, and often rendered slippery and unsafe by the knotted, twisted roots that forced their way through the ground, led down to the abode of the