Anne: these and other
things of the kind can be passed over. For things like some of them
occur in much saner novelists than Hugo; and Sir Walter himself is
notoriously not free from indisputable anachronisms.[114] But you have
barely reached the fiftieth page when you come to a "Lord Linnaeus
Clancharlie, Baron Clancharlie et Hunkerville, Marquis de Corleone en
Sicile," whose English peerage dates from Edward _the Elder_ (the origin
of his Sicilian title is not stated, but it was probably conferred by
Hiero or Dionysius), and whose name "Clancharlie" has nothing whatever
to do with Scotland or Ireland. This worthy peer (who, as a Cromwellian,
exiled himself after the Restoration) had, like others of the godly, a
bastard son, enjoying at "_temp._ of tale" the remarkable courtesy title
of "Lord David Dirry-Moir," but called by the rabble, with whom his
sporting tastes make him a great favourite, "Tom-Jim-Jack." Most
"love-children" of peers would be contented (if they ever had them) with
courtesy titles; but Lord David has been further favoured by Fortune and
King James II., who has first induced the _comprachicos_ to trepan and
mutilate Clancharlie's real heir (afterwards Gwynplaine, the eponymous
hero of the book), and has then made Lord David a "_pair
substitue_"[115] on condition that he marries one of the king's natural
daughters, the Duchess Josiane, a duchess with no duchy ever mentioned.
In regard to her Hugo proceeds to exhibit his etymological powers,
ignoring entirely the agreeable heroine of _Bevis of Hampton_, and
suggesting either an abbreviation of "Josefa y Ana" (at this time, we
are gravely informed, there was a prevalent English fashion of taking
Spanish names) or else a feminine of "Josias." Moreover, among dozens of
other instances of this Bedlam nomenclature, we have a "combat of box"
between the Irishman "Phelem-ghe-Madone" (because Irishmen are often
Roman Catholics?) and the Scotchman "Helmsgail" (there is a place
called Helms_dale_ in Scotland, and if "gael" why not "gail"?), to the
latter of whom a knee is given by "Lord Desertum" (Desart? Dysart?
what?).

And so it goes on. There is the immortal scene (or rather half-volume)
in which, Hugo having heard or read of _peine forte et dure_, we find
sheriffs who discharge the duty of Old Bailey judges, fragments of Law
Latin (it is really a pity that he did not get hold of our inimitable
Law _French_), and above all, and pervading all, that most fear