There are instances on record of long discussions and fierce disputes between provinces or towns for the honour of having been the birthplace of some great hero, poet, or philosopher. In like manner, M. Magnin labours hard, and expends much erudition, to prove that the French _Polichinelle_, notwithstanding the similarity of name, is neither the son, nor in any way related to the Italian _Pulcinella_, but is thoroughly French in origin and character. That Harlequin and Pantaloon came from south of the Alps he readily admits; also, that a name has been borrowed from Italy for the French Punch. But he stands up manfully for the originality of this jovial and dissipated puppet, which he maintains to be a thoroughly Gallic type. Whether conclusive or not—a point to the settlement of which we will not give many lines—the arguments and facts he brings forward are ingenious and amusing. After displaying the marked difference that exists in every respect, except in that of the long hooked nose and the name, between the Punchinello of Paris and that of Naples—the latter being a tall straight-backed active fellow, dressed in a black half-mask, a grey pointed hat, a white frock and trousers, and a tight girdle, and altogether of a different character from his more northern namesake—he has the audacity to broach, although with some hesitation, the bold idea that Polichinelle is a portrait of the great Béarnais. “To hide nothing of my thought, I must say that, under the necessary exaggeration of a loyal caricature, Polichinelle exhibits the popular type, I dare not say of Henry IV., but at any rate of the Gascon officer imitating his master’s bearing in the guardroom of the palace of St Germain, or of the old Louvre. As to the hunch, it has been from time immemorial the appendage, in France, of a facetious, witty fellow. In the thirteenth century, Adam de la Halle was called the _hunchback of Arras_, not that he was deformed, but on account of his humorous vein. On m’appelle bochu, mais je ne le suis mie. The second hump, the one in front, conspicuous under his spangled doublet, reminds us of the glittering and protuberant cuirass of men-at-arms, and of the pigeon-breasted dress then in fashion, which imitated the curve of the cuirass.[6] The very hat of Polichinelle (I do not refer to his modern three-cornered covering, but to the beaver, with brim turned up, which he still wore in the seventeenth century), was the hat of the gentlemen of that day, the hat _à la Henri IV._ Finally, certain characteristic features of his face, as well as the bold jovial amorous temper of the jolly fellow, remind us, in caricature, of the qualities and the defects of the Béarnais. In short, notwithstanding his Neapolitan name, Polichinelle appears to me to be a completely national type, and one of the most vivacious and sprightly creations of French fancy.”