Chapter 46

IN the autumn following the end of the Franco-German war, Dr.

　　Bird and I visited all the principal battlefields. InEngland the impression was that the bloodiest battle wasfought at Gravelotte. The error was due, I believe, to ourhaving no war correspondent on the spot. Compared with thaton the plains between St. Marie and St. Privat, Gravelottewas but a cavalry skirmish. We were fortunate enough to meeta German artillery officer at St. Marie who had been in theaction, and who kindly explained the distribution of theforces. Large square mounds were scattered about the plainwhere the German dead were buried, little wooden crossesbeing stuck into them to denote the regiment they hadbelonged to. At Gravelotte we saw the dogs unearthing thebodies from the shallow graves. The officer told us he didnot think there was a family in Germany unrepresented in theplains of St. Privat.

　　It was interesting so soon after the event, to sit quietly inthe little summer-house of the Chateau de Bellevue,commanding a view of Sedan, where Bismarck and Moltke andGeneral de Wimpfen held their memorable Council. 'Unterrible homme,' says the story of the 'Debacle,' 'ce generalde Moltke, qui gagnait des batailles du fond de son cabinet acoups d'algebre.'

　　We afterwards made a walking tour through the Tyrol, and downto Venice. On our way home, while staying at Lucerne, wewent up the Rigi. Soon after leaving the Kulm, on ourdescent to the railway, which was then uncompleted, we losteach other in the mist. I did not get to Vitznau till lateat night, but luckily found a steamer just starting forLucerne. The cabin was crammed with German students, eachone smoking his pipe and roaring choruses to alternatesingers. All of a sudden, those who were on their legs wereknocked off them. The panic was instantaneous, for every oneof us knew it was a collision. But the immediate peril wasin the rush for the deck. Violent with terror, rough bynature, and full of beer, these wild young savages wereformidable to themselves and others. Having arrived late, Ihad not got further than the cabin door, and was up thecompanion ladder at a bound. It was pitch dark, and piteousscreams came up from the surrounding waters. At first it wasimpossible to guess what had happened. Were we rammed, orwere we rammers? I pulled off my coats ready for a swim.

　　But it soon became apparent that we had run into and sunkanother boat.

　　The next morning the doctor and I went on to England. A weekafter I took up the 'Illustrated News.' There was an accountof the accident, with an illustration of the cabin of thesunken boat. The bodies of passengers were depicted as thedivers had found them.

　　On the very day the peace was signed I chanced to call on SirAnthony Rothschild in New Court. He took me across the courtto see his brother Lionel, the head of the firm. Sir Anthonybowed before him as though the great man were Plutus himself.

　　He sat at a table alone, not in his own room, but in theimmense counting-room, surrounded by a brigade of clerks.

　　This was my first introduction to him. He took no notice ofhis brother, but received me as Napoleon received theemperors and kings at Erfurt - in other words, as he wouldhave received his slippers from his valet, or as he didreceive the telegrams which were handed to him at the rate ofabout one a minute.

　　The King of Kings was in difficulties with a little slip ofblack sticking-plaster. The thought of Gumpelino'sHyacinthos, ALIAS Hirsch, flashed upon me. Behold! themighty Baron Nathan come to life again; but instead ofHyacinthos paring his mightiness's HUHNERAUGEN, he himself,in paring his own nails, had contrived to cut his finger.

　　'Come to buy Spanish?' he asked, with eyes intent upon thesticking-plaster.

　　'Oh no,' said I, 'I've no money to gamble with.'

　　'Hasn't Lord Leicester bought Spanish?' - never looking offthe sticking-plaster, nor taking the smallest notice of thetelegrams.

　　'Not that I know of. Are they good things?'

　　'I don't know; some people think so.'

　　Here a message was handed in, and something was whispered inhis ear.

　　'Very well, put it down.'

　　'From Paris,' said Sir Anthony, guessing perhaps at itscontents.

　　But not until the plaster was comfortably adjusted did Plutusread the message. He smiled and pushed it over to me. Itwas the terms of peace, and the German bill of costs.

　　'200,000,000 pounds!' I exclaimed. 'That's a heavyreckoning. Will France ever be able to pay it?'

　　'Pay it? Yes. If it had been twice as much!' And Plutusreturned to his sticking-plaster. That was of realimportance.

　　Last autumn - 1904, the literary world was not a littlegratified by an announcement in the 'Times' that the BritishMuseum had obtained possession of the original manuscript ofKeats's 'Hyperion.' Let me tell the story of its discovery.

　　During the summer of last year, my friend Miss Alice Bird,who was paying me a visit at Longford, gave me this accountof it.

　　When Leigh Hunt's memoirs were being edited by his sonThornton in 1861, he engaged the services of three intimatefriends of the family to read and collate the enormous massof his father's correspondence. Miss Alice Bird was one ofthe chosen three. The arduous task completed, Thornton Huntpresented each of his three friends with a number ofautographic letters, which, according to Miss Bird'sdescription, he took almost at random from the eliminatedpile. Amongst the lot that fell to Miss Bird's share was aroll of stained paper tied up with tape. This she was led tosuppose - she never carefully examined it - might be either acopy or a draft of some friend's unpublished poem.

　　The unknown treasure was put away in a drawer with the rest.

　　Here it remained undisturbed for forty-three years. Havingnow occasion to remove these papers, she opened the forgottenscroll, and was at once struck both with the words of the'Hyperion,' and with the resemblance of the writing toKeats's.

　　She forthwith consulted the Keepers of the Manuscripts in theBritish Museum, with the result that her TROUVAILLE wasimmediately identified as the poet's own draft of the'Hyperion.' The responsible authorities soon after, offeredthe fortunate possessor five hundred guineas for themanuscript, but courteously and honestly informed her that,were it put up to auction, some American collector would bealmost sure to give a much larger sum for it.

　　Miss Bird's patriotism prevailed over every otherconsideration. She expressed her wish that the poem shouldbe retained in England; and generously accepted what wasindubitably less than its market value.