The sun., 1899-02-11

Gordon. her fair limbs trembling, meditates
that perehance she has dropped from the fry
ing pan into the flre." All comes out right, as
we have seen. but there are many moments Of
readoubt and terror. 1t is hard to say whether
| Mr.. Guntor is a reallst, a humorist. or an ex-
ponent Of tho romantic school. Perhaps It Is
not necessary to determine what he is. His
book has red covers with gilt inscriptions 1t
| Is an inch thick.
Having withdrawn for time from the tur-
| moil Of political life. Mr.. Thomas L. Watson OF
| Thomson. Ca. is devotlng himself to literary
pursuits. the nrst fruits Of which appear In
| The Story OF France from the Earliest Times
TO the Consulate OF Napoleon Bonaparte."
| tMacmillansJ The first large volume. now be-
| fore us. ends with tho death OF Louis XV.. so
that 1t is fair to infer that the whole OF second
| volume announced will be given up to the rev-
| oluton Of 1883. In preparing for his task
| Mr.. Watson has consulted 1.-The standard
| histories" and also numerous memoirs and
| autobiographies" 1T is hardly necessary
| to say" he tells us, that every statement
| In the book is supported by authority" This
| does away at once with any need OF citing au
| thoritles for individual statements which might
| have given the book an air OF pedaptic learning.
| fault that the author verv successfully avoids.
| Such events as he chooses to relate will be
|
Mr. Watson does not stray from the beaten path
| in search OF facts: the many appreciations OF
| men and institutions, however the mode Of
| exposition and language, often eloquent and
| sometimes bantering, are Mr.. Watson's own.
| Here is his description OF Merovingian BAN
| quet:
| For drink there wine. and spirits, and beer;
| for food there wero hogs. cows. calves. and deer
| roasted whoe-to say nothing Of that glory of me.
AZ
| immense OK, and the ingredients of which were
turkeys. chickens, ducks doves pigs and any other
little delicacy of which the cook could think at the
| time.
| Great was the enjoyment OF the Franks at these
grand banques. They ate. they drank, they talked,
| they laughed. they sang. they quarrelled. they
fouEht-they did everything which barbarians could
| possibly do to give themselves good time.
The interview between Louis XIV. and Jean
| Bart is in Mr. Watson's sarcastic vein:
Fancy this sturdy, square built. black eyed sailor.
| clad plainly, his face darkened by exposure and
| scanned with the scars of battle-fancy this man
moving among the cnrled courtiers of Versailles
How the spoit pages at the doors must have sneered
at Jean Bart's heavy tread. his coarse hands. the
lurch OF his sailors stride How my Lord of Frog
wallow and the Duke OF BattercAkes must have
| winked to the Marquis of Poodle Doodle they
noted the appalling fact that Jean Bart did not wear
the proper thing in aces the latest elegance in
| wigs. nor the choicest tints in ribbons!
Jean Bart kneels at the feet of Louis XIV. and
kisses the royal hand. Let US hope that the brave
sailor felt no reverence for this sham and humbug
| royalty.
The sources Of information at Mr.. Watsons
| command enable him to cast unexpected
| light on some dark spots. The cleanly habits
| of feudal life will be a revelation to many
| scholars
In all these castles tho lavatory as much
mattar OF n the hall and tho gateway. Tho
washing room was always there. with Jets Of water
emptying into bowls and towels to wipe WITH also.
People ate with their fingers. like the Turks Hence
| each man had q keen interest in the hands OF his
neighbours and was bound to that he came to the
table clean Their again. the clearwater moat made
bathing convenient. Marble bsthtubs
known, 1t is true. but in the basement of the castle
were stone troughs and wooden tubs. filed from the
moat. and tho inmates OF the castle had almost
passion for the bath.
We nnd the rudest Of the Kings OF feudal France
delighting in the water. Clotairs I. often to
be seen, stark naked. swimming and frolicking in
the river, surrounded by his naked companions in
arms his leudes.
Intutive shrewdness 1t ia that leads Mr..
Watson to the detection OF historical shams.
He sees through the treason Of the Constable
OF Bourbon:
Why then is Bourbons treason odious' Com.
pared to his provocation those Of Louis XII. and
Conde were puerle. Bourbon tho traitor who.
in after years shall presently took charge
of band OF German Lutherans. which swooped down
upon Italy. made havoc of the Popes wealth.
stormed the holy city of Rome. took it and sacked
It, rioted in it for nine months. and made the Holy
Father prisoner in the castle of St. Angelo
We suspect that herein lies the peculiar sinful
OF the treason OF Bourbon to the orthodox his
torans who have charge of the history of France.
chief value OF the book lies in the testimony it
affords as to the workings OF Mr.. Watson's
mind for such persons as are interested In that
study 1t Is surprising that it should boar the
imprint of house whose name has been hith-
erto q guarantee OF scholarship in the books
It published.
Mr. Henry Copley Greene. who has written
plains and Uplands OF Old France. a Book OF
Verse and Prose" iSmall. Maynard & Coz. seems
to be an impressionist as we'll as a bicycst In
the course OF tour on his wheel through parts
OF central and southern France he met with
strange adventures that gave him food for
hection. At Chablis. where the white wines
grow this befell him.
As watched in q digestive calm, a cat eyed me
from the opposite shadows Suddenly she stiGened,
for she had seen what now saw.-an ancient hound
coming nearer and nearer. The cat crouched trem-
bling. The hound, looking neither to the right
TO the left passed by intent on duty. Kitty sighed
with relief But the regular fOD flop of the hounds
paws had hardly faded into the distance when a
woolly small pup came prancing along the pave
ment, elicketv click most gay. 'Sdeath The cat
fattenng herself against The WALL slid gracefully to
o place OF vantage. The wool.doe pattered past
All was well. But suddenly out OF the
cnrrer of his eye he sped her. She sped; he fol-
lowed. She disappeared down a cellar window. like
a cork swallowed by whirlpool Just in time the
wool-dog stopped, bracinR himself back on his fore
legs. So for moment he stared wofully into the
depths. then glanced up and down the road No one
in sight. MY discontinue has not been seen"
thought tho wool-doG. tossing his head in the air.
And proudly he prAnced along the hounds path
kicking out hs before him and hitting the pave
aent with his nails. eliekity click eiick. French
dogs after ALL like Fronch men. only for effect
At last the reality is known" Icynically told myself
and triumphed over the woolly pup.
Mr Grnane,s nnrratlya Is intarrn ntad at CON.