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- 1128
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- 1072
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- succession to the German Empire should be contested, and one poor lame
lawyer should present the claims of the first excellingly beautiful
woman he chanced to see--she would thereupon be unanimously elected
Empress of the Holy Roman German Empire;--that is to say, if all the
Germans were true, free-hearted and magnanimous gentlemen, at all
capable of appreciating so immense an honor.
It is nonsense to talk of France as the seat of all civility. Did not
those French heathen have a Salique law? Three of the most bewitching
creatures,--immortal flowers of the line of Valois--were excluded from
the French throne by that infamous provision. France, indeed! whose
Catholic millions still worship Mary Queen of Heaven; and for ten
generations refused cap and knee to many angel Maries, rightful Queens
of France. Here is cause for universal war. See how vilely nations, as
well as men, assume and wear unchallenged the choicest titles, however
without merit. The Americans, and not the French, are the world's models
of chivalry. Our Salique Law provides that universal homage shall be
paid all beautiful women. No man's most solid rights shall weigh against
her airiest whims. If you buy the best seat in the coach, to go and
consult a doctor on a matter of life and death, you shall cheerfully
abdicate that best seat, and limp away on foot, if a pretty woman,
traveling, shake one feather from the stage-house door.
Now, since we began by talking of a certain young lady that went out
riding with a certain youth; and yet find ourselves, after leading such
a merry dance, fast by a stage-house window;--this may seem rather
irregular sort of writing. But whither indeed should Lucy Tartan conduct
us, but among mighty Queens, and all other creatures of high degree; and
finally set us roaming, to see whether the wide world can match so fine
a wonder. By immemorial usage, am I not bound to celebrate this Lucy
Tartan? Who shall stay me? Is she not my hero's own affianced? What can
be gainsaid? Where underneath the tester of the night sleeps such
another?
Yet, how would Lucy Tartan shrink from all this noise and clatter! She
is bragged of, but not brags. Thus far she hath floated as stilly
through this life, as thistle-down floats over meadows. Noiseless, she,
except with Pierre; and even with him she lives through many a panting
hush. Oh, those love-pauses that they know--how ominous of their
future; for pauses precede the earthquake, and every other terrible
commotion! But blue be their sky awhile, and lightsome all their chat,
and frolicsome their humors.
Never shall I get down the vile inventory! How, if with paper and with
pencil I went out into the starry night to inventorize the heavens? Who
shall tell stars as teaspoons? Who shall put down the charms of Lucy
Tartan upon paper?
And for the rest; her parentage, what fortune she would possess, how
many dresses in her wardrobe, and how many rings upon her fingers;
cheerfully would I let the genealogists, tax-gatherers, and upholsterers
attend to that. My proper province is with the angelical part of Lucy.
But as in some quarters, there prevails a sort of prejudice against
angels, who are merely angels and nothing more; therefore I shall
martyrize myself, by letting such gentlemen and ladies into some details
of Lucy Tartan's history.
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