to make himself your public accuser. Fly instantly, I beseech you. Once immured in a dungeon, you will have neither protection nor

defence.'

66 6

“ ‹ I fly !—I make my escape! —I will die sooner. Say not a word more, my friends. Let me have a travelling carriage to-morrow morning at four o'clock, and meanwhile leave me to prepare for my journey to Aranjuez."

"I shut myself up in my room.

My mind was utterly exhausted. I threw myself into a chair, where I remained for two hours in a state of total vacuity of thought. At length I roused myself. I reflected on all the circumstances of the case, and on the abundant proofs of my integrity. I sat down to my desk, and, with the rapidity of a man in a high fever, I wrote an exact journal of my actions since my arrival at Madrid: names, dates, conversations, everything sprang, as it were, into my memory, and fixed itself under my pen. I was still writing at five in the morning, when I was told that my carriage was ready. Some friends wanted to accompany me. 'I wish to be alone,' I said. Twelve hours of solitude are not more than necessary to calm the agitation of my frame.' I set out for Aranjuez.

"When I arrived, the ambassador was at the palace, and I could not see him till eleven o'clock at night. He was glad, he said, I was come; for he had been very uneasy about me. During the last fortnight my adversary had gained all the avenues of the palace; and, had it not been for him, I should have been already arrested, and probably sent to a dungeon for life on the African coast. He had done what he could with M. Grimaldi, the minister, to whom he had earnestly represented his conviction of my probity and honour; but all was without effect. You must really go, M. de Beaumarchais,' he continued. You have not a moment to lose. I can do nothing in opposition to the general impression against you, or against the positive order that has been issued for your imprisonment; and I should be sincerely grieved should any calamity happen to you in this country. You must leave Spain instantly.'

"I did not shed tears while he was speaking, but large drops of water fell at intervals from my eyes, gathered in them by the contraction of my whole frame. I was stupified and speechless. The ambassador was affected by my situation, and spoke to me in the kindest and most soothing manner; but still persisted in saying that I must yield to necessity, and escape from consequences which could not otherwise be averted. I implored him to think of the ruin to my own character in France if I fled from Spain under such circumstances; to consider the situation of my unhappy, innocent sister. He said he would write to France, where his account of my conduct would be credited; and that, as to my sister, he would not neglect her. I could bear this conversation no longer; but, abruptly quitting his presence, I rushed out of the house, and wandered all night in the dark alleys of the park of Aranjuez, in a state of inexpressible anguish.

"In the morning, my courage rose; and, determined to obtain justice or perish, I repaired to the levee of M. Grimaldi, the minister. While I waited in his ante-chamber, I heard several voices pronounce the name of M. Whal. That distinguished and venerable statesman, who had retired from the ministry, that, in the close of

life, he might have a brief interval of repose, was then residing in M. Grimaldi's house. I heard this, and was suddenly inspired with the idea of having recourse to him for protection. I requested permission to see him, as a stranger who had something of importance to communicate. I was admitted; and the sight of his mild and noble countenance gave me courage. I told him that my only claim to his favour was that I was a native of the country in which he himself was born, persecuted almost to death by cruel and powerful enemies; but this title, I trusted, was sufficient to obtain for me the protection of a just and virtuous man.

"You are a Frenchman,' he said, and that is always a strong claim with me. But you tremble - you are pale and breathless; sit down compose yourself, and tell me the cause of such violent agitation.' He ordered that no one should be admitted; and I, in an unspeakable state of hope and fear, requested permission to read my journal of occurrences since my arrival in Madrid. He complied, and I began to read. As I went on, he from time to time begged me to be calm, and to read more slowly that he might follow me the better; assuring me that he took the greatest interest in my narrative. As I proceeded, I laid before him in succession the letters and other documents which were referred to. But when I came to the criminal charge against me,-to the order for my imprisonment, which had been only suspended for a little by M. Grimaldi at the request of our ambassador, to the urgent advices which I had received to make my escape, but which I avowed my determination not to follow, he uttered an exclamation, rose, and took me kindly by the hand:

"Unquestionably the king will do you justice, M. de Beaumarchais. The ambassador, in spite of his regard for you, is obliged to act with the caution which befits his office; but I am under no such restraint. It shall never be said that a respectable Frenchman, after leaving his home, his friends, his business, after having travelled a thousand miles to succour an innocent and unfortunate sister, has been driven from this country, carrying with him the impression that no redress or justice is to be obtained in Spain. It was I who placed this Clavijo in the king's service, and I feel myself responsible for his infamous conduct. Good God! how unhappy it is for statesmen that they cannot become sufficiently aware of the real character of the persons they employ, and thus get themselves surrounded by specious knaves, of whose shameful actions they often bear the blame. A minister may be forgiven for being deceived in the choice of a worthless subordinate; but when once he comes to a knowledge of his character, there is no excuse for retaining him a moment. For my part, I shall immediately set a good example to my successors.'

"So saying, he rang, ordered his carriage, and took me with him to the palace. He sent for M. Grimaldi; and, while waiting for the arrival of that minister, went into the king's closet, and told his majesty the story, accusing himself of indiscretion in recommending such a man to his majesty's favour. M. Grimaldi came; and I was called into the royal presence, Read your memorial,' said M. Whal, every feeling and honourable heart must be as much moved by it as I was.' I obeyed. The king listened with attention and interest; examined the proofs of my statements; and the result was an

order that Clavijo should be deprived of his employment, and dismissed for ever from his majesty's service."

From subsequent parts of the narrative, it appears that Clavijo exerted all his powers of cunning and intrigue in order to get himself re-instated in his situation; not omitting further attempts to impose upon M. de Beaumarchais, accompanied with abject entreaties and hypocritical professions. All, however, was in vain; and this man, who seems to have been an extraordinary compound of intellectual ability and moral depravity, seems to have sunk into contempt and insignificance. The young lady recovered the shock she had received; and was afterwards happily married, and settled at Madrid.

MARS AND VENUS.

ONE day upon that Trojan plain,
Where men in hecatombs were slain,
Th' immortal gods (no common sight)
Thought fit to mingle in the fight,
And found convincing proof that those
Who will in quarrels interpose
Are often doom'd to suffer harm-
Venus was wounded in the arm;
Whilst Mars himself, the god of war,
Received an ignominious scar,
And, fairly beat by Diomed,

Fled back to heav'n and kept his bed.
That bed (the proof may still be seen)

Had long been shared with beauty's queen;
For, with th' adventure of the cage,
Vulcan had vented all his rage, (u)
And, like Italian husbands, he
Now wore his horns resignedly.
Ye modest critics! spare my song:
If gods and goddesses did wrong,
And revell'd in illicit love,
As poets, sculptors, painters prove,
Is mine the fault? and, if I tell
Some tales of scandal that befell
In heathen times, why need my lays
On ladies' cheeks more blushes raise,
When read (if such my envied lot)
In secret boudoir, bower, or grot,
Than scenes which, in the blaze of light,
They throng to witness ev'ry night?
Ere you condemn my humble page,
Glance for a moment at the stage,
Where twirling gods to view expose
Their pliant limbs in tighten'd hose,
And goddesses of doubtful fame

Are by lord chamberlains allow'd,
With practised postures, to inflame
The passions of a gazing crowd:
And if great camels, such as these,
Are swallow'd with apparent ease,

Oh! strain not at a gnat like me,
Nor deem me lost to decency,
When I now venture to declare
That Mars and Venus-guilty pair-
On the same couch extended lay,
And cursed the fortunes of the day.
The little Loves, who round them flew,
Could only sob to show their feeling,
Since they, of course, much better knew
The art of wounding than of healing,
And Cupid's self essay'd in vain
To ease his lovely mother's pain:
The chaplet that his locks confined
He tore indeed her wound to bind ;
But from her sympathetic fever
He had no nostrum to relieve her,
And, thinking that she might assuage
That fever, as she did her rage,
By talking loud,-her usual fashion
Whenever she was in a passion,—
He stood, with looks resign'd and grave,
Prepared to hear his mother rave,
Who thus began: "Ah! Cupid, why
Was I so silly as to try

My fortune in the battle-field, (b)
Or seek a pond'rous spear to wield,
Which only Pallas (hated name!)

Of all her sex can wield aright?
What need had I of martial fame,

Sought 'midst the dangers of the fight,
When beauty's prize, a trophy far
More precious than the spoils of war,
Was mine already, won from those
Whom rivalry has made my foes,
And who on Trojan plains would sate
E'en with my blood that ranc'rous hate
Which Ida's neighb'ring heights inflame,
And not this wound itself can tame?
Ah! why did I not bear in mind
That Beauty, like th' inconstant wind,
Is always privileged to raise

The rage of others to a blaze,

Then, lull'd to rest, look calmly on,

And see the work of havoc done?
"Twas well to urge your father, Mars,
To Mingle in those hated wars;

'Twas well-" But piteous cries of pain,
From him she named, here broke the chain
Of her discourse, and seem'd to say,
"What want of feeling you display?"
So, turning to her wounded lover,
She kindly urged him to discover

By whom and where the wound was given,
That sent him writhing back to heaven.
The god, thus question'd, hung his head,
A burning blush of shame o'erspread
With sudden flush his pallid cheek,
As thus he answer'd: "Dost thou seek
To hear a tale of dire disgrace,
Which all those honours must efface,

That, hitherto, have made my name
Pre-eminent in warlike fame ?

Yet-since 'twas thou who bad'st me go
To fight with mortals there below-
'Tis fitting, too, that thou shouldst learn
What laurels 'twas my fate to earn.
At first, in my resistless car,

I seem'd indeed the god of war ;
The Trojans rallied at my side;
Changed in its hue, the Xanthus' tide
Its waters to the ocean bore,
Empurpled deep in Grecian gore;
And o'er the corpse-impeded field

The cry was still, They yield !—they yield!'
But soon, the flying ranks to stay,

Thy hated rivals join'd the fray:

They nerved, with some accursed charm,

Each Greek's, but most Tydides' arm,

And, Venus, thou first felt the smart

Of his Minerva-guided dart.

I saw thee wounded, saw thee fly,-
I saw the chief triumphantly
Tow'rds me his ardent coursers turn,
As though from gods alone to earn
The highest honours of the fight;
I know not why, but, at the sight-
Eternal shame upon my head!-
A panic ceased me, and I fled-
I fled, like chaff before the wind,
And, ah! my wounds are all-behind!"
When thus at length the truth was told,
(The shameful truth of his disgrace,)
Again, within his mantle's fold,

The wounded coward hid his face; (c)
Whilst Venus, springing from his side,
With looks of scornful anger, cried,
"And didst thou fly from mortal foe,
Nor stay to strike one vengeful blow
For her who fondly has believed,
By all thy val'rous boasts deceived,
That in the god of war she press'd
The first of heroes to her breast?
Cupid, my swans and car prepare
To Cyprus we will hasten, where
Some youth, as yet unknown to fame,
May haply raise another flame;
For Mars may take his leave of Venus,
No coward shall enjoy my love;
And nothing more shall pass between us,-
I swear it by my fav'rite dove."

She spake; and through the realms of air,
Before the humbled god could dare
Upraise his head to urge her stay,
Already she had ta'en her way;
And in her Cyprian bow'r that night,
(If ancient scandal tell aright,)
Forgetful of her recent wound,
In place of Mars another found,
And to a mortal's close embraces
Surrender'd her celestial graces.

S