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Page 49
Curious, is it not, that no calm, judicial study of this man's
character and exploits is received with favor? He who treats of
the subject must be either a hater or an adorer of Napoleon; his
blood must be hot with the enthusiasm of rage or of love.
To the human eye there appears in space a luminous sphere that in
its appointed path goes on unceasingly. The wise men are not
agreed whether this apparition is merely of gaseous composition
or is a solid body supplied extraneously with heat and
luminosity, inexhaustibly; some argue that its existence will be
limited to the period of one thousand, or five hundred thousand,
or one million years; others declare that it will roll on until
the end of time. Perhaps the nature of that luminous sphere will
never be truly known to mankind; yet with calm dignity it moves
in its appointed path among the planets and the stars of the
universe, its fires unabated, its luminosity undimmed.
Even so the great Corsican, scrutinized of all human eyes, passes
along the aisle of Time enveloped in the impenetrable mystery of
enthusiasm, genius, and splendor.
XVIII
MY WORKSHOP AND OTHERS
The women-folk are few up there,
For 't were not fair, you know,
That they our heavenly bliss should share
Who vex us here below!
The few are those who have been kind
To husbands such as we:
They knew our fads and didn't mind--
Says Dibdin's ghost to me.
It has never been explained to my satisfaction why women, as a
class, are the enemies of books, and are particularly hostile to
bibliomania. The exceptions met with now and then simply prove
the rule. Judge Methuen declares that bibliophobia is but one
phase of jealousy; that one's wife hates one's books because she
fears that her husband is in love, or is going to be in love,
with those companions of his student hours. If, instead of
being folios, quartos, octavos, and the like, the Judge's books
were buxom, blithe maidens, his wife could hardly be more jealous
of the Judge's attentions to them than she is under existing
circumstances. On one occasion, having found the Judge on two
successive afternoons sitting alone in the library with Pliny in
his lap, this spirited lady snatched the insidious volume from
her husband's embraces and locked it up in one of the kitchen
pantries; nor did she release the object of her displeasure until
the Judge had promised solemnly to be more circumspect in the
future, and had further mollified his wife's anger by bringing
home a new silk dress and a bonnet of exceptional loveliness.
Other instances of a similar character have demonstrated that
Mrs. Methuen regards with implacable antipathy the volumes upon
which my learned and ingenious friend would fain lavish the
superabundance of his affection. Many years ago the Judge was
compelled to resort to every kind of artifice in order to sneak
new books into his house, and had he not been imbued with the
true afflatus of bibliomania he would long ago have broken down
under the heartless tyranny of his vindictive spouse.
When I look around me and survey the persecution to which
book-lovers are subjected by their wives, I thank the goddess
Fortune that she has cast my lot among the celibates; indeed, it
is still one of the few serious questions I have not yet solved,
viz.: whether a man can at the same time be true to a wife and to
bibliomania. Both are exacting mistresses, and neither will
tolerate a rival.
Dr. O'Rell has a theory that the trouble with most wives is that
they are not caught young enough; he quotes Dr. Johnson's sage
remark to the effect that ``much can be made of a Scotchman if
caught young,'' and he asserts that this is equally true of
woman. Mrs. O'Rell was a mere girl when she wedded with the
doctor, and the result of thirty years' experience and training
is that this model woman sympathizes with her excellent husband's
tastes, and actually has a feeling of contempt for other wives
who have never heard of Father Prout and Kit North, and who
object to their husbands' smoking in bed.
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