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diff --git a/21628-h/21628-h.htm b/21628-h/21628-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6f2a423 --- /dev/null +++ b/21628-h/21628-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,18708 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Imaginary Conversations and Poems: A selection, by Walter Savage Landor. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + ins.greek {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: thin dotted red;} + /* replace default underline with delicate gray line */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; padding: 1em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: .2em; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i5 {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + ul.toc {position: relative; padding-right: 5em;} + + li {margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0; line-height: 1.2em; font-variant: small-caps;} + span.ralign {position: absolute; right: 0; top: auto; } + + .cpoem {width: 50%; margin: 0 auto;} /* centers poem and maintains span indentation */ + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Imaginary Conversations and Poems, by +Walter Savage Landor + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Imaginary Conversations and Poems + A Selection + +Author: Walter Savage Landor + +Release Date: May 28, 2007 [EBook #21628] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS AND POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sam W. and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS<br /> +AND POEMS: A SELECTION</h1> + +<p class="center"><b>By</b></p> +<h2>WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR</h2> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<h3>IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS</h3> + +<ul class="toc" style="list-style-type:none"> + <li><a href="#MARCELLUS_AND_HANNIBAL">Marcellus and Hannibal</a></li> + <li><a href="#QUEEN_ELIZABETH_AND_CECIL">Queen Elizabeth and Cecil</a></li> + <li><a href="#EPICTETUS_AND_SENECA">Epictetus and Seneca</a></li> + <li><a href="#PETER_THE_GREAT_AND_ALEXIS">Peter the Great and Alexis</a></li> + <li><a href="#HENRY_VIII_AND_ANNE_BOLEYN">Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn</a></li> + <li><a href="#JOSEPH_SCALIGER_AND_MONTAIGNE">Joseph Scaliger and Montaigne</a></li> + <li><a href="#BOCCACCIO_AND_PETRARCA">Boccaccio and Petrarca</a></li> + <li><a href="#BOSSUET_AND_THE_DUCHESS_DE_FONTANGES">Bossuet and the Duchess de Fontanges</a></li> + <li><a href="#JOHN_OF_GAUNT_AND_JOANNA_OF_KENT">John of Gaunt and Joanna of Kent</a></li> + <li><a href="#LEOFRIC_AND_GODIVA">Leofric and Godiva</a></li> + <li><a href="#ESSEX_AND_SPENSER">Essex and Spenser</a></li> + <li><a href="#LORD_BACON_AND_RICHARD_HOOKER">Lord Bacon and Richard Hooker</a></li> + <li><a href="#OLIVER_CROMWELL_AND_WALTER_NOBLE">Oliver Cromwell and Walter Noble</a></li> + <li><a href="#LORD_BROOKE_AND_SIR_PHILIP_SIDNEY">Lord Brooke and Sir Philip Sidney</a></li> + <li><a href="#SOUTHEY_AND_PORSON">Southey and Porson</a></li> + <li><a href="#THE_ABBE_DELILLE_AND_WALTER_LANDOR">The Abbé Delille and Walter Landor</a></li> + <li><a href="#DIOGENES_AND_PLATO">Diogenes and Plato</a></li> + <li><a href="#ALFIERI_AND_SALOMON_THE_FLORENTINE_JEW">Alfieri and Salomon the Florentine Jew</a></li> + <li><a href="#ROUSSEAU_AND_MALESHERBES">Rousseau and Malesherbes</a></li> + <li><a href="#LUCULLUS_AND_CAESAR">Lucullus and Caesar</a></li> + <li><a href="#EPICURUS_LEONTION_AND_TERNISSA">Epicurus, Leontion, and Ternissa</a></li> + <li><a href="#DANTE_AND_BEATRICE">Dante and Beatrice</a></li> + <li><a href="#FRA_FILIPPO_LIPPI_AND_POPE_EUGENIUS_THE_FOURTH">Fra Filippo Lippi and Pope Eugenius the Fourth</a></li> + <li><a href="#TASSO_AND_CORNELIA">Tasso and Cornelia</a></li> + <li><a href="#LA_FONTAINE_AND_DE_LA_ROCHEFOUCAULT">La Fontaine and de La Rochefoucault</a></li> + <li><a href="#LUCIAN_AND_TIMOTHEUS">Lucian and Timotheus</a></li> + <li><a href="#BISHOP_SHIPLEY_AND_BENJAMIN_FRANKLIN">Bishop Shipley and Benjamin Franklin</a></li> + <li><a href="#SOUTHEY_AND_LANDOR">Southey and Landor</a></li> + <li><a href="#THE_EMPEROR_OF_CHINA_AND_TSING-TI">The Emperor of China and Tsing-Ti</a></li> + <li><a href="#LOUIS_XVIII_AND_TALLEYRAND">Louis XVIII and Talleyrand</a></li> + <li><a href="#OLIVER_CROMWELL_AND_SIR_OLIVER_CROMWELL">Oliver Cromwell and Sir Oliver Cromwell</a></li> + <li><a href="#THE_COUNT_GLEICHEM_THE_COUNTESS_THEIR_CHILDREN_AND_ZAIDA">The Count Gleichem: the Countess: their Children, and Zaida</a></li> +</ul> + +<h3>THE PENTAMERON</h3> + +<ul class="toc" style="list-style-type:none"> + <li><a href="#FIRST_DAYS_INTERVIEW">First Day’s Interview</a></li> + <li><a href="#THIRD_DAYS_INTERVIEW">Third Day’s Interview</a></li> + <li><a href="#FOURTH_DAYS_INTERVIEW">Fourth Day’s Interview</a></li> + <li><a href="#FIFTH_DAYS_INTERVIEW">Fifth Day’s Interview</a></li> +</ul> + +<h3>POEMS</h3> + +<ul class="toc" style="list-style-type:upper-roman"> + <li><a href="#I">She I love (alas in vain!)</a></li> + <li><a href="#II">Pleasure! why thus desert the heart</a></li> + <li><a href="#III">Past ruin’d Ilion Helen lives</a></li> + <li><a href="#IV">Ianthe! you are call’d to cross the sea!</a></li> + <li><a href="#V">The gates of fame and of the grave</a></li> + <li><a href="#VI">Twenty years hence my eyes may grow</a></li> + <li><a href="#VII">Here, ever since you went abroad</a></li> + <li><a href="#VIII">Tell me not things past all belief</a></li> + <li><a href="#IX">Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak</a></li> + <li><a href="#X">Fiesole Idyl</a></li> + <li><a href="#XI">Ah what avails the sceptred race</a></li> + <li><a href="#XII">With rosy hand a little girl prest down</a></li> + <li><a href="#XIII">Ternissa! you are fled!</a></li> + <li><a href="#XIV">Various the roads of life; in one</a></li> + <li><a href="#XV">Yes; I write verses now and then</a></li> + <li><a href="#XVI">On seeing a hair of Lucretia Borgia</a></li> + <li><a href="#XVII">Once, and once only, have I seen thy face</a></li> + <li><a href="#XVIII">To Wordsworth</a></li> + <li><a href="#XIX">To Charles Dickens</a></li> + <li><a href="#XX">To Barry Cornwall</a></li> + <li><a href="#XXI">To Robert Browning</a></li> + <li><a href="#XXII">Age</a></li> + <li><a href="#XXIII">Leaf after leaf drops off, flower after flower</a></li> + <li><a href="#XXIV">Well I remember how you smiled</a></li> + <li><a href="#XXV">I strove with none, for none was worth my strife</a></li> + <li><a href="#XXVI">Death stands above me, whispering low</a></li> + <li><a href="#XXVII">A Pastoral</a></li> + <li><a href="#XXVIII">The Lover</a></li> + <li><a href="#XXIX">The Poet who Sleeps</a></li> + <li><a href="#XXX">Daniel Defoe</a></li> + <li><a href="#XXXI">Idle Words</a></li> + <li><a href="#XXXII">To the River Avon</a></li> +</ul> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IMAGINARY_CONVERSATIONS" id="IMAGINARY_CONVERSATIONS"></a>IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="MARCELLUS_AND_HANNIBAL" id="MARCELLUS_AND_HANNIBAL"></a>MARCELLUS AND HANNIBAL</h2> + + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> Could a Numidian horseman ride no faster? +Marcellus! oh! Marcellus! He moves not—he is dead. Did he +not stir his fingers? Stand wide, soldiers—wide, forty paces; +give him air; bring water; halt! Gather those broad leaves, +and all the rest, growing under the brushwood; unbrace his +armour. Loose the helmet first—his breast rises. I fancied +his eyes were fixed on me—they have rolled back again. Who +presumed to touch my shoulder? This horse? It was surely +the horse of Marcellus! Let no man mount him. Ha! ha! +the Romans, too, sink into luxury: here is gold about the +charger.</p> + +<p><i>Gaulish Chieftain.</i> Execrable thief! The golden chain of our +king under a beast’s grinders! The vengeance of the gods hath +overtaken the impure——</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> We will talk about vengeance when we have entered +Rome, and about purity among the priests, if they will hear us. +Sound for the surgeon. That arrow may be extracted from the +side, deep as it is. The conqueror of Syracuse lies before me. +Send a vessel off to Carthage. Say Hannibal is at the gates of +Rome. Marcellus, who stood alone between us, fallen. Brave +man! I would rejoice and cannot. How awfully serene a +countenance! Such as we hear are in the islands of the Blessed. +And how glorious a form and stature! Such too was theirs! +They also once lay thus upon the earth wet with their blood—few +other enter there. And what plain armour!</p> + +<p><i>Gaulish Chieftain.</i> My party slew him; indeed, I think I slew +him myself. I claim the chain: it belongs to my king; the glory +of Gaul requires it. Never will she endure to see another take it.</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> My friend, the glory of Marcellus did not require +him to wear it. When he suspended the arms of your brave +king in the temple, he thought such a trinket unworthy of himself +and of Jupiter. The shield he battered down, the breast-plate +he pierced with his sword—these he showed to the people +and to the gods; hardly his wife and little children saw this, +ere his horse wore it.</p> + +<p><i>Gaulish Chieftain.</i> Hear me; O Hannibal!</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> What! when Marcellus lies before me? when his +life may perhaps be recalled? when I may lead him in triumph +to Carthage? when Italy, Sicily, Greece, Asia, wait to obey me? +Content thee! I will give thee mine own bridle, worth ten such.</p> + +<p><i>Gaulish Chieftain.</i> For myself?</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> For thyself.</p> + +<p><i>Gaulish Chieftain.</i> And these rubies and emeralds, and that +scarlet——?</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> Yes, yes.</p> + +<p><i>Gaulish Chieftain.</i> O glorious Hannibal! unconquerable +hero! O my happy country! to have such an ally and defender. +I swear eternal gratitude—yes, gratitude, love, devotion, +beyond eternity.</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> In all treaties we fix the time: I could hardly ask +a longer. Go back to thy station. I would see what the +surgeon is about, and hear what he thinks. The life of Marcellus! +the triumph of Hannibal! what else has the world in it? +Only Rome and Carthage: these follow.</p> + +<p><i>Marcellus.</i> I must die then? The gods be praised! The +commander of a Roman army is no captive.</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal. [To the Surgeon.]</i> Could not he bear a sea voyage? +Extract the arrow.</p> + +<p><i>Surgeon.</i> He expires that moment.</p> + +<p><i>Marcellus.</i> It pains me: extract it.</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> Marcellus, I see no expression of pain on your +countenance, and never will I consent to hasten the death of an +enemy in my power. Since your recovery is hopeless, you say +truly you are no captive.</p> + +<p>[<i>To the Surgeon.</i>] Is there nothing, man, that can assuage the +mortal pain? for, suppress the signs of it as he may, he must +feel it. Is there nothing to alleviate and allay it?</p> + +<p><i>Marcellus.</i> Hannibal, give me thy hand—thou hast found it +and brought it me, compassion.</p> + +<p>[<i>To the Surgeon.</i>] Go, friend; others want thy aid; several +fell around me.</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> Recommend to your country, O Marcellus, while +time permits it, reconciliation and peace with me, informing +the Senate of my superiority in force, and the impossibility of +resistance. The tablet is ready: let me take off this ring—try +to write, to sign it, at least. Oh, what satisfaction I feel at +seeing you able to rest upon the elbow, and even to smile!</p> + +<p><i>Marcellus.</i> Within an hour or less, with how severe a brow +would Minos say to me, ‘Marcellus, is this thy writing?’</p> + +<p>Rome loses one man: she hath lost many such, and she still +hath many left.</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> Afraid as you are of falsehood, say you this? I +confess in shame the ferocity of my countrymen. Unfortunately, +too, the nearer posts are occupied by Gauls, infinitely +more cruel. The Numidians are so in revenge: the Gauls both +in revenge and in sport. My presence is required at a distance, +and I apprehend the barbarity of one or other, learning, as they +must do, your refusal to execute my wishes for the common +good, and feeling that by this refusal you deprive them of their +country, after so long an absence.</p> + +<p><i>Marcellus.</i> Hannibal, thou art not dying.</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> What then? What mean you?</p> + +<p><i>Marcellus.</i> That thou mayest, and very justly, have many +things yet to apprehend: I can have none. The barbarity of +thy soldiers is nothing to me: mine would not dare be cruel. +Hannibal is forced to be absent; and his authority goes away +with his horse. On this turf lies defaced the semblance of a +general; but Marcellus is yet the regulator of his army. Dost +thou abdicate a power conferred on thee by thy nation? Or +wouldst thou acknowledge it to have become, by thy own sole +fault, less plenary than thy adversary’s?</p> + +<p>I have spoken too much: let me rest; this mantle oppresses me.</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> I placed my mantle on your head when the helmet +was first removed, and while you were lying in the sun. Let +me fold it under, and then replace the ring.</p> + +<p><i>Marcellus.</i> Take it, Hannibal. It was given me by a poor +woman who flew to me at Syracuse, and who covered it with her +hair, torn off in desperation that she had no other gift to offer. +Little thought I that her gift and her words should be mine. +How suddenly may the most powerful be in the situation of the +most helpless! Let that ring and the mantle under my head +be the exchange of guests at parting. The time may come, +Hannibal, when thou (and the gods alone know whether as +conqueror or conquered) mayest sit under the roof of my +children, and in either case it shall serve thee. In thy adverse +fortune, they will remember on whose pillow their father breathed +his last; in thy prosperity (Heaven grant it may shine upon +thee in some other country!) it will rejoice thee to protect them. +We feel ourselves the most exempt from affliction when we relieve +it, although we are then the most conscious that it may befall us.</p> + +<p>There is one thing here which is not at the disposal of either.</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> What?</p> + +<p><i>Marcellus.</i> This body.</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> Whither would you be lifted? Men are ready.</p> + +<p><i>Marcellus.</i> I meant not so. My strength is failing. I seem +to hear rather what is within than what is without. My sight +and my other senses are in confusion. I would have said—this +body, when a few bubbles of air shall have left it, is no +more worthy of thy notice than of mine; but thy glory will not +let thee refuse it to the piety of my family.</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> You would ask something else. I perceive an +inquietude not visible till now.</p> + +<p><i>Marcellus.</i> Duty and Death make us think of home sometimes.</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> Thitherward the thoughts of the conqueror and +of the conquered fly together.</p> + +<p><i>Marcellus.</i> Hast thou any prisoners from my escort?</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> A few dying lie about—and let them lie—they are +Tuscans. The remainder I saw at a distance, flying, and but +one brave man among them—he appeared a Roman—a youth +who turned back, though wounded. They surrounded and +dragged him away, spurring his horse with their swords. These +Etrurians measure their courage carefully, and tack it well +together before they put it on, but throw it off again with +lordly ease.</p> + +<p>Marcellus, why think about them? or does aught else disquiet +your thoughts?</p> + +<p><i>Marcellus.</i> I have suppressed it long enough. My son—my +beloved son!</p> + +<p><i>Hannibal.</i> Where is he? Can it be? Was he with you?</p> + +<p><i>Marcellus.</i> He would have shared my fate—and has not. +Gods of my country! beneficent throughout life to me, in death +surpassingly beneficent: I render you, for the last time, thanks.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="QUEEN_ELIZABETH_AND_CECIL" id="QUEEN_ELIZABETH_AND_CECIL"></a>QUEEN ELIZABETH AND CECIL</h2> + + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> I advise thee again, churlish Cecil, how that our +Edmund Spenser, whom thou callest most uncourteously a +whining whelp, hath good and solid reason for his complaint. +God’s blood! shall the lady that tieth my garter and shuffles +the smock over my head, or the lord that steadieth my chair’s +back while I eat, or the other that looketh to my buck-hounds +lest they be mangy, be holden by me in higher esteem and estate +than he who hath placed me among the bravest of past times, +and will as safely and surely set me down among the loveliest +in the future?</p> + +<p><i>Cecil.</i> Your Highness must remember he carouseth fully for +such deserts: fifty pounds a year of unclipped moneys, and a +butt of canary wine; not to mention three thousand acres in +Ireland, worth fairly another fifty and another butt, in seasonable +and quiet years.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> The moneys are not enough to sustain a pair of +grooms and a pair of palfreys, and more wine hath been drunken +in my presence at a feast. The moneys are given to such men, +that they may not incline nor be obligated to any vile or lowly +occupation; and the canary, that they may entertain such +promising wits as court their company and converse; and that +in such manner there may be alway in our land a succession +of these heirs unto fame. He hath written, not indeed with his +wonted fancifulness, nor in learned and majestical language, +but in homely and rustic wise, some verses which have moved +me, and haply the more inasmuch as they demonstrate to me +that his genius hath been dampened by his adversities. Read them.</p> + +<p><i>Cecil.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How much is lost when neither heart nor eye</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Rosewinged Desire or fabling Hope deceives;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When boyhood with quick throb hath ceased to spy</span><br /> +<span class="i1">The dubious apple in the yellow leaves;</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When, rising from the turf where youth reposed,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">We find but deserts in the far-sought shore;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When the huge book of Faery-land lies closed,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">And those strong brazen clasps will yield no more.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> The said Edmund hath also furnished unto the +weaver at Arras, John Blanquieres, on my account, a description +for some of his cunningest wenches to work at, supplied by mine +own self, indeed, as far as the subject-matter goes, but set forth +by him with figures and fancies, and daintily enough bedecked. +I could have wished he had thereunto joined a fair comparison +between Dian—no matter—he might perhaps have fared the +better for it; but poets’ wits—God help them!—when did they +ever sit close about them? Read the poesy, not over-rich, and +concluding very awkwardly and meanly.</p> + +<p><i>Cecil.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where forms the lotus, with its level leaves</span><br /> +<span class="i1">And solid blossoms, many floating isles,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">What heavenly radiance swift descending cleaves</span><br /> +<span class="i1">The darksome wave! Unwonted beauty smiles</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On its pure bosom, on each bright-eyed flower,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">On every nymph, and twenty sate around,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Lo! ’twas Diana—from the sultry hour</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Hither she fled, nor fear’d she sight or sound.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Unhappy youth, whom thirst and quiver-reeds</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Drew to these haunts, whom awe forbade to fly!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Three faithful dogs before him rais’d their heads,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">And watched and wonder’d at that fixèd eye.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Forth sprang his favourite—with her arrow-hand</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Too late the goddess hid what hand may hide,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of every nymph and every reed complain’d,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">And dashed upon the bank the waters wide.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the prone head and sandal’d feet they flew—</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Lo! slender hoofs and branching horns appear!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The last marr’d voice not e’en the favourite knew,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">But bay’d and fasten’d on the upbraiding deer.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Far be, chaste goddess, far from me and mine</span><br /> +<span class="i1">The stream that tempts thee in the summer noon!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Alas, that vengeance dwells with charms divine——</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Pshaw! give me the paper: I forewarned thee how +it ended—pitifully, pitifully.</p> + +<p><i>Cecil.</i> I cannot think otherwise than that the undertaker +of the aforecited poesy hath chosen your Highness; for I have +seen painted—I know not where, but I think no farther off than +Putney—the identically same Dian, with full as many nymphs, +as he calls them, and more dogs. So small a matter as a page +of poesy shall never stir my choler nor twitch my purse-string.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> I have read in Plinius and Mela of a runlet near +Dodona, which kindled by approximation an unlighted torch, +and extinguished a lighted one. Now, Cecil, I desire no such a +jetty to be celebrated as the decoration of my court: in simpler +words, which your gravity may more easily understand, I would +not from the fountain of honour give lustre to the dull and +ignorant, deadening and leaving in its tomb the lamp of literature +and genius. I ardently wish my reign to be remembered: +if my actions were different from what they are, I should as +ardently wish it to be forgotten. Those are the worst of suicides, +who voluntarily and propensely stab or suffocate their fame, +when God hath commanded them to stand on high for an +example. We call him parricide who destroys the author of +his existence: tell me, what shall we call him who casts forth +to the dogs and birds of prey its most faithful propagator and +most firm support? Mark me, I do not speak of that existence +which the proudest must close in a ditch—the narrowest, too, +of ditches and the soonest filled and fouled, and whereunto a +pinch of ratsbane or a poppy-head may bend him; but of that +which reposes on our own good deeds, carefully picked up, +skilfully put together, and decorously laid out for us by another’s +kind understanding: I speak of an existence such as no father +is author of, or provides for. The parent gives us few days and +sorrowful; the poet, many and glorious: the one (supposing him +discreet and kindly) best reproves our faults; the other best +remunerates our virtues.</p> + +<p>A page of poesy is a little matter: be it so; but of a truth +I do tell thee, Cecil, it shall master full many a bold heart that +the Spaniard cannot trouble; it shall win to it full many a proud +and flighty one that even chivalry and manly comeliness cannot +touch. I may shake titles and dignities by the dozen from my +breakfast-board; but I may not save those upon whose heads +I shake them from rottenness and oblivion. This year they +and their sovereign dwell together; next year, they and their +beagle. Both have names, but names perishable. The keeper +of my privy seal is an earl: what then? the keeper of my poultry-yard +is a Caesar. In honest truth, a name given to a man is no +better than a skin given to him: what is not natively his own falls +off and comes to nothing.</p> + +<p>I desire in future to hear no contempt of penmen, unless a +depraved use of the pen shall have so cramped them as to +incapacitate them for the sword and for the council chamber. +If Alexander was the Great, what was Aristoteles who made +him so, and taught him every art and science he knew, except +three—those of drinking, of blaspheming, and of murdering his +bosom friends? Come along: I will bring thee back again +nearer home. Thou mightest toss and tumble in thy bed many +nights, and never eke out the substance of a stanza; but Edmund, +if perchance I should call upon him for his counsel, would give +me as wholesome and prudent as any of you. We should +indemnify such men for the injustice we do unto them in not +calling them about us, and for the mortification they must suffer +at seeing their inferiors set before them. Edmund is grave and +gentle: he complains of fortune, not of Elizabeth; of courts, +not of Cecil. I am resolved—so help me, God!—he shall have +no further cause for his repining. Go, convey unto him those +twelve silver spoons, with the apostles on them, gloriously +gilded; and deliver into his hand these twelve large golden +pieces, sufficing for the yearly maintenance of another horse +and groom. Beside which, set open before him with due +reverence this Bible, wherein he may read the mercies of God +toward those who waited in patience for His blessing; and this +pair of crimson silk hose, which thou knowest I have worn only +thirteen months, taking heed that the heel-piece be put into +good and sufficient restoration, at my sole charges, by the Italian +woman nigh the pollard elm at Charing Cross.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="EPICTETUS_AND_SENECA" id="EPICTETUS_AND_SENECA"></a>EPICTETUS AND SENECA</h2> + + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Epictetus, I desired your master, Epaphroditus, to +send you hither, having been much pleased with his report of +your conduct, and much surprised at the ingenuity of your +writings.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Then I am afraid, my friend——</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> <i>My friend!</i> are these the expressions—Well, let it +pass. Philosophers must bear bravely. The people expect it.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Are philosophers, then, only philosophers for the +people; and, instead of instructing them, must they play tricks +before them? Give me rather the gravity of dancing dogs. +Their motions are for the rabble; their reverential eyes and +pendant paws are under the pressure of awe at a master; but +they are dogs, and not below their destinies.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Epictetus! I will give you three talents to let me +take that sentiment for my own.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> I would give thee twenty, if I had them, to make +it thine.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> You mean, by lending it the graces of my language?</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> I mean, by lending it to thy conduct. And now +let me console and comfort thee, under the calamity I brought +on thee by calling thee <i>my friend</i>. If thou art not my friend, +why send for me? Enemy I can have none: being a slave, +Fortune has now done with me.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Continue, then, your former observations. What +were you saying?</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> That which thou interruptedst.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> What was it?</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> I should have remarked that, if thou foundest +ingenuity in my writings, thou must have discovered in them +some deviation from the plain, homely truths of Zeno and +Cleanthes.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> We all swerve a little from them.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> In practice too?</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Yes, even in practice, I am afraid.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Often?</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Too often.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Strange! I have been attentive, and yet have +remarked but one difference among you great personages at +Rome.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> What difference fell under your observation?</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Crates and Zeno and Cleanthes taught us that our +desires were to be subdued by philosophy alone. In this city, +their acute and inventive scholars take us aside, and show us +that there is not only one way, but two.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Two ways?</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> They whisper in our ear, ‘These two ways are +philosophy and enjoyment: the wiser man will take the readier, +or, not finding it, the alternative.’ Thou reddenest.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Monstrous degeneracy.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> What magnificent rings! I did not notice them +until thou liftedst up thy hands to heaven, in detestation of +such effeminacy and impudence.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> The rings are not amiss; my rank rivets them upon +my fingers: I am forced to wear them. Our emperor gave me +one, Epaphroditus another, Tigellinus the third. I cannot lay +them aside a single day, for fear of offending the gods, and those +whom they love the most worthily.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Although they make thee stretch out thy fingers, +like the arms and legs of one of us slaves upon a cross.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Oh, horrible! Find some other resemblance.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> The extremities of a fig-leaf.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Ignoble!</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> The claws of a toad, trodden on or stoned.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> You have great need, Epictetus, of an instructor in +eloquence and rhetoric: you want topics, and tropes, and figures.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> I have no room for them. They make such a +buzz in the house, a man’s own wife cannot understand what he +says to her.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Let us reason a little upon style. I would set you +right, and remove from before you the prejudices of a somewhat +rustic education. We may adorn the simplicity of the wisest.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Thou canst not adorn simplicity. What is naked +or defective is susceptible of decoration: what is decorated is +simplicity no longer. Thou mayest give another thing in +exchange for it; but if thou wert master of it, thou wouldst +preserve it inviolate. It is no wonder that we mortals, little +able as we are to see truth, should be less able to express it.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> You have formed at present no idea of style.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> I never think about it. First, I consider whether +what I am about to say is true; then, whether I can say it with +brevity, in such a manner as that others shall see it as clearly +as I do in the light of truth; for, if they survey it as an ingenuity, +my desire is ungratified, my duty unfulfilled. I go not with +those who dance round the image of Truth, less out of honour +to her than to display their agility and address.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> We must attract the attention of readers by novelty, +and force, and grandeur of expression.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> We must. Nothing is so grand as truth, nothing +so forcible, nothing so novel.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Sonorous sentences are wanted to awaken the lethargy +of indolence.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Awaken it to what? Here lies the question; +and a weighty one it is. If thou awakenest men where they can +see nothing and do no work, it is better to let them rest: but +will not they, thinkest thou, look up at a rainbow, unless they +are called to it by a clap of thunder?</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Your early youth, Epictetus, has been, I will not +say neglected, but cultivated with rude instruments and +unskilful hands.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> I thank God for it. Those rude instruments +have left the turf lying yet toward the sun; and those unskilful +hands have plucked out the docks.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> We hope and believe that we have attained a vein +of eloquence, brighter and more varied than has been hitherto +laid open to the world.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Than any in the Greek?</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> We trust so.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Than your Cicero’s?</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> If the declaration may be made without an offence +to modesty. Surely, you cannot estimate or value the eloquence +of that noble pleader?</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Imperfectly, not being born in Italy; and the noble +pleader is a much less man with me than the noble philosopher. +I regret that, having farms and villas, he would not keep his +distance from the pumping up of foul words against thieves, +cut-throats, and other rogues; and that he lied, sweated, and +thumped his head and thighs, in behalf of those who were no +better.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Senators must have clients, and must protect them.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Innocent or guilty?</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Doubtless.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> If I regret what is and might not be, I may regret +more what both is and must be. However, it is an amiable +thing, and no small merit in the wealthy, even to trifle and play +at their leisure hours with philosophy. It cannot be expected +that such a personage should espouse her, or should recommend +her as an inseparable mate to his heir.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> I would.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Yes, Seneca, but thou hast no son to make the +match for; and thy recommendation, I suspect, would be given +him before he could consummate the marriage. Every man +wishes his sons to be philosophers while they are young; but +takes especial care, as they grow older, to teach them its insufficiency +and unfitness for their intercourse with mankind. +The paternal voice says: ‘You must not be particular; you are +about to have a profession to live by; follow those who have +thriven the best in it.’ Now, among these, whatever be the +profession, canst thou point out to me one single philosopher?</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> Not just now; nor, upon reflection, do I think it +feasible.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Thou, indeed, mayest live much to thy ease and +satisfaction with philosophy, having (they say) two thousand +talents.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> And a trifle to spare—pressed upon me by that +godlike youth, my pupil Nero.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> Seneca! where God hath placed a mine, He hath +placed the materials of an earthquake.</p> + +<p><i>Seneca.</i> A true philosopher is beyond the reach of Fortune.</p> + +<p><i>Epictetus.</i> The false one thinks himself so. Fortune cares +little about philosophers; but she remembers where she hath +set a rich man, and she laughs to see the Destinies at his door.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="PETER_THE_GREAT_AND_ALEXIS" id="PETER_THE_GREAT_AND_ALEXIS"></a>PETER THE GREAT AND ALEXIS</h2> + + +<p><i>Peter.</i> And so, after flying from thy father’s house, thou hast +returned again from Vienna. After this affront in the face of +Europe, thou darest to appear before me?</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> My emperor and father! I am brought before your +Majesty, not at my own desire.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> I believe it well.</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> I would not anger you.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> What hope hadst thou, rebel, in thy flight to Vienna?</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> The hope of peace and privacy; the hope of security; +and, above all things, of never more offending you.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> That hope thou hast accomplished. +Thou imaginedst, then, that my brother of Austria would +maintain thee at his court—speak!</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> No, sir! I imagined that he would have afforded me +a place of refuge.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Didst thou, then, take money with thee?</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> A few gold pieces.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> How many?</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> About sixty.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> He would have given thee promises for half the money; +but the double of it does not purchase a house, ignorant wretch!</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> I knew as much as that: although my birth did not +appear to destine me to purchase a house anywhere; and +hitherto your liberality, my father, hath supplied my wants of +every kind.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Not of wisdom, not of duty, not of spirit, not of courage, +not of ambition. I have educated thee among my guards and +horses, among my drums and trumpets, among my flags and +masts. When thou wert a child, and couldst hardly walk, +I have taken thee into the arsenal, though children should not +enter according to regulations: I have there rolled cannon-balls +before thee over iron plates; and I have shown thee bright new +arms, bayonets and sabres; and I have pricked the back of my +hands until the blood came out in many places; and I have +made thee lick it; and I have then done the same to thine. +Afterward, from thy tenth year, I have mixed gunpowder in +thy grog; I have peppered thy peaches; I have poured bilge-water +(with a little good wholesome tar in it) upon thy melons; +I have brought out girls to mock thee and cocker thee, and talk +like mariners, to make thee braver. Nothing would do. Nay, +recollect thee! I have myself led thee forth to the window +when fellows were hanged and shot; and I have shown thee +every day the halves and quarters of bodies; and I have sent +an orderly or chamberlain for the heads; and I have pulled the +cap up from over the eyes; and I have made thee, in spite of +thee, look steadfastly upon them, incorrigible coward!</p> + +<p>And now another word with thee about thy scandalous flight +from the palace, in time of quiet, too! To the point! Did my +brother of Austria invite thee? Did he, or did he not?</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> May I answer without doing an injury or disservice +to his Imperial Majesty?</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Thou mayest. What injury canst thou or any one +do, by the tongue, to such as he is?</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> At the moment, no; he did not. Nor indeed can +I assert that he at any time invited me; but he said he +pitied me.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> About what? hold thy tongue; let that pass. Princes +never pity but when they would make traitors: then their +hearts grow tenderer than tripe. He pitied thee, kind soul, +when he would throw thee at thy father’s head; but finding thy +father too strong for him, he now commiserates the parent, +laments the son’s rashness and disobedience, and would not +make God angry for the world. At first, however, there must +have been some overture on his part; otherwise thou are too +shamefaced for intrusion. Come—thou hast never had wit +enough to lie—tell me the truth, the whole truth.</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> He said that if ever I wanted an asylum, his court +was open to me.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Open! so is the tavern; but folks pay for what they +get there. Open, truly! and didst thou find it so?</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> He received me kindly.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> I see he did.</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> Derision, O my father! is not the fate I merit.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> True, true! it was not intended.</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> Kind father! punish me then as you will.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Villain! wouldst thou kiss my hand, too? Art thou +ignorant that the Austrian threw thee away from him, with the +same indifference as he would the outermost leaf of a sandy +sunburnt lettuce?</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> Alas! I am not ignorant of this.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> He dismissed thee at my order. If I had demanded +from him his daughter, to be the bedfellow of a Kalmuc, he +would have given her, and praised God.</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> O father! is his baseness my crime?</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> No; thine is greater. Thy intention, I know, is to +subvert the institutions it has been the labour of my lifetime to +establish. Thou hast never rejoiced at my victories.</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> I have rejoiced at your happiness and your safety.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Liar! coward! traitor! when the Polanders and Swedes +fell before me, didst thou from thy soul congratulate me? +Didst thou get drunk at home or abroad, or praise the Lord of +Hosts and Saint Nicholas? Wert thou not silent and civil and +low-spirited?</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> I lamented the irretrievable loss of human life; I +lamented that the bravest and noblest were swept away the +first; that the gentlest and most domestic were the earliest +mourners; that frugality was supplanted by intemperance; +that order was succeeded by confusion; and that your Majesty +was destroying the glorious plans you alone were capable of +devising.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> I destroy them! how? Of what plans art thou +speaking?</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> Of civilizing the Muscovites. The Polanders in part +were civilized: the Swedes, more than any other nation on the +Continent; and so excellently versed were they in military +science, and so courageous, that every man you killed cost you +seven or eight.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Thou liest; nor six. And civilized, forsooth? Why, +the robes of the metropolitan, him at Upsal, are not worth three +ducats, between Jew and Livornese. I have no notion that +Poland and Sweden shall be the only countries that produce +great princes. What right have they to such as Gustavus and +Sobieski? Europe ought to look to this before discontents +become general, and the people do to us what we have the +privilege of doing to the people. I am wasting my words: there +is no arguing with positive fools like thee. So thou wouldst +have desired me to let the Polanders and Swedes lie still and +quiet! Two such powerful nations!</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> For that reason and others I would have gladly seen +them rest, until our own people had increased in numbers and +prosperity.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> And thus thou disputest my right, before my face, +to the exercise of the supreme power.</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> Sir! God forbid!</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> God forbid, indeed! What care such villains as thou +art what God forbids! He forbids the son to be disobedient +to the father; He forbids—He forbids—twenty things. I do not +wish, and will not have, a successor who dreams of dead people.</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> My father! I have dreamed of none such.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Thou hast, and hast talked about them—Scythians, +I think, they call ’em. Now, who told thee, Mr. Professor, +that the Scythians were a happier people than we are; that +they were inoffensive; that they were free; that they wandered +with their carts from pasture to pasture, from river to river; +that they traded with good faith; that they fought with good +courage; that they injured none, invaded none, and feared none? +At this rate I have effected nothing. The great founder of +Rome, I heard in Holland, slew his brother for despiting the +weakness of his walls; and shall the founder of this better place +spare a degenerate son, who prefers a vagabond life to a civilized +one, a cart to a city, a Scythian to a Muscovite? Have I not +shaved my people, and breeched them? Have I not formed +them into regular armies, with bands of music and haversacks? +Are bows better than cannon? shepherds than dragoons, mare’s +milk than brandy, raw steaks than broiled? Thine are tenets +that strike at the root of politeness and sound government. +Every prince in Europe is interested in rooting them out by fire +and sword. There is no other way with false doctrines: breath +against breath does little.</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> Sire, I never have attempted to disseminate my opinions.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> How couldst thou? the seed would fall only on granite. +Those, however, who caught it brought it to me.</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> Never have I undervalued civilization: on the +contrary, I regretted whatever impeded it. In my opinion, +the evils that have been attributed to it sprang from its imperfections +and voids; and no nation has yet acquired it more than +very scantily.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> How so? give me thy reasons—thy fancies, rather; +for reason thou hast none.</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> When I find the first of men, in rank and genius, +hating one another, and becoming slanderers and liars in order +to lower and vilify an opponent; when I hear the God of mercy +invoked to massacres, and thanked for furthering what He +reprobates and condemns—I look back in vain on any barbarous +people for worse barbarism. I have expressed my admiration +of our forefathers, who, not being Christians, were yet more +virtuous than those who are; more temperate, more just, more +sincere, more chaste, more peaceable.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Malignant atheist!</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> Indeed, my father, were I malignant I must be an +atheist; for malignity is contrary to the command, and inconsistent +with the belief, of God.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Am I Czar of Muscovy, and hear discourses on reason +and religion? from my own son, too! No, by the Holy Trinity! +thou art no son of mine. If thou touchest my knee again, I +crack thy knuckles with this tobacco-stopper: I wish it were a +sledge-hammer for thy sake. Off, sycophant! Off, runaway slave!</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> Father! father! my heart is broken! If I have +offended, forgive me!</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> The State requires thy signal punishment.</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> If the State requires it, be it so; but let my father’s +anger cease!</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> The world shall judge between us. I will brand thee +with infamy.</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> Until now, O father! I never had a proper sense of +glory. Hear me, O Czar! let not a thing so vile as I am stand +between you and the world! Let none accuse you!</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Accuse me, rebel! Accuse me, traitor!</p> + +<p><i>Alexis.</i> Let none speak ill of you, O my father! The public +voice shakes the palace; the public voice penetrates the grave; +it precedes the chariot of Almighty God, and is heard at the +judgment-seat.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Let it go to the devil! I will have none of it here in +Petersburg. Our church says nothing about it; our laws +forbid it. As for thee, unnatural brute, I have no more to do +with thee neither!</p> + +<p>Ho, there! chancellor! What! come at last! Wert napping, +or counting thy ducats?</p> + +<p><i>Chancellor.</i> Your Majesty’s will and pleasure!</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Is the Senate assembled in that room?</p> + +<p><i>Chancellor.</i> Every member, sire.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Conduct this youth with thee, and let them judge him; +thou understandest me.</p> + +<p><i>Chancellor.</i> Your Majesty’s commands are the breath of our +nostrils.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> If these rascals are amiss, I will try my new cargo of +Livonian hemp upon ’em.</p> + +<p><i>Chancellor.</i> [<i>Returning.</i>] Sire, sire!</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Speak, fellow! Surely they have not condemned him +to death, without giving themselves time to read the accusation, +that thou comest back so quickly.</p> + +<p><i>Chancellor.</i> No, sire! Nor has either been done.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Then thy head quits thy shoulders.</p> + +<p><i>Chancellor.</i> O sire!</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Curse thy silly <i>sires</i>! what art thou about?</p> + +<p><i>Chancellor.</i> Alas! he fell.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Tie him up to thy chair, then. Cowardly beast! +what made him fall?</p> + +<p><i>Chancellor.</i> The hand of Death; the name of father.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Thou puzzlest me; prithee speak plainlier.</p> + +<p><i>Chancellor.</i> We told him that his crime was proven and manifest; +that his life was forfeited.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> So far, well enough.</p> + +<p><i>Chancellor.</i> He smiled.</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> He did! did he? Impudence shall do him little good. +Who could have expected it from that smock-face! Go on—what +then?</p> + +<p><i>Chancellor.</i> He said calmly, but not without sighing twice +or thrice, ‘Lead me to the scaffold: I am weary of life; nobody +loves me.’ I condoled with him, and wept upon his hand, +holding the paper against my bosom. He took the corner of it +between his fingers, and said, ‘Read me this paper; read my +death-warrant. Your silence and tears have signified it; yet +the law has its forms. Do not keep me in suspense. My father +says, too truly, I am not courageous; but the death that leads +me to my God shall never terrify me.’</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> I have seen these white-livered knaves die resolutely; +I have seen them quietly fierce like white ferrets with their +watery eyes and tiny teeth. You read it?</p> + +<p><i>Chancellor.</i> In part, sire! When he heard your Majesty’s +name accusing him of treason and attempts at rebellion and +parricide, he fell speechless. We raised him up: he was motionless; +he was dead!</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Inconsiderate and barbarous varlet as thou art, dost +thou recite this ill accident to a father! and to one who has not +dined! Bring me a glass of brandy.</p> + +<p><i>Chancellor.</i> And it please your Majesty, might I call a—a——</p> + +<p><i>Peter.</i> Away and bring it: scamper! All equally and alike +shall obey and serve me.</p> + +<p>Hark ye! bring the bottle with it: I must cool myself—and—hark +ye! a rasher of bacon on thy life! and some pickled +sturgeon, and some krout and caviare, and good strong cheese.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="HENRY_VIII_AND_ANNE_BOLEYN" id="HENRY_VIII_AND_ANNE_BOLEYN"></a>HENRY VIII AND ANNE BOLEYN</h2> + + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Dost thou know me, Nanny, in this yeoman’s dress? +’Sblood! does it require so long and vacant a stare to recollect +a husband after a week or two? No tragedy-tricks with me! +a scream, a sob, or thy kerchief a trifle the wetter, were enough. +Why, verily the little fool faints in earnest. These whey faces, +like their kinsfolk the ghosts, give us no warning. Hast had +water enough upon thee? Take that, then: art thyself again?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> Father of mercies! do I meet again my husband, as +was my last prayer on earth? Do I behold my beloved lord—in +peace—and pardoned, my partner in eternal bliss? it was his +voice. I cannot see him: why cannot I? Oh, why do these +pangs interrupt the transports of the blessed?</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Thou openest thy arms: faith! I came for that. +Nanny, thou art a sweet slut. Thou groanest, wench: art in +labour? Faith! among the mistakes of the night, I am ready +to think almost that thou hast been drinking, and that I have not.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> God preserve your Highness: grant me your forgiveness +for one slight offence. My eyes were heavy; I fell asleep +while I was reading. I did not know of your presence at first; +and, when I did, I could not speak. I strove for utterance: I +wanted no respect for my liege and husband.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> My pretty warm nestling, thou wilt then lie! Thou +wert reading, and aloud too, with thy saintly cup of water by thee, +and—what! thou art still girlishly fond of those dried cherries!</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> I had no other fruit to offer your Highness the first +time I saw you, and you were then pleased to invent for me some +reason why they should be acceptable. I did not dry these: +may I present them, such as they are? We shall have fresh +next month.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Thou art always driving away from the discourse. +One moment it suits thee to know me, another not.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> Remember, it is hardly three months since I miscarried. +I am weak, and liable to swoons.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Thou hast, however, thy bridal cheeks, with lustre +upon them when there is none elsewhere, and obstinate lips +resisting all impression; but, now thou talkest about miscarrying, +who is the father of that boy?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> Yours and mine—He who hath taken him to his own +home, before (like me) he could struggle or cry for it.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Pagan, or worse, to talk so! He did not come into +the world alive: there was no baptism.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> I thought only of our loss: my senses are confounded. +I did not give him my milk, and yet I loved him tenderly; for +I often fancied, had he lived, how contented and joyful he would +have made you and England.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> No subterfuges and escapes. I warrant, thou canst +not say whether at my entrance thou wert waking or wandering.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> Faintness and drowsiness came upon me suddenly.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Well, since thou really and truly sleepedst, what +didst dream of?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> I begin to doubt whether I did indeed sleep.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Ha! false one—never two sentences of truth together! +But come, what didst think about, asleep or awake?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> I thought that God had pardoned me my offences, +and had received me unto Him.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> And nothing more?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> That my prayers had been heard and my wishes were +accomplishing: the angels alone can enjoy more beatitude than +this.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Vexatious little devil! She says nothing now about +me, merely from perverseness. Hast thou never thought about +me, nor about thy falsehood and adultery?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> If I had committed any kind of falsehood, in regard +to you or not, I should never have rested until I had thrown +myself at your feet and obtained your pardon; but, if ever I +had been guilty of that other crime, I know not whether I should +have dared to implore it, even of God’s mercy.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Thou hast heretofore cast some soft glances upon +Smeaton; hast thou not?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> He taught me to play on the virginals, as you know, +when I was little, and thereby to please your Highness.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> And Brereton and Norris—what have they taught +thee?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> They are your servants, and trusty ones.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Has not Weston told thee plainly that he loved thee?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> Yes; and——</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> What didst thou?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> I defied him.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Is that all?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> I could have done no more if he had told me that he +hated me. Then, indeed, I should have incurred more justly +the reproaches of your Highness: I should have smiled.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> We have proofs abundant: the fellows shall one and +all confront thee. Aye, clap thy hands and kiss thy sleeve, +harlot!</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> Oh that so great a favour is vouchsafed me! My +honour is secure; my husband will be happy again; he will see +my innocence.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Give me now an account of the moneys thou hast +received from me within these nine months. I want them not +back: they are letters of gold in record of thy guilt. Thou hast +had no fewer than fifteen thousand pounds in that period, +without even thy asking; what hast done with it, wanton?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> I have regularly placed it out to interest.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Where? I demand of thee.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> Among the needy and ailing. My Lord Archbishop +has the account of it, sealed by him weekly. I also had a copy +myself; those who took away my papers may easily find it; +for there are few others, and they lie open.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Think on my munificence to thee; recollect who +made thee. Dost sigh for what thou hast lost?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> I do, indeed.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> I never thought thee ambitious; but thy vices creep +out one by one.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> I do not regret that I have been a queen and am no +longer one; nor that my innocence is called in question by +those who never knew me; but I lament that the good people +who loved me so cordially, hate and curse me; that those who +pointed me out to their daughters for imitation check them +when they speak about me; and that he whom next to God I +have served with most devotion is my accuser.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Wast thou conning over something in that dingy +book for thy defence? Come, tell me, what wast thou reading?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> This ancient chronicle. I was looking for someone +in my own condition, and must have missed the page. Surely +in so many hundred years there shall have been other young +maidens, first too happy for exaltation, and after too exalted +for happiness—not, perchance, doomed to die upon a scaffold, +by those they ever honoured and served faithfully; that, indeed, +I did not look for nor think of; but my heart was bounding for +any one I could love and pity. She would be unto me as a +sister dead and gone; but hearing me, seeing me, consoling me, +and being consoled. O my husband! it is so heavenly a thing——</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> To whine and whimper, no doubt, is vastly heavenly.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> I said not so; but those, if there be any such, who never +weep, have nothing in them of heavenly or of earthly. The +plants, the trees, the very rocks and unsunned clouds, show us +at least the semblances of weeping; and there is not an aspect +of the globe we live on, nor of the waters and skies around it, +without a reference and a similitude to our joys or sorrows.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> I do not remember that notion anywhere. Take +care no enemy rake out of it something of materialism. Guard +well thy empty hot brain; it may hatch more evil. As for +those odd words, I myself would fain see no great harm in them, +knowing that grief and frenzy strike out many things which +would else lie still, and neither spurt nor sparkle. I also know +that thou hast never read anything but Bible and history—the +two worst books in the world for young people, and the most +certain to lead astray both prince and subject. For which +reason I have interdicted and entirely put down the one, and +will (by the blessing of the Virgin and of holy Paul) commit the +other to a rigid censor. If it behoves us kings to enact what +our people shall eat and drink—of which the most unruly and +rebellious spirit can entertain no doubt—greatly more doth it +behove us to examine what they read and think. The body +is moved according to the mind and will; we must take care +that the movement be a right one, on pain of God’s anger in +this life and the next.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> O my dear husband! it must be a naughty thing, +indeed, that makes Him angry beyond remission. Did you +ever try how pleasant it is to forgive any one? There is nothing +else wherein we can resemble God perfectly and easily.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Resemble God perfectly and easily! Do vile creatures +talk thus of the Creator?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> No, Henry, when His creatures talk thus of Him, +they are no longer vile creatures! When they know that He +is good, they love Him; and, when they love Him, they are good +themselves. O Henry! my husband and king! the judgments +of our Heavenly Father are righteous; on this, surely, we must +think alike.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> And what, then? Speak out; again I command thee, +speak plainly! thy tongue was not so torpid but this moment. +Art ready? Must I wait?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> If any doubt remains upon your royal mind of your +equity in this business: should it haply seem possible to you +that passion or prejudice, in yourself or another, may have +warped so strong an understanding—do but supplicate the +Almighty to strengthen and enlighten it, and He will hear +you.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> What! thou wouldst fain change thy quarters, ay?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> My spirit is detached and ready, and I shall change +them shortly, whatever your Highness may determine.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Yet thou appearest hale and resolute, and (they tell +me) smirkest and smilest to everybody.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> The withered leaf catches the sun sometimes, little as +it can profit by it; and I have heard stories of the breeze in +other climates that sets in when daylight is about to close, and +how constant it is, and how refreshing. My heart, indeed, is +now sustained strangely; it became the more sensibly so from +that time forward, when power and grandeur and all things +terrestrial were sunk from sight. Every act of kindness in those +about me gives me satisfaction and pleasure, such as I did not +feel formerly. I was worse before God chastened me; yet I +was never an ingrate. What pains have I taken to find out the +village-girls who placed their posies in my chamber ere I arose +in the morning! How gladly would I have recompensed the +forester who lit up a brake on my birthnight, which else had +warmed him half the winter! But these are times past: I was +not Queen of England.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Nor adulterous, nor heretical.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> God be praised!</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Learned saint! thou knowest nothing of the lighter, +but perhaps canst inform me about the graver, of them.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> Which may it be, my liege?</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Which may it be? Pestilence! I marvel that the +walls of this tower do not crack around thee at such impiety.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> I would be instructed by the wisest of theologians: +such is your Highness.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Are the sins of the body, foul as they are, comparable +to those of the soul?</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> When they are united, they must be worse.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Go on, go on: thou pushest thy own breast against +the sword. God hath deprived thee of thy reason for thy +punishment. I must hear more: proceed, I charge thee.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> An aptitude to believe one thing rather than another, +from ignorance or weakness, or from the more persuasive +manner of the teacher, or from his purity of life, or from the +strong impression of a particular text at a particular time, and +various things beside, may influence and decide our opinion; +and the hand of the Almighty, let us hope, will fall gently on +human fallibility.</p> + +<p><i>Henry.</i> Opinion in matters of faith! rare wisdom! rare religion! +Troth, Anne! thou hast well sobered me. I came rather warmly +and lovingly; but these light ringlets, by the holy rood, shall +not shade this shoulder much longer. Nay, do not start; I +tap it for the last time, my sweetest. If the Church permitted +it, thou shouldst set forth on thy long journey with the Eucharist +between thy teeth, however loath.</p> + +<p><i>Anne.</i> Love your Elizabeth, my honoured lord, and God bless +you! She will soon forget to call me. Do not chide her: think +how young she is.</p> + +<p>Could I, could I kiss her, but once again! it would comfort +my heart—or break it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="JOSEPH_SCALIGER_AND_MONTAIGNE" id="JOSEPH_SCALIGER_AND_MONTAIGNE"></a>JOSEPH SCALIGER AND MONTAIGNE</h2> + + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> What could have brought you, M. de l’Escale, +to visit the old man of the mountain, other than a good heart? +Oh, how delighted and charmed I am to hear you speak such +excellent Gascon. You rise early, I see: you must have risen +with the sun, to be here at this hour; it is a stout half-hour’s +walk from the brook. I have capital white wine, and the best +cheese in Auvergne. You saw the goats and the two cows +before the castle.</p> + +<p>Pierre, thou hast done well: set it upon the table, and tell +Master Matthew to split a couple of chickens and broil them, +and to pepper but one. Do you like pepper, M. de l’Escale?</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> Not much.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> Hold hard! let the pepper alone: I hate it. Tell +him to broil plenty of ham; only two slices at a time, upon his +salvation.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> This, I perceive, is the antechamber to your library: +here are your everyday books.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> Faith! I have no other. These are plenty, +methinks; is not that your opinion?</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> You have great resources within yourself, and therefore +can do with fewer.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> Why, how many now do you think here may be?</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> I did not believe at first that there could be above +fourscore.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> Well! are fourscore few?—are we talking of peas +and beans?</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> I and my father (put together) have written well-nigh +as many.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> Ah! to write them is quite another thing: but one +reads books without a spur, or even a pat from our Lady Vanity. +How do you like my wine?—it comes from the little knoll +yonder: you cannot see the vines, those chestnut-trees are +between.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> The wine is excellent; light, odoriferous, with a +smartness like a sharp child’s prattle.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> It never goes to the head, nor pulls the nerves, +which many do as if they were guitar-strings. I drink a couple +of bottles a day, winter and summer, and never am the worse +for it. You gentlemen of the Agennois have better in your +province, and indeed the very best under the sun. I do not +wonder that the Parliament of Bordeaux should be jealous of +their privileges, and call it Bordeaux. Now, if you prefer your +own country wine, only say it: I have several bottles in my cellar, +with corks as long as rapiers, and as polished. I do not know, +M. de l’Escale, whether you are particular in these matters: not +quite, I should imagine, so great a judge in them as in others?</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> I know three things: wine, poetry, and the world.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> You know one too many, then. I hardly know +whether I know anything about poetry; for I like Clem Marot +better than Ronsard. Ronsard is so plaguily stiff and stately, +where there is no occasion for it; I verily do think the man +must have slept with his wife in a cuirass.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> It pleases me greatly that you like Marot. His +versions of the Psalms is lately set to music, and added to the +New Testament of Geneva.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> It is putting a slice of honeycomb into a barrel +of vinegar, which will never grow the sweeter for it.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> Surely, you do not think in this fashion of the New +Testament!</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> Who supposes it? Whatever is mild and kindly +is there. But Jack Calvin has thrown bird-lime and vitriol +upon it, and whoever but touches the cover dirties his fingers +or burns them.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> Calvin is a very great man, I do assure you, M. de +Montaigne.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> I do not like your great men who beckon me to +them, call me their begotten, their dear child, and their entrails; +and, if I happen to say on any occasion, ‘I beg leave, sir, to +dissent a little from you,’ stamp and cry, ‘The devil you do!’ +and whistle to the executioner.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> You exaggerate, my worthy friend!</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> Exaggerate do I, M. de l’Escale? What was it +he did the other day to the poor devil there with an odd name?—Melancthon, +I think it is.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> I do not know: I have received no intelligence of +late from Geneva.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> It was but last night that our curate rode over +from Lyons (he made two days of it, as you may suppose) and +supped with me. He told me that Jack had got his old friend +hanged and burned. I could not join him in the joke, for I find +none such in the New Testament, on which he would have +founded it; and, if it is one, it is not in my manner or to my taste.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> I cannot well believe the report, my dear sir. He +was rather urgent, indeed, on the combustion of the heretic +Michael Servetus some years past.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> A thousand to one, my spiritual guide mistook +the name. He has heard of both, I warrant him, and thinks +in his conscience that either is as good a roast as the other.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> Theologians are proud and intolerant, and truly +the farthest of all men from theology, if theology means the +rational sense of religion, or indeed has anything to do with +it in any way. Melancthon was the very best of the reformers; +quiet, sedate, charitable, intrepid, firm in friendship, ardent in +faith, acute in argument, and profound in learning.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> Who cares about his argumentation or his learning, +if he was the rest?</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> I hope you will suspend your judgment on this +affair until you receive some more certain and positive +information.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> I can believe it of the Sieur Calvin.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> I cannot. John Calvin is a grave man, orderly and +reasonable.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> In my opinion he has not the order nor the reason +of my cook. Mat never took a man for a sucking-pig, cleaning +and scraping and buttering and roasting him; nor ever twitched +God by the sleeve and swore He should not have His own way.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> M. de Montaigne, have you ever studied the doctrine +of predestination?</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> I should not understand it, if I had; and I would +not break through an old fence merely to get into a cavern. +I would not give a fig or a fig-leaf to know the truth of it, as +far as any man can teach it me. Would it make me honester +or happier, or, in other things, wiser?</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> I do not know whether it would materially.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> I should be an egregious fool then to care about it. +Our disputes on controverted points have filled the country +with missionaries and cut-throats. Both parties have shown +a disposition to turn this comfortable old house of mine into a +fortress. If I had inclined to either, the other would have +done it. Come walk about it with me; after a ride, you can +do nothing better to take off fatigue.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> A most spacious kitchen!</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> Look up!</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> You have twenty or more flitches of bacon hanging +there.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> And if I had been a doctor or a captain, I should +have had a cobweb and predestination in the place of them. +Your soldiers of the <i>religion</i> on the one side, and of the <i>good old +faith</i> on the other, would not have left unto me safe and sound +even that good old woman there.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> Oh, yes! they would, I hope.</p> + +<p><i>Old Woman.</i> Why dost giggle, Mat? What should he know +about the business? He speaks mighty bad French, and is as +spiteful as the devil. Praised be God, we have a kind master, +who thinks about us, and feels for us.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> Upon my word, M. de Montaigne, this gallery is an +interesting one.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> I can show you nothing but my house and my +dairy. We have no chase in the month of May, you know—unless +you would like to bait the badger in the stable. This is +rare sport in rainy days.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> Are you in earnest, M. de Montaigne?</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> No, no, no, I cannot afford to worry him outright: +only a little for pastime—a morning’s merriment for the dogs +and wenches.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> You really are then of so happy a temperament +that, at your time of life, you can be amused by baiting a +badger!</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> Why not? Your father, a wiser and graver and +older man than I am, was amused by baiting a professor or +critic. I have not a dog in the kennel that would treat the +badger worse than brave Julius treated Cardan and Erasmus, +and some dozens more. We are all childish, old as well as +young; and our very last tooth would fain stick, M. de l’Escale, +in some tender place of a neighbour. Boys laugh at a person +who falls in the dirt; men laugh rather when they make him +fall, and most when the dirt is of their own laying.</p> + +<p>Is not the gallery rather cold, after the kitchen? We must +go through it to get into the court where I keep my tame rabbits; +the stable is hard by: come along, come along.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> Permit me to look a little at those banners. Some +of them are old indeed.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> Upon my word, I blush to think I never took +notice how they are tattered. I have no fewer than three +women in the house, and in a summer’s evening, only two +hours long, the worst of these rags might have been darned +across.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> You would not have done it surely!</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> I am not over-thrifty; the women might have +been better employed. It is as well as it is then; ay?</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> I think so.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> So be it.</p> + +<p><i>Scaliger.</i> They remind me of my own family, we being descended +from the great Cane della Scala, Prince of Verona, and +from the House of Hapsburg, as you must have heard from +my father.</p> + +<p><i>Montaigne.</i> What signifies it to the world whether the great +Cane was tied to his grandmother or not? As for the House +of Hapsburg, if you could put together as many such houses +as would make up a city larger than Cairo, they would not be +worth his study, or a sheet of paper on the table of it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOCCACCIO_AND_PETRARCA" id="BOCCACCIO_AND_PETRARCA"></a>BOCCACCIO AND PETRARCA</h2> + + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Remaining among us, I doubt not that you would +soon receive the same distinctions in your native country as +others have conferred upon you: indeed, in confidence I may +promise it. For greatly are the Florentines ashamed that the +most elegant of their writers and the most independent of their +citizens lives in exile, by the injustice he had suffered in the +detriment done to his property, through the intemperate +administration of their laws.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Let them recall me soon and honourably: then +perhaps I may assist them to remove their ignominy, which I +carry about with me wherever I go, and which is pointed out +by my exotic laurel.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> There is, and ever will be, in all countries and under +all governments, an ostracism for their greatest men.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> At present we will talk no more about it. To-morrow +I pursue my journey towards Padua, where I am +expected; where some few value and esteem me, honest and +learned and ingenious men; although neither those Transpadane +regions, nor whatever extends beyond them, have yet produced +an equal to Boccaccio.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Then, in the name of friendship, do not go thither!—form +such rather from your fellow-citizens. I love my equals +heartily; and shall love them the better when I see them raised +up here, from our own mother earth, by you.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Let us continue our walk.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> If you have been delighted (and you say you have +been) at seeing again, after so long an absence, the house and +garden wherein I have placed the relaters of my stories, as +reported in the <i>Decameron</i>, come a little way farther up the +ascent, and we will pass through the vineyard on the west of the +villa. You will see presently another on the right, lying in its +warm little garden close to the roadside, the scene lately of +somewhat that would have looked well, as illustration, in the +midst of your Latin reflections. It shows us that people the +most serious and determined may act at last contrariwise to +the line of conduct they have laid down.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Relate it to me, Messer Giovanni; for you are able +to give reality the merits and charms of fiction, just as easily +as you give fiction the semblance, the stature, and the movement +of reality.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I must here forgo such powers, if in good truth I +possess them.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> This long green alley, defended by box and cypresses, +is very pleasant. The smell of box, although not sweet, is more +agreeable to me than many that are: I cannot say from what +resuscitation of early and tender feeling. The cypress, too, +seems to strengthen the nerves of the brain. Indeed, I delight +in the odour of most trees and plants.</p> + +<p>Will not that dog hurt us?—he comes closer.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Dog! thou hast the colours of a magpie and the +tongue of one; prithee be quiet: art thou not ashamed?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Verily he trots off, comforting his angry belly with +his plenteous tail, flattened and bestrewn under it. He looks +back, going on, and puffs out his upper lip without a bark.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> These creatures are more accessible to temperate +and just rebuke than the creatures of our species, usually angry +with less reason, and from no sense, as dogs are, of duty. Look +into that white arcade! Surely it was white the other day; and +now I perceive it is still so: the setting sun tinges it with yellow.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> The house has nothing of either the rustic or the +magnificent about it; nothing quite regular, nothing much +varied. If there is anything at all affecting, as I fear there is, +in the story you are about to tell me, I could wish the edifice +itself bore externally some little of the interesting that I might +hereafter turn my mind toward it, looking out of the catastrophe, +though not away from it. But I do not even find the peculiar +and uncostly decoration of our Tuscan villas: the central turret, +round which the kite perpetually circles in search of pigeons or +smaller prey, borne onward, like the Flemish skater, by effortless +will in motionless progression. The view of Fiesole must be +lovely from that window; but I fancy to myself it loses the +cascade under the single high arch of the Mugnone.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I think so. In this villa—come rather farther +off: the inhabitants of it may hear us, if they should happen +to be in the arbour, as most people are at the present hour of +day—in this villa, Messer Francesco, lives Monna Tita Monalda, +who tenderly loved Amadeo degli Oricellari. She, however, was +reserved and coy; and Father Pietro de’ Pucci, an enemy to +the family of Amadeo, told her nevermore to think of him, +for that, just before he knew her, he had thrown his arm round +the neck of Nunciata Righi, his mother’s maid, calling her most +immodestly a sweet creature, and of a whiteness that marble +would split with envy at.</p> + +<p>Monna Tita trembled and turned pale. ‘Father, is the girl +really so very fair?’ said she anxiously.</p> + +<p>‘Madonna,’ replied the father, ‘after confession she is not +much amiss: white she is, with a certain tint of pink not belonging +to her, but coming over her as through the wing of an angel +pleased at the holy function; and her breath is such, the very +ear smells it: poor, innocent, sinful soul! Hei! The wretch, +Amadeo, would have endangered her salvation.’</p> + +<p>‘She must be a wicked girl to let him,’ said Monna Tita. +‘A young man of good parentage and education would not dare +to do such a thing of his own accord. I will see him no more, +however. But it was before he knew me: and it may not be +true. I cannot think any young woman would let a young man +do so, even in the last hour before Lent. Now in what month +was it supposed to be?’</p> + +<p>‘Supposed to be!’ cried the father indignantly: ‘in June; +I say in June.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh! that now is quite impossible: for on the second of July, +forty-one days from this, and at this very hour of it, he swore +to me eternal love and constancy. I will inquire of him whether +it is true: I will charge him with it.’</p> + +<p>She did. Amadeo confessed his fault, and, thinking it a +venial one, would have taken and kissed her hand as he asked +forgiveness.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Children! children! I will go into the house, and if +their relatives, as I suppose, have approved of the marriage, +I will endeavour to persuade the young lady that a fault like +this, on the repentance of her lover, is not unpardonable. But +first, is Amadeo a young man of loose habits?</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Less than our others: in fact, I never heard of any +deviation, excepting this.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Come, then, with me.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Wait a little.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I hope the modest Tita, after a trial, will not be too +severe with him.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Severity is far from her nature; but, such is her +purity and innocence, she shed many and bitter tears at his +confession, and declared her unalterable determination of taking +the veil among the nuns of Fiesole. Amadeo fell at her feet, +and wept upon them. She pushed him from her gently, and +told him she would still love him if he would follow her example, +leave the world, and become a friar of San Marco. Amadeo +was speechless; and, if he had not been so, he never would have +made a promise he intended to violate. She retired from him. +After a time he arose, less wounded than benumbed by the sharp +uncovered stones in the garden-walk; and, as a man who fears +to fall from a precipice goes farther from it than is necessary, +so did Amadeo shun the quarter where the gate is, and, oppressed +by his agony and despair, throw his arms across the sundial +and rest his brow upon it, hot as it must have been on a cloudless +day in August. When the evening was about to close, he was +aroused by the cries of rooks overhead; they flew towards +Florence, and beyond; he, too, went back into the city.</p> + +<p>Tita fell sick from her inquietude. Every morning ere sunrise +did Amadeo return; but could hear only from the labourers +in the field that Monna Tita was ill, because she had promised +to take the veil and had not taken it, knowing, as she must do, +that the heavenly bridegroom is a bridegroom never to be +trifled with, let the spouse be young and beautiful as she may be. +Amadeo had often conversed with the peasant of the farm, +who much pitied so worthy and loving a gentleman; and, finding +him one evening fixing some thick and high stakes in the ground, +offered to help him. After due thanks, ‘It is time,’ said the +peasant, ‘to rebuild the hovel and watch the grapes.’</p> + +<p>‘This is my house,’ cried he. ‘Could I never, in my stupidity, +think about rebuilding it before? Bring me another mat or +two: I will sleep here to-night, to-morrow night, every night, +all autumn, all winter.’</p> + +<p>He slept there, and was consoled at last by hearing that +Monna Tita was out of danger, and recovering from her illness +by spiritual means. His heart grew lighter day after day. +Every evening did he observe the rooks, in the same order, +pass along the same track in the heavens, just over San Marco; +and it now occurred to him, after three weeks, indeed, that +Monna Tita had perhaps some strange idea, in choosing his +monastery, not unconnected with the passage of these birds. +He grew calmer upon it, until he asked himself whether he might +hope. In the midst of this half-meditation, half-dream, his +whole frame was shaken by the voices, however low and gentle, +of two monks, coming from the villa and approaching him. He +would have concealed himself under this bank whereon we are +standing; but they saw him, and called him by name. He now +perceived that the younger of them was Guiberto Oddi, with +whom he had been at school about six or seven years ago, and +who admired him for his courage and frankness when he was +almost a child.</p> + +<p>‘Do not let us mortify poor Amadeo,’ said Guiberto to his +companion. ‘Return to the road: I will speak a few words to +him, and engage him (I trust) to comply with reason and yield +to necessity.’ The elder monk, who saw he should have to +climb the hill again, assented to the proposal, and went into the +road. After the first embraces and few words, ‘Amadeo! +Amadeo!’ said Guiberto, ‘it was love that made me a friar; +let anything else make you one.’</p> + +<p>‘Kind heart!’ replied Amadeo. ‘If death or religion, or hatred +of me, deprives me of Tita Monalda, I will die, where she commanded +me, in the cowl. It is you who prepare her, then, to +throw away her life and mine!’</p> + +<p>‘Hold! Amadeo!’ said Guiberto, ‘I officiate together with good +Father Fontesecco, who invariably falls asleep amid our holy +function.’</p> + +<p>Now, Messer Francesco, I must inform you that Father +Fontesecco has the heart of a flower. It feels nothing, it wants +nothing; it is pure and simple, and full of its own little light. +Innocent as a child, as an angel, nothing ever troubled him but +how to devise what he should confess. A confession costs him +more trouble to invent than any Giornata in my <i>Decameron</i> +cost me. He was once overheard to say on this occasion, +‘God forgive me in His infinite mercy, for making it appear +that I am a little worse than He has chosen I should be!’ He is +temperate; for he never drinks more than exactly half the wine +and water set before him. In fact, he drinks the wine and +leaves the water, saying: ‘We have the same water up at San +Domenico; we send it hither: it would be uncivil to take back +our own gift, and still more to leave a suspicion that we thought +other people’s wine poor beverage.’ Being afflicted by the gravel, +the physician of his convent advised him, as he never was fond +of wine, to leave it off entirely; on which he said, ‘I know few +things; but this I know well—in water there is often gravel, +in wine never. It hath pleased God to afflict me, and even to +go a little out of His way in order to do it, for the greater warning +to other sinners. I will drink wine, brother Anselmini, and help +His work.’</p> + +<p>I have led you away from the younger monk.</p> + +<p>‘While Father Fontesecco is in the first stage of beatitude, +chanting through his nose the <i>Benedicite</i>, I will attempt,’ said +Guiberto, ‘to comfort Monna Tita.’</p> + +<p>‘Good, blessed Guiberto!’ exclaimed Amadeo in a transport +of gratitude, at which Guiberto smiled with his usual grace +and suavity. ‘O Guiberto! Guiberto! my heart is breaking. +Why should she want you to comfort her?—but—comfort her +then!’ and he covered his face within his hands.</p> + +<p>‘Remember,’ said Guiberto placidly, ‘her uncle is bedridden; +her aunt never leaves him; the servants are old and sullen, and +will stir for nobody. Finding her resolved, as they believe, to +become a nun, they are little assiduous in their services. +Humour her, if none else does, Amadeo; let her fancy that you +intend to be a friar; and, for the present, walk not on these +grounds.’</p> + +<p>‘Are you true, or are you traitorous?’ cried Amadeo, grasping +his friend’s hand most fiercely.</p> + +<p>‘Follow your own counsel, if you think mine insincere,’ said +the young friar, not withdrawing his hand, but placing the other +on Amadeo’s. ‘Let me, however, advise you to conceal yourself; +and I will direct Silvestrina to bring you such accounts of her +mistress as may at least make you easy in regard to her health. +Adieu.’</p> + +<p>Amadeo was now rather tranquil; more than he had ever +been, not only since the displeasure of Monna Tita, but since the +first sight of her. Profuse at all times in his gratitude to +Silvestrina, whenever she brought him good news, news better +than usual, he pressed her to his bosom. Silvestrina Pioppi +is about fifteen, slender, fresh, intelligent, lively, good-humoured, +sensitive; and any one but Amadeo might call her very pretty.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Ah, Giovanni! here I find your heart obtaining the +mastery over your vivid and volatile imagination. Well have +you said, the maiden being really pretty, any one but Amadeo +might think her so. On the banks of the Sorga there are +beautiful maids; the woods and the rocks have a thousand times +repeated it. I heard but one echo; I heard but one name: I +would have fled from them for ever at another.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Francesco, do not beat your breast just now: +wait a little. Monna Tita would take the veil. The fatal +certainty was announced to Amadeo by his true Guiberto, +who had earnestly and repeatedly prayed her to consider the +thing a few months longer.</p> + +<p>‘I will see her first! By all the saints of heaven I will see +her!’ cried the desperate Amadeo, and ran into the house, +toward the still apartment of his beloved. Fortunately Guiberto +was neither less active nor less strong than he, and overtaking +him at the moment, drew him into the room opposite. +‘If you will be quiet and reasonable, there is yet a possibility +left you,’ said Guiberto in his ear, although perhaps he did not +think it. ‘But if you utter a voice or are seen by any one, you +ruin the fame of her you love, and obstruct your own prospects +for ever. It being known that you have not slept in Florence +these several nights, it will be suspected by the malicious that +you have slept in the villa with the connivance of Monna Tita. +Compose yourself; answer nothing; rest where you are: do not +add a worse imprudence to a very bad one. I promise you my +assistance, my speedy return, and best counsel: you shall be +released at daybreak.’ He ordered Silvestrina to supply the +unfortunate youth with the cordials usually administered to +the uncle, or with the rich old wine they were made of; and she +performed the order with such promptitude and attention, +that he was soon in some sort refreshed.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I pity him from my innermost heart, poor young +man! Alas, we are none of us, by original sin, free from +infirmities or from vices.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> If we could find a man exempt by nature from +vices and infirmities, we should find one not worth knowing: +he would also be void of tenderness and compassion. What +allowances then could his best friends expect from him in their +frailties? What help, consolation, and assistance in their +misfortunes? We are in the midst of a workshop well stored +with sharp instruments: we may do ill with many, unless we +take heed; and good with all, if we will but learn how to employ +them.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> There is somewhat of reason in this. You +strengthen me to proceed with you: I can bear the rest.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Guiberto had taken leave of his friend, and had +advanced a quarter of a mile, which (as you perceive) is nearly +the whole way, on his return to the monastery, when he was +overtaken by some peasants who were hastening homeward +from Florence. The information he collected from them made +him determine to retrace his steps. He entered the room again, +and, from the intelligence he had just acquired, gave Amadeo +the assurance that Monna Tita must delay her entrance into +the convent; for that the abbess had that moment gone down +the hill on her way toward Siena to venerate some holy relics, +carrying with her three candles, each five feet long, to burn +before them; which candles contained many particles of the +myrrh presented at the Nativity of our Saviour by the Wise +Men of the East. Amadeo breathed freely, and was persuaded +by Guiberto to take another cup of old wine, and to eat with +him some cold roast kid, which had been offered him for +<i>merenda</i>. After the agitation of his mind a heavy sleep fell +upon the lover, coming almost before Guiberto departed: so +heavy indeed that Silvestrina was alarmed. It was her apartment; +and she performed the honours of it as well as any lady in +Florence could have done.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I easily believe it: the poor are more attentive than +the rich, and the young are more compassionate than the old.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> O Francesco! what inconsistent creatures are we!</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> True, indeed! I now foresee the end. He might +have done worse.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I think so.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> He almost deserved it.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I think that too.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Wretched mortals! our passions for ever lead us +into this, or worse.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Ay, truly; much worse generally.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> The very twig on which the flowers grew lately +scourges us to the bone in its maturity.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Incredible will it be to you, and, by my faith, to +me it was hardly credible. Certain, however, is it that Guiberto +on his return by sunrise found Amadeo in the arms of sleep.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Not at all, not at all: the truest lover might suffer +and act as he did.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> But, Francesco, there was another pair of arms +about him, worth twenty such, divinity as he is. A loud burst +of laughter from Guiberto did not arouse either of the parties; +but Monna Tita heard it, and rushed into the room, tearing her +hair, and invoking the saints of heaven against the perfidy of +man. She seized Silvestrina by that arm which appeared the +most offending: the girl opened her eyes, turned on her face, +rolled out of bed, and threw herself at the feet of her mistress, +shedding tears, and wiping them away with the only piece of +linen about her. Monna Tita too shed tears. Amadeo still +slept profoundly; a flush, almost of crimson, overspreading his +cheeks. Monna Tita led away, after some pause, poor Silvestrina, +and made her confess the whole. She then wept more +and more, and made the girl confess it again, and explain her +confession. ‘I cannot believe such wickedness,’ she cried: +‘he could not be so hardened. O sinful Silvestrina! how will +you ever tell Father Doni one half, one quarter? He never can +absolve you.’</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Giovanni, I am glad I did not enter the house; you +were prudent in restraining me. I have no pity for the youth +at all: never did one so deserve to lose a mistress.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Say, rather, to gain a wife.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Absurdity! impossibility!</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> He won her fairly; strangely, and on a strange +table, as he played his game. Listen! that guitar is Monna +Tita’s. Listen! what a fine voice (do not you think it?) is +Amadeo’s.</p> + +<p><i>Amadeo.</i> [<i>Singing.</i>]</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Oh, I have err’d!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I laid my hand upon the nest</span><br /> +<span class="i0">(Tita, I sigh to sing the rest)</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Of the wrong bird.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> She laughs too at it! Ah! Monna Tita was made by +nature to live on this side of Fiesole.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOSSUET_AND_THE_DUCHESS_DE_FONTANGES" id="BOSSUET_AND_THE_DUCHESS_DE_FONTANGES"></a>BOSSUET AND THE DUCHESS DE FONTANGES</h2> + + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Mademoiselle, it is the king’s desire that I compliment +you on the elevation you have attained.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> O monseigneur, I know very well what you mean. +His Majesty is kind and polite to everybody. The last thing +he said to me was, ‘Angélique! do not forget to compliment +Monseigneur the bishop on the dignity I have conferred upon +him, of almoner to the dauphiness. I desired the appointment +for him only that he might be of rank sufficient to confess, now +you are duchess. Let him be your confessor, my little girl.’</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> I dare not presume to ask you, mademoiselle, what +was your gracious reply to the condescension of our royal master.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> Oh, yes! you may. I told him I was almost sure +I should be ashamed of confessing such naughty things to a +person of high rank, who writes like an angel.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> The observation was inspired, mademoiselle, by your +goodness and modesty.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> You are so agreeable a man, monseigneur, I +will confess to you, directly, if you like.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Have you brought yourself to a proper frame of +mind, young lady?</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> What is that?</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Do you hate sin?</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> Very much.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Are you resolved to leave it off?</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> I have left it off entirely since the king began to +love me. I have never said a spiteful word of anybody since.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> In your opinion, mademoiselle, are there no other +sins than malice?</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> I never stole anything; I never committed +adultery; I never coveted my neighbour’s wife; I never killed +any person, though several have told me they should die for me.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Vain, idle talk! Did you listen to it?</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> Indeed I did, with both ears; it seemed so funny.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> You have something to answer for, then.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> No, indeed, I have not, monseigneur. I have +asked many times after them, and found they were all alive, +which mortified me.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> So, then! you would really have them die for you?</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> Oh, no, no! but I wanted to see whether they were +in earnest, or told me fibs; for, if they told me fibs, I would +never trust them again.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Do you hate the world, mademoiselle?</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> A good deal of it: all Picardy, for example, and +all Sologne; nothing is uglier—and, oh my life! what frightful +men and women!</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> I would say, in plain language, do you hate the flesh +and the devil?</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> Who does not hate the devil? If you will hold +my hand the while, I will tell him so. I hate you, beast! There +now. As for flesh, I never could bear a fat man. Such people +can neither dance nor hunt, nor do anything that I know of.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Mademoiselle Marie-Angélique de Scoraille de +Rousille, Duchess de Fontanges! do you hate titles and +dignities and yourself?</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> Myself! does any one hate me? Why should I +be the first? Hatred is the worst thing in the world: it makes +one so very ugly.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> To love God, we must hate ourselves. We must +detest our bodies, if we would save our souls.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> That is hard: how can I do it? I see nothing so +detestable in mine. Do you? To love is easier. I love God +whenever I think of Him, He has been so very good to me; but +I cannot hate myself, if I would. As God hath not hated me, +why should I? Beside, it was He who made the king to love me; +for I heard you say in a sermon that the hearts of kings are in +His rule and governance. As for titles and dignities, I do not +care much about them while his Majesty loves me, and calls +me his Angélique. They make people more civil about us; and +therefore it must be a simpleton who hates or disregards them, +and a hypocrite who pretends it. I am glad to be a duchess. +Manon and Lisette have never tied my garter so as to hurt me +since, nor has the mischievous old La Grange said anything cross +or bold: on the contrary, she told me what a fine colour and +what a plumpness it gave me. Would not you rather be a +duchess than a waiting-maid or a nun, if the king gave you +your choice?</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Pardon me, mademoiselle, I am confounded at the +levity of your question.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> I am in earnest, as you see.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Flattery will come before you in other and more +dangerous forms: you will be commended for excellences +which do not belong to you; and this you will find as injurious +to your repose as to your virtue. An ingenuous mind feels in +unmerited praise the bitterest reproof. If you reject it, you +are unhappy; if you accept it, you are undone. The compliments +of a king are of themselves sufficient to pervert your +intellect.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> There you are mistaken twice over. It is not +my person that pleases him so greatly: it is my spirit, my wit, +my talents, my genius, and that very thing which you have +mentioned—what was it? my intellect. He never complimented +me the least upon my beauty. Others have said that +I am the most beautiful young creature under heaven; a blossom +of Paradise, a nymph, an angel; worth (let me whisper it in +your ear—do I lean too hard?) a thousand Montespans. But +his Majesty never said more on the occasion than that I was +<i>imparagonable!</i> (what is that?) and that he adored me; holding +my hand and sitting quite still, when he might have romped +with me and kissed me.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> I would aspire to the glory of converting you.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> You may do anything with me but convert me: +you must not do that; I am a Catholic born. M. de Turenne +and Mademoiselle de Duras were heretics: you did right there. +The king told the chancellor that he prepared them, that the +business was arranged for you, and that you had nothing to +do but get ready the arguments and responses, which you did +gallantly—did not you? And yet Mademoiselle de Duras was +very awkward for a long while afterwards in crossing herself, +and was once remarked to beat her breast in the litany with the +points of two fingers at a time, when every one is taught to use +only the second, whether it has a ring upon it or not. I am +sorry she did so; for people might think her insincere in her +conversion, and pretend that she kept a finger for each religion.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> It would be as uncharitable to doubt the conviction +of Mademoiselle de Duras as that of M. le Maréchal.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> I have heard some fine verses, I can assure you, +monseigneur, in which you are called the conqueror of Turenne. +I should like to have been his conqueror myself, he was so great +a man. I understand that you have lately done a much more +difficult thing.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> To what do you refer, mademoiselle?</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> That you have overcome quietism. Now, in the +name of wonder, how could you manage that?</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> By the grace of God.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> Yes, indeed; but never until now did God give +any preacher so much of His grace as to subdue this pest.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> It has appeared among us but lately.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> Oh, dear me! I have always been subject to it +dreadfully, from a child.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Really! I never heard so.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> I checked myself as well as I could, although they +constantly told me I looked well in it.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> In what, mademoiselle?</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> In quietism; that is, when I fell asleep at sermon +time. I am ashamed that such a learned and pious man as +M. de Fénelon should incline to it,<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> as they say he does.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Mademoiselle, you quite mistake the matter.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> Is not then M. de Fénelon thought a very pious +and learned person?</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> And justly.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> I have read a great way in a romance he has +begun, about a knight-errant in search of a father. The king +says there are many such about his court; but I never saw them +nor heard of them before. The Marchioness de la Motte, his +relative, brought it to me, written out in a charming hand, as +much as the copy-book would hold; and I got through, I know +not how far. If he had gone on with the nymphs in the grotto, +I never should have been tired of him; but he quite forgot his +own story, and left them at once; in a hurry (I suppose) to set +out upon his mission to Saintonge in the <i>pays de d’Aunis</i>, where +the king has promised him a famous <i>heretic hunt</i>. He is, I do +assure you, a wonderful creature: he understands so much Latin +and Greek, and knows all the tricks of the sorceresses. Yet +you keep him under.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Mademoiselle, if you really have anything to confess, +and if you desire that I should have the honour of absolving you, +it would be better to proceed in it, than to oppress me with +unmerited eulogies on my humble labours.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> You must first direct me, monseigneur: I have +nothing particular. The king assures me there is no harm whatever +in his love toward me.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> That depends on your thoughts at the moment. +If you abstract the mind from the body, and turn your heart +toward Heaven——</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> O monseigneur, I always did so—every time but +once—you quite make me blush. Let us converse about something +else, or I shall grow too serious, just as you made me the +other day at the funeral sermon. And now let me tell you, +my lord, you compose such pretty funeral sermons, I hope I +shall have the pleasure of hearing you preach mine.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Rather let us hope, mademoiselle, that the hour +is yet far distant when so melancholy a service will be performed +for you. May he who is unborn be the sad announcer of your +departure hence!<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> May he indicate to those around him many +virtues not perhaps yet full-blown in you, and point triumphantly +to many faults and foibles checked by you in their +early growth, and lying dead on the open road, you shall have +left behind you! To me the painful duty will, I trust, be spared: +I am advanced in age; you are a child.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> Oh, no! I am seventeen.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> I should have supposed you younger by two years +at least. But do you collect nothing from your own reflection, +which raises so many in my breast? You think it possible +that I, aged as I am, may preach a sermon at your funeral. +We say that our days are few; and saying it, we say too much. +Marie-Angélique, we have but one: the past are not ours, and +who can promise us the future? This in which we live is ours +only while we live in it; the next moment may strike it off from +us; the next sentence I would utter may be broken and fall +between us.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> The beauty that has made a thousand hearts +to beat at one instant, at the succeeding has been without pulse +and colour, without admirer, friend, companion, follower. She +by whose eyes the march of victory shall have been directed, +whose name shall have animated armies at the extremities +of the earth, drops into one of its crevices and mingles with its +dust. Duchess de Fontanges! think on this! Lady! so live +as to think on it undisturbed!</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> O God! I am quite alarmed. Do not talk thus +gravely. It is in vain that you speak to me in so sweet a voice. +I am frightened even at the rattle of the beads about my neck: +take them off, and let us talk on other things. What was it +that dropped on the floor as you were speaking? It seemed to +shake the room, though it sounded like a pin or button.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Leave it there!</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> Your ring fell from your hand, my lord bishop! +How quick you are! Could not you have trusted me to pick +it up?</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Madame is too condescending: had this happened, +I should have been overwhelmed with confusion. My hand is +shrivelled: the ring has ceased to fit it. A mere accident may +draw us into perdition; a mere accident may bestow on us the +means of grace. A pebble has moved you more than my words.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> It pleases me vastly: I admire rubies. I will +ask the king for one exactly like it. This is the time he usually +comes from the chase. I am sorry you cannot be present to +hear how prettily I shall ask him: but that is impossible, you +know; for I shall do it just when I am certain he would give me +anything. He said so himself: he said but yesterday—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">‘Such a sweet creature is worth a world’:</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>and no actor on the stage was more like a king than his Majesty +was when he spoke it, if he had but kept his wig and robe on. +And yet you know he is rather stiff and wrinkled for so great a +monarch; and his eyes, I am afraid, are beginning to fail him, +he looks so close at things.</p> + +<p><i>Bossuet.</i> Mademoiselle, such is the duty of a prince who desires +to conciliate our regard and love.</p> + +<p><i>Fontanges.</i> Well, I think so, too, though I did not like it in +him at first. I am sure he will order the ring for me, and I will +confess to you with it upon my finger. But first I must be +cautious and particular to know of him how much it is his royal +will that I should say.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The opinions of Molinos on Mysticism and Quietism had begun to +spread abroad; but Fénelon, who had acquired already a very high celebrity +for eloquence, had not yet written on the subject. We may well suppose +that Bossuet was among the earliest assailants of a system which he +afterward attacked so vehemently.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Bossuet was in his fifty-fourth year; Mademoiselle de Fontanges died in +child-bed the year following: he survived her twenty-three years.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Though Bossuet was capable of uttering and even of feeling such a +sentiment, his conduct towards Fénelon, the fairest apparition that +Christianity ever presented, was ungenerous and unjust.</p> + +<p>While the diocese of Cambray was ravaged by Louis, it was spared by +Marlborough; who said to the archbishop that, if he was sorry he had +not taken Cambray, it was chiefly because he lost for a time the pleasure +of visiting so great a man. Peterborough, the next of our generals in glory, +paid his respects to him some years afterward.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="JOHN_OF_GAUNT_AND_JOANNA_OF_KENT" id="JOHN_OF_GAUNT_AND_JOANNA_OF_KENT"></a>JOHN OF GAUNT AND JOANNA OF KENT</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Joanna, called the Fair Maid of Kent, was cousin of the Black Prince, +whom she married. John of Gaunt was suspected of aiming at the crown +in the beginning of Richard’s minority, which, increasing the hatred of +the people against him for favouring the sect of Wickliffe, excited them +to demolish his house and to demand his impeachment.</i></p></div> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> How is this, my cousin, that you are besieged in +your own house by the citizens of London? I thought you were +their idol.</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> If their idol, madam, I am one which they may tread +on as they list when down; but which, by my soul and knighthood! +the ten best battle-axes among them shall find it hard +work to unshrine.</p> + +<p>Pardon me: I have no right, perhaps, to take or touch this +hand; yet, my sister, bricks and stones and arrows are not +presents fit for you. Let me conduct you some paces hence.</p> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> I will speak to those below in the street. Quit my +hand: they shall obey me.</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> If you intend to order my death, madam, your guards +who have entered my court, and whose spurs and halberts I +hear upon the staircase, may overpower my domestics; and, +seeing no such escape as becomes my dignity, I submit to you. +Behold my sword and gauntlet at your feet! Some formalities, +I trust, will be used in the proceedings against me. Entitle me, +in my attainder, not John of Gaunt, not Duke of Lancaster, +not King of Castile; nor commemorate my father, the most +glorious of princes, the vanquisher and pardoner of the most +powerful; nor style me, what those who loved or who flattered +me did when I was happier, cousin to the Fair Maid of Kent. +Joanna, those days are over! But no enemy, no law, no +eternity can take away from me, or move further off, my +affinity in blood to the conqueror in the field of Crecy, of Poitiers, +and Najera. Edward was my brother when he was but your +cousin; and the edge of my shield has clinked on his in many a +battle. Yes, we were ever near—if not in worth, in danger. +She weeps.</p> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> Attainder! God avert it! Duke of Lancaster, what +dark thought—alas! that the Regency should have known it! +I came hither, sir, for no such purpose as to ensnare or incriminate +or alarm you.</p> + +<p>These weeds might surely have protected me from the fresh +tears you have drawn forth.</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> Sister, be comforted! this visor, too, has felt them.</p> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> O my Edward! my own so lately! Thy memory—thy +beloved image—which never hath abandoned me, makes +me bold: I dare not say ‘generous’; for in saying it I should +cease to be so—and who could be called generous by the side +of thee? I will rescue from perdition the enemy of my son.</p> + +<p>Cousin, you loved your brother. Love, then, what was +dearer to him than his life: protect what he, valiant as you +have seen him, cannot! The father, who foiled so many, hath +left no enemies; the innocent child, who can injure no one, +finds them!</p> + +<p>Why have you unlaced and laid aside your visor? Do not +expose your body to those missiles. Hold your shield before +yourself, and step aside. I need it not. I am resolved——</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> On what, my cousin? Speak, and, by the saints! +it shall be done. This breast is your shield; this arm is mine.</p> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> Heavens! who could have hurled those masses of +stone from below? they stunned me. Did they descend all +of them together; or did they split into fragments on hitting +the pavement?</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> Truly, I was not looking that way: they came, I +must believe, while you were speaking.</p> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> Aside, aside! further back! disregard <i>me</i>! Look! +that last arrow sticks half its head deep in the wainscot. It +shook so violently I did not see the feather at first.</p> + +<p>No, no, Lancaster! I will not permit it. Take your shield +up again; and keep it all before you. Now step aside: I am +resolved to prove whether the people will hear me.</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> Then, madam, by your leave——</p> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> Hold!</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> Villains! take back to your kitchens those spits and +skewers that you, forsooth, would fain call swords and arrows; +and keep your bricks and stones for your graves!</p> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> Imprudent man! who can save you? I shall be +frightened: I must speak at once.</p> + +<p>O good kind people! ye who so greatly loved me, when I +am sure I had done nothing to deserve it, have I (unhappy +me!) no merit with you now, when I would assuage your anger, +protect your fair fame, and send you home contented with +yourselves and me? Who is he, worthy citizens, whom ye would +drag to slaughter?</p> + +<p>True, indeed, he did revile someone. Neither I nor you can +say whom—some feaster and rioter, it seems, who had little +right (he thought) to carry sword or bow, and who, to show it, +hath slunk away. And then another raised his anger: he was +indignant that, under his roof, a woman should be exposed to +stoning. Which of you would not be as choleric in a like affront? +In the house of which among you should I not be protected +as resolutely?</p> + +<p>No, no: I never can believe those angry cries. Let none ever +tell me again he is the enemy of my son, of his king, your darling +child, Richard. Are your fears more lively than a poor weak +female’s? than a mother’s? yours, whom he hath so often led +to victory, and praised to his father, naming each—he, John of +Gaunt, the defender of the helpless, the comforter of the desolate, +the rallying signal of the desperately brave!</p> + +<p>Retire, Duke of Lancaster! This is no time——</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> Madam, I obey; but not through terror of that puddle +at the house door, which my handful of dust would dry up. +Deign to command me!</p> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> In the name of my son, then, retire!</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> Angelic goodness! I must fairly win it.</p> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> I think I know his voice that crieth out: ‘Who will +answer for him?’ An honest and loyal man’s, one who would +counsel and save me in any difficulty and danger. With what +pleasure and satisfaction, with what perfect joy and confidence, +do I answer our right-trusty and well-judging friend!</p> + +<p>‘Let Lancaster bring his sureties,’ say you, ‘and we separate.’ +A moment yet before we separate; if I might delay you so long, +to receive your sanction of those securities: for, in such grave +matters, it would ill become us to be over-hasty. I could bring +fifty, I could bring a hundred, not from among soldiers, not from +among courtiers; but selected from yourselves, were it equitable +and fair to show such partialities, or decorous in the parent and +guardian of a king to offer any other than herself.</p> + +<p>Raised by the hand of the Almighty from amidst you, but still +one of you, if the mother of a family is a part of it, here I stand +surety for John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, for his loyalty +and allegiance.</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> [<i>Running back toward Joanna.</i>] Are the rioters, then, +bursting into the chamber through the windows?</p> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> The windows and doors of this solid edifice rattled +and shook at the people’s acclamation. My word is given for +you: this was theirs in return. Lancaster! what a voice have +the people when they speak out! It shakes me with astonishment, +almost with consternation, while it establishes the throne: +what must it be when it is lifted up in vengeance!</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> Wind; vapour——</p> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> Which none can wield nor hold. Need I say this +to my cousin of Lancaster?</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> Rather say, madam, that there is always one star +above which can tranquillize and control them.</p> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> Go, cousin! another time more sincerity!</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> You have this day saved my life from the people; +for I now see my danger better, when it is no longer close before +me. My Christ! if ever I forget——</p> + +<p><i>Joanna.</i> Swear not: every man in England hath sworn what +you would swear. But if you abandon my Richard, my brave +and beautiful child, may—Oh! I could never curse, nor wish +an evil; but, if you desert him in the hour of need, you will +think of those who have not deserted you, and your own great +heart will lie heavy on you, Lancaster!</p> + +<p>Am I graver than I ought to be, that you look dejected? +Come, then, gentle cousin, lead me to my horse, and accompany +me home. Richard will embrace us tenderly. Every one is +dear to every other upon rising out fresh from peril; affectionately +then will he look, sweet boy, upon his mother and his +uncle! Never mind how many questions he may ask you, nor +how strange ones. His only displeasure, if he has any, will +be that he stood not against the rioters or among them.</p> + +<p><i>Gaunt.</i> Older than he have been as fond of mischief, and as +fickle in the choice of a party.</p> + +<p>I shall tell him that, coming to blows, the assailant is often +in the right; that the assailed is always.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="LEOFRIC_AND_GODIVA" id="LEOFRIC_AND_GODIVA"></a>LEOFRIC AND GODIVA</h2> + + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> There is a dearth in the land, my sweet Leofric! +Remember how many weeks of drought we have had, even in +the deep pastures of Leicestershire; and how many Sundays we +have heard the same prayers for rain, and supplications that +it would please the Lord in His mercy to turn aside His anger +from the poor, pining cattle. You, my dear husband, have +imprisoned more than one malefactor for leaving his dead ox +in the public way; and other hinds have fled before you out of +the traces, in which they, and their sons and their daughters, +and haply their old fathers and mothers, were dragging the +abandoned wain homeward. Although we were accompanied +by many brave spearmen and skilful archers, it was perilous to +pass the creatures which the farmyard dogs, driven from the +hearth by the poverty of their masters, were tearing and devouring; +while others, bitten and lamed, filled the air either with +long and deep howls or sharp and quick barkings, as they +struggled with hunger and feebleness, or were exasperated by +heat and pain. Nor could the thyme from the heath, nor the +bruised branches of the fir-tree, extinguish or abate the foul odour.</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> And now, Godiva, my darling, thou art afraid we +should be eaten up before we enter the gates of Coventry; or +perchance that in the gardens there are no roses to greet thee, +no sweet herbs for thy mat and pillow.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> Leofric, I have no such fears. This is the month +of roses: I find them everywhere since my blessed marriage. +They, and all other sweet herbs, I know not why, seem to greet +me wherever I look at them, as though they knew and expected +me. Surely they cannot feel that I am fond of them.</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> O light, laughing simpleton! But what wouldst +thou? I came not hither to pray; and yet if praying would +satisfy thee, or remove the drought, I would ride up straightway +to Saint Michael’s and pray until morning.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> I would do the same, O Leofric! but God hath turned +away His ear from holier lips than mine. Would my own dear +husband hear me, if I implored him for what is easier to accomplish—what +he can do like God?</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> How! what is it?</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> I would not, in the first hurry of your wrath, appeal +to you, my loving lord, on behalf of these unhappy men who +have offended you.</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> Unhappy! is that all?</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> Unhappy they must surely be, to have offended you +so grievously. What a soft air breathes over us! how quiet +and serene and still an evening! how calm are the heavens and +the earth! Shall none enjoy them; not even we, my Leofric? +The sun is ready to set: let it never set, O Leofric, on your anger. +These are not my words: they are better than mine. Should +they lose their virtue from my unworthiness in uttering them?</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> Godiva, wouldst thou plead to me for rebels?</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> They have, then, drawn the sword against you? +Indeed, I knew it not.</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> They have omitted to send me my dues, established +by my ancestors, well knowing of our nuptials, and of the +charges and festivities they require, and that in a season of such +scarcity my own lands are insufficient.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> If they were starving, as they said they were——</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> Must I starve too? Is it not enough to lose my +vassals?</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> Enough! O God! too much! too much! May you +never lose them! Give them life, peace, comfort, contentment. +There are those among them who kissed me in my infancy, +and who blessed me at the baptismal font. Leofric, Leofric! +the first old man I meet I shall think is one of those; and I shall +think on the blessing he gave, and (ah me!) on the blessing I +bring back to him. My heart will bleed, will burst; and he will +weep at it! he will weep, poor soul, for the wife of a cruel lord +who denounces vengeance on him, who carries death into his +family!</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> We must hold solemn festivals.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> We must, indeed.</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> Well, then?</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> Is the clamorousness that succeeds the death of +God’s dumb creatures, are crowded halls, are slaughtered cattle +festivals?—are maddening songs, and giddy dances, and hireling +praises from parti-coloured coats? Can the voice of a +minstrel tell us better things of ourselves than our own internal +one might tell us; or can his breath make our breath softer in +sleep? O my beloved! let everything be a joyance to us: it +will, if we will. Sad is the day, and worse must follow, when +we hear the blackbird in the garden, and do not throb with joy. +But, Leofric, the high festival is strown by the servant of God +upon the heart of man. It is gladness, it is thanksgiving; it +is the orphan, the starveling, pressed to the bosom, and bidden +as its first commandment to remember its benefactor. We will +hold this festival; the guests are ready: we may keep it up for +weeks, and months, and years together, and always be the +happier and the richer for it. The beverage of this feast, O +Leofric, is sweeter than bee or flower or vine can give us: it +flows from heaven; and in heaven will it abundantly be poured +out again to him who pours it out here abundantly.</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> Thou art wild.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> I have, indeed, lost myself. Some Power, some good +kind Power, melts me (body and soul and voice) into tenderness +and love. O my husband, we must obey it. Look upon me! +look upon me! lift your sweet eyes from the ground! I will not +cease to supplicate; I dare not.</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> We may think upon it.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> Oh, never say that! What! think upon goodness +when you can be good? Let not the infants cry for sustenance! +The Mother of Our Blessed Lord will hear them; us never, +never afterward.</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> Here comes the bishop: we are but one mile from the +walls. Why dismountest thou? no bishop can expect this. +Godiva! my honour and rank among men are humbled by this. +Earl Godwin will hear of it. Up! up! the bishop hath seen it: +he urgeth his horse onward. Dost thou not hear him now upon +the solid turf behind thee?</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> Never, no, never will I rise, O Leofric, until you remit +this most impious task—this tax on hard labour, on hard life.</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> Turn round: look how the fat nag canters, as to the +tune of a sinner’s psalm, slow and hard-breathing. What reason +or right can the people have to complain, while their bishop’s +steed is so sleek and well caparisoned? Inclination to change, +desire to abolish old usages. Up! up! for shame! They shall +smart for it, idlers! Sir Bishop, I must blush for my young +bride.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> My husband, my husband! will you pardon the city?</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> Sir Bishop! I could think you would have seen her +in this plight. Will I pardon? Yea, Godiva, by the holy rood, +will I pardon the city, when thou ridest naked at noontide +through the streets!</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> O my dear, cruel Leofric, where is the heart you gave +me? It was not so: can mine have hardened it?</p> + +<p><i>Bishop.</i> Earl, thou abashest thy spouse; she turneth pale, +and weepeth. Lady Godiva, peace be with thee.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> Thanks, holy man! peace will be with me when peace +is with your city. Did you hear my lord’s cruel word?</p> + +<p><i>Bishop.</i> I did, lady.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> Will you remember it, and pray against it?</p> + +<p><i>Bishop.</i> Wilt <i>thou</i> forget it, daughter?</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> I am not offended.</p> + +<p><i>Bishop.</i> Angel of peace and purity!</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> But treasure it up in your heart: deem it an incense, +good only when it is consumed and spent, ascending with prayer +and sacrifice. And, now, what was it?</p> + +<p><i>Bishop.</i> Christ save us! that He will pardon the city when +thou ridest naked through the streets at noon.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> Did he swear an oath?</p> + +<p><i>Bishop.</i> He sware by the holy rood.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> My Redeemer, Thou hast heard it! save the city!</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> We are now upon the beginning of the pavement: +these are the suburbs. Let us think of feasting: we may pray +afterward; to-morrow we shall rest.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> No judgments, then, to-morrow, Leofric?</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> None: we will carouse.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> The saints of heaven have given me strength and +confidence; my prayers are heard; the heart of my beloved is +now softened.</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> Ay, ay.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> Say, dearest Leofric, is there indeed no other hope, +no other mediation?</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> I have sworn. Beside, thou hast made me redden +and turn my face away from thee, and all the knaves have seen +it: this adds to the city’s crime.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> I have blushed, too, Leofric, and was not rash nor +obdurate.</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> But thou, my sweetest, art given to blushing: there +is no conquering it in thee. I wish thou hadst not alighted so +hastily and roughly: it hath shaken down a sheaf of thy hair. +Take heed thou sit not upon it, lest it anguish thee. Well done! +it mingleth now sweetly with the cloth of gold upon the saddle, +running here and there, as if it had life and faculties and business, +and were working thereupon some newer and cunninger +device. O my beauteous Eve! there is a Paradise about thee! +the world is refreshed as thou movest and breathest on it. I +cannot see or think of evil where thou art. I could throw my +arms even here about thee. No signs for me! no shaking of +sunbeams! no reproof or frown of wonderment.—I <i>will</i> say it—now, +then, for worse—I could close with my kisses thy half-open +lips, ay, and those lovely and loving eyes, before the people.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> To-morrow you shall kiss me, and they shall bless +you for it. I shall be very pale, for to-night I must fast and pray.</p> + +<p><i>Leofric.</i> I do not hear thee; the voices of the folk are so loud +under this archway.</p> + +<p><i>Godiva.</i> [<i>To herself.</i>] God help them! good kind souls! I hope +they will not crowd about me so to-morrow. O Leofric! could +my name be forgotten, and yours alone remembered! But +perhaps my innocence may save me from reproach; and how +many as innocent are in fear and famine! No eye will open +on me but fresh from tears. What a young mother for so large +a family! Shall my youth harm me? Under God’s hand it +gives me courage. Ah! when will the morning come? Ah! +when will the noon be over?</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The story of Godiva, at one of whose festivals or fairs I was present in +my boyhood, has always much interested me; and I wrote a poem on it, +sitting, I remember, by the</i> square pool <i>at Rugby. When I showed it to +the friend in whom I had most confidence, he began to scoff at the subject; +and, on his reaching the last line, his laughter was loud and immoderate. +This conversation has brought both laughter and stanza back to me, and +the earnestness with which I entreated and implored my friend</i> not to tell +the lads<i>, so heart-strickenly and desperately was I ashamed. The verses +are these, if any one else should wish another laugh at me:</i></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>‘In every hour, in every mood,</i></span><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>O lady, it is sweet and good</i></span><br /> +<span class="i1"><i>To bathe the soul in prayer;</i></span><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>And, at the close of such a day,</i></span><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>When we have ceased to bless and pray,</i></span><br /> +<span class="i1"><i>To dream on thy long hair.’</i></span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>May the peppermint be still growing on the bank in that place!</i></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="ESSEX_AND_SPENSER" id="ESSEX_AND_SPENSER"></a>ESSEX AND SPENSER</h2> + + +<p><i>Essex.</i> Instantly on hearing of thy arrival from Ireland, I +sent a message to thee, good Edmund, that I might learn, from +one so judicious and dispassionate as thou art, the real state +of things in that distracted country; it having pleased the +queen’s Majesty to think of appointing me her deputy, in order +to bring the rebellious to submission.</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> Wisely and well considered; but more worthily +of her judgment than her affection. May your lordship overcome, +as you have ever done, the difficulties and dangers you +foresee.</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> We grow weak by striking at random; and knowing +that I must strike, and strike heavily, I would fain see exactly +where the stroke shall fall.</p> + +<p>Now what tale have you for us?</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> Interrogate me, my lord, that I may answer each +question distinctly, my mind being in sad confusion at what I +have seen and undergone.</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> Give me thy account and opinion of these very affairs +as thou leftest them; for I would rather know one part well +than all imperfectly; and the violences of which I have heard +within the day surpass belief.</p> + +<p>Why weepest thou, my gentle Spenser? Have the rebels +sacked thy house?</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> They have plundered and utterly destroyed it.</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> I grieve for thee, and will see thee righted.</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> In this they have little harmed me.</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> How! I have heard it reported that thy grounds are +fertile, and thy mansion large and pleasant.</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> If river and lake and meadow-ground and mountain +could render any place the abode of pleasantness, pleasant was +mine, indeed!</p> + +<p>On the lovely banks of Mulla I found deep contentment. +Under the dark alders did I muse and meditate. Innocent +hopes were my gravest cares, and my playfullest fancy was +with kindly wishes. Ah! surely of all cruelties the worst is to +extinguish our kindness. Mine is gone: I love the people and +the land no longer. My lord, ask me not about them: I may +speak injuriously.</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> Think rather, then, of thy happier hours and busier +occupations; these likewise may instruct me.</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> The first seeds I sowed in the garden, ere the old +castle was made habitable for my lovely bride, were acorns +from Penshurst. I planted a little oak before my mansion at +the birth of each child. My sons, I said to myself, shall often +play in the shade of them when I am gone; and every year shall +they take the measure of their growth, as fondly as I take theirs.</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> Well, well; but let not this thought make thee weep so +bitterly.</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> Poison may ooze from beautiful plants; deadly grief +from dearest reminiscences. I <i>must</i> grieve, I <i>must</i> weep: it +seems the law of God, and the only one that men are not disposed +to contravene. In the performance of this alone do they +effectually aid one another.</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> Spenser! I wish I had at hand any arguments or +persuasions of force sufficient to remove thy sorrow; but, really, +I am not in the habit of seeing men grieve at anything except +the loss of favour at court, or of a hawk, or of a buck-hound. +And were I to swear out condolences to a man of thy discernment, +in the same round, roll-call phrases we employ with one +another upon these occasions, I should be guilty, not of insincerity, +but of insolence. True grief hath ever something +sacred in it; and, when it visiteth a wise man and a brave one, +is most holy.</p> + +<p>Nay, kiss not my hand: he whom God smiteth hath God +with him. In His presence what am I?</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> Never so great, my lord, as at this hour, when you +see aright who is greater. May He guide your counsels, and +preserve your life and glory!</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> Where are thy friends? Are they with thee?</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> Ah, where, indeed! Generous, true-hearted Philip! +where art thou, whose presence was unto me peace and safety; +whose smile was contentment, and whose praise renown? +My lord! I cannot but think of him among still heavier losses: +he was my earliest friend, and would have taught me wisdom.</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> Pastoral poetry, my dear Spenser, doth not require +tears and lamentations. Dry thine eyes; rebuild thine house: +the queen and council, I venture to promise thee, will make +ample amends for every evil thou hast sustained. What! +does that enforce thee to wail still louder?</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> Pardon me, bear with me, most noble heart! I +have lost what no council, no queen, no Essex, can restore.</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> We will see that. There are other swords, and other +arms to yield them, beside a Leicester’s and a Raleigh’s. Others +can crush their enemies, and serve their friends.</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> O my sweet child! And of many so powerful, +many so wise and so beneficent, was there none to save thee? +None, none!</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> I now perceive that thou lamentest what almost every +father is destined to lament. Happiness must be bought, +although the payment may be delayed. Consider: the same +calamity might have befallen thee here in London. Neither +the houses of ambassadors, nor the palaces of kings, nor the +altars of God Himself, are asylums against death. How do I +know but under this very roof there may sleep some latent +calamity, that in an instant shall cover with gloom every inmate +of the house, and every far dependent?</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> God avert it!</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> Every day, every hour of the year, do hundreds mourn +what thou mournest.</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> Oh, no, no, no! Calamities there are around us; +calamities there are all over the earth; calamities there are +in all seasons: but none in any season, none in any place, like +mine.</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> So say all fathers, so say all husbands. Look at any +old mansion-house, and let the sun shine as gloriously as it may +on the golden vanes, or the arms recently quartered over the +gateway or the embayed window, and on the happy pair that +haply is toying at it: nevertheless, thou mayest say that of a +certainty the same fabric hath seen much sorrow within its +chambers, and heard many wailings; and each time this was +the heaviest stroke of all. Funerals have passed along through +the stout-hearted knights upon the wainscot, and amid the +laughing nymphs upon the arras. Old servants have shaken +their heads, as if somebody had deceived them, when they +found that beauty and nobility could perish.</p> + +<p>Edmund! the things that are too true pass by us as if they +were not true at all; and when they have singled us out, then +only do they strike us. Thou and I must go too. Perhaps the +next year may blow us away with its fallen leaves.</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> For you, my lord, many years (I trust) are waiting: +I never shall see those fallen leaves. No leaf, no bud, will spring +upon the earth before I sink into her breast for ever.</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> Thou, who art wiser than most men, shouldst bear +with patience, equanimity, and courage what is common to all.</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> Enough, enough, enough! Have all men seen their +infant burnt to ashes before their eyes?</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> Gracious God! Merciful Father! what is this?</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> Burnt alive! burnt to ashes! burnt to ashes! The +flames dart their serpent tongues through the nursery window. +I cannot quit thee, my Elizabeth! I cannot lay down our +Edmund! Oh, these flames! They persecute, they enthral me; +they curl round my temples; they hiss upon my brain; they +taunt me with their fierce, foul voices; they carp at me, they +wither me, they consume me, throwing back to me a little of +life to roll and suffer in, with their fangs upon me. Ask me, +my lord, the things you wish to know from me: I may answer +them; I am now composed again. Command me, my gracious +lord! I would yet serve you: soon I shall be unable. You +have stooped to raise me up; you have borne with me; you have +pitied me, even like one not powerful. You have brought +comfort, and will leave it with me, for gratitude is comfort.</p> + +<p>Oh! my memory stands all a-tiptoe on one burning point: +when it drops from it, then it perishes. Spare me: ask me +nothing; let me weep before you in peace—the kindest act of +greatness.</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> I should rather have dared to mount into the midst +of the conflagration than I now dare entreat thee not to weep. +The tears that overflow thy heart, my Spenser, will staunch +and heal it in their sacred stream; but not without hope in God.</p> + +<p><i>Spenser.</i> My hope in God is that I may soon see again what +He has taken from me. Amid the myriads of angels, there is +not one so beautiful; and even he (if there be any) who is +appointed my guardian could never love me so. Ah! these are +idle thoughts, vain wanderings, distempered dreams. If there +ever were guardian angels, he who so wanted one—my helpless +boy—would not have left these arms upon my knees.</p> + +<p><i>Essex.</i> God help and sustain thee, too gentle Spenser! I +never will desert thee. But what am I? Great they have called +me! Alas, how powerless, then, and infantile is greatness in +the presence of calamity!</p> + +<p>Come, give me thy hand: let us walk up and down the gallery. +Bravely done! I will envy no more a Sidney or a Raleigh.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="LORD_BACON_AND_RICHARD_HOOKER" id="LORD_BACON_AND_RICHARD_HOOKER"></a>LORD BACON AND RICHARD HOOKER</h2> + + +<p><i>Bacon.</i> Hearing much of your worthiness and wisdom, Master +Richard Hooker, I have besought your comfort and consolation +in this my too heavy affliction: for we often do stand in need +of hearing what we know full well, and our own balsams must +be poured into our breasts by another’s hand. As the air at +our doors is sometimes more expeditious in removing pain and +heaviness from the body than the most far-fetched remedies +would be, so the voice alone of a neighbourly and friendly +visitant may be more effectual in assuaging our sorrows, than +whatever is most forcible in rhetoric and most recondite in +wisdom. On these occasions we cannot put ourselves in a +posture to receive the latter, and still less are we at leisure to +look into the corners of our store-room, and to uncurl the leaves +of our references. As for Memory, who, you may tell me, +would save us the trouble, she is footsore enough in all conscience +with me, without going farther back. Withdrawn as you live +from court and courtly men, and having ears occupied by better +reports than such as are flying about me, yet haply so hard a +case as mine, befalling a man heretofore not averse from the +studies in which you take delight, may have touched you with +some concern.</p> + +<p><i>Hooker.</i> I do think, my Lord of Verulam, that, unhappy as +you appear, God in sooth has forgone to chasten you, and that +the day which in His wisdom He appointed for your trial, was +the very day on which the king’s Majesty gave unto your ward +and custody the great seal of his English realm. And yet +perhaps it may be—let me utter it without offence—that your +features and stature were from that day forward no longer +what they were before. Such an effect do power and rank and +office produce even on prudent and religious men.</p> + +<p>A hound’s whelp howleth, if you pluck him up above where +he stood: man, in much greater peril from falling, doth rejoice. +You, my lord, as befitted you, are smitten and contrite, and do +appear in deep wretchedness and tribulation to your servants +and those about you; but I know that there is always a balm +which lies uppermost in these afflictions, and that no heart +rightly softened can be very sore.</p> + +<p><i>Bacon.</i> And yet, Master Richard, it is surely no small matter +to lose the respect of those who looked up to us for countenance; +and the favour of a right learned king; and, O Master Hooker, +such a power of money! But money is mere dross. I should +always hold it so, if it possessed not two qualities: that of making +men treat us reverently, and that of enabling us to help the +needy.</p> + +<p><i>Hooker.</i> The respect, I think, of those who respect us for what +a fool can give and a rogue can take away, may easily be +dispensed with; but it is indeed a high prerogative to help the +needy; and when it pleases the Almighty to deprive us of it, +let us believe that He foreknoweth our inclination to negligence +in the charge entrusted to us, and that in His mercy He hath +removed from us a most fearful responsibility.</p> + +<p><i>Bacon.</i> I know a number of poor gentlemen to whom I could +have rendered aid.</p> + +<p><i>Hooker.</i> Have you examined and sifted their worthiness?</p> + +<p><i>Bacon.</i> Well and deeply.</p> + +<p><i>Hooker.</i> Then must you have known them long before your +adversity, and while the means of succouring them were in +your hands.</p> + +<p><i>Bacon.</i> You have circumvented and entrapped me, Master +Hooker. Faith! I am mortified: you the schoolman, I the +schoolboy!</p> + +<p><i>Hooker.</i> Say not so, my lord. Your years, indeed, are fewer +than mine, by seven or thereabout; but your knowledge is +far higher, your experience richer. Our wits are not always in +blossom upon us. When the roses are overcharged and languid, +up springs a spike of rue. Mortified on such an occasion? +God forfend it! But again to the business. I should never +be over-penitent for my neglect of needy gentlemen who have +neglected themselves much worse. They have chosen their +profession with its chances and contingencies. If they had +protected their country by their courage or adorned it by their +studies, they would have merited, and under a king of such +learning and such equity would have received in some sort, +their reward. I look upon them as so many old cabinets of +ivory and tortoise-shell, scratched, flawed, splintered, rotten, +defective both within and without, hard to unlock, insecure to +lock up again, unfit to use.</p> + +<p><i>Bacon.</i> Methinks it beginneth to rain, Master Richard. What +if we comfort our bodies with a small cup of wine, against the +ill-temper of the air. Wherefore, in God’s name, are you +affrightened?</p> + +<p><i>Hooker.</i> Not so, my lord; not so.</p> + +<p><i>Bacon.</i> What then affects you?</p> + +<p><i>Hooker.</i> Why, indeed, since your lordship interrogates me—I +looked, idly and imprudently, into that rich buffet; and I +saw, unless the haze of the weather has come into the parlour, +or my sight is the worse for last night’s reading, no fewer than +six silver pints. Surely, six tables for company are laid only +at coronations.</p> + +<p><i>Bacon.</i> There are many men so squeamish that forsooth +they would keep a cup to themselves, and never communicate +it to their nearest and best friend; a fashion which seems to +me offensive in an honest house, where no disease of ill repute +ought to be feared. We have lately, Master Richard, adopted +strange fashions; we have run into the wildest luxuries. The +Lord Leicester, I heard it from my father—God forfend it +should ever be recorded in our history!—when he entertained +Queen Elizabeth at Kenilworth Castle, laid before her Majesty +a fork of pure silver. I the more easily credit it, as Master +Thomas Coriatt doth vouch for having seen the same monstrous +sign of voluptuousness at Venice. We are surely the especial +favourites of Providence, when such wantonness hath not +melted us quite away. After this portent, it would otherwise +have appeared incredible that we should have broken the +Spanish Armada.</p> + +<p>Pledge me: hither comes our wine.</p> + +<p>[<i>To the Servant.</i>] Dolt! villain! is not this the beverage I +reserve for myself?</p> + +<p>The blockhead must imagine that Malmsey runs in a +stream under the ocean, like the Alpheus. Bear with me, +good Master Hooker, but verily I have little of this wine, and +I keep it as a medicine for my many and growing infirmities. +You are healthy at present: God in His infinite mercy long +maintain you so! Weaker drink is more wholesome for you. +The lighter ones of France are best accommodated by Nature +to our constitutions, and therefore she has placed them so +within our reach that we have only to stretch out our necks, +in a manner, and drink them from the vat. But this Malmsey, +this Malmsey, flies from centre to circumference, and makes +youthful blood boil.</p> + +<p><i>Hooker.</i> Of a truth, my knowledge in such matters is but +spare. My Lord of Canterbury once ordered part of a goblet, +containing some strong Spanish wine, to be taken to me from +his table when I dined by sufferance with his chaplains, and, +although a most discreet, prudent man as befitteth his high +station, was not so chary of my health as your lordship. Wine +is little to be trifled with, physic less. The Cretans, the brewers +of this Malmsey, have many aromatic and powerful herbs +among them. On their mountains, and notably on Ida, grows +that dittany which works such marvels, and which perhaps +may give activity to this hot medicinal drink of theirs. I +would not touch it, knowingly: an unregarded leaf, dropped +into it above the ordinary, might add such puissance to the +concoction as almost to break the buckles in my shoes; since +we have good and valid authority that the wounded hart, on +eating thereof, casts the arrow out of his haunch or entrails, +although it stuck a palm deep.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> + +<p><i>Bacon.</i> When I read of such things I doubt them. Religion +and politics belong to God, and to God’s vicegerent the king; +we must not touch upon them unadvisedly: but if I could +procure a plant of dittany on easy terms, I would persuade my +apothecary and my gamekeeper to make some experiments.</p> + +<p><i>Hooker.</i> I dare not distrust what grave writers have declared +in matters beyond my knowledge.</p> + +<p><i>Bacon.</i> Good Master Hooker, I have read many of your +reasonings, and they are admirably well sustained: added to +which, your genius has given such a strong current to your +language as can come only from a mighty elevation and a most +abundant plenteousness. Yet forgive me, in God’s name, my +worthy master, if you descried in me some expression of wonder +at your simplicity. We are all weak and vulnerable somewhere: +common men in the higher parts; heroes, as was feigned +of Achilles, in the lower. You would define to a hair’s-breadth +the qualities, states, and dependencies of principalities, dominations, +and powers; you would be unerring about the apostles +and the churches; and ’tis marvellous how you wander about a +pot-herb!</p> + +<p><i>Hooker.</i> I know my poor weak intellects, most noble lord, +and how scantily they have profited by my hard painstaking. +Comprehending few things, and those imperfectly, I say only +what others have said before, wise men and holy; and if, by +passing through my heart into the wide world around me, it +pleaseth God that this little treasure shall have lost nothing of +its weight and pureness, my exultation is then the exultation +of humility. Wisdom consisteth not in knowing many things, +nor even in knowing them thoroughly; but in choosing and in +following what conduces the most certainly to our lasting +happiness and true glory. And this wisdom, my Lord of +Verulam, cometh from above.</p> + +<p><i>Bacon.</i> I have observed among the well-informed and the +ill-informed nearly the same quantity of infirmities and follies: +those who are rather the wiser keep them separate, and those +who are wisest of all keep them better out of sight. Now, +examine the sayings and writings of the prime philosophers, +and you will often find them, Master Richard, to be untruths +made to resemble truths. The business with them is to approximate +as nearly as possible, and not to touch it: the goal of the +charioteer is <i>evitata fervidis rotis</i>, as some poet saith. But we +who care nothing for chants and cadences, and have no time +to catch at applauses, push forward over stones and sands +straightway to our object. I have persuaded men, and shall +persuade them for ages, that I possess a wide range of thought +unexplored by others, and first thrown open by me, with many +fair enclosures of choice and abstruse knowledge. I have +incited and instructed them to examine all subjects of useful +and rational inquiry; few that occurred to me have I myself +left untouched or untried: one, however, hath almost escaped +me, and surely one worth the trouble.</p> + +<p><i>Hooker.</i> Pray, my lord, if I am guilty of no indiscretion, what +may it be?</p> + +<p><i>Bacon.</i> Francis Bacon.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Lest it be thought that authority is wanting for the strong expression +of Hooker on the effects of dittany, the reader is referred to the curious +treatise of Plutarch on the reasoning faculty of animals, in which (near +the end) he asks: ‘Who instructed deer wounded by the Cretan arrow to +seek for dittany? on the tasting of which herb the bolts fall immediately +from their bodies.’</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="OLIVER_CROMWELL_AND_WALTER_NOBLE" id="OLIVER_CROMWELL_AND_WALTER_NOBLE"></a>OLIVER CROMWELL AND WALTER NOBLE</h2> + + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> What brings thee back from Staffordshire, friend +Walter?</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> I hope, General Cromwell, to persuade you that the +death of Charles will be considered by all Europe as a most +atrocious action.</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> Thou hast already persuaded me: what then?</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> Surely, then, you will prevent it, for your authority is +great. Even those who upon their consciences found him +guilty would remit the penalty of blood, some from policy, some +from mercy. I have conversed with Hutchinson, with Ludlow,<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> +your friend and mine, with Henry Nevile, and Walter Long: you +will oblige these worthy friends, and unite in your favour the +suffrages of the truest and trustiest men living. There are +many others, with whom I am in no habits of intercourse, who +are known to entertain the same sentiments; and these also are +among the country gentlemen, to whom our parliament owes the +better part of its reputation.</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> You country gentlemen bring with you into the +People’s House a freshness and sweet savour which our citizens +lack mightily. I would fain merit your esteem, heedless of +those pursy fellows from hulks and warehouses, with one ear +lappeted by the pen behind it, and the other an heirloom, +as Charles would have had it, in Laud’s Star-chamber. Oh, +they are proud and bloody men! My heart melts; but, alas! +my authority is null: I am the servant of the Commonwealth. +I will not, dare not, betray it. If Charles Stuart had threatened +my death only, in the letter we ripped out of the saddle, I would +have reproved him manfully and turned him adrift: but others +are concerned; lives more precious than mine, worn as it is +with fastings, prayers, long services, and preyed upon by a +pouncing disease. The Lord hath led him into the toils laid +for the innocent. Foolish man! he never could eschew evil +counsel.</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> In comparison with you, he is but as a pinnacle to +a buttress. I acknowledge his weaknesses, and cannot wink +upon his crimes: but that which you visit as the heaviest of +them perhaps was not so, although the most disastrous to both +parties—the bearing of arms against his people. He fought +for what he considered his hereditary property; we do the same: +should we be hanged for losing a lawsuit?</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> No, unless it is the second. Thou talkest finely +and foolishly, Wat, for a man of thy calm discernment. If a +rogue holds a pistol to my breast, do I ask him who he is? +Do I care whether his doublet be of cat-skin or of dog-skin? +Fie upon such wicked sophisms! Marvellous, how the devil +works upon good men’s minds!</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> Charles was always more to be dreaded by his friends +than by his enemies, and now by neither.</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> God forbid that Englishmen should be feared by +Englishmen! but to be daunted by the weakest, to bend before +the worst—I tell thee, Walter Noble, if Moses and the prophets +commanded me to this villainy, I would draw back and mount +my horse.</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> I wish that our history, already too dark with blood, +should contain, as far as we are concerned in it, some unpolluted +pages.</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> ’Twere better, much better. Never shall I be +called, I promise thee, an unnecessary shedder of blood. +Remember, my good, prudent friend, of what materials our +sectaries are composed: what hostility against all eminence, +what rancour against all glory. Not only kingly power offends +them, but every other; and they talk of <i>putting to the sword</i>, +as if it were the quietest, gentlest, and most ordinary thing in +the world. The knaves even dictate from their stools and +benches to men in armour, bruised and bleeding for them; and +with school-dames’ scourges in their fists do they give counsel +to those who protect them from the cart and halter. In +the name of the Lord, I must spit outright (or worse) upon +these crackling bouncing firebrands, before I can make them +tractable.</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> I lament their blindness; but follies wear out the faster +by being hard run upon. This fermenting sourness will presently +turn vapid, and people will cast it out. I am not surprised +that you are discontented and angry at what thwarts +your better nature. But come, Cromwell, overlook them, +despise them, and erect to yourself a glorious name by sparing +a mortal enemy.</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> A glorious name, by God’s blessing, I will erect; +and all our fellow-labourers shall rejoice at it: but I see better +than they do the blow descending on them, and my arm better +than theirs can ward it off. Noble, thy heart overflows with +kindness for Charles Stuart: if he were at liberty to-morrow +by thy intercession, he would sign thy death-warrant the day +after, for serving the Commonwealth. A generation of vipers! +there is nothing upright nor grateful in them: never was there +a drop of even Scotch blood in their veins. Indeed, we have a +clue to their bedchamber still hanging on the door, and I suspect +that an Italian fiddler or French valet has more than once +crossed the current.</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> That may be: nor indeed is it credible that any royal +or courtly family has gone on for three generations without a +spur from interloper. Look at France! some stout Parisian +saint performed the last miracle there.</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> Now thou talkest gravely and sensibly: I could hear +thee discourse thus for hours together.</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> Hear me, Cromwell, with equal patience on matters +more important. We all have our sufferings: why increase +one another’s wantonly? Be the blood Scotch or English, +French or Italian, a drummer’s or a buffoon’s, it carries a soul +upon its stream; and every soul has many places to touch at, +and much business to perform, before it reaches its ultimate +destination. Abolish the power of Charles; extinguish not his +virtues. Whatever is worthy to be loved for anything is worthy +to be preserved. A wise and dispassionate legislator, if any such +should arise among men, will not condemn to death him who has +done, or is likely to do, more service than injury to society. +Blocks and gibbets are the nearest objects to ours, and their +business is never with virtues or with hopes.</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> Walter! Walter! we laugh at speculators.</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> Many indeed are ready enough to laugh at speculators, +because many profit, or expect to profit, by established and +widening abuses. Speculations toward evil lose their name by +adoption; speculations towards good are for ever speculations, +and he who hath proposed them is a chimerical and silly creature. +Among the matters under this denomination I never find a +cruel project, I never find an oppressive or unjust one: how +happens it?</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> Proportions should exist in all things. Sovereigns +are paid higher than others for their office; they should therefore +be punished more severely for abusing it, even if the +consequences of this abuse were in nothing more grievous or +extensive. We cannot clap them in the stocks conveniently, +nor whip them at the market-place. Where there is a crown +there must be an axe: I would keep it there only.</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> Lop off the rotten, press out the poisonous, preserve +the rest; let it suffice to have given this memorable example of +national power and justice.</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> Justice is perfect; an attribute of God: we must not +trifle with it.</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> Should we be less merciful to our fellow-creatures +than to our domestic animals? Before we deliver them to be +killed, we weigh their services against their inconveniences. +On the foundation of policy, when we have no better, let us +erect the trophies of humanity: let us consider that, educated +in the same manner and situated in the same position, we ourselves +might have acted as reprovably. Abolish that for ever +which must else for ever generate abuses; and attribute the +faults of the man to the office, not the faults of the office +to the man.</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> I have no bowels for hypocrisy, and I abominate +and detest kingship.</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> I abominate and detest hangmanship; but in certain +stages of society both are necessary. Let them go together; +we want neither now.</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> Men, like nails, lose their usefulness when they +lose their direction and begin to bend: such nails are then +thrown into the dust or into the furnace. I must do my duty; +I must accomplish what is commanded me; I must not be turned +aside. I am loath to be cast into the furnace or the dust; but +God’s will be done! Prithee, Wat, since thou readest, as I see, +the books of philosophers, didst thou ever hear of Digby’s +remedies by sympathy?</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> Yes, formerly.</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> Well, now, I protest, I do believe there is something +in them. To cure my headache, I must breathe a vein in the +neck of Charles.</p> + +<p><i>Noble.</i> Oliver, Oliver! others are wittiest over wine, thou over +blood: cold-hearted, cruel man.</p> + +<p><i>Cromwell.</i> Why, dost thou verily think me so, Walter? +Perhaps thou art right in the main: but He alone who fashioned +me in my mother’s womb, and who sees things deeper than we +do, knows that.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Ludlow, a most humane and temperate man, signed the death-warrant +of Charles, for violating the constitution he had sworn to defend, for +depriving the subject of property, liberty, limbs, and life unlawfully. +In equity he could do no otherwise; and to equity was the only appeal, +since the laws of the land had been erased by the king himself.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="LORD_BROOKE_AND_SIR_PHILIP_SIDNEY" id="LORD_BROOKE_AND_SIR_PHILIP_SIDNEY"></a>LORD BROOKE AND SIR PHILIP SIDNEY</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Lord Brooke is less known than the personage with whom he converses, +and upon whose friendship he had the virtue and good sense to found his +chief distinction. On his monument at Warwick, written by himself, +we read that he was servant of Queen Elizabeth, counsellor of King James +and friend of Sir Philip Sidney. His style is stiff, but his sentiments are +sound and manly.</i></p></div> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Brooke.</i> I come again unto the woods and unto the wilds of +Penshurst, whither my heart and the friend of my heart have +long invited me.</p> + +<p><i>Sidney.</i> Welcome, welcome! And now, Greville, seat yourself +under this oak; since if you had hungered or thirsted from +your journey, you would have renewed the alacrity of your old +servants in the hall.</p> + +<p><i>Brooke.</i> In truth I did; for no otherwise the good household +would have it. The birds met me first, affrightened by the +tossing up of caps; and by these harbingers I knew who were +coming. When my palfrey eyed them askance for their +clamorousness, and shrank somewhat back, they quarrelled +with him almost before they saluted me, and asked him many +pert questions. What a pleasant spot, Sidney, have you chosen +here for meditation! A solitude is the audience-chamber of +God. Few days in our year are like this; there is a fresh pleasure +in every fresh posture of the limbs, in every turn the eye takes.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Youth! credulous of happiness, throw down</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Upon this turf thy wallet—stored and swoln</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With morrow-morns, bird-eggs, and bladders burst—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That tires thee with its wagging to and fro:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Thou too wouldst breathe more freely for it, Age!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who lackest heart to laugh at life’s deceit.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>It sometimes requires a stout push, and sometimes a sudden +resistance, in the wisest men, not to become for a moment the +most foolish. What have I done? I have fairly challenged +you, so much my master.</p> + +<p><i>Sidney.</i> You have warmed me: I must cool a little and watch +my opportunity. So now, Greville, return you to your invitations, +and I will clear the ground for the company; for Youth, +for Age, and whatever comes between, with kindred and dependencies. +Verily we need no taunts like those in your verses: +here we have few vices, and consequently few repinings. I take +especial care that my young labourers and farmers shall never +be idle, and I supply them with bows and arrows, with bowls and +ninepins, for their Sunday evening,<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> lest they drink and quarrel. +In church they are taught to love God; after church they are +practised to love their neighbour: for business on workdays +keeps them apart and scattered, and on market-days they are +prone to a rivalry bordering on malice, as competitors for +custom. Goodness does not more certainly make men happy +than happiness makes them good. We must distinguish between +felicity and prosperity; for prosperity leads often to +ambition, and ambition to disappointment: the course is then +over; the wheel turns round but once; while the reaction of +goodness and happiness is perpetual.</p> + +<p><i>Brooke.</i> You reason justly and you act rightly. Piety—warm, +soft, and passive as the ether round the throne of Grace—is +made callous and inactive by kneeling too much: her vitality +faints under rigorous and wearisome observances. A forced +match between a man and his religion sours his temper, and leaves +a barren bed.</p> + +<p><i>Sidney.</i> Desire of lucre, the worst and most general country +vice, arises here from the necessity of looking to small gains; +it is, however, but the tartar that encrusts economy.</p> + +<p><i>Brooke.</i> Oh that anything so monstrous should exist in this +profusion and prodigality of blessings! The herbs, elastic +with health, seem to partake of sensitive and animated life, +and to feel under my hand the benediction I would bestow on +them. What a hum of satisfaction in God’s creatures! How +is it, Sidney, the smallest do seem the happiest?</p> + +<p><i>Sidney.</i> Compensation for their weaknesses and their fears; +compensation for the shortness of their existence. Their spirits +mount upon the sunbeam above the eagle; and they have more +enjoyment in their one summer than the elephant in his century.</p> + +<p><i>Brooke.</i> Are not also the little and lowly in our species the +most happy?</p> + +<p><i>Sidney.</i> I would not willingly try nor over-curiously examine +it. We, Greville, are happy in these parks and forests: we were +happy in my close winter-walk of box and laurustine. In our +earlier days did we not emboss our bosoms with the daffodils, +and shake them almost unto shedding with our transport? +Ay, my friend, there is a greater difference, both in the stages +of life and in the seasons of the year, than in the conditions of +men: yet the healthy pass through the seasons, from the clement +to the inclement, not only unreluctantly but rejoicingly, knowing +that the worst will soon finish, and the best begin anew; and we +are desirous of pushing forward into every stage of life, excepting +that alone which ought reasonably to allure us most, as opening +to us the <i>Via Sacra</i>, along which we move in triumph to our +eternal country. We may in some measure frame our minds +for the reception of happiness, for more or for less; we should, +however, well consider to what port we are steering in search of +it, and that even in the richest its quantity is but too exhaustible. +There is a sickliness in the firmest of us, which induceth us to +change our side, though reposing ever so softly: yet, wittingly or +unwittingly, we turn again soon into our old position.</p> + +<p>God hath granted unto both of us hearts easily contented, +hearts fitted for every station, because fitted for every duty. +What appears the dullest may contribute most to our genius; +what is most gloomy may soften the seeds and relax the fibres +of gaiety. We enjoy the solemnity of the spreading oak above +us: perhaps we owe to it in part the mood of our minds at this +instant; perhaps an inanimate thing supplies me, while I am +speaking, with whatever I possess of animation. Do you imagine +that any contest of shepherds can afford them the same pleasure +as I receive from the description of it; or that even in their +loves, however innocent and faithful, they are so free from +anxiety as I am while I celebrate them? The exertion of +intellectual power, of fancy and imagination, keeps from us +greatly more than their wretchedness, and affords us greatly +more than their enjoyment. We are motes in the midst of +generations: we have our sunbeams to circuit and climb. Look +at the summits of the trees around us, how they move, and the +loftiest the most: nothing is at rest within the compass of our +view, except the grey moss on the park-pales. Let it eat away +the dead oak, but let it not be compared with the living one.</p> + +<p>Poets are in general prone to melancholy; yet the most +plaintive ditty hath imparted a fuller joy, and of longer duration, +to its composer, than the conquest of Persia to the Macedonian. +A bottle of wine bringeth as much pleasure as the acquisition +of a kingdom, and not unlike it in kind: the senses in both cases +are confused and perverted.</p> + +<p><i>Brooke.</i> Merciful Heaven! and for the fruition of an hour’s +drunkenness, from which they must awaken with heaviness, +pain, and terror, men consume a whole crop of their kind at +one harvest home. Shame upon those light ones who carol +at the feast of blood! and worse upon those graver ones who nail +upon their escutcheon the name of great! Ambition is but +Avarice on stilts and masked. God sometimes sends a famine, +sometimes a pestilence, and sometimes a hero, for the chastisement +of mankind; none of them surely for our admiration. +Only some cause like unto that which is now scattering the +mental fog of the Netherlands, and is preparing them for the +fruits of freedom, can justify us in drawing the sword abroad.</p> + +<p><i>Sidney.</i> And only the accomplishment of our purpose can +permit us again to sheathe it; for the aggrandizement of our +neighbour is nought of detriment to us: on the contrary, if we +are honest and industrious, his wealth is ours. We have nothing +to dread while our laws are equitable and our impositions light: +but children fly from mothers who strip and scourge them.</p> + +<p><i>Brooke.</i> We are come to an age when we ought to read and +speak plainly what our discretion tells us is fit: we are not to be +set in a corner for mockery and derision, with our hands hanging +down motionless and our pockets turned inside out.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>But away, away with politics: let not this city-stench infect our +fresh country air!</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Censurable as that practice may appear, it belonged to the age of +Sidney. Amusements were permitted the English on the seventh day, +nor were they restricted until the Puritans gained the ascendancy.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="SOUTHEY_AND_PORSON" id="SOUTHEY_AND_PORSON"></a>SOUTHEY AND PORSON</h2> + + +<p><i>Porson.</i> I suspect, Mr. Southey, you are angry with me for +the freedom with which I have spoken of your poetry and +Wordsworth’s.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> What could have induced you to imagine it, Mr. +Professor? You have indeed bent your eyes upon me, since +we have been together, with somewhat of fierceness and defiance: +I presume you fancied me to be a commentator. You wrong +me in your belief that any opinion on my poetical works hath +molested me; but you afford me more than compensation in +supposing me acutely sensible of injustice done to Wordsworth. +If we must converse on these topics, we will converse on him. +What man ever existed who spent a more inoffensive life, or +adorned it with nobler studies?</p> + +<p><i>Porson.</i> I believe so; and they who attack him with virulence +are men of as little morality as reflection. I have demonstrated +that one of them, he who wrote the <i>Pursuits of Literature</i>, could +not construe a Greek sentence or scan a verse; and I have fallen +on the very <i>Index</i> from which he drew out his forlorn hope on +the parade. This is incomparably the most impudent fellow +I have met with in the course of my reading, which has lain, +you know, in a province where impudence is no rarity.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>I had visited a friend in <i>King’s Road</i> when he entered.</p> + +<p>‘Have you seen the <i>Review</i>?’ cried he. ‘Worse than ever! +I am resolved to insert a paragraph in the papers, declaring that +I had no concern in the last number.’</p> + +<p>‘Is it so very bad?’ said I, quietly.</p> + +<p>‘Infamous! detestable!’ exclaimed he.</p> + +<p>‘Sit down, then: nobody will believe you,’ was my answer.</p> + +<p>Since that morning he has discovered that I drink harder +than usual, that my faculties are wearing fast away, that once, +indeed, I had some Greek in my head, but—he then claps the +forefinger to the side of his nose, turns his eye slowly upward, +and looks compassionately and calmly.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> Come, Mr. Porson, grant him his merits: no critic is +better contrived to make any work a monthly one, no writer +more dexterous in giving a finishing touch.</p> + +<p><i>Porson.</i> The plagiary has a greater latitude of choice than we; +and if he brings home a parsnip or turnip-top, when he could as +easily have pocketed a nectarine or a pineapple, he must be a +blockhead. I never heard the name of the <i>Pursuer of Literature</i>, +who has little more merit in having stolen than he would have +had if he had never stolen at all; and I have forgotten that other +man’s, who evinced his fitness to be the censor of our age, by a +translation of the most naked and impure satires of antiquity—those +of Juvenal, which owe their preservation to the partiality +of the friars. I shall entertain an unfavourable opinion of him +if he has translated them well: pray, has he?</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> Indeed, I do not know. I read poets for their poetry, +and to extract that nutriment of the intellect and of the heart +which poetry should contain. I never listen to the swans of +the cesspool, and must declare that nothing is heavier to me +than rottenness and corruption.</p> + +<p><i>Porson.</i> You are right, sir, perfectly right. A translator of +Juvenal would open a public drain to look for a needle, and may +miss it. My nose is not easily offended; but I must have something +to fill my belly. Come, we will lay aside the scrip of the +transpositor and the pouch of the pursuer, in reserve for the days +of unleavened bread; and again, if you please, to the lakes and +mountains. Now we are both in better humour, I must bring +you to a confession that in your friend Wordsworth there is +occasionally a little trash.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> A haunch of venison would be trash to a Brahmin, +a bottle of Burgundy to the xerif of Mecca. We are guided by +precept, by habit, by taste, by constitution. Hitherto our +sentiments on poetry have been delivered down to us from +authority; and if it can be demonstrated, as I think it may be, +that the authority is inadequate, and that the dictates are often +inapplicable and often misinterpreted, you will allow me to +remove the cause out of court. Every man can see what is +very bad in a poem; almost every one can see what is very good: +but you, Mr. Porson, who have turned over all the volumes of +all the commentators, will inform me whether I am right or +wrong in asserting that no critic hath yet appeared who hath +been able to fix or to discern the exact degrees of excellence +above a certain point.</p> + +<p><i>Porson.</i> None.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> The reason is, because the eyes of no one have been +upon a level with it. Supposing, for the sake of argument, the +contest of Hesiod and Homer to have taken place: the judges +who decided in favour of the worse, and he, indeed, in poetry +has little merit, may have been elegant, wise, and conscientious +men. Their decision was in favour of that to the species of +which they had been the most accustomed. Corinna was +preferred to Pindar no fewer than five times, and the best +judges in Greece gave her the preference; yet whatever were +her powers, and beyond a question they were extraordinary, +we may assure ourselves that she stood many degrees below +Pindar. Nothing is more absurd than the report that the judges +were prepossessed by her beauty. Plutarch tells us that she +was much older than her competitor, who consulted her judgment +in his earlier odes. Now, granting their first competition to +have been when Pindar was twenty years old, and that the +others were in the years succeeding, her beauty must have been +somewhat on the decline; for in Greece there are few women +who retain the graces, none who retain the bloom of youth, +beyond the twenty-third year. Her countenance, I doubt +not, was expressive: but expression, although it gives beauty +to men, makes women pay dearly for its stamp, and pay +soon. Nature seems, in protection to their loveliness, to have +ordered that they who are our superiors in quickness and +sensibility should be little disposed to laborious thought, or to +long excursions in the labyrinths of fancy. We may be convinced +that the verdict of the judges was biased by nothing +else than the habitudes of thinking; we may be convinced, too, +that living in an age when poetry was cultivated highly, and +selected from the most acute and the most dispassionate, they +were subject to no greater errors of opinion than are the learned +messmates of our English colleges.</p> + +<p><i>Porson.</i> You are more liberal in your largesses to the fair +Greeks than a friend of mine was, who resided in Athens to +acquire the language. He assured me that beauty there was in +bud at thirteen, in full blossom at fifteen, losing a leaf or two +every day at seventeen, trembling on the thorn at nineteen, +and under the tree at twenty.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> Mr. Porson, it does not appear to me that anything +more is necessary, in the first instance, than to interrogate our +hearts in what manner they have been affected. If the ear is +satisfied; if at one moment a tumult is aroused in the breast, +and tranquillized at another, with a perfect consciousness of +equal power exerted in both cases; if we rise up from the perusal +of the work with a strong excitement to thought, to imagination, +to sensibility; above all, if we sat down with some propensities +toward evil, and walk away with much stronger toward good, +in the midst of a world which we never had entered and of which +we never had dreamed before—shall we perversely put on again +the <i>old man</i> of criticism, and dissemble that we have been +conducted by a most beneficent and most potent genius? +Nothing proves to me so manifestly in what a pestiferous +condition are its lazarettos, as when I observe how little hath +been objected against those who have substituted words for +things, and how much against those who have reinstated things +for words.</p> + +<p>Let Wordsworth prove to the world that there may be +animation without blood and broken bones, and tenderness +remote from the stews. Some will doubt it; for even things +the most evident are often but little perceived and strangely +estimated. Swift ridiculed the music of Handel and the +generalship of Marlborough; Pope the perspicacity and the +scholarship of Bentley; Gray the abilities of Shaftesbury and +the eloquence of Rousseau. Shakespeare hardly found those +who would collect his tragedies; Milton was read from godliness; +Virgil was antiquated and rustic; Cicero, Asiatic. What a rabble +has persecuted my friend! An elephant is born to be consumed +by ants in the midst of his unapproachable solitudes: Wordsworth +is the prey of Jeffrey. Why repine? Let us rather amuse +ourselves with allegories, and recollect that God in the creation +left His noblest creature at the mercy of a serpent.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Porson.</i> Wordsworth goes out of his way to be attacked; +he picks up a piece of dirt, throws it on the carpet in the midst +of the company, and cries, <i>This is a better man than any of you!</i> +He does indeed mould the base material into what form he +chooses; but why not rather invite us to contemplate it than +challenge us to condemn it? Here surely is false taste.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> The principal and the most general accusation +against him is, that the vehicle of his thoughts is unequal to +them. Now did ever the judges at the Olympic games say: +‘We would have awarded to you the meed of victory, if your +chariot had been equal to your horses: it is true they have won; +but the people are displeased at a car neither new nor richly +gilt, and without a gryphon or sphinx engraved on the axle’? +You admire simplicity in Euripides; you censure it in Wordsworth: +believe me, sir, it arises in neither from penury of +thought—which seldom has produced it—but from the strength +of temperance, and at the suggestion of principle.</p> + +<p>Take up a poem of Wordsworth’s and read it—I would rather +say, read them all; and, knowing that a mind like yours must +grasp closely what comes within it, I will then appeal to you +whether any poet of our country, since Milton, hath exerted +greater powers with less of strain and less of ostentation. I +would, however, by his permission, lay before you for this purpose +a poem which is yet unpublished and incomplete.</p> + +<p><i>Porson.</i> Pity, with such abilities, he does not imitate the +ancients somewhat more.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> Whom did they imitate? If his genius is equal to +theirs he has no need of a guide. He also will be an ancient; +and the very counterparts of those who now decry him will +extol him a thousand years hence in malignity to the moderns.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_ABBE_DELILLE_AND_WALTER_LANDOR" id="THE_ABBE_DELILLE_AND_WALTER_LANDOR"></a>THE ABBÉ DELILLE AND WALTER LANDOR</h2> + + +<p>The Abbé Delille was the happiest of creatures, when he could +weep over the charms of innocence and the country in some +crowded and fashionable circle at Paris. We embraced most +pathetically on our first meeting there, as if the one were +condemned to quit the earth, the other to live upon it.</p> + +<p><i>Delille.</i> You are reported to have said that descriptive poetry +has all the merits of a handkerchief that smells of roses?</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> This, if I said it, is among the things which are neither +false enough nor true enough to be displeasing. But the Abbé +Delille has merits of his own. To translate Milton well is more +laudable than originality in trifling matters; just as to transport +an obelisk from Egypt, and to erect it in one of the squares, +must be considered a greater labour than to build a new chandler’s +shop.</p> + +<p><i>Delille.</i> Milton is indeed extremely difficult to translate; +for, however noble and majestic, he is sometimes heavy, and +often rough and unequal.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> Dear Abbé, porphyry is heavy, gold is heavier; Ossa +and Olympus are rough and unequal; the steppes of Tartary, +though high, are of uniform elevation: there is not a rock, nor +a birch, nor a cytisus, nor an arbutus upon them great enough +to shelter a new-dropped lamb. Level the Alps one with another, +and where is their sublimity? Raise up the vale of Tempe +to the downs above, and where are those sylvan creeks and +harbours in which the imagination watches while the soul +reposes; those recesses in which the gods partook the weaknesses +of mortals, and mortals the enjoyments of the gods?</p> + +<p>You have treated our poet with courtesy and distinction; +in your trimmed and measured dress, he might be taken for a +Frenchman. Do not think me flattering. You have conducted +Eve from Paradise to Paris, and she really looks prettier and +smarter than before she tripped. With what elegance she rises +from a most awful dream! You represent her (I repeat your +expression) as springing up <i>en sursaut</i>, as if you had caught her +asleep and tickled the young creature on that sofa.</p> + +<p>Homer and Virgil have been excelled in sublimity by Shakespeare +and Milton, as the Caucasus and Atlas of the old world +by the Andes and Teneriffe of the new; but you would embellish +them all.</p> + +<p><i>Delille.</i> I owe to Voltaire my first sentiment of admiration for +Milton and Shakespeare.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> He stuck to them as a woodpecker to an old forest-tree, +only for the purpose of picking out what was rotten: he +has made the holes deeper than he found them, and, after all his +cries and chatter, has brought home but scanty sustenance to +his starveling nest.</p> + +<p><i>Delille.</i> You must acknowledge that there are fine verses in +his tragedies.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> Whenever such is the first observation, be assured, +M. l’Abbé, that the poem, if heroic or dramatic, is bad. Should +a work of this kind be excellent, we say, ‘How admirably the +characters are sustained! What delicacy of discrimination! +There is nothing to be taken away or altered without an injury +to the part or to the whole.’ We may afterward descend on the +versification. In poetry, there is a greater difference between +the good and the excellent than there is between the bad and +the good. Poetry has no golden mean; mediocrity here is of +another metal, which Voltaire, however, had skill enough to +encrust and polish. In the least wretched of his tragedies, +whatever is tolerable is Shakespeare’s; but, gracious Heaven! +how deteriorated! When he pretends to extol a poet he chooses +some defective part, and renders it more so whenever he translates +it. I will repeat a few verses from Metastasio in support +of my assertion. Metastasio was both a better critic and a +better poet, although of the second order in each quality; his +tyrants are less philosophical, and his chambermaids less dogmatic. +Voltaire was, however, a man of abilities, and author +of many passable epigrams, beside those which are contained in +his tragedies and heroics; yet it must be confessed that, like your +Parisian lackeys, they are usually the smartest when out of +place.</p> + +<p><i>Delille.</i> What you call epigram gives life and spirit to grave +works, and seems principally wanted to relieve a long poem. +I do not see why what pleases us in a star should not please us +in a constellation.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="DIOGENES_AND_PLATO" id="DIOGENES_AND_PLATO"></a>DIOGENES AND PLATO</h2> + + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Stop! stop! come hither! Why lookest thou so +scornfully and askance upon me?</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Let me go! loose me! I am resolved to pass.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Nay, then, by Jupiter and this tub! thou leavest +three good ells of Milesian cloth behind thee. Whither wouldst +thou amble?</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> I am not obliged in courtesy to tell you.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Upon whose errand? Answer me directly.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Upon my own.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Oh, then, I will hold thee yet awhile. If it were +upon another’s, it might be a hardship to a good citizen, though +not to a good philosopher.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> That can be no impediment to my release: you do not +think me one.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> No, by my Father Jove!</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Your father!</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Why not? Thou shouldst be the last man to doubt +it. Hast not thou declared it irrational to refuse our belief +to those who assert that they are begotten by the gods, though +the assertion (these are thy words) be unfounded on reason or +probability? In me there is a chance of it: whereas in the +generation of such people as thou art fondest of frequenting, +who claim it loudly, there are always too many competitors +to leave it probable.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Those who speak against the great do not usually +speak from morality, but from envy.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Thou hast a glimpse of the truth in this place, +but as thou hast already shown thy ignorance in attempting +to prove to me what a <i>man</i> is, ill can I expect to learn from thee +what is a <i>great man</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> No doubt your experience and intercourse will afford +me the information.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Attend, and take it. The great man is he who hath +nothing to fear and nothing to hope from another. It is he +who, while he demonstrates the iniquity of the laws, and is +able to correct them, obeys them peaceably. It is he who looks +on the ambitious both as weak and fraudulent. It is he who +hath no disposition or occasion for any kind of deceit, no reason +for being or for appearing different from what he is. It is he +who can call together the most select company when it pleases +him.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Excuse my interruption. In the beginning of your +definition I fancied that you were designating your own person, +as most people do in describing what is admirable; now I find +that you have some other in contemplation.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> I thank thee for allowing me what perhaps I <i>do</i> +possess, but what I was not then thinking of; as is often the case +with rich possessors: in fact, the latter part of the description +suits me as well as any portion of the former.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> You may call together the best company, by using +your hands in the call, as you did with me; otherwise I am not +sure that you would succeed in it.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> My thoughts are my company; I can bring them +together, select them, detain them, dismiss them. Imbecile +and vicious men cannot do any of these things. Their thoughts +are scattered, vague, uncertain, cumbersome: and the worst +stick to them the longest; many indeed by choice, the greater +part by necessity, and accompanied, some by weak wishes, +others by vain remorse.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Is there nothing of greatness, O Diogenes! in exhibiting +how cities and communities may be governed best, how morals +may be kept the purest, and power become the most stable?</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> <i>Something</i> of greatness does not constitute the great +man. Let me, however, see him who hath done what thou sayest: +he must be the most universal and the most indefatigable +traveller, he must also be the oldest creature, upon earth.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> How so?</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Because he must know perfectly the climate, the +soil, the situation, the peculiarities, of the races, of their allies, +of their enemies; he must have sounded their harbours, he must +have measured the quantity of their arable land and pasture, +of their woods and mountains; he must have ascertained whether +there are fisheries on their coasts, and even what winds are +prevalent. On these causes, with some others, depend the +bodily strength, the numbers, the wealth, the wants, the +capacities of the people.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Such are low thoughts.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> The bird of wisdom flies low, and seeks her food +under hedges: the eagle himself would be starved if he always +soared aloft and against the sun. The sweetest fruit grows +near the ground, and the plants that bear it require ventilation +and lopping. Were this not to be done in thy garden, every +walk and alley, every plot and border, would be covered with +runners and roots, with boughs and suckers. We want no +poets or logicians or metaphysicians to govern us: we want +practical men, honest men, continent men, unambitious men, +fearful to solicit a trust, slow to accept, and resolute never to +betray one. Experimentalists may be the best philosophers: +they are always the worst politicians. Teach people their +duties, and they will know their interests. Change as little as +possible, and correct as much.</p> + +<p>Philosophers are absurd from many causes, but principally +from laying out unthriftily their distinctions. They set up +four virtues: fortitude, prudence, temperance, and justice. +Now a man may be a very bad one, and yet possess three out of +the four. Every cut-throat must, if he has been a cut-throat +on many occasions, have more fortitude and more prudence +than the greater part of those whom we consider as the best +men. And what cruel wretches, both executioners and judges, +have been strictly just! how little have they cared what gentleness, +what generosity, what genius, their sentence hath removed +from the earth! Temperance and beneficence contain all other +virtues. Take them home, Plato; split them, expound them; +do what thou wilt with them, if thou but use them.</p> + +<p>Before I gave thee this lesson, which is a better than thou +ever gavest any one, and easier to remember, thou wert accusing +me of invidiousness and malice against those whom thou callest +the great, meaning to say the powerful. Thy imagination, I +am well aware, had taken its flight toward Sicily, where thou +seekest thy great man, as earnestly and undoubtingly as Ceres +sought her Persephone. Faith! honest Plato, I have no reason +to envy thy worthy friend Dionysius. Look at my nose! A +lad seven or eight years old threw an apple at me yesterday, +while I was gazing at the clouds, and gave me nose enough for +two moderate men. Instead of such a godsend, what should I +have thought of my fortune, if, after living all my lifetime +among golden vases, rougher than my hand with their emeralds +and rubies, their engravings and embossments; among Parian +caryatides and porphyry sphinxes; among philosophers with rings +upon their fingers and linen next their skin; and among singing-boys +and dancing-girls, to whom alone thou speakest intelligibly—I +ask thee again, what should I in reason have thought of my +fortune, if, after these facilities and superfluities, I had at last +been pelted out of my house, not by one young rogue, but by +thousands of all ages, and not with an apple (I wish I could +say a rotten one), but with pebbles and broken pots; and, to +crown my deserts, had been compelled to become the teacher +of so promising a generation? Great men, forsooth! thou +knowest at last who they are.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> There are great men of various kinds.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> No, by my beard, are there not!</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> What! are there not great captains, great geometricians, +great dialectitians?</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Who denied it? A great man was the postulate. +Try thy hand now at the powerful one.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> On seeing the exercise of power, a child cannot doubt +who is powerful, more or less; for power is relative. All men +are weak, not only if compared to the Demiurgos, but if compared +to the sea or the earth, or certain things upon each of +them, such as elephants and whales. So placid and tranquil +is the scene around us, we can hardly bring to mind the images +of strength and force, the precipices, the abysses——</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Prithee hold thy loose tongue, twinkling and glittering +like a serpent’s in the midst of luxuriance and rankness! +Did never this reflection of thine warn thee that, in human life, +the precipices and abysses would be much farther from our +admiration if we were less inconsiderate, selfish, and vile? I +will not however stop thee long, for thou wert going on quite +consistently. As thy great men are fighters and wranglers, +so thy mighty things upon the earth and sea are troublesome +and intractable encumbrances. Thou perceivedst not what +was greater in the former case, neither art thou aware what is +greater in this. Didst thou feel the gentle air that passed us?</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> I did not, just then.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> That air, so gentle, so imperceptible to thee, is +more powerful not only than all the creatures that breathe and +live by it; not only than all the oaks of the forest, which it rears +in an age and shatters in a moment; not only than all the +monsters of the sea, but than the sea itself, which it tosses up +into foam, and breaks against every rock in its vast circumference; +for it carries in its bosom, with perfect calm and +composure, the incontrollable ocean and the peopled earth, +like an atom of a feather.</p> + +<p>To the world’s turmoils and pageantries is attracted, not only +the admiration of the populace, but the zeal of the orator, the +enthusiasm of the poet, the investigation of the historian, and +the contemplation of the philosopher: yet how silent and invisible +are they in the depths of air! Do I say in those depths and +deserts? No; I say in the distance of a swallow’s flight—at +the distance she rises above us, ere a sentence brief as this +could be uttered.</p> + +<p>What are its mines and mountains? Fragments welded up +and dislocated by the expansion of water from below; the most +part reduced to mud, the rest to splinters. Afterwards sprang +up fire in many places, and again tore and mangled the mutilated +carcass, and still growls over it.</p> + +<p>What are its cities and ramparts, and moles and monuments? +Segments of a fragment, which one man puts together and +another throws down. Here we stumble upon thy great ones +at their work. Show me now, if thou canst, in history, three +great warriors, or three great statesmen, who have acted +otherwise than spiteful children.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> I will begin to look for them in history when I have +discovered the same number in the philosophers or the poets. +A prudent man searches in his own garden after the plant he +wants, before he casts his eyes over the stalls in Kenkrea or +Keramicos.</p> + +<p>Returning to your observation on the potency of the air, I +am not ignorant or unmindful of it. May I venture to express +my opinion to you, Diogenes, that the earlier discoverers and +distributors of wisdom (which wisdom lies among us in ruins +and remnants, partly distorted and partly concealed by theological +allegory) meant by Jupiter the air in its agitated state; +by Juno the air in its quiescent. These are the great agents, +and therefore called the king and queen of the gods. Jupiter +is denominated by Homer the <i>compeller of clouds</i>: Juno receives +them, and remits them in showers to plants and animals.</p> + +<p>I may trust you, I hope, O Diogenes?</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Thou mayest lower the gods in my presence, as +safely as men in the presence of Timon.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> I would not lower them: I would exalt them.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> More foolish and presumptuous still!</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Fair words, O Sinopean! I protest to you my aim is +truth.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> I cannot lead thee where of a certainty thou +mayest always find it; but I will tell thee what it is. Truth is +a point; the subtilest and finest; harder than adamant; never +to be broken, worn away, or blunted. Its only bad quality is, +that it is sure to hurt those who touch it; and likely to draw +blood, perhaps the life-blood, of those who press earnestly upon +it. Let us away from this narrow lane skirted with hemlock, +and pursue our road again through the wind and dust toward +the <i>great</i> man and the <i>powerful</i>. Him I would call the powerful +one who controls the storms of his mind, and turns to good +account the worst accidents of his fortune. The great man, +I was going on to demonstrate, is somewhat more. He must +be able to do this, and he must have an intellect which puts +into motion the intellect of others.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Socrates, then, was your great man.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> He was indeed; nor can all thou hast attributed +to him ever make me think the contrary. I wish he could +have kept a little more at home, and have thought it as well +worth his while to converse with his own children as with others.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> He knew himself born for the benefit of the human race.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Those who are born for the benefit of the human +race go but little into it: those who are born for its curse are +crowded.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> It was requisite to dispel the mists of ignorance and +error.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Has he done it? What doubt has he elucidated, +or what fact has he established? Although I was but twelve +years old and resident in another city when he died, I have +taken some pains in my inquiries about him from persons of +less vanity and less perverseness than his disciples. He did +not leave behind him any true philosopher among them; any +who followed his mode of argumentation, his subjects of +disquisition, or his course of life; any who would subdue the +malignant passions or coerce the looser; any who would abstain +from calumny or from cavil; any who would devote his days to +the glory of his country, or, what is easier and perhaps wiser, +to his own well-founded contentment and well-merited repose. +Xenophon, the best of them, offered up sacrifices, believed in +oracles, consulted soothsayers, turned pale at a jay, and was +dysenteric at a magpie.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> He had courage at least.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> His courage was of so strange a quality, that he +was ready, if jay or magpie did not cross him, to fight for Spartan +or Persian. Plato, whom thou esteemest much, and knowest +somewhat less, careth as little for portent and omen as doth +Diogenes. What he would have done for a Persian I cannot +say; certain I am that he would have no more fought for a +Spartan than he would for his own father: yet he mortally hates +the man who hath a kinder muse or a better milliner, or a seat +nearer the minion of a king. So much for the two disciples of +Socrates who have acquired the greatest celebrity!</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Diogenes! if you must argue or discourse with me, I +will endure your asperity for the sake of your acuteness; but it +appears to me a more philosophical thing to avoid what is +insulting and vexatious, than to breast and brave it.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Thou hast spoken well.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> It belongs to the vulgar, not to us, to fly from a man’s +opinions to his actions, and to stab him in his own house for +having received no wound in the school. One merit you will +allow me: I always keep my temper; which you seldom do.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Is mine a good or a bad one?</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Now, must I speak sincerely?</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Dost thou, a philosopher, ask such a question of +me, a philosopher? Ay, sincerely or not at all.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Sincerely as you could wish, I must declare, then, your +temper is the worst in the world.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> I am much in the right, therefore, not to keep it. +Embrace me: I have spoken now in thy own manner. Because +thou sayest the most malicious things the most placidly, thou +thinkest or pretendest thou art sincere.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Certainly those who are most the masters of their +resentments are likely to speak less erroneously than the +passionate and morose.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> If they would, they might; but the moderate are +not usually the most sincere, for the same circumspection which +makes them moderate makes them likewise retentive of what +could give offence: they are also timid in regard to fortune and +favour, and hazard little. There is no mass of sincerity in any +place. What there is must be picked up patiently, a grain or +two at a time; and the season for it is after a storm, after the +overflowing of banks, and bursting of mounds, and sweeping +away of landmarks. Men will always hold something back; +they must be shaken and loosened a little, to make them let go +what is deepest in them, and weightiest and purest.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Shaking and loosening as much about you as was +requisite for the occasion, it became you to demonstrate where +and in what manner I had made Socrates appear less sagacious +and less eloquent than he was; it became you likewise to consider +the great difficulty of finding new thoughts and new expressions +for those who had more of them than any other men, and to +represent them in all the brilliancy of their wit and in all the +majesty of their genius. I do not assert that I have done it; +but if I have not, what man has? what man has come so nigh +to it? He who could bring Socrates, or Solon, or Diogenes +through a dialogue, without disparagement, is much nearer +in his intellectual powers to them, than any other is near +to him.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Let Diogenes alone, and Socrates, and Solon. +None of the three ever occupied his hours in tingeing and curling +the tarnished plumes of prostitute Philosophy, or deemed anything +worth his attention, care, or notice, that did not make +men brave and independent. As thou callest on me to show +thee where and in what manner thou hast misrepresented thy +teacher, and as thou seemest to set an equal value on eloquence +and on reasoning, I shall attend to thee awhile on each of these +matters, first inquiring of thee whether the axiom is Socratic, +that it is never becoming to get drunk, <i>unless</i> in the solemnities +of Bacchus?</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> This god was the discoverer of the vine and of its +uses.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Is drunkenness one of its uses, or the discovery of +a god? If Pallas or Jupiter hath given us reason, we should +sacrifice our reason with more propriety to Jupiter or Pallas. +To Bacchus is due a libation of wine; the same being his gift, +as thou preachest.</p> + +<p>Another and a graver question.</p> + +<p>Did Socrates teach thee that ‘slaves are to be scourged, and +by no means admonished as though they were the children of +the master’?</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> He did not argue upon government.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> He argued upon humanity, whereon all government +is founded: whatever is beside it is usurpation.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Are slaves then never to be scourged, whatever be +their transgressions and enormities?</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Whatever they be, they are less than his who +reduced them to this condition.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> What! though they murder his whole family?</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Ay, and poison the public fountain of the city.</p> + +<p>What am I saying? and to whom? Horrible as is this crime, +and next in atrocity to parricide, thou deemest it a lighter one +than stealing a fig or grape. The stealer of these is scourged +by thee; the sentence on the poisoner is to cleanse out the +receptacle. There is, however, a kind of poisoning which, to +do thee justice, comes before thee with all its horrors, and which +thou wouldst punish capitally, even in such a sacred personage +as an aruspex or diviner: I mean the poisoning by incantation. +I, and my whole family, my whole race, my whole city, may bite +the dust in agony from a truss of henbane in the well; and little +harm done forsooth! Let an idle fool set an image of me in +wax before the fire, and whistle and caper to it, and purr and +pray, and chant a hymn to Hecate while it melts, entreating +and imploring her that I may melt as easily—and thou wouldst, +in thy equity and holiness, strangle him at the first stave of his +psalmody.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> If this is an absurdity, can you find another?</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Truly, in reading thy book, I doubted at first, and +for a long continuance, whether thou couldst have been serious; +and whether it were not rather a satire on those busy-bodies +who are incessantly intermeddling in other people’s affairs. +It was only on the protestation of thy intimate friends that I +believed thee to have written it in earnest. As for thy question, +it is idle to stoop and pick out absurdities from a mass of +inconsistency and injustice; but another and another I could +throw in, and another and another afterward, from any page in +the volume. Two bare, staring falsehoods lift their beaks one +upon the other, like spring frogs. Thou sayest that no punishment +decreed by the laws tendeth to evil. What! not if +immoderate? not if partial? Why then repeal any penal statute +while the subject of its animadversion exists? In prisons the less +criminal are placed among the more criminal, the inexperienced +in vice together with the hardened in it. This is part of the +punishment, though it precedes the sentence; nay, it is often +inflicted on those whom the judges acquit: the law, by allowing +it, does it.</p> + +<p>The next is, that he who is punished by the laws is the better +for it, however the less depraved. What! if anteriorly to the +sentence he lives and converses with worse men, some of whom +console him by deadening the sense of shame, others by removing +the apprehension of punishment? Many laws as certainly make +men bad, as bad men make many laws; yet under thy regimen +they take us from the bosom of the nurse, turn the meat about +upon the platter, pull the bed-clothes off, make us sleep when +we would wake, and wake when we would sleep, and never +cease to rummage and twitch us, until they see us safe landed +at the grave. We can do nothing (but be poisoned) with impunity. +What is worst of all, we must marry certain relatives +and connexions, be they distorted, blear-eyed, toothless, carbuncled, +with hair (if any) eclipsing the reddest torch of Hymen, +and with a hide outrivalling in colour and plaits his trimmest +saffron robe. At the mention of this indeed, friend Plato, +even thou, although resolved to stand out of harm’s way, +beginnest to make a wry mouth, and findest it difficult to pucker +and purse it up again, without an astringent store of moral +sentences. Hymen is truly no acquaintance of thine. We +know the delicacies of love which thou wouldst reserve for +the gluttony of heroes and the fastidiousness of philosophers. +Heroes, like gods, must have their own way; but against thee +and thy confraternity of elders I would turn the closet-key, +and your mouths might water over, but your tongues should +never enter those little pots of comfiture. Seriously, you who +wear embroidered slippers ought to be very cautious of treading +in the mire. Philosophers should not only live the simplest +lives, but should also use the plainest language. Poets, in +employing magnificent and sonorous words, teach philosophy +the better by thus disarming suspicion that the finest poetry +contains and conveys the finest philosophy. You will never +let any man hold his right station: you would rank Solon with +Homer for poetry. This is absurd. The only resemblance is +in both being eminently wise. Pindar, too, makes even the +cadences of his dithyrambics keep time to the flute of Reason. +My tub, which holds fifty-fold thy wisdom, would crack at the +reverberation of thy voice.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Farewell.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> I mean that every one of thy whimsies hath been +picked up somewhere by thee in thy travels; and each of them +hath been rendered more weak and puny by its place of concealment +in thy closet. What thou hast written on the immortality +of the soul goes rather to prove the immortality of the body; +and applies as well to the body of a weasel or an eel as to the +fairer one of Agathon or of Aster. Why not at once introduce +a new religion, since religions keep and are relished in proportion +as they are salted with absurdity, inside and out? and all of +them must have one great crystal of it for the centre; but +Philosophy pines and dies unless she drinks limpid water. When +Pherecydes and Pythagoras felt in themselves the majesty of +contemplation, they spurned the idea that flesh and bones and +arteries should confer it: and that what comprehends the past +and the future should sink in a moment and be annihilated for +ever. ‘No,’ cried they, ‘the power of thinking is no more in +the brain than in the hair, although the brain may be the instrument +on which it plays. It is not corporeal, it is not of this +world; its existence is eternity, its residence is infinity.’ I +forbear to discuss the rationality of their belief, and pass on +straightway to thine; if, indeed, I am to consider as one, belief +and doctrine.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> As you will.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> I should rather, then, regard these things as mere +ornaments; just as many decorate their apartments with lyres +and harps, which they themselves look at from the couch, +supinely complacent, and leave for visitors to admire and play on.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> I foresee not how you can disprove my argument on +the immortality of the soul, which, being contained in the best +of my dialogues, and being often asked for among my friends, +I carry with me.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> At this time?</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Even so.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Give me then a certain part of it for my perusal.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Willingly.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Hermes and Pallas! I wanted but a cubit of it, +or at most a fathom, and thou art pulling it out by the plethron.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> This is the place in question.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Read it.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> [<i>Reads.</i>] ‘Sayest thou not that death is the opposite +of life, and that they spring the one from the other?’ ‘<i>Yes.</i>’ +‘What springs then from the living?’ ‘<i>The dead.</i>’ ‘And what +from the dead?’ ‘<i>The living.</i>’ ‘Then all things alive spring +from the dead.’</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Why the repetition? but go on.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> [<i>Reads.</i>] ‘Souls therefore exist after death in the +infernal regions.’</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Where is the <i>therefore</i>? where is it even as to +<i>existence</i>? As to the <i>infernal regions</i>, there is nothing that points +toward a proof, or promises an indication. Death neither springs +from life, nor life from death. Although death is the inevitable +consequence of life, if the observation and experience of ages +go for anything, yet nothing shows us, or ever hath signified, +that life comes from death. Thou mightest as well say that a +barley-corn dies before the germ of another barley-corn grows +up from it, than which nothing is more untrue; for it is only the +protecting part of the germ that perishes, when its protection +is no longer necessary. The consequence, that souls exist after +death, cannot be drawn from the corruption of the body, even +if it were demonstrable that out of this corruption a live one +could rise up. Thou hast not said that the soul is among those +dead things which living things must spring from; thou hast +not said that a living soul produces a dead soul, or that a dead +soul produces a living one.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> No, indeed.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> On my faith, thou hast said, however, things no less +inconsiderate, no less inconsequent, no less unwise; and this +very thing must be said and proved, to make thy argument of +any value. Do dead men beget children?</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> I have not said it.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Thy argument implies it.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> These are high mysteries, and to be approached with +reverence.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Whatever we cannot account for is in the same predicament. +We may be gainers by being ignorant if we can be +thought mysterious. It is better to shake our heads and to let +nothing out of them, than to be plain and explicit in matters +of difficulty. I do not mean in confessing our ignorance or +our imperfect knowledge of them, but in clearing them up +perspicuously: for, if we answer with ease, we may haply be +thought good-natured, quick, communicative; never deep, never +sagacious; not very defective possibly in our intellectual faculties, +yet unequal and chinky, and liable to the probation of every +clown’s knuckle.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> The brightest of stars appear the most unsteady and +tremulous in their light; not from any quality inherent in themselves, +but from the vapours that float below, and from the +imperfection of vision in the surveyor.</p> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> Draw thy robe round thee; let the folds fall gracefully, +and look majestic. That sentence is an admirable one; +but not for me. I want sense, not stars. What then? Do no +vapours float below the others? and is there no imperfection +in the vision of those who look at <i>them</i>, if they are the same men, +and look the next moment? We must move on: I shall follow +the dead bodies, and the benighted driver of their fantastic +bier, close and keen as any hyena.</p> + +<p><i>Plato.</i> Certainly, O Diogenes, you excel me in elucidations +and similes: mine was less obvious.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Diogenes.</i> I know the respect thou bearest to the dogly +character, and can attribute to nothing else the complacency +with which thou hast listened to me since I released thy cloak. +If ever the Athenians, in their inconstancy, should issue a decree +to deprive me of the appellation they have conferred on me, +rise up, I pray thee, in my defence, and protest that I have not +merited so severe a mulct. Something I do deserve at thy +hands; having supplied thee, first with a store of patience, +when thou wert going without any about thee, although it is +the readiest viaticum and the heartiest sustenance of human +life; and then with weapons from this tub, wherewith to drive +the importunate cock before thee out of doors again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="ALFIERI_AND_SALOMON_THE_FLORENTINE_JEW" id="ALFIERI_AND_SALOMON_THE_FLORENTINE_JEW"></a>ALFIERI AND SALOMON THE FLORENTINE JEW</h2> + + +<p><i>Alfieri.</i> Let us walk to the window, Signor Salomon. And +now, instead of the silly, simpering compliments repeated at +introductions, let me assure you that you are the only man in +Florence with whom I would willingly exchange a salutation.</p> + +<p><i>Salomon.</i> I must think myself highly flattered, Signor Conte, +having always heard that you are not only the greatest democrat, +but also the greatest aristocrat, in Europe.</p> + +<p><i>Alfieri.</i> These two things, however opposite, which your smile +would indicate, are not so irreconcilable as you imagine. Let +us first understand the words, and then talk about them. The +democrat is he who wishes the people to have a due share in the +government, and this share if you please shall be the principal +one. The aristocrat of our days is contented with no actual +share in it; but if a man of family is conscious of his dignity, +and resentful that another has invaded it, he may be, and is +universally, called an aristocrat. The principal difference is, +that one carries outward what the other carries inward. I am +thought an aristocrat by the Florentines for conversing with +few people, and for changing my shirt and shaving my beard +on other days than festivals; which the most aristocratical of +them never do, considering it, no doubt, as an excess. I am, +however, from my soul a republican, if prudence and modesty +will authorize any man to call himself so; and this, I trust, I +have demonstrated in the most valuable of my works, the <i>Treatise +on Tyranny</i> and the <i>Dialogue</i> with my friends at Siena. The +aristocratical part of me, if part of me it must be called, hangs +loose and keeps off insects. I see no aristocracy in the children +of sharpers from behind the counter, nor, placing the matter in +the most favourable point of view, in the descendants of free +citizens who accepted from any vile enslaver—French, Spanish, +German, or priest, or monk (represented with a piece of +buffoonery, like a beehive on his head and a picklock key at +his girdle)—the titles of counts and marquises. In Piedmont +the matter is different: we must either have been the rabble or +the lords; we were military, and we retain over the populace the +same rank and spirit as our ancestors held over the soldiery.</p> + +<p><i>Salomon.</i> Signor Conte, I have heard of levellers, but I have +never seen one: all are disposed to level down, but nobody to +level up. As for nobility, there is none in Europe beside the +Venetian. Nobility must be self-constituted and independent: +the free alone are noble; slavery, like death, levels all. The +English come nearest to the Venetian: they are independent, +but want the main characteristic, the <i>self-constituted</i>. You +have been in England, Signor Conte, and can judge of them +better than I can.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Alfieri.</i> It is among those who stand between the peerage +and the people that there exists a greater mass of virtue and of +wisdom than in the rest of Europe. Much of their dignified +simplicity may be attributed to the plainness of their religion, +and, what will always be imitated, to the decorous life of their +king: for whatever may be the defects of either, if we compare +them with others round us, they are excellent.</p> + +<p><i>Salomon.</i> A young religion jumps upon the shoulders of an +older one, and soon becomes like her, by mockery of her tricks, +her cant, and her decrepitude. Meanwhile the old one shakes +with indignation, and swears there is neither relationship nor +likeness. Was there ever a religion in the world that was not +the true religion, or was there ever a king that was not the +best of kings?</p> + +<p><i>Alfieri.</i> In the latter case we must have arrived nigh perfection; +since it is evident from the authority of the gravest +men—theologians, presidents, judges, corporations, universities, +senates—that every prince is better than his father, ‘of blessed +memory, now with God’. If they continue to rise thus transcendently, +earth in a little time will be incapable of holding them, +and higher heavens must be raised upon the highest heavens +for their reception. The lumber of our Italian courts, the most +crazy part of which is that which rests upon a red cushion in +a gilt chair, with stars and sheep and crosses dangling from +it, must be approached as Artaxerxes and Domitian. These +automatons, we are told nevertheless, are very condescending. +Poor fools who tell us it! ignorant that where on one side is +condescension, on the other side must be baseness. The rascals +have ruined my physiognomy. I wear an habitual sneer upon +my face, God confound them for it! even when I whisper a word +of love in the prone ear of my donna.</p> + +<p><i>Salomon.</i> This temper or constitution of mind I am afraid +may do injury to your works.</p> + +<p><i>Alfieri.</i> Surely not to all: my satire at least must be the better +for it.</p> + +<p><i>Salomon.</i> I think differently. No satire can be excellent +where displeasure is expressed with acrimony and vehemence. +When satire ceases to smile, it should be momentarily, and for +the purpose of inculcating a moral. Juvenal is hardly more +a satirist than Lucan: he is indeed a vigorous and bold declaimer, +but he stamps too often, and splashes up too much filth. We +Italians have no delicacy in wit: we have indeed no conception +of it; we fancy we must be weak if we are not offensive. The +scream of Pulcinello is imitated more easily than the masterly +strokes of Plautus, or the sly insinuations of Catullus and of +Flaccus.</p> + +<p><i>Alfieri.</i> We are the least witty of men because we are the most +trifling.</p> + +<p><i>Salomon.</i> You would persuade me then that to be witty one +must be grave: this is surely a contradiction.</p> + +<p><i>Alfieri.</i> I would persuade you only that banter, pun, and +quibble are the properties of light men and shallow capacities; +that genuine humour and true wit require a sound and capacious +mind, which is always a grave one. Contemptuousness is not +incompatible with them: worthless is that man who feels no +contempt for the worthless, and weak who treats their emptiness +as a thing of weight. At first it may seem a paradox, but it is +perfectly true, that the gravest nations have been the wittiest; +and in those nations some of the gravest men. In England, +Swift and Addison; in Spain, Cervantes. Rabelais and La +Fontaine are recorded by their countrymen to have been +<i>rêveurs</i>. Few men have been graver than Pascal; few have +been wittier.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>That Shakespeare was gay and pleasurable in conversation +I can easily admit; for there never was a mind at once so plastic +and so pliant: but without much gravity, could there have been +that potency and comprehensiveness of thought, that depth of +feeling, that creation of imperishable ideas, that sojourn in the +souls of other men? He was amused in his workshop: such was +society. But when he left it, he meditated intensely upon those +limbs and muscles on which he was about to bestow new action, +grace, and majesty; and so great an intensity of meditation +must have strongly impressed his whole character.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Salomon.</i> Certainly no race of men upon earth ever was so +unwarlike, so indifferent to national dignity and to personal +honour, as the Florentines are now: yet in former days a certain +pride, arising from a resemblance in their government to that +of Athens, excited a vivifying desire of approximation where no +danger or loss accompanied it; and Genius was no less confident +of his security than of his power. Look from the window. That +cottage on the declivity was Dante’s: that square and large +mansion, with a circular garden before it elevated artificially, +was the first scene of Boccaccio’s <i>Decameron</i>. A boy might +stand at an equal distance between them, and break the windows +of each with his sling. What idle fabricators of crazy systems +will tell me that climate is the creator of genius? The climate +of Austria is more regular and more temperate than ours, which +I am inclined to believe is the most variable in the whole universe, +subject, as you have perceived, to heavy fogs for two months in +winter, and to a stifling heat, concentrated within the hills, for +five more. Yet a single man of genius hath never appeared in +the whole extent of Austria, an extent of several thousand times +greater than our city; and this very street has given birth to fifty.</p> + +<p><i>Alfieri.</i> Since the destruction of the republic, Florence has +produced only one great man, Galileo, and abandoned him to +every indignity that fanaticism and despotism could invent. +Extraordinary men, like the stones that are formed in the higher +regions of the air, fall upon the earth only to be broken and cast +into the furnace. The precursor of Newton lived in the deserts +of the moral world, drank water, and ate locusts and wild honey. +It was fortunate that his head also was not lopped off: had a +singer asked it, instead of a dancer, it would have been.</p> + +<p><i>Salomon.</i> In fact it was; for the fruits of it were shaken down +and thrown away: he was forbidden to publish the most important +of his discoveries, and the better part of his manuscripts +was burned after his death.</p> + +<p><i>Alfieri.</i> Yes, Signor Salomon, those things may rather be +called our heads than this knob above the shoulder, of which +(as matters stand) we are rather the porters than the proprietors, +and which is really the joint concern of barber and dentist.</p> + +<p><i>Salomon.</i> Our thoughts, if they may not rest at home, may +wander freely. Delighting in the remoter glories of my native +city, I forget at times its humiliation and ignominy. A town +so little that the voice of a cabbage-girl in the midst of it may +be heard at the extremities, reared within three centuries a +greater number of citizens illustrious for their genius than all +the remainder of the Continent (excepting her sister Athens) +in six thousand years. My ignorance of the Greek forbids me +to compare our Dante with Homer. The propriety and force +of language and the harmony of verse in the glorious Grecian +are quite lost to me. Dante had not only to compose a poem, +but in great part a language. Fantastical as the plan of his +poem is, and, I will add, uninteresting and uninviting; unimportant, +mean, contemptible, as are nine-tenths of his characters +and his details, and wearisome as is the scheme of his versification—there +are more thoughts highly poetical, there is more +reflection, and the nobler properties of mind and intellect are +brought into more intense action, not only than in the whole +course of French poetry, but also in the whole of continental; +nor do I think (I must here also speak with hesitation) that any +one drama of Shakespeare contains so many. Smile as you will, +Signor Conte, what must I think of a city where Michel Angelo, +Frate Bartolomeo, Ghiberti (who formed them), Guicciardini, +and Machiavelli were secondary men? And certainly such +were they, if we compare them with Galileo and Boccaccio and +Dante.</p> + +<p><i>Alfieri.</i> I smiled from pure delight, which I rarely do; for I +take an interest deep and vital in such men, and in those who +appreciate them rightly and praise them unreservedly. These +are my fellow-citizens: I acknowledge no other; we are of the +same tribe, of the same household; I bow to them as being older +than myself, and I love them as being better.</p> + +<p><i>Salomon.</i> Let us hope that our Italy is not yet effete. Filangieri +died but lately: what think you of him?</p> + +<p><i>Alfieri.</i> If it were possible that I could ever see his statue in +a square at Constantinople, though I should be scourged for an +idolater, I would kiss the pedestal. As this, however, is less +likely than that I should suffer for writing satirically, and as +criticism is less likely to mislead me than speculation, I will +revert to our former subject.</p> + +<p>Indignation and contempt may be expressed in other poems +than such as are usually called satires. Filicaia, in his celebrated +address to Italy, steers a middle course.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>A perfect piece of criticism must exhibit <i>where</i> a work is good +or bad; <i>why</i> it is good or bad; in what degree it is good or bad; +must also demonstrate in what manner, and to what extent, +the same ideas or reflections have come to others, and, if they +be clothed in poetry, why by an apparently slight variation, +what in one author is mediocrity, in another is excellence. I +have never seen a critic of Florence, or Pisa, or Milan, or Bologna, +who did not commend and admire the sonnet of Cassiani on the +rape of Proserpine, without a suspicion of its manifold and +grave defects.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>Does not this describe the devils of our carnival, rather than +the majestic brother of Jupiter, at whose side upon asphodel +and amaranth the sweet Persephone sits pensively contented, +in that deep motionless quiet which mortals pity and which +the gods enjoy; rather than him who, under the umbrage of +Elysium, gazes at once upon all the beauties that on earth were +separated—Helena and Eriphyle, Polyxena and Hermione, +Deidamia and Deianira, Leda and Omphale, Atalanta and +Cydippe, Laodamia, with her arm round the neck of a fond +youth whom she still seems afraid of losing, and, apart, the +daughters of Niobe clinging to their parent?</p> + +<p><i>Salomon.</i> These images are better than satires; but continue, +in preference to other thoughts or pursuits, the noble career +you have entered. Be contented, Signor Conte, with the glory +of our first great dramatist, and neglect altogether any inferior +one. Why vex and torment yourself about the French? They +buzz and are troublesome while they are swarming; but the +master will soon hive them. Is the whole nation worth the +worst of your tragedies? All the present race of them, all the +creatures in the world which excite your indignation, will lie in +the grave, while young and old are clapping their hands or beating +their bosoms at your <i>Bruto Primo</i>. Consider also that kings +and emperors should in your estimation be but as grasshoppers +and beetles: let them consume a few blades of your clover without +molesting them, without bringing them to crawl on you and claw +you. The difference between them and men of genius is almost +as great as between men of genius and those higher intelligences +who act in immediate subordination to the Almighty. Yes, +I assert it, without flattery and without fear, the angels are not +higher above mortals than you are above the proudest that +trample on them.</p> + +<p><i>Alfieri.</i> I believe, sir, you were the first in commending my +tragedies.</p> + +<p><i>Salomon.</i> He who first praises a good book becomingly is +next in merit to the author.</p> + +<p><i>Alfieri.</i> As a writer and as a man I know my station: if I +found in the world five equal to myself, I would walk out of it, +not to be jostled.</p> + +<p>I must now, Signor Salomon, take my leave of you; for his +Eminence my coachman and their Excellencies my horses are +waiting.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="ROUSSEAU_AND_MALESHERBES" id="ROUSSEAU_AND_MALESHERBES"></a>ROUSSEAU AND MALESHERBES</h2> + + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> I am ashamed, sir, of my countrymen: let my +humiliation expiate their offence. I wish it had not been a +minister of the Gospel who received you with such inhospitality.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Nothing can be more ardent and more cordial +than the expressions with which you greet me, M. Rousseau, +on my return from your lakes and mountains.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> If the pastor took you for a courtier, I reverence +him for his contemptuousness.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Why so? Indeed you are in the wrong, my +friend. No person has a right to treat another with contemptuousness +unless he knows him to deserve it. When a +courtier enters the house of a pastor in preference to the next, +the pastor should partake in the sentiment that induced him, +or at least not to be offended to be preferred. A courtier is +such at court: in the house of a clergyman he is not a courtier, +but a guest. If to be a courtier is offensive, remember that we +punish offences where they are committed, where they can be +examined, where pleadings can be heard for and against the +accused, and where nothing is admitted extraneous from the +indictment, excepting what may be adduced in his behalf by +witnesses to the general tenor of his character.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> Is it really true that the man told you to mount +the hayloft if you wished a night’s lodging?</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> He did: a certain proof that he no more took +me to be a courtier than I took him to be. I accepted his offer, +and never slept so soundly. Moderate fatigue, the Alpine air, +the blaze of a good fire (for I was admitted to it some moments), +and a profusion of odoriferous hay, below which a cow was +sleeping, subdued my senses, and protracted my slumbers +beyond the usual hour.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> You have no right, sir, to be the patron and remunerator +of inhospitality. Three or four such men as you +would corrupt all Switzerland, and prepare it for the fangs of +France and Austria. Kings, like hyenas, will always fall upon +dead carcasses, although their bellies are full, and although they +are conscious that in the end they will tear one another to +pieces over them. Why should you prepare their prey? Were +your fire and effulgence given you for this? Why, in short, +did you thank this churl? Why did you recommend him to his +superiors for preferment on the next vacancy?</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> I must adopt your opinion of his behaviour in +order to answer you satisfactorily. You suppose him inhospitable: +what milder or more effectual mode of reproving him, than +to make every dish at his table admonish him? If he did evil, +have I no authority before me which commands me to render +him good for it? Believe me, M. Rousseau, the execution of +this command is always accompanied by the heart’s applause, +and opportunities of obedience are more frequent here than +anywhere. Would not you exchange resentment for the contrary +feeling, even if religion or duty said nothing about the matter? +I am afraid the most philosophical of us are sometimes a little +perverse, and will not be so happy as they might be, because +the path is pointed out to them, and because he who points it +out is wise and powerful. Obstinacy and jealousy, the worst +parts of childhood and of manhood, have range enough for their +ill humours without the heavens.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> Sir, I perceive you are among my enemies. I +did not think it; for, whatever may be my faults, I am totally +free from suspicion.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> And do not think it now, I entreat you, my good +friend.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> Courts and society have corrupted the best heart +in France, and have perverted the best intellect.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> They have done much evil then.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> Answer me, and your own conscience: how could +you choose to live among the perfidies of Paris and Versailles?</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Lawyers, and advocates in particular, must live +there; philosophers need not. If every honest man thought it +requisite to leave those cities, would the inhabitants be the +better?</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> You have entered into intimacies with the members +of various administrations, opposite in plans and sentiments, +but alike hostile to you, and all of whom, if they could have kept +your talents down, would have done it. Finding the thing +impossible, they ceased to persecute, and would gladly tempt +you under the semblance of friendship and esteem to supplicate +for some office, that they might indicate to the world your +unworthiness by refusing you: a proof, as you know, quite +sufficient and self-evident.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> They will never tempt me to supplicate for +anything but justice, and that in behalf of others. I know +nothing of parties. If I am acquainted with two persons of +opposite sides in politics, I consider them as you consider a +watchmaker and a cabinet-maker: one desires to rise by one +way, the other by another. Administrations and systems of +government would be quite indifferent to those very functionaries +and their opponents, who appear the most zealous partisans, if +their fortunes and consequence were not affixed to them. +Several of these men seem consistent, and indeed are; the reason +is, versatility would loosen and detach from them the public +esteem and confidence——</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> By which their girandoles are lighted, their dinners +served, their lackeys liveried, and their opera-girls vie in +benefit-nights. There is no State in Europe where the least +wise have not governed the most wise. We find the light and +foolish keeping up with the machinery of government easily +and leisurely, just as we see butterflies keep up with carriages +at full speed. This is owing in both cases to their levity and their +position: the stronger and the more active are left behind. I +am resolved to prove that farmers-general are the main causes +of the defects in our music.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Prove it, or anything else, provided that the +discussion does not irritate and torment you.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> Truth is the object of philosophy.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Not of philosophers: the display of ingenuity, +for the most part, is and always has been it. I must here offer +you an opinion of my own, which, if you think well of me, you will +pardon, though you should disbelieve its solidity. My opinion +then is, that truth is not reasonably the main and ultimate +object of philosophy; but that philosophy should seek truth +merely as the means of acquiring and of propagating happiness. +Truths are simple; wisdom, which is formed by their apposition +and application, is concrete: out of this, in its vast varieties, +open to our wants and wishes, comes happiness. But the knowledge +of all the truths ever yet discovered does not lead immediately +to it, nor indeed will ever reach it, unless you make the +more important of them bear upon your heart and intellect, +and form, as it were, the blood that moves and nurtures them.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> I never until now entertained a doubt that truth is +the ultimate aim and object of philosophy: no writer has +denied it, I think.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Designedly none may: but when it is agreed +that happiness is the chief good, it must also be agreed that the +chief wisdom will pursue it; and I have already said, what your +own experience cannot but have pointed out to you, that no +truth, or series of truths, hypothetically, can communicate or +attain it. Come, M. Rousseau, tell me candidly, do you derive no +pleasure from a sense of superiority in genius and independence?</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> The highest, sir, from a consciousness of +independence.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> <i>Ingenuous</i> is the epithet we affix to modesty, +but modesty often makes men act otherwise than ingenuously: +you, for example, now. You are angry at the servility of +people, and disgusted at their obtuseness and indifference, on +matters of most import to their welfare. If they were equal +to you, this anger would cease; but the fire would break out +somewhere else, on ground which appears at present sound and +level. Voltaire, for instance, is less eloquent than you: but +Voltaire is wittier than any man living. This quality——</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> Is the quality of a buffoon and a courtier. But +the buffoon should have most of it, to support his higher dignity.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Voltaire’s is Attic.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau</i>. If malignity is Attic. Petulance is not wit, +although a few grains of wit may be found in petulance: quartz +is not gold, although a few grains of gold may be found in +quartz. Voltaire is a monkey in mischief, and a spaniel in +obsequiousness. He declaims against the cruel and tyrannical; +and he kisses the hands of adulteresses who murder their +husbands, and of robbers who decimate their gang.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> I will not discuss with you the character of the +man, and only that part of the author’s on which I spoke. +There may be malignity in wit, there cannot be violence. You +may irritate and disquiet with it; but it must be by means of a +flower or a feather. Wit and humour stand on one side, irony +and sarcasm on the other.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> They are in near neighbourhood.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> So are the Elysian fields and Tartarus.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> Pray, go on: teach me to stand quiet in my stall, +while my masters and managers pass by.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Well then—Pascal argues as closely and methodically; +Bossuet is as scientific in the structure of his sentences; +Demosthenes, many think, has equal fire, vigour, dexterity: +equal selection of topics and equal temperance in treating +them, immeasurably as he falls short of you in appeals to the +sensibility, and in everything which by way of excellence we +usually call genius.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> Sir, I see no resemblance between a pleader at +the bar, or a haranguer of the populace, and me.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Certainly his questions are occasional: but one +great question hangs in the centre, and high above the rest; +and this is, whether the Mother of liberty and civilization shall +exist, or whether she shall be extinguished in the bosom of her +family. As we often apply to Eloquence and her parts the +terms we apply to Architecture and hers, let me do it also, and +remark that nothing can be more simple, solid, and symmetrical, +nothing more frugal in decoration or more appropriate in distribution, +than the apartments of Demosthenes. Yours excel +them in space and altitude; your ornaments are equally chaste +and beautiful, with more variety and invention, more airiness +and light. But why, among the Loves and Graces, does Apollo +flay Marsyas?—and why may not the tiara still cover the ears +of Midas? Cannot you, who detest kings and courtiers, keep +away from them? If I must be with them, let me be in good +humour and good spirits. If I will tread upon a Persian carpet, +let it at least be in clean shoes.</p> + +<p>As the raciest wine makes the sharpest vinegar, so the richest +fancies turn the most readily to acrimony. Keep yours, my dear +M. Rousseau, from the exposure and heats that generate it. +Be contented; enjoy your fine imagination; and do not throw +your salad out of window, nor shove your cat off your knee, on +hearing it said that Shakespeare has a finer, or that a minister +is of opinion that you know more of music than of state. My +friend! the quarrels of ingenious men are generally far less +reasonable and just, less placable and moderate, than those of +the stupid and ignorant. We ought to blush at this: and we +should blush yet more deeply if we bring them in as parties to +our differences. Let us conquer by kindness; which we cannot +do easily or well without communication.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> The minister would expel me from his antechamber, +and order his valets to buffet me, if I offered him any proposal +for the advantage of mankind.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Call to him, then, from this room, where the +valets are civiler. Nature has given you a speaking-trumpet, +which neither storm can drown nor enemy can silence. If you +esteem him, instruct him; if you despise him, do the same. +Surely, you who have much benevolence would not despise any +one willingly or unnecessarily. Contempt is for the incorrigible: +now, where upon earth is he whom your genius, if rightly and +temperately exerted, would not influence and correct?</p> + +<p>I never was more flattered or honoured than by your patience +in listening to me. Consider me as an old woman who sits by +the bedside in your infirmity, who brings you no savoury +viand, no exotic fruit, but a basin of whey or a basket of strawberries +from your native hills; assures you that what oppressed +you was a dream, occasioned by the wrong position in which +you lay; opens the window, gives you fresh air, and entreats +you to recollect the features of Nature, and to observe (which +no man ever did so accurately) their beauty. In your politics +you cut down a forest to make a toothpick, and cannot make +even that out of it! Do not let us in jurisprudence be like +critics in the classics, and change whatever can be changed, +right or wrong. No statesman will take your advice. Supposing +that any one is liberal in his sentiments and clear-sighted +in his views, nevertheless love of power is jealous, and he would +rejoice to see you fleeing from persecution or turning to meet it. +The very men whom you would benefit will treat you worse. +As the ministers of kings wish their masters to possess absolute +power that the exercise of it may be delegated to them, which +it naturally is from the violence and sloth alternate with despots +as with wild beasts, and that they may apprehend no check or +control from those who discover their misdemeanours, in like +manner the people places more trust in favour than in fortune, +and hopes to obtain by subserviency what it never might by +election or by chance. Else in free governments, so some are +called (for names once given are the last things lost), all minor +offices and employments would be assigned by ballot. Each +province or canton would present a list annually of such persons +in it as are worthy to occupy the local administrations.</p> + +<p>To avoid any allusion to the country in which we live, let us +take England for example. Is it not absurd, iniquitous, and +revolting, that the minister of a church in Yorkshire should be +appointed by a lawyer in London, who never knew him, never +saw him, never heard from a single one of the parishioners a +recommendation of any kind? Is it not more reasonable that a +justice of the peace should be chosen by those who have always +been witnesses of his integrity?</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> The king should appoint his ministers, and should +invest them with power and splendour; but those ministers +should not appoint to any civil or religious place of trust or +profit which the community could manifestly fill better. The +greater part of offices and dignities should be conferred for a +short and stated time, that all might hope to attain and strive +to deserve them. Embassies in particular should never exceed +one year in Europe, nor consulates two. To the latter office I +assign this duration as the more difficult to fulfil properly, from +requiring a knowledge of trade, although a slight one, and +because those who possess any such knowledge are inclined for +the greater part to turn it to their own account, which a consul +ought by no means to do. Frequent election of representatives +and of civil officers in the subordinate employments would +remove most causes of discontent in the people, and of instability +in kingly power. Here is a lottery in which every one +is sure of a prize, if not for himself, at least for somebody in +his family or among his friends; and the ticket would be fairly +paid for out of the taxes.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> So it appears to me. What other system can +present so obviously to the great mass of the people the two +principal piers and buttresses of government, tangible interest +and reasonable hope? No danger of any kind can arise from it, +no antipathies, no divisions, no imposture of demagogues, no +caprice of despots. On the contrary, many and great advantages +in places which at the first survey do not appear to border +on it. At present, the best of the English juridical institutions, +that of justices of the peace, is viewed with diffidence and distrust. +Elected as they would be, and increased in number, the +whole judicature, civil and criminal, might be confided to them, +and their labours be not only not aggravated but diminished. +Suppose them in four divisions to meet at four places in every +county once in twenty days, and to possess the power of imposing +a fine not exceeding two hundred francs on every cause implying +oppression, and one not exceeding fifty on such as they should +unanimously declare frivolous.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> Few would become attorneys, and those from +among the indigent.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Almost the greatest evil that exists in the +world, moral or physical, would be removed. A second appeal +might be made in the following session; a third could only come +before Parliament, and this alone by means of attorneys, the +number of whom altogether would not exceed the number of +coroners; for in England there are as many who cut their own +throats as who would cut their own purses.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> The famous <i>trial by jury</i> would cease: this would +disgust the English.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> The number of justices would be much augmented: +nearly all those who now are jurymen would enjoy +this rank and dignity, and would be flattered by sitting on the +same bench with the first gentlemen of the land.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> What number would sit?</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Three or five in the first instance; five or seven +in the second—as the number of causes should permit.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> The laws of England are extremely intricate and +perplexed: such men would be puzzled.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Such men having no interest in the perplexity, +but on the contrary an interest in unravelling it, would see such +laws corrected. Intricate as they are, questions on those which +are the most so are usually referred by the judges themselves +to private arbitration; of which my plan, I conceive, has all +the advantages, united to those of open and free discussion +among men of unperverted sense, and unbiased by professional +hopes and interests. The different courts of law in England +cost about seventy millions of francs annually. On my system, +the justices or judges would receive five-and-twenty francs +daily; as the <i>special jurymen</i> do now, without any sense of +shame or impropriety, however rich they may be: such being +the established practice.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> Seventy millions! seventy millions!</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> There are attorneys and conveyancers in London +who gain one hundred thousand francs a year, and advocates +more. The chancellor——</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> The Celeno of these harpies——</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Nets above one million, and is greatly more than +an archbishop in the Church, scattering preferment in Cumberland +and Cornwall from his bench at Westminster.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> Absurdities and enormities are great in proportion +to custom or insuetude. If we had lived from childhood with +a boa constrictor, we should think it no more a monster than a +canary-bird. The sum you mentioned, of seventy millions, is +incredible.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> In this estimate the expense of letters by the +post, and of journeys made by the parties, is not and cannot +be included.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> The whole machine of government, civil and +religious, ought never to bear upon the people with a weight so +oppressive. I do not add the national defence, which being +principally naval is more costly, nor institutions for the promotion +of the arts, which in a country like England ought to +be liberal. But such an expenditure should nearly suffice for +these also, in time of peace. Religion and law indeed should +cost nothing: at present the one hangs property, the other +quarters it. I am confounded at the profusion. I doubt +whether the Romans expended so much in that year’s war +which dissolved the Carthaginian empire, and left them masters +of the universe. What is certain, and what is better, it did not +cost a tenth of it to colonize Pennsylvania, in whose forests +the cradle of freedom is suspended, and where the eye of philanthropy, +tired with tears and vigils, may wander and may rest. +Your system, or rather your arrangement of one already established, +pleases me. Ministers would only lose thereby that +portion of their possessions which they give away to needy +relatives, unworthy dependants, or the requisite supporters of +their authority and power.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> On this plan, no such supporters would be +necessary, no such dependants could exist, and no such relatives +could be disappointed. Beside, the conflicts of their opponents +must be periodical, weak, and irregular.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> The craving for the rich carrion would be less keen; +the zeal of opposition, as usual, would be measured by the +stomach, whereon hope and overlooking have always a strong +influence.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> My excellent friend, do not be offended with me +for an ingenuous and frank confession: promise me your pardon.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> You need none.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Promise it, nevertheless.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> You have said nothing, done nothing, which could +in any way displease me.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> You grant me, then, a bill of indemnity for +what I may have undertaken with a good intention since we +have been together?</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> Willingly.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> I fell into your views, I walked along with you +side by side, merely to occupy your mind, which I perceived +was agitated.</p> + +<p>In compliance with your humour, to engage your fancy, to +divert it awhile from Switzerland, by which you appear and +partly on my account to be offended, I began with reflections +upon England: I raised up another cloud in the region of them, +light enough to be fantastic and diaphanous, and to catch some +little irradiation from its western sun. Do not run after it +farther; it has vanished already. Consider: the three great +nations——</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> Pray, which are those?</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> I cannot in conscience give the palm to the +Hottentots, the Greenlanders, or the Hurons: I meant to +designate those who united to empire the most social virtue +and civil freedom. Athens, Rome, and England have received +on the subject of government elaborate treatises from their +greatest men. You have reasoned more dispassionately and +profoundly on it than Plato has done, or probably than Cicero, +led away as he often is by the authority of those who are inferior +to himself: but do you excel Aristoteles in calm and patient +investigation? Or, think you, are your reading and range of +thought more extensive than Harrington’s and Milton’s? Yet +what effect have the political works of these marvellous men +produced upon the world?—what effect upon any one state, +any one city, any one hamlet? A clerk in office, an accountant, +a gauger of small beer, a songwriter for a tavern dinner, produces +more. He thrusts his rags into the hole whence the wind +comes, and sleeps soundly. While you and I are talking about +elevations and proportions, pillars and pilasters, architraves +and friezes, the buildings we should repair are falling to the +earth, and the materials for their restoration are in the quarry.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> I could answer you: but my mind has certain +moments of repose, or rather of oscillation, which I would not +for the world disturb. Music, eloquence, friendship, bring and +prolong them.</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Enjoy them, my dear friend, and convert them +if possible to months and years. It is as much at your arbitration +on what theme you shall meditate, as in what meadow you +shall botanize; and you have as much at your option the choice +of your thoughts, as of the keys in your harpsichord.</p> + +<p><i>Rousseau.</i> If this were true, who could be unhappy?</p> + +<p><i>Malesherbes.</i> Those of whom it is not true. Those who from +want of practice cannot manage their thoughts, who have few +to select from, and who, because of their sloth or of their weakness, +do not roll away the heaviest from before them.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="LUCULLUS_AND_CAESAR" id="LUCULLUS_AND_CAESAR"></a>LUCULLUS AND CAESAR</h2> + + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Lucius Lucullus, I come to you privately and unattended +for reasons which you will know; confiding, I dare not +say in your friendship, since no service of mine toward you hath +deserved it, but in your generous and disinterested love of +peace. Hear me on. Cneius Pompeius, according to the +report of my connexions in the city, had, on the instant of my +leaving it for the province, begun to solicit his dependants to +strip me ignominiously of authority. Neither vows nor affinity +can bind him. He would degrade the father of his wife; he +would humiliate his own children, the unoffending, the unborn; +he would poison his own nascent love—at the suggestion of +Ambition. Matters are now brought so far, that either he or I +must submit to a reverse of fortune; since no concession can +assuage his malice, divert his envy, or gratify his cupidity. +No sooner could I raise myself up, from the consternation and +stupefaction into which the certainty of these reports had +thrown me, than I began to consider in what manner my own +private afflictions might become the least noxious to the republic. +Into whose arms, then, could I throw myself more naturally +and more securely, to whose bosom could I commit and consign +more sacredly the hopes and destinies of our beloved country, +than his who laid down power in the midst of its enjoyments, +in the vigour of youth, in the pride of triumph, when Dignity +solicited, when Friendship urged, entreated, supplicated, and +when Liberty herself invited and beckoned to him from the +senatorial order and from the curule chair? Betrayed and +abandoned by those we had confided in, our next friendship, +if ever our hearts receive any, or if any will venture in those +places of desolation, flies forward instinctively to what is +most contrary and dissimilar. Caesar is hence the visitant of +Lucullus.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> I had always thought Pompeius more moderate +and more reserved than you represent him, Caius Julius; and +yet I am considered in general, and surely you also will consider +me, but little liable to be prepossessed by him.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Unless he may have ingratiated himself with you +recently, by the administration of that worthy whom last winter +his partisans dragged before the Senate, and forced to assert +publicly that you and Cato had instigated a party to circumvent +and murder him; and whose carcass, a few days afterward, +when it had been announced that he had died by a natural +death, was found covered with bruises, stabs, and dislocations.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> You bring much to my memory which had quite +slipped out of it, and I wonder that it could make such an +impression on yours. A proof to me that the interest you take +in my behalf began earlier than your delicacy will permit you +to acknowledge. You are fatigued, which I ought to have +perceived before.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Not at all; the fresh air has given me life and alertness: +I feel it upon my cheek even in the room.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> After our dinner and sleep, we will spend the +remainder of the day on the subject of your visit.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Those Ethiopian slaves of yours shiver with cold +upon the mountain here; and truly I myself was not insensible +to the change of climate, in the way from Mutina.</p> + +<p>What white bread! I never found such even at Naples or +Capua. This Formian wine (which I prefer to the Chian), how +exquisite!</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> Such is the urbanity of Caesar, even while he bites +his lip with displeasure. How! surely it bleeds! Permit me +to examine the cup.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> I believe a jewel has fallen out of the rim in the +carriage: the gold is rough there.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> Marcipor, let me never see that cup again! No +answer, I desire. My guest pardons heavier faults. Mind that +dinner be prepared for us shortly.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> In the meantime, Lucullus, if your health permits it, +shall we walk a few paces round the villa? for I have not seen +anything of the kind before.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> The walls are double; the space between them two +feet: the materials for the most part earth and straw. Two +hundred slaves, and about as many mules and oxen, brought +the beams and rafters up the mountain; my architects fixed +them at once in their places: every part was ready, even the +wooden nails. The roof is thatched, you see.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Is there no danger that so light a material should +be carried off by the winds, on such an eminence?</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> None resists them equally well.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> On this immensely high mountain, I should be +apprehensive of the lightning, which the poets, and I think the +philosophers too, have told us strikes the highest.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> The poets are right; for whatever is received as +truth is truth in poetry; and a fable may illustrate like a fact. +But the philosophers are wrong, as they generally are, even in +the commonest things; because they seldom look beyond their +own tenets, unless through captiousness, and because they +argue more than they meditate, and display more than they +examine. Archimedes and Euclid are, in my opinion, after our +Epicurus, the worthiest of the name, having kept apart to the +demonstrable, the practical, and the useful. Many of the +rest are good writers and good disputants; but unfaithful +suitors of simple science, boasters of their acquaintance with +gods and goddesses, plagiarists and impostors. I had forgotten +my roof, although it is composed of much the same materials +as the philosophers’. Let the lightning fall: one handful of +silver, or less, repairs the damage.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Impossible! nor indeed one thousand, nor twenty, if +those tapestries and pictures are consumed.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> True; but only the thatch would burn. For, +before the baths were tessellated, I filled the area with alum and +water, and soaked the timbers and laths for many months, and +covered them afterward with alum in powder, by means of +liquid glue. Mithridates taught me this. Having in vain +attacked with combustibles a wooden tower, I took it by +stratagem, and found within it a mass of alum, which, if a great +hurry had not been observed by us among the enemy in the +attempt to conceal it, would have escaped our notice. I never +scrupled to extort the truth from my prisoners; but my instruments +were purple robes and plate, and the only wheel in my +armoury destined to such purposes was the wheel of Fortune.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> I wish, in my campaigns, I could have equalled your +clemency and humanity; but the Gauls are more uncertain, +fierce, and perfidious than the wildest tribes of Caucasus; and +our policy cannot be carried with us, it must be formed upon +the spot. They love you, not for abstaining from hurting +them, but for ceasing; and they embrace you only at two +seasons—when stripes are fresh, or when stripes are imminent. +Elsewhere, I hope to become the rival of Lucullus in this +admirable part of virtue.</p> + +<p>I shall never build villas, because—but what are your proportions? +Surely the edifice is extremely low.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> There is only one floor; the height of the apartments +is twenty feet to the cornice, five above it; the breadth is +twenty-five, the length forty. The building, as you perceive, +is quadrangular: three sides contain four rooms each; the other +has many partitions and two stories, for domestics and offices. +Here is my salt-bath.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> A bath, indeed, for all the Nereids named by Hesiod, +with room enough for the Tritons and their herds and horses.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> Here stand my two cows. Their milk is brought +to me with its warmth and froth; for it loses its salubrity both +by repose and by motion. Pardon me, Caesar: I shall appear to +you to have forgotten that I am not conducting Marcus Varro.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> You would convert him into Cacus: he would drive +them off. What beautiful beasts! how sleek and white and +cleanly! I never saw any like them, excepting when we +sacrifice to Jupiter the stately leader from the pastures of +the Clitumnus.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> Often do I make a visit to these quiet creatures, +and with no less pleasure than in former days to my horses. +Nor indeed can I much wonder that whole nations have been +consentaneous in treating them as objects of devotion: the only +thing wonderful is that gratitude seems to have acted as powerfully +and extensively as fear; indeed, more extensively, for no +object of worship whatever has attracted so many worshippers. +Where Jupiter has one, the cow has ten: she was venerated +before he was born, and will be when even the carvers have +forgotten him.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Unwillingly should I see it; for the character of our +gods hath formed the character of our nation. Serapis and +Isis have stolen in among them within our memory, and others +will follow, until at last Saturn will not be the only one emasculated +by his successor. What can be more august than our +rites? The first dignitaries of the republic are emulous to +administer them: nothing of low or venal has any place in them; +nothing pusillanimous, nothing unsocial and austere. I speak +of them as they were; before Superstition woke up again from +her slumber, and caught to her bosom with maternal love the +alluvial monsters of the Nile. Philosophy, never fit for the +people, had entered the best houses, and the image of Epicurus +had taken the place of the Lemures. But men cannot bear to +be deprived long together of anything they are used to, not +even of their fears; and, by a reaction of the mind appertaining +to our nature, new stimulants were looked for, not on the side +of pleasure, where nothing new could be expected or imagined, +but on the opposite. Irreligion is followed by fanaticism, and +fanaticism by irreligion, alternately and perpetually.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> The religion of our country, as you observe, is well +adapted to its inhabitants. Our progenitor, Mars, hath Venus +recumbent on his breast and looking up to him, teaching us that +pleasure is to be sought in the bosom of valour and by the means +of war. No great alteration, I think, will ever be made in our +rites and ceremonies—the best and most imposing that could +be collected from all nations, and uniting them to us by our +complacence in adopting them. The gods themselves may +change names, to flatter new power: and, indeed, as we degenerate, +Religion will accommodate herself to our propensities and +desires. Our heaven is now popular: it will become monarchal; +not without a crowded court, as befits it, of apparitors and +satellites and minions of both sexes, paid and caressed for carrying +to their stern, dark-bearded master prayers and supplications. +Altars must be strown with broken minds, and incense rise +amid abject aspirations. Gods will be found unfit for their +places; and it is not impossible that, in the ruin imminent +from our contentions for power, and in the necessary extinction +both of ancient families and of generous sentiments, our consular +fasces may become the water-sprinklers of some upstart priesthood, +and that my son may apply for lustration to the son of my +groom. The interest of such men requires that the spirit of +arms and of arts be extinguished. They will predicate peace, +that the people may be tractable to them; but a religion altogether +pacific is the fomenter of wars and the nurse of crimes, +alluring Sloth from within and Violence from afar. If ever it +should prevail among the Romans, it must prevail alone: for +nations more vigorous and energetic will invade them, close +upon them, trample them under foot; and the name of Roman, +which is now the most glorious, will become the most opprobrious +upon earth.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> The time, I hope, may be distant; for next to my own +name I hold my country’s.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> Mine, not coming from Troy or Ida, is lower in +my estimation: I place my country’s first.</p> + +<p>You are surveying the little lake beside us. It contains no +fish, birds never alight on it, the water is extremely pure and +cold; the walk round is pleasant, not only because there is +always a gentle breeze from it, but because the turf is fine +and the surface of the mountain on this summit is perfectly on +a level to a great extent in length—not a trifling advantage to +me, who walk often and am weak. I have no alley, no garden, +no enclosure; the park is in the vale below, where a brook +supplies the ponds, and where my servants are lodged; for here +I have only twelve in attendance.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> What is that so white, towards the Adriatic?</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> The Adriatic itself. Turn round and you may +descry the Tuscan Sea. Our situation is reported to be among +the highest of the Apennines. Marcipor has made the sign to +me that dinner is ready. Pass this way.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> What a library is here! Ah, Marcus Tullius! I salute +thy image. Why frownest thou upon me—collecting the +consular robe and uplifting the right arm, as when Rome stood +firm again, and Catiline fled before thee?</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> Just so; such was the action the statuary chose, as +adding a new endearment to the memory of my absent friend.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Sylla, who honoured you above all men, is not here.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> I have his <i>Commentaries</i>: he inscribed them, as +you know, to me. Something even of our benefactors may be +forgotten, and gratitude be unreproved.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> The impression on that couch, and the two fresh +honeysuckles in the leaves of those two books, would show, +even to a stranger, that this room is peculiarly the master’s. +Are they sacred?</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> To me and Caesar.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> I would have asked permission——</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> Caius Julius, you have nothing to ask of Polybius +and Thucydides; nor of Xenophon, the next to them on the +table.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Thucydides! the most generous, the most unprejudiced, +the most sagacious, of historians. Now, Lucullus, +you whose judgment in style is more accurate than any other +Roman’s, do tell me whether a commander, desirous of writing +his <i>Commentaries</i>, could take to himself a more perfect model +than Thucydides?</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> Nothing is more perfect, nor ever will be: the scholar +of Pericles, the master of Demosthenes, the equal of the one in +military science, and of the other not the inferior in civil and +forensic; the calm dispassionate judge of the general by whom +he was defeated, his defender, his encomiast. To talk of such +men is conducive not only to virtue but to health.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>This other is my dining-room. You expect the dishes.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> I misunderstood—I fancied——</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> Repose yourself, and touch with the ebony wand, +beside you, the sphinx on either of those obelisks, right or left.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Let me look at them first.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> The contrivance was intended for one person, or +two at most, desirous of privacy and quiet. The blocks of +jasper in my pair, and of porphyry in yours, easily yield in their +grooves, each forming one partition. There are four, containing +four platforms. The lower holds four dishes, such as sucking +forest-boars, venison, hares, tunnies, sturgeons, which you will +find within; the upper three, eight each, but diminutive. The +confectionery is brought separately, for the steam would spoil +it, if any should escape. The melons are in the snow, thirty +feet under us: they came early this morning from a place in +the vicinity of Luni, travelling by night.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> I wonder not at anything of refined elegance in +Lucullus; but really here Antiochia and Alexandria seem to +have cooked for us, and magicians to be our attendants.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> The absence of slaves from our repast is the luxury, +for Marcipor alone enters, and he only when I press a spring +with my foot or wand. When you desire his appearance, touch +that chalcedony just before you.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> I eat quick and rather plentifully; yet the valetudinarian +(excuse my rusticity, for I rejoice at seeing it) appears +to equal the traveller in appetite, and to be contented with one +dish.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> It is milk: such, with strawberries, which ripen on +the Apennines many months in continuance, and some other +berries of sharp and grateful flavour, has been my only diet +since my first residence here. The state of my health requires +it; and the habitude of nearly three months renders this food +not only more commodious to my studies and more conducive +to my sleep, but also more agreeable to my palate than any +other.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Returning to Rome or Baiae, you must domesticate +and tame them. The cherries you introduced from Pontus +are now growing in Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul; and the +largest and best in the world, perhaps, are upon the more sterile +side of Lake Larius.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> There are some fruits, and some virtues, which +require a harsh soil and bleak exposure for their perfection.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> In such a profusion of viands, and so savoury, I +perceive no odour.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> A flue conducts heat through the compartments of +the obelisks; and, if you look up, you may observe that those +gilt roses, between the astragals in the cornice, are prominent +from it half a span. Here is an aperture in the wall, between +which and the outer is a perpetual current of air. We are now +in the dog-days; and I have never felt in the whole summer +more heat than at Rome in many days of March.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Usually you are attended by troops of domestics and +of dinner-friends, not to mention the learned and scientific, nor +your own family, your attachment to which, from youth upward, +is one of the higher graces in your character. Your brother +was seldom absent from you.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> Marcus was coming; but the vehement heats along +the Arno, in which valley he has a property he never saw before, +inflamed his blood, and he now is resting for a few days at +Faesulae, a little town destroyed by Sylla within our memory, +who left it only air and water, the best in Tuscany. The health +of Marcus, like mine, has been declining for several months: +we are running our last race against each other, and never was I, +in youth along the Tiber, so anxious of first reaching the goal. +I would not outlive him: I should reflect too painfully on earlier +days, and look forward too despondently on future. As for +friends, lampreys and turbots beget them, and they spawn +not amid the solitude of the Apennines. To dine in company +with more than two is a Gaulish and German thing. I can +hardly bring myself to believe that I have eaten in concert with +twenty; so barbarous and herdlike a practice does not now +appeal to me—such an incentive to drink much and talk loosely; +not to add, such a necessity to speak loud, which is clownish +and odious in the extreme. On this mountain summit I hear +no noises, no voices, not even of salutation; we have no flies about +us, and scarcely an insect or reptile.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Your amiable son is probably with his uncle: is he +well?</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> Perfectly. He was indeed with my brother in his +intended visit to me; but Marcus, unable to accompany him +hither, or superintend his studies in the present state of his +health, sent him directly to his Uncle Cato at Tusculum—a +man fitter than either of us to direct his education, and preferable +to any, excepting yourself and Marcus Tullius, in eloquence +and urbanity.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Cato is so great, that whoever is greater must be the +happiest and first of men.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> That any such be still existing, O Julius, ought +to excite no groan from the breast of a Roman citizen. But +perhaps I wrong you; perhaps your mind was forced reluctantly +back again, on your past animosities and contests in the Senate.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> I revere him, but cannot love him.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> Then, Caius Julius, you groaned with reason; and +I would pity rather than reprove you.</p> + +<p>On the ceiling at which you are looking, there is no gilding, +and little painting—a mere trellis of vines bearing grapes, and +the heads, shoulders, and arms rising from the cornice only, +of boys and girls climbing up to steal them, and scrambling for +them: nothing overhead; no giants tumbling down, no Jupiter +thundering, no Mars and Venus caught at mid-day, no river-gods +pouring out their urns upon us; for, as I think nothing so insipid +as a flat ceiling, I think nothing so absurd as a storied one. +Before I was aware, and without my participation, the painter +had adorned that of my bedchamber with a golden shower, +bursting from varied and irradiated clouds. On my expostulation, +his excuse was that he knew the Danaë of Scopas, in a +recumbent posture, was to occupy the centre of the room. The +walls, behind the tapestry and pictures, are quite rough. In +forty-three days the whole fabric was put together and habitable.</p> + +<p>The wine has probably lost its freshness: will you try some +other?</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Its temperature is exact; its flavour exquisite. +Latterly I have never sat long after dinner, and am curious to +pass through the other apartments, if you will trust me.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> I attend you.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Lucullus, who is here? What figure is that on the +poop of the vessel? Can it be——</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> The subject was dictated by myself; you gave it.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Oh, how beautifully is the water painted! How +vividly the sun strikes against the snows on Taurus! The +grey temples and pierhead of Tarsus catch it differently, and +the monumental mound on the left is half in shade. In the +countenance of those pirates I did not observe such diversity, +nor that any boy pulled his father back: I did not indeed mark +them or notice them at all.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> The painter in this fresco, the last work finished, +had dissatisfied me in one particular. ‘That beautiful young +face,’ said I, ‘appears not to threaten death.’</p> + +<p>‘Lucius,’ he replied, ‘if one muscle were moved it were not +Caesar’s: beside, he said it jokingly, though resolved.’</p> + +<p>‘I am contented with your apology, Antipho; but what are +you doing now? for you never lay down or suspend your pencil, +let who will talk and argue. The lines of that smaller face in +the distance are the same.’</p> + +<p>‘Not the same,’ replied he, ‘nor very different: it smiles, +as surely the goddess must have done at the first heroic act of +her descendant.’</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> In her exultation and impatience to press forward +she seems to forget that she is standing at the extremity of the +shell, which rises up behind out of the water; and she takes no +notice of the terror on the countenance of this Cupid who +would detain her, nor of this who is flying off and looking back. +The reflection of the shell has given a warmer hue below the knee; +a long streak of yellow light in the horizon is on the level of her +bosom, some of her hair is almost lost in it; above her head on +every side is the pure azure of the heavens.</p> + +<p>Oh! and you would not have shown me this? You, among +whose primary studies is the most perfect satisfaction of your +guests!</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> In the next apartment are seven or eight other +pictures from our history.</p> + +<p>There are no more: what do you look for?</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> I find not among the rest any descriptive of your +own exploits. Ah, Lucullus! there is no surer way of making +them remembered.</p> + +<p>This, I presume by the harps in the two corners, is the music-room.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> No, indeed; nor can I be said to have one here; +for I love best the music of a single instrument, and listen to it +willingly at all times, but most willingly while I am reading. +At such seasons a voice or even a whisper disturbs me; but +music refreshes my brain when I have read long, and strengthen +it from the beginning. I find also that if I write anything in +poetry (a youthful propensity still remaining), it gives rapidity +and variety and brightness to my ideas. On ceasing, I command +a fresh measure and instrument, or another voice; which is to +the mind like a change of posture, or of air to the body. My +heal this benefited by the gentle play thus opened to the most +delicate of the fibres.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Let me augur that a disorder so tractable may be +soon removed. What is it thought to be?</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> I am inclined to think, and my physician did not +long attempt to persuade me of the contrary, that the ancient +realms of Aeaetes have supplied me with some other plants than +the cherry, and such as I should be sorry to see domesticated +here in Italy.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> The gods forbid! Anticipate better things! The +reason of Lucullus is stronger than the medicaments of Mithridates; +but why not use them too? Let nothing be neglected. +You may reasonably hope for many years of life: your mother +still enjoys it.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> To stand upon one’s guard against Death exasperates +her malice and protracts our sufferings.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Rightly and gravely said: but your country at this +time cannot do well without you.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> The bowl of milk, which to-day is presented to me, +will shortly be presented to my Manes.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Do you suspect the hand?</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> I will not suspect a Roman: let us converse no +more about it.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> It is the only subject on which I am resolved never +to think, as relates to myself. Life may concern us, death not; +for in death we neither can act nor reason, we neither can +persuade nor command; and our statues are worth more than +we are, let them be but wax.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> From being for ever in action, for ever in contention, +and from excelling in them all other mortals, what +advantage derive we? I would not ask what satisfaction, what +glory? The insects have more activity than ourselves, the +beasts more strength, even inert matter more firmness and +stability; the gods alone more goodness. To the exercise of +this every country lies open; and neither I eastward nor you +westward have found any exhausted by contests for it.</p> + +<p>Must we give men blows because they will not look at us? +or chain them to make them hold the balance evener?</p> + +<p>Do not expect to be acknowledged for what you are, much +less for what you would be; since no one can well measure a +great man but upon the bier. There was a time when the most +ardent friend to Alexander of Macedon would have embraced +the partisan for his enthusiasm, who should have compared +him with Alexander of Pherae. It must have been at a splendid +feast, and late at it, when Scipio should have been raised to an +equality with Romulus, or Cato with Curius. It has been +whispered in my ear, after a speech of Cicero, ‘If he goes on so, +he will tread down the sandal of Marcus Antonius in the long +run, and perhaps leave Hortensius behind.’ Officers of mine, +speaking about you, have exclaimed with admiration: ‘He +fights like Cinna.’ Think, Caius Julius (for you have been +instructed to think both as a poet and as a philosopher), that +among the hundred hands of Ambition, to whom we may +attribute them more properly than to Briareus, there is not one +which holds anything firmly. In the precipitancy of her course, +what appears great is small, and what appears small is great. +Our estimate of men is apt to be as inaccurate and inexact as +that of things, or more. Wishing to have all on our side, we +often leave those we should keep by us, run after those we should +avoid, and call importunately on others who sit quiet and will +not come. We cannot at once catch the applause of the vulgar +and expect the approbation of the wise. What are parties? +Do men really great ever enter into them? Are they not ball-courts, +where ragged adventurers strip and strive, and where +dissolute youths abuse one another, and challenge and game +and wager? If you and I cannot quite divest ourselves of +infirmities and passions, let us think, however, that there is +enough in us to be divided into two portions, and let us keep the +upper undisturbed and pure. A part of Olympus itself lies in +dreariness and in clouds, variable and stormy; but it is not the +highest: there the gods govern. Your soul is large enough to +embrace your country: all other affection is for less objects, +and less men are capable of it. Abandon, O Caesar! such +thoughts and wishes as now agitate and propel you: leave them +to mere men of the marsh, to fat hearts and miry intellects. +Fortunate may we call ourselves to have been born in an age +so productive of eloquence, so rich in erudition. Neither of us +would be excluded, or hooted at, on canvassing for these honours. +He who can think dispassionately and deeply as I do, is great +as I am; none other. But his opinions are at freedom to diverge +from mine, as mine are from his; and indeed, on recollection, I +never loved those most who thought with me, but those rather +who deemed my sentiments worth discussion, and who corrected +me with frankness and affability.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Lucullus, you perhaps have taken the wiser and better +part, certainly the pleasanter. I cannot argue with you: I +would gladly hear one who could, but you again more gladly. +I should think unworthily of you if I thought you capable of +yielding or receding. I do not even ask you to keep our conversation +long a secret, so greatly does it preponderate in your +favour; so much more of gentleness, of eloquence, and of argument. +I came hither with one soldier, avoiding the cities, and +sleeping at the villa of a confidential friend. To-night I sleep +in yours, and, if your dinner does not disturb me, shall sleep +soundly. You go early to rest I know.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> Not, however, by daylight. Be assured, Caius +Julius, that greatly as your discourse afflicts me, no part of it +shall escape my lips. If you approach the city with arms, +with arms I meet you; then your denouncer and enemy, at +present your host and confidant.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> I shall conquer you.</p> + +<p><i>Lucullus.</i> That smile would cease upon it: you sigh already.</p> + +<p><i>Caesar.</i> Yes, Lucullus, if I am oppressed I shall overcome +my oppressor: I know my army and myself. A sigh escaped +me, and many more will follow; but one transport will rise amid +them, when, vanquisher of my enemies and avenger of my +dignity, I press again the hand of Lucullus, mindful of this day.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="EPICURUS_LEONTION_AND_TERNISSA" id="EPICURUS_LEONTION_AND_TERNISSA"></a>EPICURUS, LEONTION, AND TERNISSA</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> The broad and billowy summits of yon monstrous +trees, one would imagine, were made for the storms to rest upon +when they are tired of raving. And what bark! It occurs to +me, Epicurus, that I have rarely seen climbing plants attach +themselves to these trees, as they do to the oak, the maple, the +beech, and others.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> If your remark be true, perhaps the resinous are +not embraced by them so frequently because they dislike the +odour of the resin, or some other property of the juices; for they, +too, have their affections and antipathies no less than countries +and their climes.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> For shame! what would you with me?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I would not interrupt you while you were speaking, +nor while Leontion was replying; this is against my rules and +practice. Having now ended, kiss me, Ternissa!</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Impudent man! in the name of Pallas, why should +I kiss you?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Because you expressed hatred.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Do we kiss when we hate?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> There is no better end of hating. The sentiment +should not exist one moment; and if the hater gives a kiss on +being ordered to do it, even to a tree or a stone, that tree or +stone becomes the monument of a fault extinct.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> I promise you I never will hate a tree again.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I told you so.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Nevertheless, I suspect, my Ternissa, you will +often be surprised into it. I was very near saying, ‘I hate these +rude square stones!’ Why did you leave them here, Epicurus?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> It is true, they are the greater part square, and +seem to have been cut out in ancient times for plinths and +columns; they are also rude. Removing the smaller, that I +might plant violets and cyclamens and convolvuluses and strawberries, +and such other herbs as grow willingly in dry places, I +left a few of these for seats, a few for tables and for couches.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Delectable couches!</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Laugh as you may, they will become so when they +are covered with moss and ivy, and those other two sweet plants +whose names I do not remember to have found in any ancient +treatise, but which I fancy I have heard Theophrastus call +‘Leontion’ and ‘Ternissa’.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> The bold, insidious, false creature!</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> What is that volume, may I venture to ask, +Leontion? Why do you blush?</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> I do not blush about it.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> You are offended, then, my dear girl.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> No, nor offended. I will tell you presently what +it contains. Account to me first for your choice of so strange a +place to walk in: a broad ridge, the summit and one side barren, +the other a wood of rose-laurels impossible to penetrate. The +worst of all is, we can see nothing of the city or the Parthenon, +unless from the very top.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> The place commands, in my opinion, a most perfect +view.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Of what, pray?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Of itself; seeming to indicate that we, Leontion, +who philosophize, should do the same.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Go on, go on! say what you please: I will not hate +anything yet. Why have you torn up by the root all these +little mountain ash-trees? This is the season of their beauty: +come, Ternissa, let us make ourselves necklaces and armlets, +such as may captivate old Sylvanus and Pan; you shall have +your choice. But why have you torn them up?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> On the contrary, they were brought hither this +morning. Sosimenes is spending large sums of money on an +olive-ground, and has uprooted some hundreds of them, of all +ages and sizes. I shall cover the rougher part of the hill with +them, setting the clematis and vine and honeysuckle against +them, to unite them.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Oh, what a pleasant thing it is to walk in the green +light of the vine trees, and to breathe the sweet odour of their +invisible flowers!</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> The scent of them is so delicate that it requires a +sigh to inhale it; and this, being accompanied and followed by +enjoyment, renders the fragrance so exquisite. Ternissa, it is +this, my sweet friend, that made you remember the green light +of the foliage, and think of the invisible flowers as you would +of some blessing from heaven.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> I see feathers flying at certain distances just above +the middle of the promontory: what can they mean?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Cannot you imagine them to be the feathers from +the wings of Zethes and Caläis, who came hither out of Thrace +to behold the favourite haunts of their mother Oreithyia? +From the precipice that hangs over the sea a few paces from the +pinasters she is reported to have been carried off by Boreas; +and these remains of the primeval forest have always been held +sacred on that belief.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> The story is an idle one.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Oh no, Leontion! the story is very true.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Indeed!</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> I have heard not only odes, but sacred and most +ancient hymns upon it; and the voice of Boreas is often audible +here, and the screams of Oreithyia.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> The feathers, then, really may belong to Caläis and +Zethes.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> I don’t believe it; the winds would have carried +them away.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> The gods, to manifest their power, as they often +do by miracles, could as easily fix a feather eternally on the +most tempestuous promontory, as the mark of their feet upon +the flint.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> They could indeed; but we know the one to a certainty, +and have no such authority for the other. I have seen +these pinasters from the extremity of the Piraeus, and have heard +mention of the altar raised to Boreas: where is it?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> As it stands in the centre of the platform, we cannot +see it from hence; there is the only piece of level ground in the +place.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Ternissa intends the altar to prove the truth of +the story.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Ternissa is slow to admit that even the young can +deceive, much less the old; the gay, much less the serious.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> It is as wise to moderate our belief as our desires.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Some minds require much belief, some thrive on +little. Rather an exuberance of it is feminine and beautiful. +It acts differently on different hearts; it troubles some, it +consoles others; in the generous it is the nurse of tenderness and +kindness, of heroism and self-devotion; in the ungenerous it +fosters pride, impatience of contradiction and appeal, and, like +some waters, what it finds a dry stick or hollow straw, it leaves +a stone.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> We want it chiefly to make the way of death an +easy one.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> There is no easy path leading out of life, and few +are the easy ones that lie within it. I would adorn and smoothen +the declivity, and make my residence as commodious as its +situation and dimensions may allow; but principally I would +cast under-foot the empty fear of death.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Oh, how can you?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> By many arguments already laid down: then +by thinking that some perhaps, in almost every age, have been +timid and delicate as Ternissa; and yet have slept soundly, +have felt no parent’s or friend’s tear upon their faces, no throb +against their breasts: in short, have been in the calmest of all +possible conditions, while those around were in the most +deplorable and desperate.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> It would pain me to die, if it were only at the idea +that any one I love would grieve too much for me.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Let the loss of our friends be our only grief, and +the apprehension of displeasing them our only fear.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> No apostrophes! no interjections! Your argument +was unsound; your means futile.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Tell me, then, whether the horse of a rider on the +road should not be spurred forward if he started at a shadow.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Yes.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I thought so: it would, however, be better to guide +him quietly up to it, and to show him that it was one. Death +is less than a shadow: it represents nothing, even imperfectly.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Then at the best what is it? why care about it, +think about it, or remind us that it must befall us? Would you +take the same trouble, when you see my hair entwined with +ivy, to make me remember that, although the leaves are green +and pliable, the stem is fragile and rough, and that before I go +to bed I shall have many knots and entanglements to extricate? +Let me have them; but let me not hear of them until the time is +come.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I would never think of death as an embarrassment, +but as a blessing.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> How? a blessing?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> What, if it makes our enemies cease to hate us? +what, if it makes our friends love us the more?</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Us? According to your doctrine we shall not exist +at all.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I spoke of that which is consolatory while we are +here, and of that which in plain reason ought to render us +contented to stay no longer. You, Leontion, would make +others better; and better they certainly will be, when their +hostilities languish in an empty field, and their rancour is tired +with treading upon dust. The generous affections stir about us +at the dreary hour of death, as the blossoms of the Median apple +swell and diffuse their fragrance in the cold.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> I cannot bear to think of passing the Styx, lest +Charon should touch me; he is so old and wilful, so cross and ugly.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Ternissa! Ternissa! I would accompany you +thither, and stand between. Would you not too, Leontion?</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> I don’t know.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Oh, that we could go together!</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Indeed!</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> All three, I mean—I said—or was going to say it. +How ill-natured you are, Leontion, to misinterpret me; I could +almost cry.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Do not, do not, Ternissa! Should that tear drop +from your eyelash you would look less beautiful.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> If it is well to conquer a world, it is better to +conquer two.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> That is what Alexander of Macedon wept because +he could not accomplish.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Ternissa! we three can accomplish it; or any one +of us.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> How? pray!</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> We can conquer this world and the next; for you +will have another, and nothing should be refused you.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> The next by piety: but this, in what manner?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> By indifference to all who are indifferent to us; +by taking joyfully the benefit that comes spontaneously; by +wishing no more intensely for what is a hair’s-breadth beyond +our reach than for a draught of water from the Ganges; and by +fearing nothing in another life.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> This, O Epicurus! is the grand impossibility.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Do you believe the gods to be as benevolent and +good as you are? or do you not?</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Much kinder, much better in every way.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Would you kill or hurt the sparrow that you keep +in your little dressing-room with a string around the leg, because +he hath flown where you did not wish him to fly?</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> No! it would be cruel; the string about the leg of +so little and weak a creature is enough.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> You think so; I think so; God thinks so. This I +may say confidently; for whenever there is a sentiment in which +strict justice and pure benevolence unite, it must be His.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> O Epicurus! when you speak thus—</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Well, Ternissa, what then?</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> When Epicurus teaches us such sentiments as +these, I am grieved that he has not so great an authority with +the Athenians as some others have.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> You will grieve more, I suspect, my Ternissa, when +he possesses that authority.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> What will he do?</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Why turn pale? I am not about to answer that +he will forget or leave you. No; but the voice comes deepest +from the sepulchre, and a great name hath its root in the dead +body. If you invited a company to a feast, you might as well +place round the table live sheep and oxen and vases of fish and +cages of quails, as you would invite a company of friendly hearers +to the philosopher who is yet living. One would imagine that +the iris of our intellectual eye were lessened by the glory of +his presence, and that, like eastern kings, he could be looked +at near only when his limbs are stiff, by waxlight, in close +curtains.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> One of whom we know little leaves us a ring or +other token of remembrance, and we express a sense of pleasure +and of gratitude; one of whom we know nothing writes a book, +the contents of which might (if we would let them) have done +us more good and might have given us more pleasure, and we +revile him for it. The book may do what the legacy cannot; +it may be pleasurable and serviceable to others as well as +ourselves: we would hinder this too. In fact, all other love +is extinguished by self-love: beneficence, humanity, justice, +philosophy, sink under it. While we insist that we are looking +for Truth, we commit a falsehood. It never was the first +object with any one, and with few the second.</p> + +<p>Feed unto replenishment your quieter fancies, my sweetest +little Ternissa! and let the gods, both youthful and aged, both +gentle and boisterous, administer to them hourly on these +sunny downs: what can they do better?</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> But those feathers, Ternissa, what god’s may +they be? since you will not pick them up, nor restore them to +Caläis nor to Zethes.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> I do not think they belong to any god whatever; +and shall never be persuaded of it unless Epicurus says it is so.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> O unbelieving creature! do you reason against the +immortals?</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> It was yourself who doubted, or appeared to doubt, +the flight of Oreithyia. By admitting too much we endanger +our religion. Beside, I think I discern some upright stakes at +equal distances, and am pretty sure the feathers are tied to them +by long strings.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> You have guessed the truth.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Of what use are they there?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> If you have ever seen the foot of a statue broken +off just below the ankle, you have then, Leontion and Ternissa, +seen the form of the ground about us. The lower extremities +of it are divided into small ridges, as you will perceive if you +look around; and these are covered with corn, olives, and vines. +At the upper part, where cultivation ceases, and where those +sheep and goats are grazing, begins my purchase. The ground +rises gradually unto near the summit, where it grows somewhat +steep, and terminates in a precipice. Across the middle I have +traced a line, denoted by those feathers, from one dingle to +the other; the two terminations of my intended garden. The +distance is nearly a thousand paces, and the path, perfectly on +a level, will be two paces broad, so that I may walk between +you; but another could not join us conveniently. From this +there will be several circuitous and spiral, leading by the easiest +ascent to the summit; and several more, to the road along the +cultivation underneath: here will, however, be but one entrance. +Among the projecting fragments and the massive stones yet +standing of the boundary-wall, which old pomegranates imperfectly +defend, and which my neighbour has guarded more +effectively against invasion, there are hillocks of crumbling +mould, covered in some places with a variety of moss; in others +are elevated tufts, or dim labyrinths of eglantine.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Where will you place the statues? for undoubtedly +you must have some.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I will have some models for statues. Pygmalion +prayed the gods to give life to the image he adored: I will not +pray them to give marble to mine. Never may I lay my wet +cheek upon the foot under which is inscribed the name of +Leontion or Ternissa!</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Do not make us melancholy; never let us think +that the time can come when we shall lose our friends. Glory, +literature, philosophy have this advantage over friendship: +remove one object from them, and others fill the void; remove +one from friendship, one only, and not the earth nor the universality +of worlds, no, nor the intellect that soars above and +comprehends them, can replace it!</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Dear Leontion! always amiable, always graceful! +How lovely do you now appear to me! what beauteous action +accompanied your words!</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> I used none whatever.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> That white arm was then, as it is now, over the +shoulder of Ternissa; and her breath imparted a fresh bloom +to your cheek, a new music to your voice. No friendship is +so cordial or so delicious as that of girl for girl; no hatred so +intense and immovable as that of woman for woman. In youth +you love one above the others of your sex; in riper age you hate +all, more or less, in proportion to similarity of accomplishments +and pursuits—which sometimes (I wish it were oftener) are +bonds of union to man. In us you more easily pardon faults +than excellences in each other. <i>Your</i> tempers are such, my +beloved scholars, that even this truth does not ruffle them; and +such is your affection, that I look with confidence to its unabated +ardour at twenty.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Oh, then I am to love Ternissa almost fifteen +months!</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> And I am destined to survive the loss of it three +months above four years!</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Incomparable creatures! may it be eternal! In +loving ye shall follow no example; ye shall step securely over +the iron rule laid down for others by the Destinies, and <i>you</i> +for ever be Leontion, and <i>you</i> Ternissa.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Then indeed we should not want statues.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> But men, who are vainer creatures, would be good +for nothing without them: they must be flattered even by the +stones.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Very true. Neither the higher arts nor the civic +virtues can flourish extensively without the statues of illustrious +men. But gardens are not the places for them. Sparrows, +wooing on the general’s truncheon (unless he be such a general +as one of ours in the last war), and snails besliming the emblems +of the poet, do not remind us worthily of their characters. +Porticos are their proper situations, and those the most +frequented. Even there they may lose all honour and distinction, +whether from the thoughtlessness of magistrates or +from the malignity of rivals. Our own city, the least exposed +of any to the effects of either, presents us a disheartening +example. When the Thebans in their jealousy condemned +Pindar to the payment of a fine for having praised the Athenians +too highly, our citizens erected a statue of bronze to him.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Jealousy of Athens made the Thebans fine him; +and jealousy of Thebes made the Athenians thus record it.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> And jealousy of Pindar, I suspect, made some poet +persuade the archons to render the distinction a vile and +worthless one, by placing his effigy near a king’s—one Evagoras +of Cyprus.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Evagoras, I think I remember to have read in the +inscription, was rewarded in this manner for his reception of +Conon, defeated by the Lacedemonians.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Gratitude was due to him, and some such memorial +to record it. External reverence should be paid unsparingly to +the higher magistrates of every country who perform their +offices exemplarily; yet they are not on this account to be placed +in the same degree with men of primary genius. They never +exalt the human race, and rarely benefit it; and their benefits +are local and transitory, while those of a great writer are universal +and eternal.</p> + +<p>If the gods did indeed bestow on us a portion of their fire, +they seem to have lighted it in sport and left it; the harder +task and the nobler is performed by that genius who raises it +clear and glowing from its embers, and makes it applicable to +the purposes that dignify or delight our nature. I have ever +said, ‘Reverence the rulers.’ Let, then, his image stand; but +stand apart from Pindar’s. Pallas and Jove! defend me from +being carried down the stream of time among a shoal of royalets, +and the rootless weeds they are hatched on!</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> So much piety would deserve the exemption, even +though your writings did not hold out the decree.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Child, the compliment is ill turned: if you are +ironical, as you must be on the piety of Epicurus, Atticism +requires that you should continue to be so, at least to the end +of the sentence.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Irony is my abhorrence. Epicurus may appear +less pious than some others, but I am certain he is more; otherwise +the gods would never have given him——</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> What? what? let us hear!</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Leontion!</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Silly girl! Were there any hibiscus or broom growing +near at hand, I would send him away and whip you.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> There is fern, which is better.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> I was not speaking to you: but now you shall have +something to answer for yourself. Although you admit no +statues in the country, you might at least, methinks, have +discovered a retirement with a fountain in it: here I see not +even a spring.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Fountain I can hardly say there is; but on the +left there is a long crevice or chasm, which we have never yet +visited, and which we cannot discern until we reach it. This +is full of soft mould, very moist, and many high reeds and canes +are growing there; and the rock itself too drips with humidity +along it, and is covered with more tufted moss and more variegated +lichens. This crevice, with its windings and sinuosities, +is about four hundred paces long, and in many parts eleven, +twelve, thirteen feet wide, but generally six or seven. I shall +plant it wholly with lilies of the valley, leaving the irises which +occupy the sides as well as the clefts, and also those other +flowers of paler purple, from the autumnal cups of which we +collect the saffron; and forming a narrow path of such turf as I +can find there, or rather following it as it creeps among the bays +and hazels and sweet-brier, which had fallen at different times +from the summit and are now grown old, with an infinity of +primroses at the roots. There are nowhere twenty steps without +a projection and a turn, nor in any ten together is the chasm +of the same width or figure. Hence the ascent in its windings +is easy and imperceptible quite to the termination, where the +rocks are somewhat high and precipitous; at the entrance they +lose themselves in privet and elder, and you must make your +way between them through the canes. Do not you remember +where I carried you both across the muddy hollow in the +footpath?</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Leontion does.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> That place is always wet; not only in this month +of Puanepsion,<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> which we are beginning to-day, but in midsummer. +The water that causes it comes out a little way above +it, but originates from the crevice, which I will cover at top with +rose-laurel and mountain-ash, with clematis and vine; and I +will intercept the little rill in its wandering, draw it from its +concealment, and place it like Bacchus under the protection +of the nymphs, who will smile upon it in its marble cradle, +which at present I keep at home.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Leontion, why do you turn away your face? have +the nymphs smiled upon you in it?</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> I bathed in it once, if you must know, Ternissa! +Why now, Ternissa, why do you turn away yours? have the +nymphs frowned upon you for invading their secrets?</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Epicurus, you are in the right to bring it away +from Athens, from under the eye of Pallas: she might be angry.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> You approve of its removal then, my lovely friend?</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Mightily. [<i>Aside.</i>] I wish it may break in pieces +on the road.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> What did you say?</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> I wish it were now on the road, that I might try +whether it would hold me—I mean with my clothes on.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> It would hold you, and one a span longer. I +have another in the house; but it is not decorated with fauns +and satyrs and foliage, like this.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> I remember putting my hand upon the frightful +satyr’s head, to leap in: it seems made for the purpose. But +the sculptor needed not to place the naiad quite so near—he +must have been a very impudent man; it is impossible to look +for a moment at such a piece of workmanship.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> For shame! Leontion!—why, what was it? I do +not desire to know.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I don’t remember it.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Nor I neither; only the head.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I shall place the satyr toward the rock, that you +may never see him, Ternissa.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Very right; he cannot turn round.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> The poor naiad had done it, in vain.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> All these labourers will soon finish the plantation, +if you superintend them, and are not appointed to some +magistrature.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Those who govern us are pleased at seeing a +philosopher out of the city, and more still at finding in a season +of scarcity forty poor citizens, who might become seditious, +made happy and quiet by such employment.</p> + +<p>Two evils, of almost equal weight, may befall the man of +erudition: never to be listened to, and to be listened to always. +Aware of these, I devote a large portion of my time and labours +to the cultivation of such minds as flourish best in cities, where +my garden at the gate, although smaller than this, we find +sufficiently capacious. There I secure my listeners; here my +thoughts and imaginations have their free natural current, and +tarry or wander as the will invites: may it ever be among those +dearest to me!—those whose hearts possess the rarest and +divinest faculty, of retaining or forgetting at option what ought +to be forgotten or retained.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> The whole ground then will be covered with trees +and shrubs?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> There are some protuberances in various parts of +the eminence, which you do not perceive till you are upon them +or above them. They are almost level at the top, and overgrown +with fine grass; for they catch the better soil brought +down in small quantities by the rains. These are to be left +unplanted: so is the platform under the pinasters, whence there +is a prospect of the city, the harbour, the isle of Salamis, and +the territory of Megara. ‘What then!’ cried Sosimenes, ‘you +would hide from your view my young olives, and the whole +length of the new wall I have been building at my own expense +between us! and, when you might see at once the whole of +Attica, you will hardly see more of it than I could buy.’</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> I do not perceive the new wall, for which Sosimenes, +no doubt, thinks himself another Pericles.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Those old junipers quite conceal it.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> They look warm and sheltering; but I like the rose-laurels +much better: and what a thicket of them here is!</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Leaving all the larger, I shall remove many +thousands of them; enough to border the greater part of the +walk, intermixed with roses.</p> + +<p>There is an infinity of other plants and flowers, or weeds as +Sosimenes calls them, of which he has cleared his oliveyard, +and which I shall adopt. Twenty of his slaves came in +yesterday, laden with hyacinths and narcissi, anemones and +jonquils. ‘The curses of our vineyards,’ cried he, ‘and good +neither for man nor beast. I have another estate infested with +lilies of the valley: I should not wonder if you accepted these +too.’</p> + +<p>‘And with thanks,’ answered I.</p> + +<p>The whole of his remark I could not collect: he turned aside, +and (I believe) prayed. I only heard ‘Pallas’—‘Father’—‘sound +mind’—‘inoffensive man’—‘good neighbour’. As we +walked together I perceived him looking grave, and I could not +resist my inclination to smile as I turned my eyes toward him. +He observed it, at first with unconcern, but by degrees some +doubts arose within him, and he said, ‘Epicurus, you have been +throwing away no less than half a talent on this sorry piece of +mountain, and I fear you are about to waste as much in labour: +for nothing was ever so terrible as the price we are obliged to +pay the workman, since the conquest of Persia and the increase +of luxury in our city. Under three obols none will do his day’s +work. But what, in the name of all the deities, could induce +you to plant those roots, which other people dig up and throw +away?’</p> + +<p>‘I have been doing,’ said I, ‘the same thing my whole life +through, Sosimenes!’</p> + +<p>‘How!’ cried he; ‘I never knew that.’</p> + +<p>‘Those very doctrines,’ added I, ‘which others hate and +extirpate, I inculcate and cherish. They bring no riches, and +therefore are thought to bring no advantage; to me, they appear +the more advantageous for that reason. They give us immediately +what we solicit through the means of wealth. We toil +for the wealth first; and then it remains to be proved whether +we can purchase with it what we look for. Now, to carry our +money to the market, and not to find in the market our money’s +worth, is great vexation; yet much greater has already preceded, +in running up and down for it among so many competitors, and +through so many thieves.’</p> + +<p>After a while he rejoined, ‘You really, then, have not overreached +me?’</p> + +<p>‘In what, my friend?’ said I.</p> + +<p>‘These roots,’ he answered, ‘may perhaps be good and saleable +for some purpose. Shall you send them into Persia? or +whither?’</p> + +<p>‘Sosimenes, I shall make love-potions of the flowers.’</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> O Epicurus! should it ever be known in Athens +that they are good for this, you will not have, with all your +fences of prunes and pomegranates, and precipices with brier +upon them, a single root left under ground after the month of +Elaphebolion.<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> It is not every one that knows the preparation.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Everybody will try it.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> And you, too, Ternissa?</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Will you teach me?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> This, and anything else I know. We must walk +together when they are in flower.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> And can you teach me, then?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I teach by degrees.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> By very slow ones, Epicurus! I have no patience +with you; tell us directly.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> It is very material what kind of recipient you +bring with you. Enchantresses use a brazen one; silver and +gold are employed in other arts.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> I will bring any.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> My mother has a fine golden one. She will lend +it me; she allows me everything.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Leontion and Ternissa, those eyes of yours brighten +at inquiry, as if they carried a light within them for a guidance.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> No flattery!</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> No flattery! Come, teach us!</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Will you hear me through in silence?</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> We promise.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Sweet girls! the calm pleasures, such as I hope +you will ever find in your walks among these gardens, will +improve your beauty, animate your discourse, and correct the +little that may hereafter rise up for correction in your dispositions. +The smiling ideas left in our bosoms from our +infancy, that many plants are the favourites of the gods, and +that others were even the objects of their love—having once +been invested with the human form, beautiful and lively and +happy as yourselves—give them an interest beyond the vision; +yes, and a station—let me say it—on the vestibule of our affections. +Resign your ingenuous hearts to simple pleasures; and +there is none in man, where men are Attic, that will not follow +and outstrip their movements.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> O Epicurus!</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> What said Ternissa?</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Some of those anemones, I do think, must be still +in blossom. Ternissa’s golden cup is at home; but she has +brought with her a little vase for the filter—and has filled it +to the brim. Do not hide your head behind my shoulder, +Ternissa; no, nor in my lap.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Yes, there let it lie—the lovelier for that tendril +of sunny brown hair upon it. How it falls and rises! Which +is the hair? which the shadow?</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Let the hair rest.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I must not, perhaps, clasp the shadow!</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> You philosophers are fond of such unsubstantial +things. Oh, you have taken my volume! This is deceit.</p> + +<p>You live so little in public, and entertain such a contempt +for opinion, as to be both indifferent and ignorant what it is +that people blame you for.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I know what it is I should blame myself for, if I +attended to them. Prove them to be wiser and more disinterested +in their wisdom than I am, and I will then go down +to them and listen to them. When I have well considered a +thing, I deliver it—regardless of what those think who neither +take the time nor possess the faculty of considering anything +well, and who have always lived far remote from the scope of +our speculations.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> In the volume you snatched away from me so slyly, +I have defended a position of yours which many philosophers +turn into ridicule—namely, that politeness is among the +virtues. I wish you yourself had spoken more at large upon +the subject.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> It is one upon which a lady is likely to display +more ingenuity and discernment. If philosophers have ridiculed +my sentiment, the reason is, it is among those virtues which in +general they find most difficult to assume or counterfeit.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Surely life runs on the smoother for this equability +and polish; and the gratification it affords is more extensive +than is afforded even by the highest virtue. Courage, on nearly +all occasions, inflicts as much of evil as it imparts of good. It +may be exerted in defence of our country, in defence of those +who love us, in defence of the harmless and the helpless; but those +against whom it is thus exerted may possess an equal share of it. +If they succeed, then manifestly the ill it produces is greater +than the benefit; if they succumb, it is nearly as great. For +many of their adversaries are first killed and maimed, and many +of their own kindred are left to lament the consequences of +the aggression.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> You have spoken first of courage, as that virtue +which attracts your sex principally.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Not me; I am always afraid of it. I love those +best who can tell me the most things I never knew before, and +who have patience with me, and look kindly while they teach +me, and almost as if they were waiting for fresh questions. Now +let me hear directly what you were about to say to Leontion.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I was proceeding to remark that temperance comes +next; and temperance has then its highest merit when it is the +support of civility and politeness. So that I think I am right +and equitable in attributing to politeness a distinguished rank, +not among the ornaments of life, but among the virtues. And +you, Leontion and Ternissa, will have leaned the more propensely +toward this opinion, if you considered, as I am sure you +did, that the peace and concord of families, friends, and cities +are preserved by it; in other terms, the harmony of the world.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Leontion spoke of courage, you of temperance; +the next great virtue, in the division made by the philosophers, +is justice.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Temperance includes it; for temperance is imperfect +if it is only an abstinence from too much food, too much +wine, too much conviviality or other luxury. It indicates +every kind of forbearance. Justice is forbearance from what +belongs to another. Giving to this one rightly what that one +would hold wrongfully in magistrature not in the abstract, +and is only a part of its office. The perfectly temperate man is +also the perfectly just man; but the perfectly just man (as +philosophers now define him) may not be the perfectly temperate +one. I include the less in the greater.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> We hear of judges, and upright ones too, being +immoderate eaters and drinkers.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> The Lacedemonians are temperate in food and +courageous in battle; but men like these, if they existed in +sufficient numbers, would devastate the universe. We alone, +we Athenians, with less military skill perhaps, and certainly +less rigid abstinence from voluptuousness and luxury, have set +before it the only grand example of social government and of +polished life. From us the seed is scattered; from us flow the +streams that irrigate it; and ours are the hands, O Leontion, +that collect it, cleanse it, deposit it, and convey and distribute it +sound and weighty through every race and age. Exhausted +as we are by war, we can do nothing better than lie down and +doze while the weather is fine overhead, and dream (if we can) +that we are affluent and free.</p> + +<p>O sweet sea air! how bland art thou and refreshing! Breathe +upon Leontion! breathe upon Ternissa! bring them health and +spirits and serenity, many springs and many summers, and +when the vine-leaves have reddened and rustle under their feet!</p> + +<p>These, my beloved girls, are the children of Eternity: they +played around Theseus and the beauteous Amazon; they gave +to Pallas the bloom of Venus, and to Venus the animation of +Pallas. Is it not better to enjoy by the hour their soft, salubrious +influence, than to catch by fits the rancid breath of demagogues; +than to swell and move under it without or against our will; +than to acquire the semblance of eloquence by the bitterness of +passion, the tone of philosophy by disappointment, or the credit +of prudence by distrust? Can fortune, can industry, can +desert itself, bestow on us anything we have not here?</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> And when shall those three meet? The gods have +never united them, knowing that men would put them asunder +at the first appearance.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I am glad to leave the city as often as possible, +full as it is of high and glorious reminiscences, and am inclined +much rather to indulge in quieter scenes, whither the Graces +and Friendship lead me. I would not contend even with men +able to contend with me. You, Leontion, I see, think differently, +and have composed at last your long-meditated work against +the philosophy of Theophrastus.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Why not? he has been praised above his merits.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> My Leontion! you have inadvertently given me +the reason and origin of all controversial writings. They flow +not from a love of truth or a regard for science, but from +envy and ill-will. Setting aside the evil of malignity—always +hurtful to ourselves, not always to others—there is weakness +in the argument you have adduced. When a writer is praised +above his merits in his own times, he is certain of being estimated +below them in the times succeeding. Paradox is dear to most +people: it bears the appearance of originality, but is usually the +talent of the superficial, the perverse, and the obstinate.</p> + +<p>Nothing is more gratifying than the attention you are +bestowing on me, which you always apportion to the seriousness +of my observations.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> I dislike Theophrastus for his affected contempt +of your doctrines.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Unreasonably, for the contempt of them; reasonably, +if affected. Good men may differ widely from me, and +wiser ones misunderstand me; for, their wisdom having raised +up to them schools of their own, they have not found leisure +to converse with me; and from others they have received a +partial and inexact report. My opinion is, that certain things +are indifferent and unworthy of pursuit or attention, as lying +beyond our research and almost our conjecture; which things +the generality of philosophers (for the generality are speculative) +deem of the first importance. Questions relating to them I +answer evasively, or altogether decline. Again, there are modes +of living which are suitable to some and unsuitable to others. +What I myself follow and embrace, what I recommend to the +studious, to the irritable, to the weak in health, would ill agree +with the commonality of citizens. Yet my adversaries cry out: +‘Such is the opinion and practice of Epicurus!’ For instance, +I have never taken a wife, and never will take one; but he from +among the mass, who should avow his imitation of my example, +would act as wisely and more religiously in saying that he chose +celibacy because Pallas had done the same.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> If Pallas had many such votaries she would soon +have few citizens to supply them.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> And extremely bad ones, if all followed me in +retiring from the offices of magistracy and of war. Having +seen that the most sensible men are the most unhappy, I could +not but examine the causes of it; and, finding that the same +sensibility to which they are indebted for the activity of their +intellect is also the restless mover of their jealousy and ambition, +I would lead them aside from whatever operates upon these, +and throw under their feet the terrors their imagination has +created. My philosophy is not for the populace nor for the +proud: the ferocious will never attain it; the gentle will embrace +it, but will not call it mine. I do not desire that they should: +let them rest their heads upon that part of the pillow which +they find the softest, and enjoy their own dreams unbroken.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> The old are all against you, Epicurus, the name of +pleasure is an affront to them: they know no other kind of it +than that which has flowered and seeded, and of which the +withered stems have indeed a rueful look.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Unhappily the aged are retentive of long-acquired +maxims, and insensible to new impressions, whether from fancy +or from truth: in fact, their eyes blend the two together. Well +might the poet tell us:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fewer the gifts that gnarled Age presents</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To elegantly-handed Infancy,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Than elegantly-handed Infancy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Presents to gnarled Age. From both they drop;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The middle course of life receives them all,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Save the light few that laughing Youth runs off with,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Unvalued as a mistress or a flower.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Since, in obedience to your institutions, O Epicurus, +I must not say I am angry, I am offended at least with Theophrastus +for having so misrepresented your opinions, on the +necessity of keeping the mind composed and tranquil, and +remote from every object and every sentiment by which a +painful sympathy may be excited. In order to display his +elegance of language, he runs wherever he can lay a censure on +you, whether he believes in its equity or not.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> This is the case with all eloquent men, and all +disputants. Truth neither warms nor elevates them, neither +obtains for them profit nor applause.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> I have heard wise remarks very often and very +warmly praised.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Not for the truth in them, but for the grace, or +because they touched the spring of some preconception or some +passion. Man is a hater of truth, a lover of fiction.</p> + +<p>Theophrastus is a writer of many acquirements and some +shrewdness, usually judicious, often somewhat witty, always +elegant; his thoughts are never confused, his sentences are +never incomprehensible. If Aristoteles thought more highly +of him than his due, surely you ought not to censure Theophrastus +with severity on the supposition of his rating me below +mine; unless you argue that a slight error in a short sum is less +pardonable than in a longer. Had Aristoteles been living, +and had he given the same opinion of me, your friendship and +perhaps my self-love might have been wounded; for, if on one +occasion he spoke too favourably, he never spoke unfavourably +but with justice. This is among the indications of orderly and +elevated minds; and here stands the barrier that separates them +from the common and the waste. Is a man to be angry because +an infant is fretful? Is a philosopher to unpack and throw +away his philosophy, because an idiot has tried to overturn it +on the road, and has pursued it with gibes and ribaldry?</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Theophrastus would persuade us that, according +to your system, we not only should decline the succour of the +wretched, but avoid the sympathies that poets and historians +would awaken in us. Probably for the sake of introducing +some idle verses, written by a friend of his, he says that, following +the guidance of Epicurus, we should altogether shun the theatre; +and not only when Prometheus and Oedipus and Philoctetes +are introduced, but even when generous and kindly sentiments +are predominant, if they partake of that tenderness which +belongs to pity. I know not what Thracian lord recovers his +daughter from her ravisher; such are among the words they +exchange:</p> + +<p><i>Father.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Insects that dwell in rotten reeds, inert</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Upon the surface of a stream or pool,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then rush into the air on meshy vans,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are not so different in their varying lives</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As we are.—Oh! what father on this earth,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Holding his child’s cool cheek within his palms</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And kissing his fair front, would wish him man?—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Inheritor of wants and jealousies,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of labour, of ambition, of distress,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And, cruellest of all the passions, lust.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who that behold me, persecuted, scorned,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A wanderer, e’er could think what friends were mine,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How numerous, how devoted? with what glee</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Smiled my old house, with what acclaim my courts</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Rang from without whene’er my war-horse neighed?</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Daughter.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy fortieth birthday is not shouted yet</span><br /> +<span class="i0">By the young peasantry, with rural gifts</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And nightly fires along the pointed hills,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet do thy temples glitter with grey hair</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Scattered not thinly: ah, what sudden change!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Only thy voice and heart remain the same:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No! that voice trembles, and that heart (I feel),</span><br /> +<span class="i0">While it would comfort and console me, breaks.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I would never close my bosom against the feelings +of humanity; but I would calmly and well consider by what +conduct of life they may enter it with the least importunity +and violence. A consciousness that we have promoted the +happiness of others, to the uttermost of our power, is certain +not only to meet them at the threshold, but to bring them +along with us, and to render them accurate and faithful +prompters, when we bend perplexedly over the problem of evil +figured by the tragedians. If there were more of pain than of +pleasure in the exhibitions of the dramatist, no man in his +senses would attend them twice. All the imitative arts have +delight for the principal object: the first of these is poetry; the +highest of poetry is tragic.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> The epic has been called so.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Improperly; for the epic has much more in it of +what is prosaic. Its magnitude is no argument. An Egyptian +pyramid contains more materials than an Ionic temple, but +requires less contrivance, and exhibits less beauty of design. +My simile is yet a defective one; for a tragedy must be carried +on with an unbroken interest, and, undecorated by loose foliage +or fantastic branches, it must rise, like the palm-tree, with a +lofty unity. On these matters I am unable to argue at large, +or perhaps correctly; on those, however, which I have studied +and treated, my terms are so explicit and clear, that Theophrastus +can never have misunderstood them. Let me recall +to your attention but two axioms.</p> + +<p>Abstinence from low pleasures is the only means of meriting +or of obtaining the higher.</p> + +<p>Kindness in ourselves is the honey that blunts the sting of +unkindness in another.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Explain to me, then, O Epicurus, why we suffer +so much from ingratitude.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> We fancy we suffer from ingratitude, while in +reality we suffer from self-love. Passion weeps while she says, +‘I did not deserve this from him’; Reason, while she says it, +smoothens her brow at the clear fountain of the heart. Permit +me also, like Theophrastus, to borrow a few words from a poet.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Borrow as many such as any one will entrust to +you, and may Hermes prosper your commerce! Leontion may +go to the theatre then; for she loves it.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Girls! be the bosom friends of Antigone and Ismene; +and you shall enter the wood of the Eumenides without shuddering, +and leave it without the trace of a tear. Never did you +appear so graceful to me, O Ternissa—no, not even after this +walk do you—as when I saw you blow a fly from the forehead +of Philoctetes in the propylëa. The wing, with which Sophocles +and the statuary represent him, to drive away the summer +insects in his agony, had wearied his flaccid arm, hanging down +beside him.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Do you imagine, then, I thought him a living man?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> The sentiment was both more delicate and more +august from being indistinct. You would have done it, even +if he <i>had</i> been a living man; even if he could have clasped you +in his arms, imploring the deities to resemble you in gentleness, +you would have done it.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> He looked so abandoned by all, and so heroic, yet +so feeble and so helpless! I did not think of turning around to +see if any one was near me; or else, perhaps——</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> If you could have thought of looking around, you +would no longer have been Ternissa. The gods would have +transformed you for it into some tree.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> And Epicurus had been walking under it this day, +perhaps.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> With Leontion, the partner of his sentiments. But +the walk would have been earlier or later than the present hour; +since the middle of the day, like the middle of certain fruits, is +good for nothing.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> For dinner, surely?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Dinner is a less gratification to me than to many: +I dine alone.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Why?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> To avoid the noise, the heat, and the intermixture +both of odours and of occupations. I cannot bear the indecency +of speaking with a mouth in which there is food. I careen my +body (since it is always in want of repair) in as unobstructed +a space as I can, and I lie down and sleep awhile when the work +is over.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Epicurus! although it would be very interesting, +no doubt, to hear more of what you do after dinner—[<i>Aside to +him.</i>] now don’t smile: I shall never forgive you if you say a +single word—yet I would rather hear a little about the theatre, +and whether you think at last that women should frequent it; +for you have often said the contrary.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I think they should visit it rarely; not because it +excites their affections, but because it deadens them. To me +nothing is so odious as to be at once among the rabble and +among the heroes, and, while I am receiving into my heart the +most exquisite of human sensations, to feel upon my shoulder +the hand of some inattentive and insensible young officer.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Oh, very bad indeed! horrible!</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> You quite fire at the idea.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Not I: I don’t care about it.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Not about what is very bad indeed? quite horrible?</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> I seldom go thither.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> The theatre is delightful when we erect it in our +own house or arbour, and when there is but one spectator.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> You must lose the illusion in great part, if you +only read the tragedy, which I fancy to be your meaning.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I lose the less of it. Do not imagine that the +illusion is, or can be, or ought to be, complete. If it were +possible, no Phalaris or Perillus could devise a crueller torture. +Here are two imitations: first, the poet’s of the sufferer; secondly, +the actor’s of both: poetry is superinduced. No man in pain +ever uttered the better part of the language used by Sophocles. +We admit it, and willingly, and are at least as much illuded by +it as by anything else we hear or see upon the stage. Poets +and statuaries and painters give us an adorned imitation of the +object, so skilfully treated that we receive it for a correct one. +This is the only illusion they aim at: this is the perfection of +their arts.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Do you derive no pleasure from the representation +of a consummate actor?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> High pleasure; but liable to be overturned in an +instant: pleasure at the mercy of any one who sits beside me.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> In my treatise I have only defended your tenets +against Theophrastus.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I am certain you have done it with spirit and +eloquence, dear Leontion; and there are but two words in it I +would wish you to erase.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Which are they?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Theophrastus and Epicurus. If you love me, you +will do nothing that may make you uneasy when you grow +older; nothing that may allow my adversary to say, ‘Leontion +soon forgot her Epicurus.’ My maxim is, never to defend my +systems or paradoxes; if you undertake it, the Athenians will +insist that I impelled you secretly, or that my philosophy and +my friendship were ineffectual on you.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> They shall never say that.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> I am not unmoved by the kindness of your intentions. +Most people, and philosophers, too, among the rest, +when their own conduct or opinions are questioned, are admirably +prompt and dexterous in the science of defence; but when +another’s are assailed, they parry with as ill a grace and faltering +a hand as if they never had taken a lesson in it at home. Seldom +will they see what they profess to look for; and, finding it, they +pick up with it a thorn under the nail. They canter over the +solid turf, and complain that there is no corn upon it; they +canter over the corn, and curse the ridges and furrows. All +schools of philosophy, and almost all authors, are rather to be +frequented for exercise than for freight; but this exercise ought +to acquire us health and strength, spirits and good-humour. +There is none of them that does not supply some truth useful +to every man, and some untruth equally so to the few that are +able to wrestle with it. If there were no falsehood in the world, +there would be no doubt; if there were no doubt, there would +be no inquiry; if no inquiry, no wisdom, no knowledge, no genius: +and Fancy herself would lie muffled up in her robe, inactive, pale, +and bloated. I wish we could demonstrate the existence of +utility in some other evils as easily as in this.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> My remarks on the conduct and on the style of +Theophrastus are not confined to him solely. I have taken +at last a general view of our literature, and traced as far as I +am able its deviation and decline. In ancient works we sometimes +see the mark of the chisel; in modern we might almost +suppose that no chisel was employed at all, and that everything +was done by grinding and rubbing. There is an ordinariness, +an indistinctness, a generalization, not even to be found in a +flock of sheep. As most reduce what is sand into dust, the few +that avoid it run to a contrary extreme, and would force us to +believe that what is original must be unpolished and uncouth.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> There have been in all ages, and in all there will +be, sharp and slender heads made purposely and peculiarly for +creeping into the crevices of our nature. While we contemplate +the magnificence of the universe, and mensurate the fitness and +adaptation of one part to another, the small philosopher hangs +upon a hair or creeps within a wrinkle, and cries out shrilly +from his elevation that we are blind and superficial. He discovers +a wart, he pries into a pore; and he calls it knowledge of +man. Poetry and criticism, and all the fine arts, have generated +such living things, which not only will be co-existent with them +but will (I fear) survive them. Hence history takes alternately +the form of reproval and of panegyric; and science in its pulverized +state, in its shapeless and colourless atoms, assumes the +name of metaphysics. We find no longer the rich succulence +of Herodotus, no longer the strong filament of Thucydides, but +thoughts fit only for the slave, and language for the rustic and +the robber. These writings can never reach posterity, nor serve +better authors near us; for who would receive as documents the +perversions of venality and party? Alexander we know was +intemperate, and Philip both intemperate and perfidious: we +require not a volume of dissertation on the thread of history, +to demonstrate that one or other left a tailor’s bill unpaid, and +the immorality of doing so; nor a supplement to ascertain on +the best authorities which of the two it was. History should +explain to us how nations rose and fell, what nurtured them in +their growth, what sustained them in their maturity; not which +orator ran swiftest through the crowd from the right hand to +the left, which assassin was too strong for manacles, or which +felon too opulent for crucifixion.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> It is better, I own it, that such writers should amuse +our idleness than excite our spleen.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> What is spleen?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Do not ask her; she cannot tell you. The spleen, +Ternissa, is to the heart what Arimanes is to Oromazes.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> I am little the wiser yet. Does he ever use such +hard words with you?</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> He means the evil Genius and the good Genius, +in the theogony of the Persians: and would perhaps tell you, +as he hath told me, that the heart in itself is free from evil, +but very capable of receiving and too tenacious of holding it.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> In our moral system, the spleen hangs about the +heart and renders it sad and sorrowful, unless we continually +keep it in exercise by kind offices, or in its proper place by +serious investigation and solitary questionings. Otherwise, +it is apt to adhere and to accumulate, until it deadens the +principles of sound action, and obscures the sight.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> It must make us very ugly when we grow old.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> In youth it makes us uglier, as not appertaining to +it: a little more or less ugliness in decrepitude is hardly worth +considering, there being quite enough of it from other quarters: +I would stop it here, however.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Oh, what a thing is age!</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Death without death’s quiet.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Leontion said that even bad writers may amuse +our idle hours: alas! even good ones do not much amuse mine, +unless they record an action of love or generosity. As for the +graver, why cannot they come among us and teach us, just as +you do?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Would you wish it?</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> No, no! I do not want them: only I was imagining +how pleasant it is to converse as we are doing, and how sorry +I should be to pore over a book instead of it. Books always +make me sigh, and think about other things. Why do you +laugh, Leontion?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> She was mistaken in saying bad authors may amuse +our idleness. Leontion knows not then how sweet and sacred +idleness is.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> To render it sweet and sacred, the heart must have +a little garden of its own, with its umbrage and fountains and +perennial flowers—a careless company! Sleep is called sacred +as well as sweet by Homer; and idleness is but a step from it. +The idleness of the wise and virtuous should be both, it being the +repose and refreshment necessary for past exertions and for +future; it punishes the bad man, it rewards the good; the deities +enjoy it, and Epicurus praises it. I was indeed wrong in my +remark; for we should never seek amusement in the foibles of +another, never in coarse language, never in low thoughts. When +the mind loses its feeling for elegance, it grows corrupt and +grovelling, and seeks in the crowd what ought to be found +at home.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Aspasia believed so, and bequeathed to Leontion, +with every other gift that Nature had bestowed upon her, the +power of delivering her oracles from diviner lips.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> Fie! Epicurus! It is well you hide my face for me +with your hand. Now take it away; we cannot walk in this +manner.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> No word could ever fall from you without its weight; +no breath from you ought to lose itself in the common air.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion.</i> For shame! What would you have?</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> He knows not what he would have nor what he +would say. I must sit down again. I declare I scarcely +understand a single syllable. Well, he is very good, to tease you +no longer. Epicurus has an excellent heart; he would give pain +to no one; least of all to you.</p> + +<p><i>Leontion,</i> I have pained him by this foolish book, and he would +only assure me that he does not for a moment bear me malice. +Take the volume; take it, Epicurus! tear it in pieces.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> No, Leontion! I shall often look with pleasure on +this trophy of brave humanity; let me kiss the hand that +raises it!</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> I am tired of sitting: I am quite stiff: when shall +we walk homeward?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Take my arm, Ternissa!</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Oh! I had forgotten that I proposed to myself a +trip as far up as the pinasters, to look at the precipice of +Oreithyia. Come along! come along! how alert does the sea +air make us! I seem to feel growing at my feet and shoulders +the wings of Zethes or Caläis.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Leontion walks the nimblest to-day.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> To display her activity and strength, she runs +before us. Sweet Leontion, how good she is! but she should +have stayed for us: it would be in vain to try to overtake her.</p> + +<p>No, Epicurus! Mind! take care! you are crushing these little +oleanders—and now the strawberry plants—the whole heap. +Not I, indeed. What would my mother say, if she knew it? +And Leontion! she will certainly look back.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> The fairest of the Eudaimones never look back: +such are the Hours and Love, Opportunity and Leontion.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> How could you dare to treat me in this manner? +I did not say again I hated anything.</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Forgive me!</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Violent creature!</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> If tenderness is violence. Forgive me; and say +you love me.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> All at once? could you endure such boldness?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Pronounce it! whisper it.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> Go, go. Would it be proper?</p> + +<p><i>Epicurus.</i> Is that sweet voice asking its heart or me? let the +worthier give the answer.</p> + +<p><i>Ternissa.</i> O Epicurus! you are very, very dear to me; +and are the last in the world that would ever tell you were +called so.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> The Attic month of Puanepsion had its commencement in the latter +days of October; its name is derived from <ins class="greek" title="puana">πύανα</ins>, the legumes which were +offered in sacrifice to Apollo at that season.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> The thirteenth of Elaphebolion was the tenth of April.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="DANTE_AND_BEATRICE" id="DANTE_AND_BEATRICE"></a>DANTE AND BEATRICE</h2> + + +<p><i>Dante.</i> When you saw me profoundly pierced with love, and +reddening and trembling, did it become you, did it become you, +you whom I have always called <i>the most gentle Bice</i>, to join in +the heartless laughter of those girls around you? Answer me. +Reply unhesitatingly. Requires it so long a space for dissimulation +and duplicity? Pardon! pardon! pardon! My senses +have left me; my heart being gone, they follow.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Childish man! pursuing the impossible.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> And was it this you laughed at? We cannot touch +the hem of God’s garment; yet we fall at His feet and weep.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> But weep not, gentle Dante! fall not before the +weakest of His creatures, willing to comfort, unable to relieve you. +Consider a little. Is laughter at all times the signal or the +precursor of derision? I smiled, let me avow it, from the pride +I felt in your preference of me; and if I laughed, it was to conceal +my sentiments. Did you never cover sweet fruit with worthless +leaves? Come, do not drop again so soon so faint a smile. +I will not have you grave, nor very serious. I pity you; I must +not love you: if I might, I would.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Yet how much love is due to me, O Bice, who have +loved you, as you well remember, even from your tenth year. +But it is reported, and your words confirm it, that you are going +to be married.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> If so, and if I could have laughed at that, and if +my laughter could have estranged you from me, would you +blame me?</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Tell me the truth.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> The report is general.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> The truth! the truth! Tell me, Bice.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Marriages, it is said, are made in heaven.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Is heaven then under the paternal roof?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> It has been to me hitherto.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> And now you seek it elsewhere.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> I seek it not. The wiser choose for the weaker. +Nay, do not sigh so. What would you have, my grave pensive +Dante? What can I do?</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Love me.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> I always did.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Love me? O bliss of heaven!</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> No, no, no! Forbear! Men’s kisses are always +mischievous and hurtful; everybody says it. If you truly +loved me, you would never think of doing so.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Nor even this!</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> You forget that you are no longer a boy; and that +it is not thought proper at your time of life to continue the arm +at all about the waist. Beside, I think you would better not +put your head against my bosom; it beats too much to be +pleasant to you. Why do you wish it? why fancy it can do you +any good? It grows no cooler; it seems to grow even hotter. +Oh, how it burns! Go, go; it hurts me too: it struggles, it aches, +it sobs. Thank you, my gentle friend, for removing your brow +away; your hair is very thick and long; and it began to heat me +more than you can imagine. While it was there, I could not +see your face so well, nor talk with you so quietly.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Oh, when shall we talk quietly in future?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> When I am married. I shall often come to visit +my father. He has always been solitary since my mother’s +death, which happened in my infancy, long before you knew me.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> How can he endure the solitude of his house when +you have left it?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> The very question I asked him.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> You did not then wish to ... to ... go away?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Ah no! It is sad to be an outcast at fifteen.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> An outcast?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Forced to leave a home.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> For another?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Childhood can never have a second.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> But childhood is now over.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> I wonder who was so malicious as to tell my father +that? He wanted me to be married a whole year ago.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> And, Bice, you hesitated?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> No; I only wept. He is a dear good father. I never +disobeyed him but in those wicked tears; and they ran the +faster the more he reprehended them.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Say, who is the happy youth?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> I know not who ought to be happy if you are not.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> I?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Surely you deserve all happiness.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Happiness! any happiness is denied me. Ah, hours of +childhood! bright hours! what fragrant blossoms ye unfold! +what bitter fruits to ripen!</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Now cannot you continue to sit under that old +fig-tree at the corner of the garden? It is always delightful +to me to think of it.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Again you smile: I wish I could smile too.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> You were usually more grave than I, although very +often, two years ago, you told me I was the graver. Perhaps +I <i>was</i> then indeed; and perhaps I ought to be now: but really +I must smile at the recollection, and make you smile with me.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Recollection of what in particular?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Of your ignorance that a fig-tree is the brittlest of +trees, especially when it is in leaf; and moreover of your tumble, +when your head was just above the wall, and your hand (with +the verses in it) on the very coping-stone. Nobody suspected +that I went every day to the bottom of our garden, to hear you +repeat your poetry on the other side; nobody but yourself; +you soon found me out. But on that occasion I thought you +might have been hurt; and I clambered up our high peach-tree +in the grass plot nearest the place; and thence I saw Messer +Dante, with his white sleeve reddened by the fig-juice, and the +seeds sticking to it pertinaciously, and Messer blushing, and +trying to conceal his calamity, and still holding the verses. +They were all about me.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Never shall any verse of mine be uttered from my lips, +or from the lips of others, without the memorial of Bice.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Sweet Dante! in the purity of your soul shall Bice +live; as (we are told by the goatherds and foresters) poor +creatures have been found preserved in the serene and lofty +regions of the Alps, many years after the breath of life had left +them. Already you rival Guido Cavalcante and Cino da +Pistoja: you must attempt, nor perhaps shall it be vainly, to +surpass them in celebrity.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> If ever I am above them ... and I must be ... I +know already what angel’s hand will have helped me up the +ladder. Beatrice, I vow to heaven, shall stand higher than +Selvaggia, high and glorious and immortal as that name will +be. You have given me joy and sorrow; for the worst of these +(I will not say the least) I will confer on you all the generations +of our Italy, all the ages of our world. But first (alas, from me +you must not have it!) may happiness, long happiness, attend +you!</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Ah, those words rend your bosom! why should they?</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> I could go away contented, or almost contented, were +I sure of it. Hope is nearly as strong as despair, and greatly +more pertinacious and enduring. You have made me see +clearly that you never can be mine in this world: but at the +same time, O Beatrice, you have made me see quite as clearly +that you may and must be mine in another! I am older than +you: precedency is given to age, and not to worthiness; I will +pray for you when I am nearer to God, and purified from the +stains of earth and mortality. He will permit me to behold +you, lovely as when I left you. Angels in vain should call +me onward.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Hush, sweetest Dante! hush!</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> It is there where I shall have caught the first glimpse +of you again, that I wish all my portion of Paradise to be +assigned me; and there, if far below you, yet within the sight of +you, to establish my perdurable abode.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Is this piety? Is this wisdom? O Dante! And +may not I be called away first?</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Alas, alas, how many small feet have swept off the +early dew of life, leaving the path black behind them! But to +think that you should go before me! It almost sends me +forward on my way, to receive and welcome you. If indeed, +O Beatrice, such should be God’s immutable will, sometimes +look down on me when the song to Him is suspended. Oh! +look often on me with prayer and pity; for there all prayers are +accepted, and all pity is devoid of pain! Why are you silent?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> It is very sinful not to love all creatures in the world. +But it is true, O Dante! that we always love those the most +who make us the most unhappy?</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> The remark, I fear, is just.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Then, unless the Virgin be pleased to change my +inclinations, I shall begin at last to love my betrothed; for +already the very idea of him renders me sad, wearisome, and +comfortless. Yesterday he sent me a bunch of violets. When +I took them up, delighted as I felt at that sweetest of odours, +which you and I once inhaled together....</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> And only once.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> You know why. Be quiet now, and hear me. +I dropped the posy; for around it, hidden by various kinds of +foliage, was twined the bridal necklace of pearls. O Dante, +how worthless are the finest of them (and there are many fine +ones) in comparison with those little pebbles, some of which +(for perhaps I may not have gathered up all) may be still lying +under the peach-tree, and some (do I blush to say it?) under +the fig! Tell me not who threw these, nor for what. But you +know you were always thoughtful, and sometimes reading, +sometimes writing, and sometimes forgetting me, while I waited +to see the crimson cap, and the two bay-leaves I fastened in it, +rise above the garden-wall. How silently you are listening, if +you do listen!</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Oh, could my thoughts incessantly and eternally +dwell among these recollections, undisturbed by any other +voice ... undistracted by any other presence! Soon must +they abide with me alone, and be repeated by none but me ... +repeated in the accents of anguish and despair! Why could +you not have held in the sad home of your heart that necklace +and those violets?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> My Dante! we must all obey ... I my father, +you your God. He will never abandon you.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> I have ever sung, and will for ever sing, the most +glorious of His works: and yet, O Bice! He abandons me, He +casts me off; and He uses your hand for this infliction.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Men travel far and wide, and see many on whom to +fix or transfer their affections; but we maidens have neither the +power nor the will. Casting our eyes on the ground, we walk +along the straight and narrow road prescribed for us; and, +doing this, we avoid in great measure the thorns and entanglements +of life. We know we are performing our duty; and the +fruit of this knowledge is contentment. Season after season, +day after day, you have made me serious, pensive, meditative, +and almost wise. Being so little a girl, I was proud that you, +so much taller, should lean on my shoulder to overlook my work. +And greatly more proud was I when in time you taught me +several Latin words, and then whole sentences, both in prose +and verse, pasting a strip of paper over, or obscuring with +impenetrable ink, those passages in the poets which were +beyond my comprehension, and might perplex me. But +proudest of all was I when you began to reason with me. What +will now be my pride if you are convinced by the first arguments +I ever have opposed to you; or if you only take them up and try +if they are applicable. Certainly do I know (indeed, indeed I +do) that even the patience to consider them will make you +happier. Will it not then make me so? I entertain no other +wish. Is not this true love?</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Ah, yes! the truest, the purest, the least perishable, +but not the sweetest. Here are the rue and hyssop; but where +the rose?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Wicked must be whatever torments you: and will +you let love do it? Love is the gentlest and kindest breath of +God. Are you willing that the tempter should intercept it, +and respire it polluted into your ear? Do not make me hesitate +to pray to the Virgin for you, nor tremble lest she look down on +you with a reproachful pity. To her alone, O Dante, dare I +confide all my thoughts! Lessen not my confidence in my +only refuge.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> God annihilate a power so criminal! Oh, could my +love flow into your breast with hers! It should flow with +equal purity.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> You have stored my little mind with many thoughts; +dear because they are yours, and because they are virtuous. +May I not, O my Dante! bring some of them back again to your +bosom; as the <i>contadina</i> lets down the string from the cottage-beam +in winter, and culls a few bunches of the soundest for the +master of the vineyard? You have not given me glory that +the world should shudder at its eclipse. To prove that I am +worthy of the smallest part of it, I must obey God; and, under +God, my father. Surely the voice of Heaven comes to us +audibly from a parent’s lips. You will be great, and, what is +above, all greatness, good.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Rightly and wisely, my sweet Beatrice, have you +spoken in this estimate. Greatness is to goodness what gravel +is to porphyry: the one is a movable accumulation, swept along +the surface of the earth; the other stands fixed and solid and +alone, above the violence of war and of the tempest; above all +that is residuous of a wasted world. Little men build up great +ones; but the snow colossus soon melts: the good stand under +the eye of God; and therefore stand.</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Now you are calm and reasonable, listen to me, Bice. +You must marry.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Marry?</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Unless you do, how can we meet again unreservedly? +Worse, worse than ever! I cannot bear to see those large heavy +tears following one another, heavy and slow as nuns at the +funeral of a sister. Come, I will kiss off one, if you will promise +me faithfully to shed no more. Be tranquil, be tranquil; only +hear reason. There are many who know you; and all who know +you must love you. Don’t you hear me? Why turn aside? +and why go farther off? I will have that hand. It twists +about as if it hated its confinement. Perverse and peevish +creature! you have no more reason to be sorry than I have; +and you have many to the contrary which I have not. Being +a man, you are at liberty to admire a variety, and to make a +choice. Is that no comfort to you?</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bid this bosom cease to grieve?</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Bid these eyes fresh objects see?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where’s the comfort to believe</span><br /> +<span class="i1">None might once have rivall’d me?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">What! my freedom to receive?</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Broken hearts, are they the free?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For another can I live</span><br /> +<span class="i1">When I may not live for thee?</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> I will never be fond of you again if you are so violent. +We have been together too long, and we may be noticed.</p> + +<p><i>Dante.</i> Is this our last meeting? If it is ... and that it is, +my heart has told me ... you will not, surely you will not +refuse....</p> + +<p><i>Beatrice.</i> Dante! Dante! they make the heart sad after: do +not wish it. But prayers ... oh, how much better are they, +how much quieter and lighter they render it! They carry it +up to heaven with them; and those we love are left behind +no longer.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="FRA_FILIPPO_LIPPI_AND_POPE_EUGENIUS_THE_FOURTH" id="FRA_FILIPPO_LIPPI_AND_POPE_EUGENIUS_THE_FOURTH"></a>FRA FILIPPO LIPPI AND POPE EUGENIUS THE FOURTH</h2> + + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Filippo! I am informed by my son Cosimo de’ +Medici of many things relating to thy life and actions, and +among the rest, of thy throwing off the habit of a friar. +Speak to me as to a friend. Was that well done?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Holy Father! it was done most unadvisedly.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Continue to treat me with the same confidence +and ingenuousness; and, beside the remuneration I intend to +bestow on thee for the paintings wherewith thou hast adorned +my palace, I will remove with my own hand the heavy accumulation +of thy sins, and ward off the peril of fresh ones, placing +within thy reach every worldly solace and contentment.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Infinite thanks, Holy Father! from the innermost +heart of your unworthy servant, whose duty and wishes bind +him alike and equally to a strict compliance with your paternal +commands.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Was it a love of the world and its vanities that +induced thee to throw aside the frock?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> It was indeed, Holy Father! I never had the +courage to mention it in confession among my manifold offences.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Bad! bad! Repentance is of little use to the +sinner, unless he pour it from a full and overflowing heart into +the capacious ear of the confessor. Ye must not go straightforward +and bluntly up to your Maker, startling Him with the +horrors of your guilty conscience. Order, decency, time, place, +opportunity, must be observed.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I have observed the greater part of them: time, +place, and opportunity.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> That is much. In consideration of it, I hereby +absolve thee.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I feel quite easy, quite new-born.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> I am desirous of hearing what sort of feelings +thou experiencest, when thou givest loose to thy intractable +and unruly wishes. Now, this love of the world, what can +it mean? A love of music, of dancing, of riding? What in +short is it in thee?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Holy Father! I was ever of a hot and amorous +constitution.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Well, well! I can guess, within a trifle, what that +leads unto. I very much disapprove of it, whatever it may be. +And then? and then? Prithee go on: I am inflamed with a +miraculous zeal to cleanse thee.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I have committed many follies, and some sins.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Let me hear the sins; I do not trouble my head +about the follies; the Church has no business with them. The +State is founded on follies, the Church on sins. Come then, +unsack them.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Concupiscence is both a folly and a sin. I felt more +and more of it when I ceased to be a monk, not having (for a +time) so ready means of allaying it.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> No doubt. Thou shouldst have thought again +and again before thou strippedst off the cowl.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Ah! Holy Father! I am sore at heart. I thought +indeed how often it had held two heads together under it, and +that stripping it off was double decapitation. But compensation +and contentment came, and we were warm enough without it.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> I am minded to reprove thee gravely. No wonder +it pleased the Virgin, and the saints about her, to permit that +the enemy of our faith should lead thee captive into Barbary.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> The pleasure was all on their side.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> I have heard a great many stories both of males +and females who were taken by Tunisians and Algerines: and +although there is a sameness in certain parts of them, my +especial benevolence toward thee, worthy Filippo, would induce +me to lend a vacant ear to thy report. And now, good Filippo, +I could sip a small glass of Muscatel or Orvieto, and turn over a +few bleached almonds, or essay a smart dried apricot at intervals, +and listen while thou relatest to me the manners and customs of +that country, and particularly as touching thy own adversities. +First, how wast thou taken?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I was visiting at Pesaro my worshipful friend the +canonico Andrea Paccone, who delighted in the guitar, played +it skilfully, and was always fond of hearing it well accompanied +by the voice. My own instrument I had brought with me, +together with many gay Florentine songs, some of which were +of such a turn and tendency, that the canonico thought they +would sound better on water, and rather far from shore, than +within the walls of the canonicate. He proposed then, one +evening when there was little wind stirring, to exercise three +young abbates<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> on their several parts, a little way out of hearing +from the water’s edge.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> I disapprove of exercising young abbates in that +manner.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Inadvertently, O Holy Father! I have made the +affair seem worse than it really was. In fact, there were only +two genuine abbates; the third was Donna Lisetta, the good +canonico’s pretty niece, who looks so archly at your Holiness +when you bend your knees before her at bedtime.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> How? Where?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> She is the angel on the right-hand side of the Holy +Family, with a tip of amethyst-coloured wing over a basket of +figs and pomegranates. I painted her from memory: she was +then only fifteen, and worthy to be the niece of an archbishop. +Alas! she never will be: she plays and sings among the infidels, +and perhaps would eat a landrail on a Friday as unreluctantly +as she would a roach.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Poor soul! So this is the angel with the amethyst-coloured +wing? I thought she looked wanton: we must pray +for her release ... from the bondage of sin. What followed +in your excursion?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Singing, playing, fresh air, and plashing water, +stimulated our appetites. We had brought no eatable with +us but fruit and thin <i>marzopane</i>, of which the sugar and rose-water +were inadequate to ward off hunger; and the sight of a +fishing-vessel between us and Ancona, raised our host immoderately. +‘Yonder smack,’ said he, ‘is sailing at this moment just +over the best sole-bank in the Adriatic. If she continues +her course and we run toward her, we may be supplied, I trust +in God, with the finest fish in Christendom. Methinks I see +already the bellies of those magnificent sole bestar the deck, +and emulate the glories of the orient sky.’ He gave his orders +with such a majestic air, that he looked rather like an admiral +than a priest.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> How now, rogue! Why should not the churchman +look majestically and courageously? I myself have found +occasion for it, and exerted it.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> The world knows the prowess of your Holiness.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Not mine, not mine, Filippo! but His who gave +me the sword and the keys, and the will and the discretion to +use them. I trust the canonico did not misapply his station +and power, by taking the fish at any unreasonably low price; +and that he gave his blessing to the remainder, and to the poor +fishermen and to their nets.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> He was angry at observing that the vessel, while +he thought it was within hail, stood out again to sea.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> He ought to have borne more manfully so slight a +vexation.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> On the contrary, he swore bitterly he would have +the master’s ear between his thumb and forefinger in another +half-hour, and regretted that he had cut his nails in the morning +lest they should grate on his guitar. ‘They may fish well,’ +cried he, ‘but they can neither sail nor row; and, when I am in +the middle of that tub of theirs, I will teach them more than +they look for.’ Sure enough he was in the middle of it at the +time he fixed: but it was by aid of a rope about his arms and +the end of another laid lustily on his back and shoulders. +‘Mount, lazy long-chined turnspit, as thou valuest thy life,’ +cried Abdul the corsair, ‘and away for Tunis.’ If silence is +consent, he had it. The captain, in the Sicilian dialect, told us +we might talk freely, for he had taken his siesta. ‘Whose +guitars are those?’ said he. As the canonico raised his eyes to +heaven and answered nothing, I replied, ‘Sir, one is mine: the +other is my worthy friend’s there.’ Next he asked the canonico +to what market he was taking those young slaves, pointing to +the abbates. The canonico sobbed and could not utter one +word. I related the whole story; at which he laughed. He +then took up the music, and commanded my reverend guest +to sing an air peculiarly tender, invoking the compassion of a +nymph, and calling her cold as ice. Never did so many or such +profound sighs accompany it. When it ended, he sang one +himself in his own language, on a lady whose eyes were exactly +like the scimitars of Damascus, and whose eyebrows met in +the middle like the cudgels of prize-fighters. On the whole she +resembled both sun and moon, with the simple difference that +she never allowed herself to be seen, lest all the nations of the +earth should go to war for her, and not a man to be left to breathe +out his soul before her. This poem had obtained the prize at +the University of Fez, had been translated into the Arabic, +the Persian, and the Turkish languages, and was the favourite +lay of the corsair. He invited me lastly to try my talent. I +played the same air on the guitar, and apologized for omitting +the words, from my utter ignorance of the Moorish. Abdul +was much pleased, and took the trouble to convince me that the +poetry they conveyed, which he translated literally, was incomparably +better than ours. ‘Cold as ice!’ he repeated, +scoffing: ‘anybody might say that who had seen Atlas: but a +genuine poet would rather say, “Cold as a lizard or a lobster.”’ +There is no controverting a critic who has twenty stout rowers, +and twenty well-knotted rope-ends. Added to which, he +seemed to know as much of the matter as the generality of those +who talked about it. He was gratified by my attention and +edification, and thus continued: ‘I have remarked in the songs +I have heard, that these wild woodland creatures of the west, +these nymphs, are a strange fantastical race. But are your +poets not ashamed to complain of their inconstancy? whose +fault is that? If ever it should be my fortune to take one, I +would try whether I could not bring her down to the level of +her sex; and if her inconstancy caused any complaints, by Allah! +they should be louder and shriller than ever rose from the +throat of Abdul.’ I still thought it better to be a disciple than +a commentator.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> If we could convert this barbarian and detain +him awhile at Rome, he would learn that women and nymphs +(and inconstancy also) are one and the same. These cruel men +have no lenity, no suavity. They who do not as they would +be done by, are done by very much as they do. Women will +glide away from them like water; they can better bear two +masters than half one; and a new metal must be discovered +before any bars are strong enough to confine them. But +proceed with your narrative.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Night had now closed upon us. Abdul placed the +younger of the company apart, and after giving them some +boiled rice, sent them down into his own cabin. The sailors, +observing the consideration and distinction with which their +master had treated me, were civil and obliging. Permission +was granted me, at my request, to sleep on deck.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> What became of your canonico?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> The crew called him a conger, a priest, and a +porpoise.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Foul-mouthed knaves! could not one of these +terms content them? On thy leaving Barbary was he left +behind?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Your Holiness consecrated him, the other day, +Bishop of Macerata.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> True, true; I remember the name, Saccone. How +did he contrive to get off?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> He was worth little at any work; and such men +are the quickest both to get off and to get on. Abdul told me +he had received three thousand crowns for his ransom.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> He was worth more to him than to me. I received +but two first-fruits, and such other things as of right belong to +me by inheritance. The bishopric is passably rich: he may +serve thee.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> While he was a canonico he was a jolly fellow; not +very generous; for jolly fellows are seldom that; but he would +give a friend a dinner, a flask of wine or two in preference, and +a piece of advice as readily as either. I waited on monsignor +at Macerata, soon after his elevation.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> He must have been heartily glad to embrace his +companion in captivity, and the more especially as he himself +was the cause of so grievous a misfortune.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> He sent me word he was so unwell he could not see +me. ‘What!’ said I to his valet, ‘is monsignor’s complaint in +his eyes?’ The fellow shrugged up his shoulders and walked +away. Not believing that the message was a refusal to admit +me, I went straight upstairs, and finding the door of an antechamber +half open, and a chaplain milling an egg-posset over +the fire, I accosted him. The air of familiarity and satisfaction +he observed in me left no doubt in his mind that I had been +invited by his patron. ‘Will the man never come?’ cried his +lordship. ‘Yes, monsignor!’ exclaimed I, running in and +embracing him; ‘behold him here!’ He started back, and then +I first discovered the wide difference between an old friend and +an egg-posset.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Son Filippo! thou hast seen but little of the world, +and art but just come from Barbary. Go on.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> ‘Fra Filippo!’ said he gravely, ‘I am glad to see you. +I did not expect you just at present: I am not very well: I had +ordered a medicine and was impatient to take it. If you will +favour me with the name of your inn, I will send for you when +I am in a condition to receive you; perhaps within a day or two.’ +‘Monsignor!’ said I, ‘a change of residence often gives a man a +cold, and oftener a change of fortune. Whether you caught +yours upon deck (where we last saw each other), from being +more exposed than usual, or whether the mitre holds wind, is +no question for me, and no concern of mine.’</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> A just reproof, if an archbishop had made it. On +uttering it, I hope thou kneeledst and kissedst his hand.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I did not indeed.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Oh, there wert thou greatly in the wrong! Having, +it is reported, a good thousand crowns yearly of patrimony, +and a canonicate worth six hundred more, he might have +attempted to relieve thee from slavery, by assisting thy relatives +in thy redemption.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> The three thousand crowns were the uttermost he +could raise, he declared to Abdul, and he asserted that a part +of the money was contributed by the inhabitants of Pesaro. +‘Do they act out of pure mercy?’ said he. ‘Ay, they must, +for what else could move them in behalf of such a lazy, unserviceable +street-fed cur?’ In the morning, at sunrise, he was +sent aboard. And now, the vessel being under weigh, ‘I have +a letter from my lord Abdul,’ said the master, ‘which, being in +thy language, two fellow slaves shall read unto thee publicly.’ +They came forward and began the reading. ‘Yesterday I +purchased these two slaves from a cruel, unrelenting master, +under whose lash they have laboured for nearly thirty years. +I hereby give orders that five ounces of my own gold be weighed +out to them.’ Here one of the slaves fell on his face; the other +lifted up his hands, praised God, and blessed his benefactor.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> The pirate? the unconverted pirate?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Even so. ‘Here is another slip of paper for thyself +to read immediately in my presence,’ said the master. The +words it contained were, ‘Do thou the same, or there enters thy +lips neither food nor water until thou landest in Italy. I permit +thee to carry away more than double the sum: I am no sutler: +I do not contract for thy sustenance.’ The canonico asked of +the master whether he knew the contents of the letter; he +replied no. ‘Tell your master, lord Abdul, that I shall take +them into consideration.’ ‘My lord expected a much plainer +answer, and commanded me, in case of any such as thou hast +delivered, to break this seal.’ He pressed it to his forehead +and then broke it. Having perused the characters reverentially, +‘Christian! dost thou consent?’ The canonico fell on his knees, +and overthrew the two poor wretches who, saying their prayers, +had remained in the same posture before him quite unnoticed. +‘Open thy trunk and take out thy money-bag, or I will make +room for it in thy bladder.’ The canonico was prompt in the +execution of the command. The master drew out his scales, +and desired the canonico to weigh with his own hand five +ounces. He groaned and trembled: the balance was unsteady. +‘Throw in another piece: it will not vitiate the agreement,’ +cried the master. It was done. Fear and grief are among the +thirsty passions, but add little to the appetite. It seemed, +however, as if every sigh had left a vacancy in the stomach of +the canonico. At dinner the cook brought him a salted bonito, +half an ell in length; and in five minutes his reverence was +drawing his middle finger along the white backbone, out of sheer +idleness, until were placed before him some as fine dried locusts +as ever provisioned the tents of Africa, together with olives the +size of eggs and colour of bruises, shining in oil and brine. He +found them savoury and pulpy, and, as the last love supersedes +the foregoing, he gave them the preference, even over the delicate +locusts. When he had finished them, he modestly requested +a can of water. A sailor brought a large flask, and poured forth +a plentiful supply. The canonico engulfed the whole, and +instantly threw himself back in convulsive agony. ‘How is +this?’ cried the sailor. The master ran up and, smelling the +water, began to buffet him, exclaiming, as he turned round to all +the crew, ‘How came this flask here?’ All were innocent. +It appeared, however, that it was a flask of mineral water, +strongly sulphureous, taken out of a Neapolitan vessel, laden +with a great abundance of it for some hospital in the Levant. +It had taken the captor by surprise in the same manner as the +canonico. He himself brought out instantly a capacious stone jar +covered with dew, and invited the sufferer into the cabin. Here he +drew forth two richly-cut wineglasses, and, on filling one of them, +the outside of it turned suddenly pale, with a myriad of indivisible +drops, and the senses were refreshed with the most delicious fragrance. +He held up the glass between himself and his guest, and +looking at it attentively, said, ‘Here is no appearance of wine; all +I can see is water. Nothing is wickeder than too much curiosity: +we must take what Allah sends us, and render thanks for it, +although it fall far short of our expectations. Besides, our Prophet +would rather we should even drink wine than poison.’ The +canonico had not tasted wine for two months: a longer abstinence +than ever canonico endured before. He drooped: but the master +looked still more disconsolate. ‘I would give whatever I possess +on earth rather than die of thirst,’ cried the canonico. ‘Who +would not?’ rejoined the captain, sighing and clasping his +fingers. ‘If it were not contrary to my commands, I could +touch at some cove or inlet.’ ‘Do, for the love of Christ!’ +exclaimed the canonico. ‘Or even sail back,’ continued the +captain. ‘O Santa Vergine!’ cried in anguish the canonico. +‘Despondency,’ said the captain, with calm solemnity, ‘has left +many a man to be thrown overboard: it even renders the plague, +and many other disorders, more fatal. Thirst too has a powerful +effect in exasperating them. Overcome such weaknesses, or I +must do my duty. The health of the ship’s company is placed +under my care; and our lord Abdul, if he suspected the pest, +would throw a Jew, or a Christian, or even a bale of silk, into +the sea: such is the disinterestedness and magnanimity of my +lord Abdul.’ ‘He believes in fate; does he not?’ said the +canonico. ‘Doubtless: but he says it is as much fated that he +should throw into the sea a fellow who is infected, as that the +fellow should have ever been so.’ ‘Save me, oh, save me!’ +cried the canonico, moist as if the spray had pelted him. ‘Willingly, +if possible,’ answered calmly the master. ‘At present I +can discover no certain symptoms; for sweat, unless followed +by general prostration, both of muscular strength and animal +spirits, may be cured without a hook at the heel.’ ‘Giesu-Maria!’ +ejaculated the canonico.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> And the monster could withstand that appeal?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> It seems so. The renegade who related to me, on +my return, these events as they happened, was very circumstantial. +He is a Corsican, and had killed many men in battle, +and more out; but is (he gave me his word for it) on the whole +an honest man.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> How so? honest? and a renegade?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> He declared to me that, although the Mahomedan +is the best religion to live in, the Christian is the best to die in; +and that, when he has made his fortune, he will make his confession, +and lie snugly in the bosom of the Church.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> See here the triumphs of our holy faith! The lost +sheep will be found again.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Having played the butcher first.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Return we to that bad man, the master or captain, +who evinced no such dispositions.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> He added, ‘The other captives, though older men, +have stouter hearts than mine.’ ‘Alas! they are longer used +to hardships,’ answered he. ‘Dost thou believe, in thy conscience,’ +said the captain, ‘that the water we have aboard would +be harmless to them? for we have no other; and wine is costly; +and our quantity might be insufficient for those who can afford +to pay for it.’ ‘I will answer for their lives,’ replied the canonico. +‘With thy own?’ interrogated sharply the Tunisian. ‘I must +not tempt God,’ said, in tears, the religious man. ‘Let us be +plain,’ said the master. ‘Thou knowest thy money is safe; +I myself counted it before thee when I brought it from the +scrivener’s; thou hast sixty broad gold pieces; wilt thou be +answerable, to the whole amount of them, for the lives of thy +two countrymen if they drink this water?’ ‘O sir!’ said the +canonico, ‘I will give it, if, only for these few days of voyage, +you vouchsafe me one bottle daily of that restorative wine of +Bordeaux. The other two are less liable to the plague: they +do not sorrow and sweat as I do. They are spare men. There +is enough of me to infect a fleet with it; and I cannot bear to +think of being in any wise the cause of evil to my fellow-creatures.’ +‘The wine is my patron’s,’ cried the Tunisian; ‘he leaves everything +at my discretion: should I deceive him?’ ‘If he leaves +everything at your discretion,’ observed the logician of Pesaro, +‘there is no deceit in disposing of it.’ The master appeared to +be satisfied with the argument. ‘Thou shalt not find me +exacting,’ said he; ‘give me the sixty pieces, and the wine shall +be thine.’ At a signal, when the contract was agreed to, the +two slaves entered, bringing a hamper of jars. ‘Read the +contract before thou signest,’ cried the master. He read. +‘How is this? how is this? <i>Sixty golden ducats to the brothers +Antonio and Bernabo Panini, for wine received from them?</i>’ +The aged men tottered under the stroke of joy; and Bernabo, +who would have embraced his brother, fainted.</p> + +<p>On the morrow there was a calm, and the weather was +extremely sultry. The canonico sat in his shirt on deck, and +was surprised to see, I forget which of the brothers, drink from +a goblet a prodigious draught of water. ‘Hold!’ cried he +angrily; ‘you may eat instead; but putrid or sulphureous water, +you have heard, may produce the plague, and honest men be +the sufferers by your folly and intemperance.’ They assured +him the water was tasteless, and very excellent, and had been +kept cool in the same kind of earthern jars as the wine. He +tasted it, and lost his patience. It was better, he protested, +than any wine in the world. They begged his acceptance of +the jar containing it. But the master, who had witnessed at a +distance the whole proceeding, now advanced, and, placing his +hand against it, said sternly, ‘Let him have his own.’ Usually, +when he had emptied the second bottle, a desire of converting +the Mohammedans came over him: and they showed themselves +much less obstinate and refractory than they are generally +thought. He selected those for edification who swore the +oftenest and the loudest by the Prophet; and he boasted in his +heart of having overcome, by precept and example, the stiffest +tenet of their abominable creed. Certainly they drank wine, +and somewhat freely. The canonico clapped his hands, and +declared that even some of the apostles had been more +pertinacious recusants of the faith.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Did he so? Cappari! I would not have made him +a bishop for twice the money if I had known it earlier. Could +not he have left them alone? Suppose one or other of them +did doubt and persecute, was he the man to blab it out among +the heathen?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> A judgment, it appears, fell on him for so doing. +A very quiet sailor, who had always declined his invitations, +and had always heard his arguments at a distance and in silence, +being pressed and urged by him, and reproved somewhat +arrogantly and loudly, as less docile than his messmates, at last +lifted up his leg behind him, pulled off his right slipper, and +counted deliberately and distinctly thirty-nine sound strokes +of the same, on the canonico’s broadest tablet, which (please +your Holiness) might be called, not inaptly, from that day the +tablet of memory. In vain he cried out. Some of the mariners +made their moves at chess and waved their left hands as if +desirous of no interruption; others went backward and forward +about their business, and took no more notice than if their +messmate was occupied in caulking a seam or notching a flint. +The master himself, who saw the operation, heard the complaint +in the evening, and lifted up his shoulders and eyebrows, +as if the whole were quite unknown to him. Then, acting as +judge-advocate, he called the young man before him and repeated +the accusation. To this the defence was purely interrogative. +‘Why would he convert me? I never converted +him.’ Turning to his spiritual guide, he said, ‘I quite forgive +thee: nay, I am ready to appear in thy favour, and to declare +that, in general, thou hast been more decorous than people +of thy faith and profession usually are, and hast not scattered +on deck that inflammatory language which I, habited in the dress +of a Greek, heard last Easter. I went into three churches; and +the preachers in all three denounced the curse of Allah on every +soul that differed from them a tittle. They were children of +perdition, children of darkness, children of the devil, one and all. +It seemed a matter of wonder to me, that, in such numerous +families and of such indifferent parentage, so many slippers +were kept under the heel. Mine, in an evil hour, escaped me: +but I quite forgive thee. After this free pardon I will indulge +thee with a short specimen of my preaching. I will call none of +you a generation of vipers, as ye call one another; for vipers +neither bite nor eat during many months of the year: I will call +none of you wolves in sheep’s clothing; for if ye are, it must be +acknowledged that the clothing is very clumsily put on. You +priests, however, take people’s souls aboard whether they will +or not, just as we do your bodies: and you make them pay much +more for keeping these in slavery than we make you pay for +setting you free body and soul together. You declare that the +precious souls, to the especial care of which Allah has called and +appointed you, frequently grow corrupt, and stink in His nostrils. +Now, I invoke thy own testimony to the fact that thy soul, gross +as I imagine it to be from the greasy wallet that holds it, had no +carnal thoughts whatsoever, and that thy carcass did not even +receive a fly-blow, while it was under my custody. Thy guardian +angel (I speak it in humility) could not ventilate thee better. +Nevertheless, I should scorn to demand a single maravedi for +my labour and skill, or for the wear and tear of my pantoufle. +My reward will be in Paradise, where a houri is standing in +the shade, above a vase of gold and silver fish, with a kiss on her +lip, and an unbroken pair of green slippers in her hand for me.’ +Saying which, he took off his foot again, the one he had been +using, and showed the sole of it, first to the master, then to all +the crew, and declared it had become (as they might see) so +smooth and oily by the application, that it was dangerous to +walk on deck in it.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> See! what notions these creatures have, both of +their fool’s paradise and of our holy faith! The seven Sacraments, +I warrant you, go for nothing! Purgatory, purgatory +itself, goes for nothing!</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Holy Father! we must stop thee. <i>That</i> does not +go for nothing, however.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Filippo! God forbid I should suspect thee of any +heretical taint; but this smells very like it. If thou hast it now, +tell me honestly. I mean, hold thy tongue. Florentines are +rather lax. Even Son Cosimo might be stricter: so they say: +perhaps his enemies. The great always have them abundantly, +beside those by whom they are served, and those also whom they +serve. Now would I give a silver rose with my benediction on +it, to know of a certainty what became of those poor creatures +the abbates. The initiatory rite of Mohammedanism is most +diabolically malicious. According to the canons of our Catholic +Church, it disqualifies the neophyte for holy orders, without +going so far as adapting him to the choir of the pontifical chapel. +They limp; they halt.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Beatitude! which of them?</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> The unbelievers: they surely are found wanting.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> The unbelievers too?</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Ay, ay, thou half renegade! Couldst not thou go +over with a purse of silver, and try whether the souls of these +captives be recoverable? Even if they should have submitted +to such unholy rites, I venture to say they have repented.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> The devil is in them if they have not.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> They may become again as good Christians as +before.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Easily, methinks.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Not so easily; but by aid of Holy Church in the +administration of indulgences.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> They never wanted those, whatever they want.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> The corsair then is not one of those ferocious +creatures which appear to connect our species with the lion and +panther.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> By no means, Holy Father! He is an honest man; +so are many of his countrymen, bating the Sacrament.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Bating! poor beguiled Filippo! Being unbaptized, +they are only as the beasts that perish: nay worse: for the soul +being imperishable, it must stick to their bodies at the last day, +whether they will or no, and must sink with it into the fire +and brimstone.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Unbaptized! why, they baptize every morning.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Worse and worse! I thought they only missed +the stirrup; I find they overleap the saddle. Obstinate blind +reprobates! of whom it is written ... of whom it is written +... of whom, I say, it is written ... as shall be manifest +before men and angels in the day of wrath.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> More is the pity! for they are hospitable, frank, +and courteous. It is delightful to see their gardens, when one +has not the weeding and irrigation of them. What fruit! what +foliage! what trellises! what alcoves! what a contest of rose and +jessamine for supremacy in odour! of lute and nightingale for +victory in song! And how the little bright ripples of the docile +brooks, the fresher for their races, leap up against one another, +to look on! and how they chirrup and applaud, as if they too +had a voice of some importance in these parties of pleasure +that are loath to separate.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Parties of pleasure! birds, fruits, shallow-running +waters, lute-players, and wantons! Parties of pleasure! and +composed of these! Tell me now, Filippo, tell me truly, what +complexion in general have the discreeter females of that +hapless country.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> The colour of an orange-flower, on which an overladen +bee has left a slight suffusion of her purest honey.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> We must open their eyes.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Knowing what excellent hides the slippers of this +people are made of, I never once ventured on their less perfect +theology, fearing to find it written that I should be abed on +my face the next fortnight. My master had expressed his +astonishment that a religion so admirable as ours was represented +should be the only one in the world the precepts of which +are disregarded by all conditions of men. ‘Our Prophet,’ said +he, ‘our Prophet ordered us to go forth and conquer; we +did it: yours ordered you to sit quiet and forbear; and, after +spitting in His face, you threw the order back into it, and fought +like devils.’</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> The barbarians talk of our Holy Scriptures as if +they understood them perfectly. The impostor they follow +has nothing but fustian and rodomontade in his impudent +lying book from beginning to end. I know it, Filippo, from those +who have contrasted it, page by page, paragraph by paragraph, +and have given the knave his due.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Abdul is by no means deficient in a good opinion +of his own capacity and his Prophet’s all-sufficiency, but he +never took me to task about my faith or his own.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> How wert thou mainly occupied?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I will give your Holiness a sample both of my employments +and of his character. He was going one evening to a +country-house, about fifteen miles from Tunis; and he ordered +me to accompany him. I found there a spacious garden, overrun +with wild flowers and most luxuriant grass, in irregular +tufts, according to the dryness or the humidity of the spot. +The clematis overtopped the lemon and orange-trees; and the +perennial pea sent forth here a pink blossom, here a purple, +here a white one, and after holding (as it were) a short conversation +with the humbler plants, sprang up about an old cypress, +played among its branches, and mitigated its gloom. White +pigeons, and others in colour like the dawn of day, looked down +on us and ceased to coo, until some of their companions, in whom +they had more confidence, encouraged them loudly from remoter +boughs, or alighted on the shoulders of Abdul, at whose side I +was standing. A few of them examined me in every position +their inquisitive eyes could take; displaying all the advantages +of their versatile necks, and pretending querulous fear in the +midst of petulant approaches.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Is it of pigeons thou art talking, O Filippo? +I hope it may be.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Of Abdul’s pigeons. He was fond of taming all +creatures; men, horses, pigeons, equally: but he tamed them all +by kindness. In this wilderness is an edifice not unlike our +Italian chapter-houses built by the Lombards, with long narrow +windows, high above the ground. The centre is now a bath, +the waters of which, in another part of the enclosure, had +supplied a fountain, at present in ruins, and covered by tufted +canes, and by every variety of aquatic plants. The structure +has no remains of roof: and, of six windows, one alone is unconcealed +by ivy. This had been walled up long ago, and the +cement in the inside of it was hard and polished. ‘Lippi!’ +said Abdul to me, after I had long admired the place in silence, +‘I leave to thy superintendence this bath and garden. Be +sparing of the leaves and branches: make paths only wide +enough for me. Let me see no mark of hatchet or pruning-hook, +and tell the labourers that whoever takes a nest or an egg +shall be impaled.’</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Monster! so then he would really have impaled a +poor wretch for eating a bird’s egg? How disproportionate is +the punishment to the offence!</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> He efficiently checked in his slaves the desire of +transgressing his command. To spare them as much as possible, +I ordered them merely to open a few spaces, and to remove the +weaker trees from the stronger. Meanwhile I drew on the +smooth blank window the figure of Abdul and of a beautiful girl.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Rather say handmaiden: choicer expression; more +decorous.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Holy Father! I have been lately so much out of +practice, I take the first that comes in my way. Handmaiden +I will use in preference for the future.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> On then! and God speed thee!</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I drew Abdul with a blooming handmaiden. One +of his feet is resting on her lap, and she is drying the ankle with +a saffron robe, of which the greater part is fallen in doing it. +That she is a bondmaid is discernible, not only by her occupation, +but by her humility and patience, by her loose and flowing +brown hair, and by her eyes expressing the timidity at once of +servitude and of fondness. The countenance was taken from +fancy, and was the loveliest I could imagine: of the figure I +had some idea, having seen it to advantage in Tunis. After +seven days Abdul returned. He was delighted with the improvement +made in the garden. I requested him to visit the bath. +‘We can do nothing to that,’ answered he impatiently. ‘There +is no sudatory, no dormitory, no dressing-room, no couch. +Sometimes I sit an hour there in the summer, because I never +found a fly in it—the principal curse of hot countries, and +against which plague there is neither prayer nor amulet, nor +indeed any human defence.’ He went away into the house. +At dinner he sent me from his table some quails and ortolans, +and tomatoes and honey and rice, beside a basket of fruit +covered with moss and bay-leaves, under which I found a +verdino fig, deliciously ripe, and bearing the impression of several +small teeth, but certainly no reptile’s.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> There might have been poison in them, for all that.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> About two hours had passed, when I heard a whir +and a crash in the windows of the bath (where I had dined and +was about to sleep), occasioned by the settling and again the +flight of some pheasants. Abdul entered. ‘Beard of the +Prophet! what hast thou been doing? That is myself! No, +no, Lippi! thou never canst have seen her: the face proves it: +but those limbs! thou hast divined them aright: thou hast had +sweet dreams then! Dreams are large possessions: in them +the possessor may cease to possess his own. To the slave, +O Allah! to the slave is permitted what is not his!... I burn +with anguish to think how much ... yea, at that very hour. +I would not another should, even in a dream.... But, Lippi! +thou never canst have seen above the sandal?’ To which I +answered, ‘I never have allowed my eyes to look even on that. +But if any one of my lord Abdul’s fair slaves resembles, as they +surely must all do, in duty and docility, the figure I have +represented, let it express to him my congratulation on his +happiness.’ ‘I believe,’ said he, ‘such representations are +forbidden by the Koran; but as I do not remember it, I do not +sin. There it shall stay, unless the angel Gabriel comes to +forbid it.’ He smiled in saying so.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> There is hope of this Abdul. His faith hangs about +him more like oil than pitch.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> He inquired of me whether I often thought of those +I loved in Italy, and whether I could bring them before my eyes +at will. To remove all suspicion from him, I declared I always +could, and that one beautiful object occupied all the cells of +my brain by night and day. He paused and pondered, and then +said, ‘Thou dost not love deeply.’ I thought I had given the +true signs. ‘No, Lippi! we who love ardently, we, with all our +wishes, all the efforts of our souls, cannot bring before us the +features which, while they were present, we thought it impossible +we ever could forget. Alas! when we most love the absent, +when we most desire to see her, we try in vain to bring her +image back to us. The troubled heart shakes and confounds +it, even as ruffled waters do with shadows. Hateful things are +more hateful when they haunt our sleep: the lovely flee away, +or are changed into less lovely.’</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> What figures now have these unbelievers?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Various in their combinations as the letters or the +numerals; but they all, like these, signify something. Almeida +(did I not inform your Holiness?) has large hazel eyes....</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Has she? thou never toldest me that. Well, +well! and what else has she? Mind! be cautious! use decent +terms.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Somewhat pouting lips.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Ha! ha! What did they pout at?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> And she is rather plump than otherwise.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> No harm in that.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> And moreover is cool, smooth, and firm as a nectarine +gathered before sunrise.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Ha! ha! do not remind me of nectarines. I am +very fond of them; and this is not the season! Such females +as thou describest are said to be among the likeliest to give +reasonable cause for suspicion. I would not judge harshly, +I would not think uncharitably; but, unhappily, being at so +great a distance from spiritual aid, peradventure a desire, a +suggestion, an inkling ... ay? If she, the lost Almeida, came +before thee when her master was absent ... which I trust +she never did.... But those flowers and shrubs and odours +and alleys and long grass and alcoves, might strangely hold, +perplex, and entangle, two incautious young persons ... ay?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I confessed all I had to confess in this matter the +evening I landed.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Ho! I am no candidate for a seat at the rehearsal +of confessions: but perhaps my absolution might be somewhat +more pleasing and unconditional. Well! well! since I am unworthy +of such confidence, go about thy business ... paint! +paint!</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Am I so unfortunate as to have offended your +Beatitude?</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Offend <i>me</i>, man! who offends <i>me</i>? I took an +interest in thy adventures, and was concerned lest thou mightest +have sinned; for by my soul! Filippo! those are the women +that the devil hath set his mark on.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> It would do your Holiness’s heart good to rub it +out again, wherever he may have had the cunning to make it.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Deep! deep!</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Yet it may be got at; she being a Biscayan by birth, +as she told me, and not only baptized, but going by sea along +the coast for confirmation, when she was captured.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Alas! to what an imposition of hands was this +tender young thing devoted! Poor soul!</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I sigh for her myself when I think of her.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Beware lest the sigh be mundane, and lest the +thought recur too often. I wish it were presently in my power +to examine her myself on her condition. What thinkest thou? +Speak.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Holy Father! she would laugh in your face.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> So lost!</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> She declared to me she thought she should have died, +from the instant she was captured until she was comforted by +Abdul: but that she was quite sure she should if she were +ransomed.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Has the wretch then shaken her faith?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> The very last thing he would think of doing. Never +did I see the virtue of resignation in higher perfection than in +the laughing, light-hearted Almeida.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Lamentable! Poor lost creature! lost in this world +and in the next.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> What could she do? how could she help herself?</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> She might have torn his eyes out, and have died +a martyr.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Or have been bastinadoed, whipped, and given up +to the cooks and scullions for it.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Martyrdom is the more glorious the greater the +indignities it endures.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Almeida seems unambitious. There are many in +our Tuscany who would jump at the crown over those sloughs +and briers, rather than perish without them: she never sighs +after the like.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Nevertheless, what must she witness! what +abominations! what superstitions!</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Abdul neither practises nor exacts any other superstition +than ablutions.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Detestable rites! without our authority. I venture +to affirm that, in the whole of Italy and Spain, no convent of +monks or nuns contains a bath; and that the worst inmate of +either would shudder at the idea of observing such a practice +in common with the unbeliever. For the washing of the feet +indeed we have the authority of the earlier Christians; and it +may be done; but solemnly and sparingly. Thy residence +among the Mahomedans, I am afraid, hath rendered thee more +favourable to them than beseems a Catholic, and thy mind, I do +suspect, sometimes goes back into Barbary unreluctantly.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> While I continued in that country, although I was +well treated, I often wished myself away, thinking of my friends +in Florence, of music, of painting, of our villeggiatura at the +vintage-time; whether in the green and narrow glades of +Pratolino, with lofty trees above us, and little rills unseen, and +little bells about the necks of sheep and goats, tinkling together +ambiguously; or amid the grey quarries, or under the majestic +walls of modern Fiesole; or down in the woods of the Doccia, +where the cypresses are of such a girth that, when a youth +stands against one of them, and a maiden stands opposite, and +they clasp it, their hands at the time do little more than meet. +Beautiful scenes, on which heaven smiles eternally, how often +has my heart ached for you! He who hath lived in this country +can enjoy no distant one. He breathes here another air; he +lives more life; a brighter sun invigorates his studies, and +serener stars influence his repose. Barbary hath also the +blessing of climate; and although I do not desire to be there +again, I feel sometimes a kind of regret at leaving it. A bell +warbles the more mellifluously in the air when the sound of the +stroke is over, and when another swims out from underneath it, +and pants upon the element that gave it birth. In like manner +the recollection of a thing is frequently more pleasing than the +actuality; what is harsh is dropped in the space between. There +is in Abdul a nobility of soul on which I often have reflected +with admiration. I have seen many of the highest rank and +distinction, in whom I could find nothing of the great man, +excepting a fondness for low company, and an aptitude to shy +and start at every spark of genius or virtue that sprang up +above or before them. Abdul was solitary, but affable: he was +proud, but patient and complacent. I ventured once to ask +him how the master of so rich a house in the city, of so many +slaves, of so many horses and mules, of such cornfields, of such +pastures, of such gardens, woods, and fountains, should experience +any delight or satisfaction in infesting the open sea, the high-road +of nations. Instead of answering my question, he asked +me in return whether I would not respect any relative of mine +who avenged his country, enriched himself by his bravery, and +endeared to him his friends and relatives by his bounty. On +my reply in the affirmative, he said that his family had been +deprived of possessions in Spain much more valuable than all +the ships and cargoes he could ever hope to capture, and that +the remains of his nation were threatened with ruin and expulsion. +‘I do not fight,’ said he, ‘whenever it suits the convenience, +or gratifies the malignity, or the caprice of two silly, +quarrelsome princes, drawing my sword in perfectly good +humour, and sheathing it again at word of command, just when +I begin to get into a passion. No; I fight on my own account; +not as a hired assassin, or still baser journeyman.’</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> It appears then really that the Infidels have some +semblances of magnanimity and generosity?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I thought so when I turned over the many changes +of fine linen; and I was little short of conviction when I found +at the bottom of my chest two hundred Venetian zecchins.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Corpo di Bacco! Better things, far better things, +I would fain do for thee, not exactly of this description; it would +excite many heart-burnings. Information has been laid before +me, Filippo, that thou art attached to a certain young person, +by name Lucrezia, daughter of Francesco Buti, a citizen of Prato.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I acknowledge my attachment: it continues.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Furthermore, that thou hast offspring by her.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Alas! ’tis undeniable.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> I will not only legitimatize the said offspring by +<i>motu proprio</i> and rescript to consistory and chancery....</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Holy Father! Holy Father! For the love of the +Virgin, not a word to consistory or chancery of the two hundred +zecchins. As I hope for salvation, I have but forty left, and +thirty-nine would not serve them.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Fear nothing. Not only will I perform what I +have promised, not only will I give the strictest order that no +money be demanded by any officer of my courts, but, under the +seal of Saint Peter, I will declare thee and Lucrezia Buti man +and wife.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> Man and wife!</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Moderate thy transport.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> O Holy Father! may I speak?</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Surely she is not the wife of another?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> No, indeed.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Nor within the degrees of consanguinity and +affinity?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> No, no, no. But ... man and wife! Consistory +and chancery are nothing to this fulmination.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> How so?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> It is man and wife the first fortnight, but wife and +man ever after. The two figures change places: the unit is the +decimal and the decimal is the unit.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> What, then, can I do for thee?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I love Lucrezia; let me love her; let her love me. +I can make her at any time what she is not; I could never +make her again what she is.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> The only thing I can do then is to promise I will +forget that I have heard anything about the matter. But, to +forget it, I must hear it first.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> In the beautiful little town of Prato, reposing in its +idleness against the hill that protects it from the north, and +looking over fertile meadows, southward to Poggio Cajano, +westward to Pistoja, there is the convent of Santa Margarita. +I was invited by the sisters to paint an altar-piece for the chapel. +A novice of fifteen, my own sweet Lucrezia, came one day alone +to see me work at my Madonna. Her blessed countenance had +already looked down on every beholder lower by the knees. +I myself who made her could almost have worshipped her.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Not while incomplete; no half-virgin will do.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> But there knelt Lucrezia! there she knelt! first +looking with devotion at the Madonna, then with admiring +wonder and grateful delight at the artist. Could so little a +heart be divided? ’Twere a pity! There was enough for me; +there is never enough for the Madonna. Resolving on a sudden +that the object of my love should be the object of adoration to +thousands, born and unborn, I swept my brush across the +maternal face, and left a blank in heaven. The little girl +screamed; I pressed her to my bosom.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> In the chapel?</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I knew not where I was; I thought I was in Paradise.</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> If it was not in the chapel, the sin is venial. But a +brush against a Madonna’s mouth is worse than a beard against +her votary’s.</p> + +<p><i>Filippo.</i> I thought so too, Holy Father!</p> + +<p><i>Eugenius.</i> Thou sayest thou hast forty zecchins; I will try +in due season to add forty more. The fisherman must not +venture to measure forces with the pirate. Farewell! I pray +God my son Filippo, to have thee alway in His holy keeping.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Little boys, wearing clerical habits, are often called <i>abbati</i>.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="TASSO_AND_CORNELIA" id="TASSO_AND_CORNELIA"></a>TASSO AND CORNELIA</h2> + + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> She is dead, Cornelia! she is dead!</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Torquato! my Torquato! after so many years of +separation do I bend once more your beloved head to my +embrace?</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> She is dead!</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Tenderest of brothers! bravest and best and most +unfortunate of men! What, in the name of heaven, so bewilders +you?</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Sister! sister! sister! I could not save her.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Certainly it was a sad event; and they who are out +of spirits may be ready to take it for an evil omen. At this +season of the year the vintagers are joyous and negligent.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> How! What is this?</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> The little girl was crushed, they say, by a wheel of +the car laden with grapes, as she held out a handful of vine-leaves +to one of the oxen. And did you happen to be there +at the moment?</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> So then the little too can suffer! the ignorant, the +indigent, the unaspiring! Poor child! She was kind-hearted, +else never would calamity have befallen her.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> I wish you had not seen the accident.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> I see it? I? I saw it not. No other is crushed where +I am. The little girl died for her kindness! Natural death!</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Be calm, be composed, my brother!</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> You would not require me to be composed or calm if +you comprehended a thousandth part of my sufferings.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Peace! peace! we know them all.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Who has dared to name them? Imprisonment, +derision, madness.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Hush! sweet Torquato! If ever these existed, they +are past.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> You do think they are sufferings? ay?</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Too surely.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> No, not too surely: I will not have that answer. They +would have been; but Leonora was then living. Unmanly as +I am! did I complain of them? and while she was left me?</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> My own Torquato! is there no comfort in a sister’s +love? Is there no happiness but under the passions? Think, +O my brother, how many courts there are in Italy: are the princes +more fortunate than you? Which among them all loves truly, +deeply, and virtuously? Among them all is there any one, for +his genius, for his generosity, for his gentleness, ay, for his mere +humanity, worthy to be beloved?</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Princes! talk to me of princes! How much cross-grained +wood a little gypsum covers! a little carmine quite +beautifies! Wet your forefinger with your spittle; stick a +broken gold-leaf on the sinciput; clip off a beggar’s beard to +make it tresses; kiss it; fall down before it; worship it. Are +you not irradiated by the light of its countenance? Princes! +princes! Italian princes! Estes! What matters that costly +carrion? Who thinks about it? [<i>After a pause.</i>] She is dead! +She is dead!</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> We have not heard it here.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> At Sorrento you hear nothing but the light surges of +the sea, and the sweet sprinkles of the guitar.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Suppose the worst to be true.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Always, always.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> If she ceases, as then perhaps she must, to love and +to lament you, think gratefully, contentedly, devoutly, that her +arms had clasped your neck before they were crossed upon her +bosom, in that long sleep which you have rendered placid, and +from which your harmonious voice shall once more awaken +her. Yes, Torquato! her bosom had throbbed to yours, often +and often, before the organ peal shook the fringes round +the catafalque. Is not this much, from one so high, so +beautiful?</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Much? yes; for abject me. But I did so love her! +so love her!</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Ah! let the tears flow: she sends you that balm from +heaven.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> So love her did poor Tasso! Else, O Cornelia, it had +indeed been much. I thought, in the simplicity of my heart, +that God was as great as an emperor, and could bestow and had +bestowed on me as much as the German had conferred or could +confer on his vassal. No part of my insanity was ever held in +such ridicule as this. And yet the idea cleaves to me strangely, +and is liable to stick to my shroud.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Woe betide the woman who bids you to forget that +woman who has loved you: she sins against her sex. Leonora +was unblameable. Never think ill of her for what you have +suffered.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Think ill of her? I? I? I? No; those we love, we +love for everything; even for the pain they have given us. But +she gave me none; it was where she was not that pain was.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Surely, if love and sorrow are destined for companionship, +there is no reason why the last comer of the two +should supersede the first.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Argue with me, and you drive me into darkness. I +am easily persuaded and led on while no reasons are thrown +before me. With these you have made my temples throb again. +Just heaven! dost thou grant us fairer fields, and wider, for the +whirlwind to lay waste? Dost thou build us up habitations +above the street, above the palace, above the citadel, for the +plague to enter and carouse in? Has not my youth paid its +dues, paid its penalties? Cannot our griefs come first, while we +have strength to bear them? The fool! the fool! who thinks +it a misfortune that his love is unrequited. Happier young +man! look at the violets until thou drop asleep on them. Ah! +but thou must awake!</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> O heavens! what must you have suffered! for a +man’s heart is sensitive in proportion to its greatness.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> And a woman’s?</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Alas! I know not; but I think it can be no other. +Comfort thee, comfort thee, dear Torquato!</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Then do not rest thy face upon my arm; it so reminds +me of her. And thy tears too! they melt me into her grave.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Hear you not her voice as it appeals to you, saying +to you, as the priests around have been saying to <i>her</i>, Blessed +soul! rest in peace?</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> I heard it not; and yet I am sure she said it. A +thousand times has she repeated it, laying her head on my heart +to quiet it, simple girl! She told it to rest in peace ... and +she went from me! Insatiable love! ever self-torturer, never +self-destroyer! the world, with all its weight of miseries, cannot +crush thee, cannot keep thee down. Generally men’s tears, +like the droppings of certain springs, only harden and petrify +what they fall on; but mine sank deep into a tender heart, and +were its very blood. Never will I believe she has left me utterly. +Oftentimes, and long before her departure, I fancied we were in +heaven together. I fancied it in the fields, in the gardens, in +the palace, in the prison. I fancied it in the broad daylight, +when my eyes were open, when blessed spirits drew around me +that golden circle which one only of earth’s inhabitants could +enter. Oftentimes in my sleep also I fancied it; and sometimes +in the intermediate state, in that serenity which breathes about +the transported soul, enjoying its pure and perfect rest, a span +below the feet of the Immortal.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> She has not left you; do not disturb her peace by +these repinings.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> She will bear with them. Thou knowest not what +she was, Cornelia; for I wrote to thee about her while she seemed +but human. In my hours of sadness, not only her beautiful +form, but her very voice bent over me. How girlish in the +gracefulness of her lofty form! how pliable in her majesty! +what composure at my petulance and reproaches! what pity in +her reproofs! Like the air that angels breathe in the metropolitan +temple of the Christian world, her soul at every season +preserved one temperature. But it was when she could and +did love me! Unchanged must ever be the blessed one who has +leaned in fond security on the unchangeable. The purifying +flame shoots upward, and is the glory that encircles their brows +when they meet above.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Indulge in these delightful thoughts, my Torquato! +and believe that your love is and ought to be imperishable as +your glory. Generations of men move forward in endless procession +to consecrate and commemorate both. Colour-grinders +and gilders, year after year, are bargained with to refresh the +crumbling monuments and tarnished decorations of rude, +unregarded royalty, and to fasten the nails that cramp the crown +upon its head. Meanwhile, in the laurels of my Torquato +there will always be one leaf above man’s reach, above time’s +wrath and injury, inscribed with the name of Leonora.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> O Jerusalem! I have not then sung in vain the Holy +Sepulchre.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> After such devotion of your genius, you have +undergone too many misfortunes.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Congratulate the man who has had many, and may +have more. I have had, I have, I can have, one only.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Life runs not smoothly at all seasons, even with +the happiest; but after a long course, the rocks subside, the +views widen, and it flows on more equably at the end.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Have the stars smooth surfaces? No, no; but how +they shine!</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Capable of thoughts so exalted, so far above the +earth we dwell on, why suffer any to depress and anguish you?</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Cornelia, Cornelia! the mind has within its temples +and porticoes and palaces and towers: the mind has under it, +ready for the course, steeds brighter than the sun and stronger +than the storm; and beside them stand winged chariots, more in +number than the Psalmist hath attributed to the Almighty. +The mind, I tell thee again, hath its hundred gates, compared +whereto the Theban are but willow wickets; and all those hundred +gates can genius throw open. But there are some that groan +heavily on their hinges, and the hand of God alone can close them.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Torquato has thrown open those of His holy temple; +Torquato hath stood, another angel, at His tomb; and am I +the sister of Torquato? Kiss me, my brother, and let my tears +run only from my pride and joy! Princes have bestowed +knighthood on the worthy and unworthy; thou hast called forth +those princes from their ranks, pushing back the arrogant and +presumptuous of them like intrusive varlets, and conferring on +the bettermost crowns and robes, imperishable and unfading.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> I seem to live back into those days. I feel the helmet +on my head; I wave the standard over it: brave men smile +upon me; beautiful maidens pull them gently back by the scarf, +and will not let them break my slumber, nor undraw the curtain. +Corneliolina!...</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Well, my dear brother! why do you stop so suddenly +in the midst of them? They are the pleasantest and best +company, and they make you look quite happy and joyous.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Corneliolina, dost thou remember Bergamo? What +city was ever so celebrated for honest and valiant men, in all +classes, or for beautiful girls! There is but one class of those: +Beauty is above all ranks; the true Madonna, the patroness +and bestower of felicity, the queen of heaven.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Hush, Torquato, hush! talk not so.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> What rivers, how sunshiny and revelling, are the +Brembo and the Serio! What a country the Valtellina! I went +back to our father’s house, thinking to find thee again, my little +sister; thinking to kick away thy ball of yellow silk as thou wast +stooping for it, to make thee run after me and beat me. I +woke early in the morning; thou wert grown up and gone. +Away to Sorrento: I knew the road: a few strides brought me +back: here I am. To-morrow, my Cornelia, we will walk +together, as we used to do, into the cool and quiet caves on the +shore; and we will catch the little breezes as they come in and +go out again on the backs of the jocund waves.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> We will indeed to-morrow; but before we set out +we must take a few hours’ rest, that we may enjoy our ramble +the better.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Our Sorrentines, I see, are grown rich and avaricious. +They have uprooted the old pomegranate hedges, and have +built high walls to prohibit the wayfarer from their vineyards.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> I have a basket of grapes for you in the book-room +that overlooks our garden.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Does the old twisted sage-tree grow still against the +window?</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> It harboured too many insects at last, and there was +always a nest of scorpions in the crevice.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Oh! what a prince of a sage-tree! And the well, too, +with its bucket of shining metal, large enough for the largest +cocomero to cool in it for dinner.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> The well, I assure you, is as cool as ever.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Delicious! delicious! And the stone-work round it, +bearing no other marks of waste than my pruning-hook and +dagger left behind?</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> None whatever.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> White in that place no longer; there has been time +enough for it to become all of one colour: grey, mossy, half-decayed.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> No, no; not even the rope has wanted repair.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Who sings yonder?</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Enchanter! No sooner did you say the word +cocomero than here comes a boy carrying one upon his head.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Listen! listen! I have read in some book or other those +verses long ago. They are not unlike my <i>Aminta</i>. The very words!</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Purifier of love, and humanizer of ferocity, how +many, my Torquato, will your gentle thoughts make happy!</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> At this moment I almost think I am one among them.<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Be quite persuaded of it. Come, brother, come +with me. You shall bathe your heated brow and weary limbs +in the chamber of your childhood. It is there we are always +the most certain of repose. The boy shall sing to you those +sweet verses; and we will reward him with a slice of his own fruit.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> He deserves it; cut it thick.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Come then, my truant! Come along, my sweet +smiling Torquato!</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> The passage is darker than ever. Is this the way to +the little court? Surely those are not the steps that lead down +toward the bath? Oh yes! we are right; I smell the lemon-blossoms. +Beware of the old wilding that bears them; +it may catch your veil; it may scratch your fingers! Pray, +take care: it has many thorns about it. And now, Leonora! +you shall hear my last verses! Lean your ear a little toward +me; for I must repeat them softly under this low archway, +else others may hear them too. Ah! you press my hand once +more. Drop it, drop it! or the verses will sink into my breast +again, and lie there silent! Good girl!</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Many, well I know, there are</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Ready in your joys to share,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And (I never blame it) you</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are almost as ready too.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But when comes the darker day,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And those friends have dropt away,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Which is there among them all</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You should, if you could, recall?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">One who wisely loves and well</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Hears and shares the griefs you tell;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Him you ever call apart</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When the springs o’erflow the heart;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For you know that he alone</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Wishes they were <i>but</i> his own.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Give, while these he may divide,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Smiles to all the world beside.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> We are now in the full light of the chamber; cannot +you remember it, having looked so intently all around?</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> O sister! I could have slept another hour. You +thought I wanted rest: why did you waken me so early? I +could have slept another hour or longer. What a dream! +But I am calm and happy.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> May you never more be otherwise! Indeed, he +cannot be whose last verses are such as those.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Have you written any since that morning?</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> What morning?</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> When you caught the swallow in my curtains, and +trod upon my knees in catching it, luckily with naked feet. +The little girl of thirteen laughed at the outcry of her brother +Torquatino, and sang without a blush her earliest lay.</p> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> I do not recollect it.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> I do.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rondinello! rondinello!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Tu sei nero, ma sei bello.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Cosa fà se tu sei nero?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Rondinello! sei il primiero</span><br /> +<span class="i0">De’ volanti, palpitanti,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">(E vi sono quanti quanti!)</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Mai tenuto a questo petto,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">E perciò sei il mio diletto.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Cornelia.</i> Here is the cocomero; it cannot be more insipid. +Try it.</p> + +<p><i>Tasso.</i> Where is the boy who brought it? where is the boy +who sang my <i>Aminta</i>? Serve him first; give him largely. Cut +deeper; the knife is too short: deeper; mia brava Corneliolina! +quite through all the red, and into the middle of the seeds. +Well done!</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> The miseries of Tasso arose not only from the imagination and the +heart. In the metropolis of the Christian world, with many admirers +and many patrons, bishops, cardinals, princes, he was left destitute, and +almost famished. These are his own words: ‘<i>Appena</i> in questo stato ho +comprato <i>due meloni</i>: e benchè io sia stato <i>quasi sempre infermo</i>, molte +volte mi sono contentato del manzo: e la ministra di latte o di zucca, +<i>quando ho potuto averne</i>, mi è stata in vece di delizie.’ In another part he +says that he was unable to pay the carriage of a parcel. No wonder; +if he had not wherewithal to buy enough of zucca for a meal. Even +had he been in health and appetite, he might have satisfied his hunger +with it for about five farthings, and have left half for supper. And now +a word on his insanity. Having been so imprudent not only as to make it +too evident in his poetry that he was the lover of Leonora, but also to +signify (not very obscurely) that his love was returned, he much perplexed +the Duke of Ferrara, who, with great discretion, suggested to him the +necessity of feigning madness. The lady’s honour required it from a +brother; and a true lover, to convince the world, would embrace the project +with alacrity. But there was no reason why the seclusion should be in a +dungeon, or why exercise and air should be interdicted. This cruelty, +and perhaps his uncertainty of Leonora’s compassion, may well be imagined +to have produced at last the malady he had feigned. But did Leonora love +Tasso as a man would be loved? If we wish to do her honour, let us hope +it: for what greater glory can there be, than to have estimated at the +full value so exalted a genius, so affectionate and so generous a heart!</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> The author wrote the verses first in English, but he found it easy to +write them better in Italian: they stood in the text as below: they only +do for a girl of thirteen:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">‘Swallow! swallow! though so jetty</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are your pinions, you are pretty:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And what matter were it though</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You were blacker than a crow?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of the many birds that fly</span><br /> +<span class="i0">(And how many pass me by!)</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You ’re the first I ever prest,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of the many, to my breast:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Therefore it is very right</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You should be my own delight.’</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="LA_FONTAINE_AND_DE_LA_ROCHEFOUCAULT" id="LA_FONTAINE_AND_DE_LA_ROCHEFOUCAULT"></a>LA FONTAINE AND DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULT</h2> + + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> I am truly sensible of the honour I receive, +M. de la Rochefoucault, in a visit from a personage so distinguished +by his birth and by his genius. Pardon my ambition, +if I confess to you that I have long and ardently wished for the +good fortune, which I never could promise myself, of knowing +you personally.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> My dear M. de la Fontaine!</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Not ‘<i>de</i> la’, not ‘<i>de</i> la’. I am <i>La</i> Fontaine, +purely and simply.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> The whole; not derivative. You appear, in +the midst of your purity, to have been educated at court, in +the lap of the ladies. What was the last day (pardon!) I had +the misfortune to miss you there?</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> I never go to court. They say one cannot go +without silk stockings; and I have only thread: plenty of them +indeed, thank God! Yet, would you believe it? Nanon, in +putting a <i>solette</i> to the bottom of one, last week, sewed it so +carelessly, she made a kind of cord across: and I verily believe +it will lame me for life; for I walked the whole morning upon it.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> She ought to be whipped.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> I thought so too, and grew the warmer at being +unable to find a wisp of osier or a roll of packthread in the house. +Barely had I begun with my garter, when in came the Bishop +of Grasse, my old friend Godeau, and another lord, whose name +he mentioned, and they both interceded for her so long and so +touchingly, that at last I was fain to let her rise up and go. +I never saw men look down on the erring and afflicted more +compassionately. The bishop was quite concerned for me also. +But the other, although he professed to feel even more, and said +that it must surely be the pain of purgatory to me, took a pinch +of snuff, opened his waistcoat, drew down his ruffles, and seemed +rather more indifferent.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Providentially, in such moving scenes, the +worst is soon over. But Godeau’s friend was not too sensitive.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Sensitive! no more than if he had been educated +at the butcher’s or the Sorbonne.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> I am afraid there are as many hard hearts +under satin waistcoats as there are ugly visages under the same +material in miniature cases.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> My lord, I could show you a miniature case which +contains your humble servant, in which the painter has done +what no tailor in his senses would do; he has given me credit +for a coat of violet silk, with silver frogs as large as tortoises. +But I am loath to get up for it while the generous heart of this +dog (if I mentioned his name he would jump up) places such +confidence on my knee.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Pray do not move on any account; above all, +lest you should disturb that amiable grey cat, fast asleep in his +innocence on your shoulder.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Ah, rogue! art thou there? Why! thou hast +not licked my face this half-hour.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> And more, too, I should imagine. I do not +judge from his somnolency, which, if he were President of the +Parliament, could not be graver, but from his natural sagacity. +Cats weigh practicabilities. What sort of tongue has he?</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> He has the roughest tongue and the tenderest +heart of any cat in Paris. If you observe the colour of his coat, +it is rather blue than grey; a certain indication of goodness in +these contemplative creatures.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> We were talking of his tongue alone; by which +cats, like men, are flatterers.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Ah! you gentlemen of the court are much +mistaken in thinking that vices have so extensive a range. +There are some of our vices, like some of our diseases, from which +the quadrupeds are exempt; and those, both diseases and vices, +are the most discreditable.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> I do not bear patiently any evil spoken of the +court: for it must be acknowledged, by the most malicious, that +the court is the purifier of the whole nation.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> I know little of the court, and less of the whole +nation; but how can this be?</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> It collects all ramblers and gamblers; all the +market-men and market-women who deal in articles which God +has thrown into their baskets, without any trouble on their part; +all the seducers and all who wish to be seduced; all the duellists +who erase their crimes with their swords, and sweat out their +cowardice with daily practice; all the nobles whose patents of +nobility lie in gold snuff-boxes, or have worn Mechlin ruffles, +or are deposited within the archives of knee-deep waistcoats; all +stock-jobbers and church-jobbers, the black-legged and the red-legged +game, the flower of the <i>justaucorps</i>, the <i>robe</i>, and the +<i>soutane</i>. If these were spread over the surface of France, +instead of close compressure in the court or cabinet, they would +corrupt the whole country in two years. As matters now stand, +it will require a quarter of a century to effect it.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Am I not right then in preferring my beasts +to yours? But if yours were loose, mine (as you prove to me) +would be the last to suffer by it, poor dear creatures! Speaking +of cats, I would have avoided all personality that might be +offensive to them: I would not exactly have said, in so many +words, that, by their tongues, they are flatterers, like men. +Language may take a turn advantageously in favour of our +friends. True, we resemble all animals in something. I am quite +ashamed and mortified that your lordship, or anybody, should +have had the start of me in this reflection. When a cat flatters +with his tongue he is not insincere: you may safely take it for +a real kindness. He is loyal, M. de la Rochefoucault! my word +for him, he is loyal. Observe too, if you please, no cat ever +licks you when he wants anything from you; so that there is +nothing of baseness in such an act of adulation, if we must call +it so. For my part, I am slow to designate by so foul a name, +that (be it what it may) which is subsequent to a kindness. +Cats ask plainly for what they want.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> And, if they cannot get it by protocols they +get it by invasion and assault.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> No! no! usually they go elsewhere, and fondle +those from whom they obtain it. In this I see no resemblance +to invaders and conquerors. I draw no parallels: I would excite +no heart-burnings between us and them. Let all have their due.</p> + +<p>I do not like to lift this creature off, for it would waken him, +else I could find out, by some subsequent action, the reason +why he has not been on the alert to lick my cheek for so long +a time.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Cats are wary and provident. He would not +enter into any contest with you, however friendly. He only +licks your face, I presume, while your beard is but a match +for his tongue.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Ha! you remind me. Indeed I did begin to +think my beard was rather of the roughest; for yesterday +Madame de Rambouillet sent me a plate of strawberries, the +first of the season, and raised (would you believe it?) under +glass. One of these strawberries was dropping from my lips, +and I attempted to stop it. When I thought it had fallen +to the ground, ‘Look for it, Nanon; pick it up and eat it,’ +said I.</p> + +<p>‘Master!’ cried the wench, ‘your beard has skewered and +spitted it.’ ‘Honest girl,’ I answered, ‘come, cull it from the +bed of its adoption.’</p> + +<p>I had resolved to shave myself this morning: but our wisest +and best resolutions too often come to nothing, poor mortals!</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> We often do very well everything but the only +thing we hope to do best of all; and our projects often drop from +us by their weight. A little while ago your friend Molière +exhibited a remarkable proof of it.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Ah, poor Molière! the best man in the world; +but flighty, negligent, thoughtless. He throws himself into +other men, and does not remember where. The sight of an eagle, +M. de la Rochefoucault, but the memory of a fly.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault</i>. I will give you an example: but perhaps it is +already known to you.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Likely enough. We have each so many friends, +neither of us can trip but the other is invited to the laugh. +Well; I am sure he has no malice, and I hope I have none: but +who can see his own faults?</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> He had brought out a new edition of his +comedies.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> There will be fifty; there will be a hundred: +nothing in our language, or in any, is so delightful, so graceful; +I will add, so clear at once and so profound.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> You are among the few who, seeing well his +other qualities, see that Molière is also profound. In order +to present the new edition to the dauphin, he had put on a +sky-blue velvet coat, powdered with fleurs-de-lis. He laid the +volume on his library table; and, resolving that none of the +courtiers should have an opportunity of ridiculing him for +anything like absence of mind, he returned to his bedroom, +which, as may often be the case in the economy of poets, is also +his dressing-room. Here he surveyed himself in his mirror, +as well as the creeks and lagoons in it would permit.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> I do assure you, from my own observation, +M. de la Rochefoucault, that his mirror is a splendid one. I +should take it to be nearly three feet high, reckoning the frame, +with the Cupid above and the elephant under. I suspected it +was the present of some great lady; and indeed I have since +heard as much.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Perhaps then the whole story may be quite +as fabulous as the part of it which I have been relating.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> In that case, I may be able to set you right again.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> He found his peruke a model of perfection; +tight, yet easy; not an inch more on one side than on the other. +The black patch on the forehead....</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Black patch too! I would have given a fifteen-sous +piece to have caught him with that black patch.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> He found it lovely, marvellous, irresistible. +Those on each cheek....</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Do you tell me he had one on each cheek?</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Symmetrically. The cravat was of its proper +descent, and with its appropriate charge of the best Strasburg +snuff upon it. The waistcoat, for a moment, puzzled and perplexed +him. He was not quite sure whether the right number +of buttons were in their holes; nor how many above, nor how +many below, it was the fashion of the week to leave without +occupation. Such a piece of ignorance is enough to disgrace +any courtier on earth. He was in the act of striking his forehead +with desperation; but he thought of the patch, fell on his +knees, and thanked Heaven for the intervention.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Just like him! just like him! good soul!</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> The breeches ... ah! those require attention: +all proper: everything in its place. Magnificent. The stockings +rolled up, neither too loosely nor too negligently. A picture! +The buckles in the shoes ... all but one ... soon set to +rights ... well thought of! And now the sword ... ah, +that cursed sword! it will bring at least one man to the ground +if it has its own way much longer ... up with it! up with it +higher.... <i>Allons!</i> we are out of danger.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Delightful! I have him before my eyes. What +simplicity! aye, what simplicity!</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Now for hat. Feather in? Five at least. +Bravo!</p> + +<p>He took up hat and plumage, extended his arm to the full +length, raised it a foot above his head, lowered it thereon, opened +his fingers, and let them fall again at his side.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Something of the comedian in that; aye, M. de +la Rochefoucault? But, on the stage or off, all is natural in +Molière.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Away he went: he reached the palace, stood +before the dauphin.... O consternation! O despair! ‘Morbleu! +bête que je suis,’ exclaimed the hapless man, ‘le livre, où +donc est-il?’ You are forcibly struck, I perceive, by this +adventure of your friend.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Strange coincidence! quite unaccountable! +There are agents at work in our dreams, M. de la Rochefoucault, +which we shall never see out of them, on this side the grave. +[<i>To himself.</i>] Sky-blue? no. Fleurs-de-lis? bah! bah! Patches? +I never wore one in my life.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> It well becomes your character for generosity, +M. La Fontaine, to look grave, and ponder, and ejaculate, on a +friend’s untoward accident, instead of laughing, as those who +little know you, might expect. I beg your pardon for relating +the occurrence.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Right or wrong, I cannot help laughing any +longer. Comical, by my faith! above the tiptop of comedy. +Excuse my flashes and dashes and rushes of merriment. Incontrollable! +incontrollable! Indeed the laughter is immoderate. +And you all the while are sitting as grave as a judge; I +mean a criminal one; who has nothing to do but to keep up +his popularity by sending his rogues to the gallows. The civil +indeed have much weighty matter on their minds: they must +displease one party: and sometimes a doubt arises whether the +fairer hand or the fuller shall turn the balance.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> I congratulate you on the return of your +gravity and composure.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Seriously now: all my lifetime I have been the +plaything of dreams. Sometimes they have taken such possession +of me, that nobody could persuade me afterward they +were other than real events. Some are very oppressive, very +painful, M. de la Rochefoucault! I have never been able, +altogether, to disembarrass my head of the most wonderful +vision that ever took possession of any man’s. There are some +truly important differences, but in many respects this laughable +adventure of my innocent, honest friend Molière seemed to have +befallen myself. I can only account for it by having heard the +tale when I was half asleep.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Nothing more probable.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> You absolutely have relieved me from an +incubus.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> I do not yet see how.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> No longer ago than when you entered this +chamber, I would have sworn that I myself had gone to the +Louvre, that I myself had been commanded to attend the +dauphin, that I myself had come into his presence, had fallen +on my knee, and cried, ‘Peste! où est donc le livre?’ Ah, +M. de la Rochefoucault, permit me to embrace you: this is +really to find a friend at court.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> My visit is even more auspicious than I could +have ventured to expect: it was chiefly for the purpose of asking +your permission to make another at my return to Paris.... I +am forced to go into the country on some family affairs: but +hearing that you have spoken favourably of my <i>Maxims</i>, I +presume to express my satisfaction and delight at your good +opinion.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Pray, M. de la Rochefoucault, do me the favour +to continue here a few minutes. I would gladly reason with +you on some of your doctrines.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> For the pleasure of hearing your sentiments +on the topics I have treated, I will, although it is late, steal a +few minutes from the court, of which I must take my leave on +parting for the province.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Are you quite certain that all your <i>Maxims</i> +are true, or, what is of greater consequence, that they are all +original? I have lately read a treatise written by an Englishman, +Mr. Hobbes; so loyal a man that, while others tell you +kings are appointed by God, he tells you God is appointed by +kings.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Ah! such are precisely the men we want. +If he establishes this verity, the rest will follow.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> He does not seem to care so much about the +rest. In his treatise I find the ground-plan of your chief +positions.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> I have indeed looked over his publication; and +we agree on the natural depravity of man.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Reconsider your expression. It appears to me +that what is natural is not depraved: that depravity is deflection +from nature. Let it pass: I cannot, however, concede to you +that the generality of men are bad. Badness is accidental, +like disease. We find more tempers good than bad, where +proper care is taken in proper time.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Care is not nature.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Nature is soon inoperative without it; so soon +indeed as to allow no opportunity for experiment or hypothesis. +Life itself requires care, and more continually than tempers +and morals do. The strongest body ceases to be a body in a +few days without a supply of food. When we speak of men +being naturally bad or good, we mean susceptible and retentive +and communicative of them. In this case (and there can be +no other true or ostensible one) I believe that the more are good; +and nearly in the same proportion as there are animals and +plants produced healthy and vigorous than wayward and weakly. +Strange is the opinion of Mr. Hobbes, that, when God hath +poured so abundantly His benefits on other creatures, the only +one capable of great good should be uniformly disposed to +greater evil.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Yet Holy Writ, to which Hobbes would +reluctantly appeal, countenances the supposition.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> The Jews, above all nations, were morose and +splenetic. Nothing is holy to me that lessens in my view the +beneficence of my Creator. If you could show Him ungentle +and unkind in a single instance, you would render myriads of +men so, throughout the whole course of their lives, and those too +among the most religious. The less that people talk about +God the better. He has left us a design to fill up: He has placed +the canvas, the colours, and the pencils, within reach; His directing +hand is over ours incessantly; it is our business to follow it, +and neither to turn round and argue with our Master, nor to kiss +and fondle Him. We must mind our lesson, and not neglect +our time: for the room is closed early, and the lights are suspended +in another, where no one works. If every man would +do all the good he might within an hour’s walk from his house, +he would live the happier and the longer: for nothing is so +conducive to longevity as the union of activity and content. +But, like children, we deviate from the road, however well we +know it, and run into mire and puddles in despite of frown and +ferule.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Go on, M. La Fontaine! pray go on. We are +walking in the same labyrinth, always within call, always within +sight of each other. We set out at its two extremities, and shall +meet at last.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> I doubt it. From deficiency of care proceed +many vices, both in men and children, and more still from care +taken improperly. Mr. Hobbes attributes not only the order +and peace of society, but equity and moderation and every +other virtue, to the coercion and restriction of the laws. The +laws, as now constituted, do a great deal of good; they also do +a great deal of mischief. They transfer more property from the +right owner in six months than all the thieves of the kingdom +do in twelve. What the thieves take they soon disseminate +abroad again; what the laws take they hoard. The thief takes +a part of your property: he who prosecutes the thief for you takes +another part: he who condemns the thief goes to the tax-gatherer +and takes the third. Power has been hitherto occupied in no +employment but in keeping down Wisdom. Perhaps the time +may come when Wisdom shall exert her energy in repressing the +sallies of Power.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> I think it more probable that they will agree; +that they will call together their servants of all liveries, to +collect what they can lay their hands upon; and that meanwhile +they will sit together like good housewives, making nets from +our purses to cover the coop for us. If you would be plump +and in feather, pick up your millet and be quiet in your darkness. +Speculate on nothing here below, and I promise you a nosegay +in Paradise.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Believe me, I shall be most happy to receive it +there at your hands, my lord duke.</p> + +<p>The greater number of men, I am inclined to think, with all +the defects of education, all the frauds committed on their +credulity, all the advantages taken of their ignorance and +supineness, are disposed, on most occasions, rather to virtue +than to vice, rather to the kindly affections than the unkindly, +rather to the social than the selfish.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Here we differ: and were my opinion the same +as yours, my book would be little read and less commended.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Why think so?</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> For this reason. Every man likes to hear evil +of all men: every man is delighted to take the air of the common, +though not a soul will consent to stand within his own allotment. +No enclosure act! no finger-posts! You may call every +creature under heaven fool and rogue, and your auditor will +join with you heartily: hint to him the slightest of his own +defects or foibles, and he draws the rapier. You and he are the +judges of the world, but not its denizens.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Mr. Hobbes has taken advantage of these +weaknesses. In his dissertation he betrays the timidity and +malice of his character. It must be granted he reasons well, +according to the view he has taken of things; but he has given +no proof whatever that his view is a correct one. I will believe +that it is, when I am persuaded that sickness is the natural +state of the body, and health the unnatural. If you call him a +sound philosopher, you may call a mummy a sound man. Its +darkness, its hardness, its forced uprightness, and the place in +which you find it, may commend it to you; give me rather some +weakness and peccability, with vital warmth and human sympathies. +A shrewd reasoner in one thing, a sound philosopher +is another. I admire your power and precision. Monks will +admonish us how little the author of the <i>Maxims</i> knows of the +world; and heads of colleges will cry out ‘a libel on human +nature!’ but when they hear your titles, and, above all, your +credit at court, they will cast back cowl, and peruke, and lick +your boots. You start with great advantages. Throwing off +from a dukedom, you are sure of enjoying, if not the tongue of +these puzzlers, the full cry of the more animating, and will +certainly be as long-lived as the imperfection of our language +will allow. I consider your <i>Maxims</i> as a broken ridge of hills, +on the shady side of which you are fondest of taking your +exercise: but the same ridge hath also a sunny one. You +attribute (let me say it again) all actions to self-interest. Now, +a sentiment of interest must be preceded by calculation, long or +brief, right or erroneous. Tell me then in what region lies the +origin of that pleasure which a family in the country feels on +the arrival of an unexpected friend. I say a family in the +country; because the sweetest souls, like the sweetest flowers, +soon canker in cities, and no purity is rarer there than the purity +of delight. If I may judge from the few examples I have been +in a position to see, no earthly one can be greater. There are +pleasures which lie near the surface, and which are blocked up +by artificial ones, or are diverted by some mechanical scheme, +or are confined by some stiff evergreen vista of low advantage. +But these pleasures do occasionally burst forth in all their +brightness; and, if ever you shall by chance find one of them, +you will sit by it, I hope, complacently and cheerfully, and turn +toward it the kindliest aspect of your meditations.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Many, indeed most people, will differ from +me. Nothing is quite the same to the intellect of any two +men, much less of all. When one says to another, ‘I am entirely +of your opinion,’ he uses in general an easy and indifferent +phrase, believing in its accuracy, without examination, without +thought. The nearest resemblance in opinions, if we could +trace every line of it, would be found greatly more divergent +than the nearest in the human form or countenance, and in the +same proportion as the varieties of mental qualities are more +numerous and fine than of the bodily. Hence I do not expect +nor wish that my opinions should in all cases be similar to those +of others: but in many I shall be gratified if, by just degrees and +after a long survey, those of others approximate to mine. Nor +does this my sentiment spring from a love of power, as in many +good men quite unconsciously, when they would make proselytes, +since I shall see few and converse with fewer of them, and profit +in no way by their adherence and favour; but it springs from a +natural and a cultivated love of all truths whatever, and from +a certainty that these delivered by me are conducive to the +happiness and dignity of man. You shake your head.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Make it out.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> I have pointed out to him at what passes he +hath deviated from his true interest, and where he hath mistaken +selfishness for generosity, coldness for judgment, contraction +of heart for policy, rank for merit, pomp for dignity; +of all mistakes, the commonest and the greatest. I am accused +of paradox and distortion. On paradox I shall only say, that +every new moral truth has been called so. Inexperienced +and negligent observers see no difference in the operations of +ravelling and unravelling: they never come close enough: they +despise plain work.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> The more we simplify things, the better we +descry their substances and qualities. A good writer will not +coil them up and press them into the narrowest possible space, +nor macerate them into such particles that nothing shall be +remaining of their natural contexture. You are accused of +this too, by such as have forgotten your title-page, and who look +for treatises where maxims only have been promised. Some +of them perhaps are spinning out sermons and dissertations from +the poorest paragraph in the volume.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Let them copy and write as they please; +against or for, modestly or impudently. I have hitherto +had no assailant who is not of too slender a make to be detained +an hour in the stocks he had unwarily put his foot into. If +you hear of any, do not tell of them. On the subjects of my +remarks, had others thought as I do, my labour would have +been spared me. I am ready to point out the road where I +know it, to whosoever wants it; but I walk side by side with +few or none.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> We usually like those roads which show us the +fronts of our friends’ houses and the pleasure-grounds about +them, and the smooth garden-walks, and the trim espaliers, +and look at them with more satisfaction than at the docks and +nettles that are thrown in heaps behind. The <i>Offices</i> of Cicero +are imperfect; yet who would not rather guide his children by +them than by the line and compass of harder-handed guides; +such as Hobbes for instance?</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Imperfect as some gentlemen in hoods may +call the <i>Offices</i>, no founder of a philosophical or of a religious +sect has been able to add to them anything important.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Pity! that Cicero carried with him no better +authorities than reason and humanity. He neither could +work miracles, nor damn you for disbelieving them. Had he +lived fourscore years later, who knows but he might have been +another Simon Peter, and have talked Hebrew as fluently as +Latin, all at once! Who knows but we might have heard of his +patrimony! who knows but our venerable popes might have +claimed dominion from him, as descendant from the kings of +Rome!</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> The hint, some centuries ago, would have +made your fortune, and that saintly cat there would have +kittened in a mitre.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Alas! the hint could have done nothing: Cicero +could not have lived later.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> I warrant him. Nothing is easier to correct +than chronology. There is not a lady in Paris, nor a jockey in +Normandy, that is not eligible to a professor’s chair in it. I +have seen a man’s ancestor, whom nobody ever saw before, +spring back over twenty generations. Our Vatican Jupiters +have as little respect for old Chronos as the Cretan had: they +mutilate him when and where they think necessary, limp as +he may by the operation.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> When I think, as you make me do, how +ambitious men are, even those whose teeth are too loose (one +would fancy) for a bite at so hard an apple as the devil of +ambition offers them, I am inclined to believe that we are +actuated not so much by selfishness as you represent it, but under +another form, the love of power. Not to speak of territorial +dominion or political office, and such other things as we usually +class under its appurtenances, do we not desire an exclusive +control over what is beautiful and lovely? the possession of +pleasant fields, of well-situated houses, of cabinets, of images, +of pictures, and indeed of many things pleasant to see but useless +to possess; even of rocks, of streams, and of fountains? These +things, you will tell me, have their utility. True, but not to +the wisher, nor does the idea of it enter his mind. Do not we +wish that the object of our love should be devoted to us only; +and that our children should love us better than their brothers +and sisters, or even than the mother who bore them? Love +would be arrayed in the purple robe of sovereignty, mildly as +he may resolve to exercise his power.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Many things which appear to be incontrovertible +are such for their age only, and must yield to others +which, in their age, are equally so. There are only a few points +that are always above the waves. Plain truths, like plain dishes, +are commended by everybody, and everybody leaves them +whole. If it were not even more impertinent and presumptuous +to praise a great writer in his presence than to censure him in +his absence, I would venture to say that your prose, from the +few specimens you have given of it, is equal to your verse. +Yet, even were I the possessor of such a style as yours, I would +never employ it to support my <i>Maxims</i>. You would think a +writer very impudent and self-sufficient who should quote +his own works: to defend them is doing more. We are the +worst auxiliaries in the world to the opinions we have brought +into the field. Our business is, to measure the ground, and to +calculate the forces; then let them try their strength. If the +weak assails me, he thinks me weak; if the strong, he thinks me +strong. He is more likely to compute ill his own vigour than +mine. At all events, I love inquiry, even when I myself sit +down. And I am not offended in my walks if my visitor asks +me whither does that alley lead. It proves that he is ready to +go on with me; that he sees some space before him; and that he +believes there may be something worth looking after.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> You have been standing a long time, my lord +duke: I must entreat you to be seated.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Excuse me, my dear M. la Fontaine; I would +much rather stand.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Mercy on us! have you been upon your legs +ever since you rose to leave me?</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> A change of position is agreeable: a friend +always permits it.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Sad doings! sad oversight! The other two chairs +were sent yesterday evening to be scoured and mended. But +that dog is the best tempered dog! an angel of a dog, I do +assure you; he would have gone down in a moment, at a word. +I am quite ashamed of myself for such inattention. With your +sentiments of friendship for me, why could you not have taken +the liberty to shove him gently off, rather than give me this +uneasiness?</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> My true and kind friend! we authors are too +sedentary; we are heartily glad of standing to converse, whenever +we can do it without any restraint on our acquaintance.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> I must reprove that animal when he uncurls +his body. He seems to be dreaming of Paradise and houris. +Ay, twitch thy ear, my child! I wish at my heart there were +as troublesome a fly about the other: God forgive me! The +rogue covers all my clean linen! shirt and cravat! what cares he!</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Dogs are not very modest.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Never say that, M. de la Rochefoucault! The +most modest people upon earth! Look at a dog’s eyes, and he +half closes them, or gently turns them away, with a motion of +the lips, which he licks languidly, and of the tail, which he stirs +tremulously, begging your forbearance. I am neither blind nor +indifferent to the defects of these good and generous creatures. +They are subject to many such as men are subject to: among +the rest, they disturb the neighbourhood in the discussion +of their private causes; they quarrel and fight on small motives, +such as a little bad food, or a little vainglory, or the sex. But +it must be something present or near that excites them; +and they calculate not the extent of evil they may do or +suffer.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Certainly not: how should dogs calculate?</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> I know nothing of the process. I am unable +to inform you how they leap over hedges and brooks, with +exertion just sufficient, and no more. In regard to honour and +a sense of dignity, let me tell you, a dog accepts the subsidies +of his friends, but never claims them: a dog would not take the +field to obtain power for a son, but would leave the son to obtain +it by his own activity and prowess. He conducts his visitor or +inmate out a-hunting, and makes a present of the game to him +as freely as an emperor to an elector. Fond as he is of slumber, +which is indeed one of the pleasantest and best things in the +universe, particularly after dinner, he shakes it off as willingly +as he would a gadfly, in order to defend his master from theft +or violence. Let the robber or assailant speak as courteously +as he may, he waives your diplomatical terms, gives his reasons +in plain language, and makes war. I could say many other +things to his advantage; but I never was malicious, and would +rather let both parties plead for themselves; give me the dog, +however.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Faith! I will give you both, and never boast of +my largess in so doing.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> I trust I have removed from you the suspicion +of selfishness in my client, and I feel it quite as easy to make +a properer disposal of another ill attribute, namely cruelty, +which we vainly try to shuffle off our own shoulders upon others, +by employing the offensive and most unjust term, brutality. +But to convince you of my impartiality, now I have defended +the dog from the first obloquy, I will defend the man from the +last, hoping to make you think better of each. What you +attribute to cruelty, both while we are children and afterward, +may be assigned, for the greater part, to curiosity. Cruelty +tends to the extinction of life, the dissolution of matter, the +imprisonment and sepulture of truth; and if it were our ruling +and chief propensity, the human race would have been extinguished +in a few centuries after its appearance. Curiosity, +in its primary sense, implies care and consideration.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Words often deflect from their primary sense. +We find the most curious men the most idle and silly, the least +observant and conservative.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> So we think; because we see every hour the +idly curious, and not the strenuously; we see only the persons +of the one set, and only the works of the other.</p> + +<p>More is heard of cruelty than of curiosity, because while +curiosity is silent both in itself and about its object, cruelty +on most occasions is like the wind, boisterous in itself, and +exciting a murmur and bustle in all the things it moves among. +Added to which, many of the higher topics whereto our curiosity +would turn, are intercepted from it by the policy of our guides +and rulers; while the principal ones on which cruelty is most +active, are pointed to by the sceptre and the truncheon, and +wealth and dignity are the rewards of their attainment. What +perversion! He who brings a bullock into a city for its sustenance +is called a butcher, and nobody has the civility to take off +the hat to him, although knowing him as perfectly as I know +Matthieu le Mince, who served me with those fine kidneys +you must have remarked in passing through the kitchen: +on the contrary, he who reduces the same city to famine is +styled M. le Général or M. le Maréchal, and gentlemen like you, +unprejudiced (as one would think) and upright, make room for +him in the antechamber.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> He obeys orders without the degrading +influence of any passion.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Then he commits a baseness the more, a cruelty +the greater. He goes off at another man’s setting, as ingloriously +as a rat-trap: he produces the worst effects of fury, and feels +none: a Cain unirritated by a brother’s incense.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> I would hide from you this little rapier, which, +like the barber’s pole, I have often thought too obtrusive in +the streets.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Never shall I think my countrymen half civilized +while on the dress of a courtier is hung the instrument of a cut-throat. +How deplorably feeble must be that honour which +requires defending at every hour of the day!</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Ingenious as you are, M. La Fontaine, I do not +believe that, on this subject, you could add anything to what +you have spoken already; but really, I do think one of the most +instructive things in the world would be a dissertation on dress +by you.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Nothing can be devised more commodious +than the dress in fashion. Perukes have fallen among us +by the peculiar dispensation of Providence. As in all the +regions of the globe the indigenous have given way to stronger +creatures, so have they (partly at least) on the human head. +At present the wren and the squirrel are dominant there. +Whenever I have a mind for a filbert, I have only to shake my +foretop. Improvement does not end in that quarter. I might +forget to take my pinch of snuff when it would do me good, unless +I saw a store of it on another’s cravat. Furthermore, the slit +in the coat behind tells in a moment what it was made for: a +thing of which, in regard to ourselves, the best preachers have to +remind us all our lives: then the central part of our habiliment +has either its loop-hole or its portcullis in the opposite direction, +still more demonstrative. All these are for very mundane +purposes: but Religion and Humanity have whispered some +later utilities. We pray the more commodiously, and of course +the more frequently, for rolling up a royal ell of stocking round +about our knees: and our high-heeled shoes must surely have been +worn by some angel, to save those insects which the flat-footed +would have crushed to death.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Ah! the good dog has awakened: he saw me +and my rapier, and ran away. Of what breed is he? for I know +nothing of dogs.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> And write so well!</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Is he a truffler?</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> No, not he; but quite as innocent.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Something of the shepherd-dog, I suspect.</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> Nor that neither; although he fain would make +you believe it. Indeed he is very like one: pointed nose, pointed +ears, apparently stiff, but readily yielding; long hair, particularly +about the neck; noble tail over his back, three curls deep, +exceedingly pleasant to stroke down again; straw-colour all +above, white all below. He might take it ill if you looked for +it; but so it is, upon my word: an ermeline might envy it.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> What are his pursuits?</p> + +<p><i>La Fontaine.</i> As to pursuit and occupation, he is good for +nothing. In fact, I like those dogs best ... and those men too.</p> + +<p><i>Rochefoucault.</i> Send Nanon then for a pair of silk stockings, +and mount my carriage with me: it stops at the Louvre.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="LUCIAN_AND_TIMOTHEUS" id="LUCIAN_AND_TIMOTHEUS"></a>LUCIAN AND TIMOTHEUS</h2> + + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I am delighted, my Cousin Lucian, to observe +how popular are become your <i>Dialogues of the Dead</i>. Nothing +can be so gratifying and satisfactory to a rightly disposed mind, +as the subversion of imposture by the force of ridicule. It +hath scattered the crowd of heathen gods as if a thunderbolt +had fallen in the midst of them. Now, I am confident you never +would have assailed the false religion, unless you were prepared +for the reception of the true. For it hath always been an +indication of rashness and precipitancy, to throw down an +edifice before you have collected materials for reconstruction.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Of all metaphors and remarks, I believe this of yours, +my good cousin Timotheus, is the most trite, and pardon me if +I add, the most untrue. Surely we ought to remove an error +the instant we detect it, although it may be out of our competence +to state and establish what is right. A lie should be +exposed as soon as born: we are not to wait until a healthier +child is begotten. Whatever is evil in any way should be +abolished. The husbandman never hesitates to eradicate weeds, +or to burn them up, because he may not happen at the time to +carry a sack on his shoulder with wheat or barley in it. Even +if no wheat or barley is to be sown in future, the weeding and +burning are in themselves beneficial, and something better will +spring up.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> That is not so certain.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Doubt it as you may, at least you will allow that the +temporary absence of evil is an advantage.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I think, O Lucian, you would reason much better +if you would come over to our belief.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I was unaware that belief is an encourager and guide +to reason.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Depend upon it, there can be no stability of truth, +no elevation of genius, without an unwavering faith in our holy +mysteries. Babes and sucklings who are blest with it, stand +higher, intellectually as well as morally, than stiff unbelievers +and proud sceptics.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I do not wonder that so many are firm holders of +this novel doctrine. It is pleasant to grow wise and virtuous +at so small an expenditure of thought or time. This saying of +yours is exactly what I heard spoken with angry gravity not +long ago.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Angry! no wonder! for it is impossible to keep our +patience when truths so incontrovertible are assailed. What +was your answer?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> My answer was: If you talk in this manner, my +honest friend, you will excite a spirit of ridicule in the gravest +and most saturnine of men, who never had let a laugh out of +their breasts before. Lie to <i>me</i>, and welcome; but beware lest +your own heart take you to task for it, reminding you that both +anger and falsehood are reprehended by all religions, yours +included.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Lucian! Lucian! you have always been called +profane.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> For what? for having turned into ridicule the gods +whom you have turned out of house and home, and are reducing +to dust?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Well; but you are equally ready to turn into +ridicule the true and holy.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> In other words, to turn myself into a fool. He +who brings ridicule to bear against Truth, finds in his hand a +blade without a hilt. The most sparkling and pointed flame of +wit flickers and expires against the incombustible walls of +her sanctuary.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Fine talking! Do you know, you have really +been called an atheist?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Yes, yes; I know it well. But, in fact, I believe there +are almost as few atheists in the world as there are Christians.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> How! as few? Most of Europe, most of Asia, +most of Africa, is Christian.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Show me five men in each who obey the commands +of Christ, and I will show you five hundred in this very city +who observe the dictates of Pythagoras. Every Pythagorean +obeys his defunct philosopher; and almost every Christian disobeys +his living God. Where is there one who practises the +most important and the easiest of His commands, to abstain +from strife? Men easily and perpetually find something new +to quarrel about; but the objects of affection are limited in +number, and grow up scantily and slowly. Even a small house +is often too spacious for them, and there is a vacant seat at the +table. Religious men themselves, when the Deity has bestowed +on them everything they prayed for, discover, as a peculiar +gift of Providence, some fault in the actions or opinions of a +neighbour, and run it down, crying and shouting after it, with +more alacrity and more clamour than boys would a leveret or a +squirrel in the playground. Are our years and our intellects, +and the word of God itself, given us for this, O Timotheus?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> A certain latitude, a liberal construction....</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Ay, ay! These ‘liberal constructions’ let loose all +the worst passions into those ‘certain latitudes’. The priests +themselves, who ought to be the poorest, are the richest; who +ought to be the most obedient, are the most refractory and +rebellious. All trouble and all piety are vicarious. They send +missionaries, at the cost of others, into foreign lands, to teach +observances which they supersede at home. I have ridiculed +the puppets of all features, all colours, all sizes, by which an +impudent and audacious set of impostors have been gaining an +easy livelihood these two thousand years.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Gently! gently! Ours have not been at it yet +two hundred. We abolish all idolatry. We know that Jupiter +was not the father of gods and men: we know that Mars was not +the Lord of Hosts: we know who is: we are quite at ease upon +that question.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Are you so fanatical, my good Timotheus, as to +imagine that the Creator of the world cares a fig by what +appellation you adore Him? whether you call Him on one occasion +Jupiter, on another Apollo? I will not add Mars or Lord of +Hosts; for, wanting as I may be in piety, I am not, and never +was, so impious as to call the Maker the Destroyer; to call Him +Lord of Hosts who, according to your holiest of books, declared +so lately and so plainly that He permits no hosts at all; much less +will He take the command of one against another. Would any +man in his senses go down into the cellar, and seize first an +amphora from the right, and then an amphora from the left, +for the pleasure of breaking them in pieces, and of letting out +the wine he had taken the trouble to put in? We are not contented +with attributing to the gods our own infirmities; we make +them even more wayward, even more passionate, even more +exigent and more malignant: and then some of us try to coax +and cajole them, and others run away from them outright.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> No wonder: but only in regard to yours: and even +those are types.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> There are honest men who occupy their lives in discovering +types for all things.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Truly and rationally thou speakest now. Honest +men and wise men above their fellows are they, and the greatest +of all discoverers. There are many types above thy reach, +O Lucian!</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> And one which my mind, and perhaps yours also, +can comprehend. There is in Italy, I hear, on the border of +a quiet and beautiful lake, a temple dedicated to Diana; the +priests of which temple have murdered each his predecessor for +unrecorded ages.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> What of that? They were idolaters.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> They made the type, however: take it home with +you, and hang it up in your temple.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Why! you seem to have forgotten on a sudden +that I am a Christian: you are talking of the heathens.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> True! true! I am near upon eighty years of age, and +to my poor eyesight one thing looks very like another.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> You are too indifferent.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> No indeed. I love those best who quarrel least, +and who bring into public use the most civility and good +humour.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Our holy religion inculcates this duty especially.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Such being the case, a pleasant story will not be +thrown away upon you. Xenophanes, my townsman of Samosata, +was resolved to buy a new horse: he had tried him, and liked +him well enough. I asked him why he wished to dispose of +his old one, knowing how sure-footed he was, how easy in +his paces, and how quiet in his pasture. ‘Very true, O Lucian,’ +said he; ‘the horse is a clever horse; noble eye, beautiful figure, +stately step; rather too fond of neighing and of shuffling a little +in the vicinity of a mare; but tractable and good tempered.’ +‘I would not have parted with him then,’ said I. ‘The fact is,’ +replied he, ‘my grandfather, whom I am about to visit, likes +no horses but what are <i>Saturnized</i>. To-morrow I begin my +journey: come and see me set out.’ I went at the hour +appointed. The new purchase looked quiet and demure; but +<i>he</i> also pricked up his ears, and gave sundry other tokens of +equinity, when the more interesting part of his fellow-creatures +came near him. As the morning oats began to operate, he grew +more and more unruly, and snapped at one friend of Xenophanes, +and sidled against another, and gave a kick at a third. +‘All in play! all in play!’ said Xenophanes; ‘his nature is more +of a lamb’s than a horse’s.’ However, these mute salutations +being over, away went Xenophanes. In the evening, when my +lamp had just been replenished for the commencement of my +studies, my friend came in striding as if he were still across +the saddle. ‘I am apprehensive, O Xenophanes,’ said I, ‘your +new acquaintance has disappointed you.’ ‘Not in the least,’ +answered he. ‘I do assure you, O Lucian! he is the very horse +I was looking out for.’ On my requesting him to be seated, +he no more thought of doing so than if it had been in the presence +of the Persian king. I then handed my lamp to him, telling +him (as was true) it contained all the oil I had in the house, +and protesting I should be happier to finish my Dialogue in the +morning. He took the lamp into my bedroom, and appeared +to be much refreshed on his return. Nevertheless, he treated +his chair with great delicacy and circumspection, and evidently +was afraid of breaking it by too sudden a descent. I did not +revert to the horse: but he went on of his own accord. ‘I +declare to you, O Lucian! it is impossible for me to be mistaken +in a palfrey. My new one is the only one in Samosata that +could carry me at one stretch to my grandfather’s.’ ‘But +<i>has</i> he?’ said I, timidly. ‘No; he has not yet,’ answered my +friend. ‘To-morrow, then, I am afraid, we really must lose you.’ +‘No,’ said he; ‘the horse does trot hard: but he is the better for +that: I shall soon get used to him.’ In fine, my worthy friend +deferred his visit to his grandfather: his rides were neither +long nor frequent: he was ashamed to part with his purchase, +boasted of him everywhere, and, humane as he is by nature, +could almost have broken on the cross the quiet contented +owner of old Bucephalus.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Am I to understand by this, O Cousin Lucian, +that I ought to be contented with the impurities of paganism?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Unless you are very unreasonable. A moderate man +finds plenty in it.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> We abominate the Deities who patronize them, +and we hurl down the images of the monsters.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Sweet cousin! be tenderer to my feelings. In such +a tempest as this, my spark of piety may be blown out. Hold +your hand cautiously before it, until I can find my way. Believe +me, no Deities (out of their own houses) patronize immorality; +none patronize unruly passions, least of all the fierce and +ferocious. In my opinion, you are wrong in throwing down the +images of those among them who look on you benignly: the +others I give up to your discretion. But I think it impossible +to stand habitually in the presence of a sweet and open countenance, +graven or depicted, without in some degree partaking of +the character it expresses. Never tell any man that he can +derive no good, in his devotions, from this or from that: abolish +neither hope nor gratitude.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> God is offended at vain efforts to represent Him.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> No such thing, my dear Timotheus. If you knew +Him at all, you would not talk of Him so irreverently. He is +pleased, I am convinced, at every effort to resemble Him, at +every wish to remind both ourselves and others of His benefits. +You cannot think so often of Him without an effigy.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> What likeness is there in the perishable to the +Unperishable?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I see no reason why there may not be a similitude. +All that the senses can comprehend may be represented by any +material; clay or fig-tree, bronze or ivory, porphyry or gold. +Indeed I have a faint remembrance that, according to your +sacred volumes, man was made by God after His own image. +If so, man’s intellectual powers are worthily exercised in attempting +to collect all that is beautiful, serene, and dignified, and to +bring Him back to earth again by showing Him the noblest of +His gifts, the work most like His own. Surely He cannot hate +or abandon those who thus cherish His memory, and thus +implore His regard. Perishable and imperfect is everything +human: but in these very qualities I find the best reason for +striving to attain what is least so. Would not any father be +gratified by seeing his child attempt to delineate his features? +And would not the gratification be rather increased than +diminished by his incapacity? How long shall the narrow +mind of man stand between goodness and omnipotence? Perhaps +the effigy of your ancestor Isknos is unlike him; whether +it is or no, you cannot tell; but you keep it in your hall, and would +be angry if anybody broke it to pieces or defaced it. Be quite +sure there are many who think as much of their gods as you +think of your ancestor Isknos, and who see in their images as +good a likeness. Let men have their own way, especially their +way to the temples. It is easier to drive them out of one road +than into another. Our judicious and good-humoured Trajan +has found it necessary on many occasions to chastise the law-breakers +of your sect, indifferent as he is what gods are worshipped, +so long as their followers are orderly and decorous. +The fiercest of the Dacians never knocked off Jupiter’s beard, or +broke an arm off Venus; and the emperor will hardly tolerate +in those who have received a liberal education what he would +punish in barbarians. Do not wear out his patience: try rather +to imitate his equity, his equanimity, and forbearance.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I have been listening to you with much attention, +O Lucian! for I seldom have heard you speak with such gravity. +And yet, O Cousin Lucian! I really do find in you a sad +deficiency of that wisdom which alone is of any value. You +talk of Trajan! what is Trajan?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> A beneficent citizen, an impartial judge, a sagacious +ruler; the comrade of every brave soldier, the friend and +associate of every man eminent in genius, throughout his empire, +the empire of the world. All arts, all sciences, all philosophies, +all religions, are protected by him. Wherefore his name will +flourish, when the proudest of these have perished in the land +of Egypt. Philosophies and religions will strive, struggle, and +suffocate one another. Priesthoods, I know not how many, are +quarrelling and scuffling in the street at this instant, all calling +on Trajan to come and knock an antagonist on the head; and +the most peaceful of them, as it wishes to be thought, proclaiming +him an infidel for turning a deaf ear to its imprecations. +Mankind was never so happy as under his guidance; and he has +nothing now to do but to put down the battles of the gods. +If they must fight it out, he will insist on our neutrality.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> He has no authority and no influence over us in +matters of faith. A wise and upright man, whose serious +thoughts lead him forward to religion, will never be turned +aside from it by any worldly consideration or any human +force.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> True: but mankind is composed not entirely of the +upright and the wise. I suspect that we may find some, here +and there, who are rather too fond of novelties in the furniture +of temples; and I have observed that new sects are apt to warp, +crack, and split, under the heat they generate. Our homely old +religion has run into fewer quarrels, ever since the Centaurs and +Lapiths (whose controversy was on a subject quite comprehensible), +than yours has engendered in twenty years.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> We shall obviate that inconvenience by electing +a supreme Pontiff to decide all differences. It has been seriously +thought about long ago: and latterly we have been making out +an ideal series down to the present day, in order that our successors +in the ministry may have stepping-stones up to the +fountain-head. At first the disseminators of our doctrines were +equal in their commission; we do not approve of this any longer, +for reasons of our own.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> You may shut, one after another, all our other +temples, but, I plainly see, you will never shut the temple of +Janus. The Roman Empire will never lose its pugnacious +character while your sect exists. The only danger is, lest the +fever rage internally and consume the vitals. If you sincerely +wish your religion to be long-lived, maintain in it the spirit +of its constitution, and keep it patient, humble, abstemious, +domestic, and zealous only in the services of humanity. Whenever +the higher of your priesthood shall attain the riches they +are aiming at, the people will envy their possessions and revolt +from their impostures. Do not let them seize upon the palace, +and shove their God again into the manger.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Lucian! Lucian! I call this impiety.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> So do I, and shudder at its consequences. Caverns +which at first look inviting, the roof at the aperture green with +overhanging ferns and clinging mosses, then glittering with +native gems and with water as sparkling and pellucid, freshening +the air all around; these caverns grow darker and closer, until +you find yourself among animals that shun the daylight, adhering +to the walls, hissing along the bottom, flapping, screeching, +gaping, glaring, making you shrink at the sounds, and sicken +at the smells, and afraid to advance or retreat.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> To what can this refer? Our caverns open on +verdure, and terminate in veins of gold.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Veins of gold, my good Timotheus, such as your +excavations have opened and are opening, in the spirit of avarice +and ambition, will be washed (or as you would say, <i>purified</i>) +in streams of blood. Arrogance, intolerance, resistance to +authority and contempt of law, distinguish your aspiring +sectarians from the other subjects of the empire.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Blindness hath often a calm and composed +countenance; but, my Cousin Lucian! it usually hath also the +advantage of a cautious and a measured step. It hath pleased +God to blind you, like all the other adversaries of our faith; +but He has given you no staff to lean upon. You object against +us the very vices from which we are peculiarly exempt.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Then it is all a story, a fable, a fabrication, about one +of your earlier leaders cutting off with his sword a servant’s +ear? If the accusation is true, the offence is heavy. For not +only was the wounded man innocent of any provocation, but +he is represented as being in the service of the high priest at +Jerusalem. Moreover, from the direction and violence of the +blow, it is evident that his life was aimed at. According to law, +you know, my dear cousin, all the party might have been +condemned to death, as accessories to an attempt at murder. +I am unwilling to think so unfavourably of your sect; nor indeed +do I see the possibility that, in such an outrage, the principal +could be pardoned. For any man but a soldier to go about +armed is against the Roman law, which, on that head, as on +many others, is borrowed from the Athenian; and it is incredible +that in any civilized country so barbarous a practice can be +tolerated. Travellers do indeed relate that, in certain parts of +India, there are princes at whose courts even civilians are armed. +But <i>traveller</i> has occasionally the same signification as <i>liar</i>, +and <i>India</i> as <i>fable</i>. However, if the practice really does exist +in that remote and rarely visited country, it must be in some +region of it very far beyond the Indus or the Ganges: for +the nations situated between those rivers are, and were in +the reign of Alexander, and some thousand years before his +birth, as civilized as the Europeans; nay, incomparably more +courteous, more industrious, and more pacific; the three grand +criterions.</p> + +<p>But answer my question: is there any foundation for so +mischievous a report?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> There was indeed, so to say, an ear, or something +of the kind, abscinded; probably by mistake. But high priests’ +servants are propense to follow the swaggering gait of their +masters, and to carry things with a high hand, in such wise as +to excite the choler of the most quiet. If you knew the character +of the eminently holy man who punished the atrocious +insolence of that bloody-minded wretch, you would be sparing +of your animadversions. We take him for our model.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I see you do.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> We proclaim him Prince of the Apostles.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I am the last in the world to question his princely +qualifications; but, if I might advise you, it should be to follow +in preference Him whom you acknowledge to be an unerring +guide; who delivered to you His ordinances with His own +hand, equitable, plain, explicit, compendious, and complete; who +committed no violence, who countenanced no injustice, whose +compassion was without weakness, whose love was without +frailty, whose life was led in humility, in purity, in beneficence, +and, at the end, laid down in obedience to His Father’s will.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Ah, Lucian! what strangely imperfect notions! +all that is little.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Enough to follow.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Not enough to compel others. I did indeed +hope, O Lucian! that you would again come forward with the +irresistible arrows of your wit, and unite with us against our +adversaries. By what you have just spoken, I doubt no longer +that you approve of the doctrines inculcated by the blessed +Founder of our religion.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> To the best of my understanding.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> So ardent is my desire for the salvation of your +precious soul, O my cousin! that I would devote many hours +of every day to disputation with you on the principal points of +our Christian controversy.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Many thanks, my kind Timotheus! But I think +the blessed Founder of your religion very strictly forbade that +there should be <i>any</i> points of controversy. Not only has He +prohibited them on the doctrines He delivered, but on everything +else. Some of the most obstinate might never have doubted +of His Divinity, if the conduct of His followers had not repelled +them from the belief of it. How can they imagine you sincere +when they see you disobedient? It is in vain for you to protest +that you worship the God of Peace, when you are found daily +in the courts and market-places with clenched fists and bloody +noses. I acknowledge the full value of your offer; but really I +am as anxious for the salvation of your precious time as you +appear to be for the salvation of my precious soul, particularly +since I am come to the conclusion that souls cannot be lost, +and that time can.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> We mean by <i>salvation</i> exemption from eternal +torments.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Among all my old gods and their children, morose +as some of the senior are, and mischievous as are some of the +junior, I have never represented the worst of them as capable +of inflicting such atrocity. Passionate and capricious and unjust +are several of them; but a skin stripped off the shoulder, and a +liver tossed to a vulture, are among the worst of their inflictions.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> This is scoffing.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Nobody but an honest man has a right to scoff at +anything.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> And yet people of a very different cast are usually +those who scoff the most.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> We are apt to push forward at that which we are +without: the low-born at titles and distinctions, the silly at +wit, the knave at the semblance of probity. But I was about +to remark, that an honest man may fairly scoff at all philosophies +and religions which are proud, ambitious, intemperate, and +contradictory. The thing most adverse to the spirit and +essence of them all is falsehood. It is the business of the +philosophical to seek truth: it is the office of the religious to +worship her; under what name is unimportant. The falsehood +that the tongue commits is slight in comparison with what is +conceived by the heart, and executed by the whole man, throughout +life. If, professing love and charity to the human race at +large, I quarrel day after day with my next neighbour; if, professing +that the rich can never see God, I spend in the luxuries +of my household a talent monthly; if, professing to place so much +confidence in His word, that, in regard to wordly weal, I need +take no care for to-morrow, I accumulate stores even beyond +what would be necessary, though I quite distrusted both His +providence and His veracity; if, professing that ‘he who giveth +to the poor lendeth to the Lord’, I question the Lord’s security, +and haggle with Him about the amount of the loan; if, professing +that I am their steward, I keep ninety-nine parts in the hundred +as the emolument of my stewardship; how, when God hates +liars and punishes defrauders, shall I, and other such thieves +and hypocrites, fare hereafter?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Let us hope there are few of them.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> We cannot hope against what is: we may, however, +hope that in future these will be fewer; but never while the +overseers of a priesthood look for offices out of it, taking the +lead in politics, in debate, and strife. Such men bring to ruin +all religion, but their own first, and raise unbelievers not only +in Divine Providence, but in human faith.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> If they leave the altar for the market-place, the +sanctuary for the senate-house, and agitate party questions +instead of Christian verities, everlasting punishments await +them.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Everlasting?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Certainly: at the very least. I rank it next to +heresy in the catalogue of sins; and the Church supports my +opinion.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I have no measure for ascertaining the distance +between the opinions and practices of men; I only know that +they stand widely apart in all countries on the most important +occasions; but this newly-hatched word <i>heresy</i>, alighting on my +ear, makes me rub it. A beneficent God descends on earth in +the human form, to redeem us from the slavery of sin, from the +penalty of our passions: can you imagine He will punish an error +in opinion, or even an obstinacy in unbelief, with everlasting +torments? Supposing it highly criminal to refuse to weigh +a string of arguments, or to cross-question a herd of witnesses, +on a subject which no experience has warranted and no sagacity +can comprehend; supposing it highly criminal to be contented +with the religion which our parents taught us, which they +bequeathed to us as the most precious of possessions, and which +it would have broken their hearts if they had foreseen we should +cast aside; yet are eternal pains the just retribution of what at +worst is but indifference and supineness?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Our religion has clearly this advantage over yours: +it teaches us to regulate our passions.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Rather say it <i>tells</i> us. I believe all religions do the +same; some indeed more emphatically and primarily than others; +but <i>that</i> indeed would be incontestably of Divine origin, and +acknowledged at once by the most sceptical, which should +thoroughly teach it. Now, my friend Timotheus, I think you +are about seventy-five years of age.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Nigh upon it.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Seventy-five years, according to my calculation, are +equivalent to seventy-five gods and goddesses in regulating +our passions for us, if we speak of the amatory, which are always +thought in every stage of life the least to be pardoned.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Execrable!</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I am afraid the sourest hang longest on the tree. +Mimnermus says:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In early youth we often sigh</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Because our pulses beat so high;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All this we conquer, and at last</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We sigh that we are grown so chaste.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Swine!</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> No animal sighs oftener or louder. But, my dear +cousin, the quiet swine is less troublesome and less odious than +the grumbling and growling and fierce hyena, which will not let +the dead rest in their graves. We may be merry with the +follies and even the vices of men, without doing or wishing +them harm; punishment should come from the magistrate, +not from us. If we are to give pain to any one because he +thinks differently from us, we ought to begin by inflicting a +few smart stripes on ourselves; for both upon light and upon +grave occasions, if we have thought much and often, our opinions +must have varied. We are always fond of seizing and managing +what appertains to others. In the savage state all belongs to +all. Our neighbours the Arabs, who stand between barbarism +and civilization, waylay travellers, and plunder their equipage +and their gold. The wilier marauders in Alexandria start up +from under the shadow of temples, force us to change our habiliments +for theirs, and strangle us with fingers dipped in holy +water if we say they sit uneasily.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> This is not the right view of things.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> That is never the right view which lets in too much +light. About two centuries have elapsed since your religion +was founded. Show me the pride it has humbled; show me the +cruelty it has mitigated; show me the lust it has extinguished +or repressed. I have now been living ten years in Alexandria; +and you never will accuse me, I think, of any undue partiality +for the system in which I was educated; yet, from all my +observation, I find no priest or elder, in your community, wise, +tranquil, firm, and sedate as Epicurus, and Carneades, and Zeno, +and Epictetus; or indeed in the same degree as some who were +often called forth into political and military life; Epaminondas, +for instance, and Phocion.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I pity them from my soul: they were ignorant +of the truth: they are lost, my cousin! take my word for it, they +are lost men.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Unhappily, they are. I wish we had them back +again; or that, since we have lost them, we could at least find +among us the virtues they left for our example.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Alas, my poor cousin! you too are blind; you do +not understand the plainest words, nor comprehend those +verities which are the most evident and palpable. Virtues! +if the poor wretches had any, they were false ones.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Scarcely ever has there been a politician, in any free +state, without much falsehood and duplicity. I have named the +most illustrious exceptions. Slender and irregular lines of a +darker colour run along the bright blade that decides the fate +of nations, and may indeed be necessary to the perfection of +its temper. The great warrior has usually his darker lines of +character, necessary (it may be) to constitute his greatness. No +two men possess the same quantity of the same virtues, if they +have many or much. We want some which do not far outstep +us, and which we may follow with the hope of reaching; we +want others to elevate, and others to defend us. The order +of things would be less beautiful without this variety. Without +the ebb and flow of our passions, but guided and moderated by +a beneficent light above, the ocean of life would stagnate; and +zeal, devotion, eloquence, would become dead carcasses, collapsing +and wasting on unprofitable sands. The vices of some men +cause the virtues of others, as corruption is the parent of fertility.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> O my cousin! this doctrine is diabolical.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> What is it?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Diabolical; a strong expression in daily use among +us. We turn it a little from its origin.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Timotheus, I love to sit by the side of a clear water, +although there is nothing in it but naked stones. Do not take +the trouble to muddy the stream of language for my benefit; +I am not about to fish in it.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Well, we will speak about things which come nearer +to your apprehension. I only wish you were somewhat less +indifferent in your choice between the true and the false.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> We take it for granted that what is not true must +be false.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Surely we do.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> This is erroneous.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Are you grown captious? Pray explain.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> What is not true, I need not say, must be untrue; +but that alone is false which is intended to deceive. A witness +may be mistaken, yet would not you call him a false witness +unless he asserted what he knew to be false.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Quibbles upon words!</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> On words, on quibbles, if you please to call distinctions +so, rests the axis of the intellectual world. A winged word hath +stuck ineradicably in a million hearts, and envenomed every +hour throughout their hard pulsation. On a winged word hath +hung the destiny of nations. On a winged word hath human +wisdom been willing to cast the immortal soul, and to leave it +dependent for all its future happiness. It is because a word is +unsusceptible of explanation, or because they who employed +it were impatient of any, that enormous evils have prevailed, +not only against our common sense, but against our common +humanity. Hence the most pernicious of absurdities, far +exceeding in folly and mischief the worship of threescore gods; +namely, that an implicit faith in what outrages our reason, which +we know is God’s gift, and bestowed on us for our guidance, +that this weak, blind, stupid faith is surer of His favour than the +constant practice of every human virtue. They at whose hands +one prodigious lie, such as this, hath been accepted, may reckon +on their influence in the dissemination of many smaller, and +may turn them easily to their own account. Be sure they will +do it sooner or later. The fly floats on the surface for a while, +but up springs the fish at last and swallows it.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Was ever man so unjust as you are? The +abominable old priesthoods are avaricious and luxurious: ours +is willing to stand or fall by maintaining its ordinances of fellowship +and frugality. Point out to me a priest of our religion whom +you could, by any temptation or entreaty, so far mislead, that +he shall reserve for his own consumption one loaf, one plate of +lentils, while another poor Christian hungers. In the meanwhile +the priests of Isis are proud and wealthy, and admit none +of the indigent to their tables. And now, to tell you the whole +truth, my Cousin Lucian, I come to you this morning to propose +that we should lay our heads together and compose a merry +dialogue on these said priests of Isis. What say you?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> These said priests of Isis have already been with me, +several times, on a similar business in regard to yours.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Malicious wretches!</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Beside, they have attempted to persuade me that +your religion is borrowed from theirs, altering a name a little +and laying the scene of action in a corner, in the midst of +obscurity and ruins.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> The wicked dogs! the hellish liars! We have +nothing in common with such vile impostors. Are they not +ashamed of taking such unfair means of lowering us in the +estimation of our fellow-citizens? And so, they artfully came +to you, craving any spare jibe to throw against us! They lie +open to these weapons; we do not: we stand above the malignity, +above the strength, of man. You would do justly in turning +their own devices against them: it would be amusing to see how +they would look. If you refuse me, I am resolved to write a +Dialogue of the Dead, myself, and to introduce these hypocrites +in it.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Consider well first, my good Timotheus, whether you +can do any such thing with propriety; I mean to say judiciously +in regard to composition.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I always thought you generous and open-hearted, +and quite inaccessible to jealousy.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Let nobody ever profess himself so much as that: +for, although he may be insensible of the disease, it lurks within +him, and only waits its season to break out. But really, my +cousin, at present I feel no symptoms: and, to prove that I +am ingenuous and sincere with you, these are my reasons for +dissuasion. We believers in the Homeric family of gods and +goddesses, believe also in the locality of Tartarus and Elysium. +We entertain no doubt whatever that the passions of men and +demigods and gods are nearly the same above ground and below; +and that Achilles would dispatch his spear through the body +of any shade who would lead Briseis too far among the myrtles, +or attempt to throw the halter over the ears of any chariot +horse belonging to him in the meads of asphodel. We admit +no doubt of these verities, delivered down to us from the ages +when Theseus and Hercules had descended into Hades itself. +Instead of a few stadions in a cavern, with a bank and a bower +at the end of it, under a very small portion of our diminutive +Hellas, you Christians possess the whole cavity of the earth for +punishment, and the whole convex of the sky for felicity.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Our passions are burnt out amid the fires of +purification, and our intellects are elevated to the enjoyment of +perfect intelligence.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> How silly then and incongruous would it be, not to +say how impious, to represent your people as no better and no +wiser than they were before, and discoursing on subjects which +no longer can or ought to concern them. Christians must +think your Dialogue of the Dead no less irreligious than their +opponents think mine, and infinitely more absurd. If indeed +you are resolved on this form of composition, there is no topic +which may not, with equal facility, be discussed on earth; and +you may intersperse as much ridicule as you please, without +any fear of censure for inconsistency or irreverence. Hitherto +such writers have confined their view mostly to speculative +points, sophistic reasonings, and sarcastic interpellations.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Ha! you are always fond of throwing a little pebble +at the lofty Plato, whom we, on the contrary, are ready to +receive (in a manner) as one of ourselves.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> To throw pebbles is a very uncertain way of showing +where lie defects. Whenever I have mentioned him seriously, +I have brought forward, not accusations, but passages from his +writings, such as no philosopher or scholar or moralist can +defend.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> His doctrines are too abstruse and too sublime +for you.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Solon, Anaxagoras, and Epicurus, are more sublime, +if truth is sublimity.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Truth is, indeed; for God is truth.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> We are upon earth to learn what can be learnt upon +earth, and not to speculate on what never can be. This you, +O Timotheus, may call philosophy: to me it appears the idlest +of curiosity; for every other kind may teach us something, and +may lead to more beyond. Let men learn what benefits men; +above all things, to contract their wishes, to calm their passions, +and, more especially, to dispel their fears. Now these are to +be dispelled, not by collecting clouds, but by piercing and +scattering them. In the dark we may imagine depths and +heights immeasurable, which, if a torch be carried right before +us, we find it easy to leap across. Much of what we call sublime +is only the residue of infancy, and the worst of it.</p> + +<p>The philosophers I quoted are too capacious for schools and +systems. Without noise, without ostentation, without mystery, +not quarrelsome, not captious, not frivolous, their lives were +commentaries on their doctrine. Never evaporating into mist, +never stagnating into mire, their limpid and broad morality +runs parallel with the lofty summits of their genius.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Genius! was ever genius like Plato’s?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> The most admired of his Dialogues, his <i>Banquet</i>, +is beset with such puerilities, deformed with such pedantry, +and disgraced with such impurity, that none but the thickest +beards, and chiefly of the philosophers and the satyrs, should +bend over it. On a former occasion he has given us a specimen +of history, than which nothing in our language is worse: here +he gives us one of poetry, in honour of Love, for which the god +has taken ample vengeance on him, by perverting his taste and +feelings. The grossest of all the absurdities in this dialogue is, +attributing to Aristophanes, so much of a scoffer and so little +of a visionary, the silly notion of male and female having been +originally complete in one person, and walking circuitously. +He may be joking: who knows?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Forbear! forbear! do not call this notion a silly +one: he took it from our Holy Scriptures, but perverted it somewhat. +Woman was made from man’s rib, and did not require +to be cut asunder all the way down: this is no proof of bad reasoning, +but merely of misinterpretation.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> If you would rather have bad reasoning, I will adduce +a little of it. Farther on, he wishes to extol the wisdom of +Agathon by attributing to him such a sentence as this:</p> + +<p>‘It is evident that Love is the most beautiful of the gods, +<i>because</i> he is the youngest of them.’</p> + +<p>Now, even on earth, the youngest is not always the most +beautiful; how infinitely less cogent, then, is the argument +when we come to speak of the Immortals, with whom age can +have no concern! There was a time when Vulcan was the +youngest of the gods: was he, also, at that time, and for that +reason, the most beautiful? Your philosopher tells us, moreover, +that ‘Love is of all deities the most <i>liquid</i>; else he never +could fold himself about everything, and flow into and out of +men’s souls.’</p> + +<p>The three last sentences of Agathon’s rhapsody are very +harmonious, and exhibit the finest specimen of Plato’s style; +but we, accustomed as we are to hear him lauded for his poetical +diction, should hold that poem a very indifferent one which +left on the mind so superficial an impression. The garden of +Academus is flowery without fragrance, and dazzling without +warmth: I am ready to dream away an hour in it after dinner, +but I think it insalutary for a night’s repose. So satisfied was +Plato with his <i>Banquet</i>, that he says of himself, in the person +of Socrates, ‘How can I or any one but find it difficult to speak +after a discourse so eloquent? It would have been wonderful +if the brilliancy of the sentences at the end of it, and the choice +of expression throughout, had not astonished all the auditors. +I, who can never say anything nearly so beautiful, would if +possible have made my escape, and have fairly run off for shame.’ +He had indeed much better run off before he made so wretched +a pun on the name of Gorgias. ‘I dreaded,’ says he, ‘lest +Agathon, <i>measuring my discourse by the head of the eloquent +Gorgias, should turn me to stone</i> for inability of utterance.’</p> + +<p>Was there ever joke more frigid? What painful twisting of +unelastic stuff! If Socrates was the wisest man in the world, +it would require another oracle to persuade us, after this, that +he was the wittiest. But surely a small share of common +sense would have made him abstain from hazarding such failures. +He falls on his face in very flat and very dry ground; and, when +he gets up again, his quibbles are well-nigh as tedious as his +witticisms. However, he has the presence of mind to throw +them on the shoulders of Diotima, whom he calls a prophetess, +and who, ten years before the plague broke out in Athens, +obtained from the gods (he tells us) that delay. Ah! the gods +were doubly mischievous: they sent her first. Read her words, +my cousin, as delivered by Socrates; and if they have another +plague in store for us, you may avert it by such an act of +expiation.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> The world will have ended before ten years are +over.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Indeed!</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> It has been pronounced.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> How the threads of belief and unbelief run woven +close together in the whole web of human life! Come, come; +take courage; you will have time for your Dialogue. Enlarge +the circle; enrich it with a variety of matter, enliven it with a +multitude of characters, occupy the intellect of the thoughtful, +the imagination of the lively; spread the board with solid viands, +delicate rarities, and sparkling wines; and throw, along the +whole extent of it, geniality and festal crowns.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> What writer of dialogues hath ever done this, or +undertaken, or conceived, or hoped it?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> None whatever; yet surely you yourself may, when +even your babes and sucklings are endowed with abilities incomparably +greater than our niggardly old gods have bestowed +on the very best of us.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I wish, my dear Lucian, you would let our babes +and sucklings lie quiet, and say no more about them: as for +your gods, I leave them at your mercy. Do not impose on me +the performance of a task in which Plato himself, if he had +attempted it, would have failed.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> No man ever detected false reasoning with more +quickness; but unluckily he called in Wit at the exposure; +and Wit, I am sorry to say, held the lowest place in his household. +He sadly mistook the qualities of his mind in attempting +the facetious; or, rather, he fancied he possessed one quality +more than belonged to him. But, if he himself had not been a +worse quibbler than any whose writings are come down to us, +we might have been gratified by the exposure of wonderful +acuteness wretchedly applied. It is no small service to the +community to turn into ridicule the grave impostors, who are +contending which of them shall guide and govern us, whether +in politics or religion. There are always a few who will take the +trouble to walk down among the seaweeds and slippery stones, +for the sake of showing their credulous fellow-citizens that +skins filled with sand, and set upright at the forecastle, are +neither men nor merchandise.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I can bring to mind, O Lucian, no writer possessing +so great a variety of wit as you.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> No man ever possessed any variety of this gift; and +the holder is not allowed to exchange the quality for another. +Banter (and such is Plato’s) never grows large, never sheds its +bristles, and never do they soften into the humorous or the +facetious.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I agree with you that banter is the worst species +of wit. We have indeed no correct idea what persons those +really were whom Plato drags by the ears, to undergo slow +torture under Socrates. One sophist, I must allow, is precisely +like another: no discrimination of character, none of manner, +none of language.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> He wanted the fancy and fertility of Aristophanes.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Otherwise, his mind was more elevated and more +poetical.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Pardon me if I venture to express my dissent in both +particulars. Knowledge of the human heart, and discrimination +of character, are requisites of the poet. Few ever have +possessed them in an equal degree with Aristophanes: Plato +has given no indication of either.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> But consider his imagination.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> On what does it rest? He is nowhere so imaginative +as in his <i>Polity</i>. Nor is there any state in the world that is, or +would be, governed by it. One day you may find him at his +counter in the midst of old-fashioned toys, which crack and +crumble under his fingers while he exhibits and recommends +them; another day, while he is sitting on a goat’s bladder, I +may discover his bald head surmounting an enormous mass +of loose chaff and uncleanly feathers, which he would persuade +you is the pleasantest and healthiest of beds, and that dreams +descend on it from the gods.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">‘Open your mouth, and shut your eyes, and see what Zeus shall send you,’</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>says Aristophanes in his favourite metre. In this helpless +condition of closed optics and hanging jaw, we find the followers +of Plato. It is by shutting their eyes that they see, and +by opening their mouths that they apprehend. Like certain +broad-muzzled dogs, all stand equally stiff and staunch, although +few scent the game, and their lips wag, and water, at whatever +distance from the net. We must leave them with their hands +hanging down before them, confident that they are wiser than +we are, were it only for this attitude of humility. It is amusing +to see them in it before the tall, well-robed Athenian, while he +mis-spells the charms, and plays clumsily the tricks, he acquired +from the conjurors here in Egypt. I wish you better success +with the same materials. But in my opinion all philosophers +should speak clearly. The highest things are the purest and +brightest; and the best writers are those who render them the +most intelligible to the world below. In the arts and sciences, +and particularly in music and metaphysics, this is difficult: +but the subjects not being such as lie within the range of the +community, I lay little stress upon them, and wish authors to +deal with them as they best may, only beseeching that they +recompense us, by bringing within our comprehension the other +things with which they are entrusted for us. The followers of +Plato fly off indignantly from any such proposal. If I ask +them the meaning of some obscure passage, they answer that +I am unprepared and unfitted for it, and that his mind is so +far above mine, I cannot grasp it. I look up into the faces of +these worthy men, who mingle so much commiseration with so +much calmness, and wonder at seeing them look no less vacant +than my own.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> You have acknowledged his eloquence, while you +derided his philosophy and repudiated his morals.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Certainly there was never so much eloquence with +so little animation. When he has heated his oven, he forgets +to put the bread into it; instead of which, he throws in another +bundle of faggots. His words and sentences are often too large +for the place they occupy. If a water-melon is not to be placed +in an oyster-shell, neither is a grain of millet in a golden salver. +At high festivals a full band may enter: ordinary conversation +goes on better without it.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> There is something so spiritual about him, that +many of us Christians are firmly of opinion he must have been +partially enlightened from above.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I hope and believe we all are. His entire works are +in our library. Do me the favour to point out to me a few of +those passages where in poetry he approaches the spirit of +Aristophanes, or where in morals he comes up to Epictetus.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> It is useless to attempt it if you carry your +prejudices with you. Beside, my dear cousin, I would not offend +you, but really your mind has no point about it which could be +brought to contact or affinity with Plato’s.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> In the universality of his genius there must surely +be some atom coincident with another in mine. You acknowledge, +as everybody must do, that his wit is the heaviest and +lowest: pray, is the specimen he has given us of history at all +better?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I would rather look to the loftiness of his mind, +and the genius that sustains him.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> So would I. Magnificent words, and the pomp +and procession of stately sentences, may accompany genius, +but are not always nor frequently called out by it. The voice +ought not to be perpetually nor much elevated in the ethic +and didactic, nor to roll sonorously, as if it issued from a mask +in the theatre. The horses in the plain under Troy are not +always kicking and neighing; nor is the dust always raised in +whirlwinds on the banks of Simois and Scamander; nor are the +rampires always in a blaze. Hector has lowered his helmet to +the infant of Andromache, and Achilles to the embraces of +Briseis. I do not blame the prose-writer who opens his bosom +occasionally to a breath of poetry; neither, on the contrary, can +I praise the gait of that pedestrian who lifts up his legs as high +on a bare heath as in a cornfield. Be authority as old and +obstinate as it may, never let it persuade you that a man is +the stronger for being unable to keep himself on the ground, +or the weaker for breathing quietly and softly on ordinary +occasions. Tell me, over and over, that you find every great +quality in Plato: let me only once ask you in return, whether he +ever is ardent and energetic, whether he wins the affections, +whether he agitates the heart. Finding him deficient in every +one of these faculties, I think his disciples have extolled him too +highly. Where power is absent, we may find the robes of genius, +but we miss the throne. He would acquit a slave who killed +another in self-defence, but if he killed any free man, even in +self-defence; he was not only to be punished with death, but to +undergo the cruel death of a parricide. This effeminate philosopher +was more severe than the manly Demosthenes, who +quotes a law against the striking of a slave: and Diogenes, +when one ran away from him, remarked that it would be horrible +if Diogenes could not do without a slave, when a slave could do +without Diogenes.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Surely the allegories of Plato are evidences of +his genius.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> A great poet in the hours of his idleness may indulge +in allegory: but the highest poetical character will never rest on +so unsubstantial a foundation. The poet must take man from +God’s hands, must look into every fibre of his heart and brain, +must be able to take the magnificent work to pieces, and to +reconstruct it. When this labour is completed, let him throw +himself composedly on the earth, and care little how many of its +ephemeral insects creep over him. In regard to these allegories +of Plato, about which I have heard so much, pray what and +where are they? You hesitate, my fair cousin Timotheus! +Employ one morning in transcribing them, and another in noting +all the passages which are of practical utility in the commerce +of social life, or purify our affections at home, or excite and +elevate our enthusiasm in the prosperity and glory of our +country. Useful books, moral books, instructive books are +easily composed: and surely so great a writer should present +them to us without blot or blemish: I find among his many +volumes no copy of a similar composition. My enthusiasm is +not easily raised indeed; yet such a whirlwind of a poet must +carry it away with him; nevertheless, here I stand, calm and +collected, not a hair of my beard in commotion. Declamation +will find its echo in vacant places: it beats ineffectually on the +well-furnished mind. Give me proof; bring the work; show the +passages; convince, confound, overwhelm me.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I may do that another time with Plato. And yet, +what effect can I hope to produce on an unhappy man who +doubts even that the world is on the point of extinction?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Are there many of your association who believe that +this catastrophe is so near at hand?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> We all believe it; or rather, we all are certain of it.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> How so? Have you observed any fracture in the +disk of the sun? Are any of the stars loosened in their orbits? +Has the beautiful light of Venus ceased to pant in the heavens, +or has the belt of Orion lost its gems?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Oh, for shame!</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Rather should I be ashamed of indifference on so +important an occasion.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> We know the fact by surer signs.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> These, if you could vouch for them, would be sure +enough for me. The least of them would make me sweat as +profusely as if I stood up to the neck in the hot preparation of +a mummy. Surely no wise or benevolent philosopher could +ever have uttered what he knew or believed might be distorted +into any such interpretation. For if men are persuaded that +they and their works are so soon about to perish, what +provident care are they likely to take in the education and +welfare of their families? What sciences will they improve, +what learning will they cultivate, what monuments of past +ages will they be studious to preserve, who are certain that there +can be no future ones? Poetry will be censured as rank profaneness, +eloquence will be converted into howls and execrations, +statuary will exhibit only Midases and Ixions, and all the +colours of painting will be mixed together to produce one grand +conflagration: <i>flammantia moenia mundi</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Do not quote an atheist; especially in Latin. +I hate the language; the Romans are beginning to differ from +us already.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Ah! you will soon split into smaller fractions. But +pardon me my unusual fault of quoting. Before I let fall a +quotation I must be taken by surprise. I seldom do it in conversation, +seldomer in composition; for it mars the beauty and +unity of style, especially when it invades it from a foreign +tongue. A quoter is either ostentatious of his acquirements or +doubtful of his cause. And moreover, he never walks gracefully +who leans upon the shoulder of another, however gracefully +that other may walk. Herodotus, Plato, Aristoteles, Demosthenes, +are no quoters. Thucydides, twice or thrice, inserts a +few sentences of Pericles: but Thucydides is an emanation of +Pericles, somewhat less clear indeed, being lower, although at +no great distance from that purest and most pellucid source. +The best of the Romans, I agree with you, are remote from such +originals, if not in power of mind, or in acuteness of remark, or +in sobriety of judgment, yet in the graces of composition. +While I admired, with a species of awe such as not Homer +himself ever impressed me with, the majesty and sanctimony of +Livy, I have been informed by learned Romans that in the +structure of his sentences he is often inharmonious, and +sometimes uncouth. I can imagine such uncouthness in the +goddess of battles, confident of power and victory, when part of +her hair is waving round the helmet, loosened by the rapidity of +her descent or the vibration of her spear. Composition may be +too adorned even for beauty. In painting it is often requisite to +cover a bright colour with one less bright; and, in language, to +relieve the ear from the tension of high notes, even at the +cost of a discord. There are urns of which the borders are +too prominent and too decorated for use, and which appear to +be brought out chiefly for state, at grand carousals. The +author who imitates the artificers of these, shall never have my +custom.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I think you judge rightly: but I do not understand +languages: I only understand religion.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> He must be a most accomplished, a most extraordinary +man, who comprehends them both together. We do +not even talk clearly when we are walking in the dark.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Thou art not merely walking in the dark, but fast +asleep.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> And thou, my cousin, wouldst kindly awaken me with +a red-hot poker. I have but a few paces to go along the corridor +of life: prithee let me turn into my bed again and lie quiet. +Never was any man less an enemy to religion than I am, whatever +may be said to the contrary: and you shall judge of me by +the soundness of my advice. If your leaders are in earnest, as +many think, do persuade them to abstain from quarrelsomeness +and contention, and not to declare it necessary that there should +perpetually be a religious as well as a political war between +east and west. No honest and considerate man will believe in +their doctrines, who, inculcating peace and good-will, continue +all the time to assail their fellow-citizens with the utmost +rancour at every divergency of opinion, and, forbidding the +indulgence of the kindlier affections, exercise at full stretch the +fiercer. This is certain: if they obey any commander, they will +never sound a charge when his order is to sound a retreat: if +they acknowledge any magistrate, they will never tear down the +tablet of his edicts.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> We have what is all-sufficient.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I see you have.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> You have ridiculed all religion and all philosophy.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I have found but little of either. I have cracked +many a nut, and have come only to dust or maggots.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> To say nothing of the saints, are all philosophers +fools or impostors? And, because you cannot rise to the +ethereal heights of Plato, nor comprehend the real magnitude +of a man so much above you, must he be a dwarf?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> The best sight is not that which sees best in the dark +or the twilight; for no objects are then visible in their true +colours, and just proportions; but it is that which presents to +us things as they are, and indicates what is within our reach +and what is beyond it. Never were any three writers, of high +celebrity, so little understood in the main character, as Plato, +Diogenes, and Epicurus. Plato is a perfect master of logic and +rhetoric; and whenever he errs in either, as I have proved to you +he does occasionally, he errs through perverseness, not through +unwariness. His language often settles into clear and most +beautiful prose, often takes an imperfect and incoherent shape +of poetry, and often, cloud against cloud, bursts with a vehement +detonation in the air. Diogenes was hated both by the vulgar +and the philosophers. By the philosophers, because he exposed +their ignorance, ridiculed their jealousies, and rebuked their +pride: by the vulgar, because they never can endure a man +apparently of their own class who avoids their society and partakes +in none of their humours, prejudices, and animosities. +What right has he to be greater or better than they are? he who +wears older clothes, who eats staler fish, and possesses no vote +to imprison or banish anybody. I am now ashamed that I +mingled in the rabble, and that I could not resist the childish +mischief of smoking him in his tub. He was the wisest man of +his time, not excepting Aristoteles; for he knew that he was +greater than Philip or Alexander. Aristoteles did not know +that he himself was, or knowing it, did not act up to his knowledge; +and here is a deficiency of wisdom.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Whether you did or did not strike the cask, +Diogenes would have closed his eyes equally. He would never +have come forth and seen the truth, had it shone upon the world +in that day. But, intractable as was this recluse, Epicurus, +I fear, is quite as lamentable. What horrible doctrines!</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Enjoy, said he, the pleasant walks where you are: +repose and eat gratefully the fruit that falls into your bosom: +do not weary your feet with an excursion, at the end whereof +you will find no resting-place: reject not the odour of roses for +the fumes of pitch and sulphur. What horrible doctrines!</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Speak seriously. He was much too bad for +ridicule.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I will then speak as you desire me, seriously. His +smile was so unaffected and so graceful, that I should have +thought it very injudicious to set my laugh against it. No +philosopher ever lived with such uniform purity, such abstinence +from censoriousness, from controversy, from jealousy, and +from arrogance.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Ah, poor mortal! I pity him, as far as may be; +he is in hell: it would be wicked to wish him out: we are not to +murmur against the all-wise dispensations.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I am sure he would not; and it is therefore I hope he +is more comfortable than you believe.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Never have I defiled my fingers, and never will +I defile them, by turning over his writings. But in regard to +Plato, I can have no objection to take your advice.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> He will reward your assiduity: but he will assist you +very little if you consult him principally (and eloquence for this +should principally be consulted) to strengthen your humanity. +Grandiloquent and sonorous, his lungs seem to play the better +for the absence of the heart. His imagination is the most +conspicuous, buoyed up by swelling billows over unsounded +depths. There are his mild thunders, there are his glowing +clouds, his traversing coruscations, and his shooting stars. +More of true wisdom, more of trustworthy manliness, more of +promptitude and power to keep you steady and straightforward +on the perilous road of life, may be found in the little manual +of Epictetus, which I could write in the palm of my left +hand, than there is in all the rolling and redundant volumes +of this mighty rhetorician, which you may begin to transcribe +on the summit of the Great Pyramid, carry down over the +Sphinx at the bottom, and continue on the sands half-way to +Memphis. And indeed the materials are appropriate; one part +being far above our sight, and the other on what, by the most +befitting epithet, Homer calls the <i>no-corn-bearing</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> There are many who will stand against you on +this ground.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> With what perfect ease and fluency do some of the +dullest men in existence toss over and discuss the most elaborate +of all works! How many myriads of such creatures would be +insufficient to furnish intellect enough for any single paragraph +in them! Yet ‘<i>we think this</i>’, ‘<i>we advise that</i>’, are expressions +now become so customary, that it would be difficult to turn +them into ridicule. We must pull the creatures out while they +are in the very act, and show who and what they are. One of +these fellows said to Caius Fuscus in my hearing, that there was +a time when it was permitted him to doubt occasionally on +particular points of criticism, but that the time was now over.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> And what did you think of such arrogance? +What did you reply to such impertinence?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Let me answer one question at a time. First: I +thought him a legitimate fool, of the purest breed. Secondly: +I promised him I would always be contented with the judgment +he had rejected, leaving him and his friends in the enjoyment +of the rest.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> And what said he?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I forget. He seemed pleased at my acknowledgment +of his discrimination, at my deference and delicacy. He +wished, however, I had studied Plato, Xenophon, and Cicero, +more attentively; without which preparatory discipline, no two +persons could be introduced advantageously into a dialogue. +I agreed with him on this position, remarking that we ourselves +were at that very time giving our sentence on the fact. He +suggested a slight mistake on my side, and expressed a wish +that he were conversing with a writer able to sustain the opposite +part. With his experience and skill in rhetoric, his long habitude +of composition, his knowledge of life, of morals, and of +character, he should be less verbose than Cicero, less gorgeous +than Plato, and less trimly attired than Xenophon.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> If he spoke in that manner, he might indeed be +ridiculed for conceitedness and presumption, but his language +is not altogether a fool’s.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I deliver his sentiments, not his words: for who +would read, or who would listen to me, if such fell from me +as from him? Poetry has its probabilities, so has prose: when +people cry out against the representation of a dullard, <i>Could he +have spoken all that?</i> ‘Certainly no,’ is the reply: neither did +Priam implore, in harmonious verse, the pity of Achilles. We +say only what might be said, when great postulates are conceded.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> We will pretermit these absurd and silly men: +but, Cousin Lucian! Cousin Lucian! the name of Plato will be +durable as that of Sesostris.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> So will the pebbles and bricks which gangs of slaves +erected into a pyramid. I do not hold Sesostris in much higher +estimation than those quieter lumps of matter. They, O Timotheus, +who survive the wreck of ages, are by no means, as a body, +the worthiest of our admiration. It is in these wrecks, as in those +at sea, the best things are not always saved. Hen-coops and +empty barrels bob upon the surface, under a serene and smiling +sky, when the graven or depicted images of the gods are scattered +on invisible rocks, and when those who most resemble them in +knowledge and beneficence are devoured by cold monsters below.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> You now talk reasonably, seriously, almost +religiously. Do you ever pray?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I do. It was no longer than five years ago that I was +deprived by death of my dog Melanops. He had uniformly led +an innocent life; for I never would let him walk out with me, +lest he should bring home in his mouth the remnant of some god +or other, and at last get bitten or stung by one. I reminded +Anubis of this: and moreover I told him, what he ought to be +aware of, that Melanops did honour to his relationship.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I cannot ever call it piety to pray for dumb and +dead beasts.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Timotheus! Timotheus! have you no heart? have +you no dog? do you always pray only for yourself?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> We do not believe that dogs can live again.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> More shame for you! If they enjoy and suffer, +if they hope and fear, if calamities and wrongs befall them, such +as agitate their hearts and excite their apprehensions; if they +possess the option of being grateful or malicious, and choose +the worthier; if they exercise the same sound judgment on many +other occasions, some for their own benefit and some for the +benefit of their masters, they have as good a chance of a future +life, and a better chance of a happy one, than half the priests +of all the religions in the world. Wherever there is the choice +of doing well or ill, and that choice (often against a first impulse) +decides for well, there must not only be a soul of the same nature +as man’s, although of less compass and comprehension, but, +being of the same nature, the same immortality must appertain +to it; for spirit, like body, may change, but cannot be annihilated.</p> + +<p>It was among the prejudices of former times that pigs are +uncleanly animals, and fond of wallowing in the mire for mire’s +sake. Philosophy has now discovered that when they roll in +mud and ordure, it is only from an excessive love of cleanliness, +and a vehement desire to rid themselves of scabs and vermin. +Unfortunately, doubts keep pace with discoveries. They are +like warts, of which the blood that springs from a great one +extirpated, makes twenty little ones.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> The Hydra would be a more noble simile.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I was indeed about to illustrate my position by the +old Hydra, so ready at hand and so tractable; but I will never +take hold of a hydra, when a wart will serve my turn.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Continue then.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Even children are now taught, in despite of Aesop, +that animals never spoke. The uttermost that can be advanced +with any show of confidence is, that if they spoke at all, they +spoke in unknown tongues. Supposing the fact, is this a reason +why they should not be respected? Quite the contrary. If +the tongues were unknown, it tends to demonstrate <i>our</i> ignorance, +not <i>theirs</i>. If we could not understand them, while they +possessed the gift, here is no proof that they did not speak to +the purpose, but only that it was not to <i>our</i> purpose; which may +likewise be said with equal certainty of the wisest men that ever +existed. How little have we learned from them, for the conduct +of life or the avoidance of calamity! Unknown tongues, indeed! +yes, so are all tongues to the vulgar and the negligent.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> It comforts me to hear you talk in this manner, +without a glance at our gifts and privileges.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I am less incredulous than you suppose, my cousin! +Indeed I have been giving you what ought to be a sufficient +proof of it.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> You have spoken with becoming gravity, I must +confess.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Let me then submit to your judgment some fragments +of history which have lately fallen into my hands. There is +among them a <i>hymn</i>, of which the metre is so incondite, and the +phraseology so ancient, that the grammarians have attributed +it to Linus. But the hymn will interest you less, and is less to +our purpose, than the tradition; by which it appears that certain +priests of high antiquity were of the brute creation.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> No better, any of them.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Now you have polished the palms of your hands, +I will commence my narrative from the manuscript.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Pray do.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> There existed in the city of Nephosis a fraternity of +priests, reverenced by the appellation of <i>Gasteres</i>. It is reported +that they were not always of their present form, but were +birds aquatic and migratory, a species of cormorant. The poet +Linus, who lived nearer the transformation (if there indeed +was any), sings thus, in his Hymn to Zeus:</p> + +<p>‘Thy power is manifest, O Zeus! in the Gasteres. Wild birds +were they, strong of talon, clanging of wing, and clamorous of +gullet. Wild birds, O Zeus! wild birds; now cropping the tender +grass by the river of Adonis, and breaking the nascent reed at +the root, and depasturing the sweet nymphaea; now again +picking up serpents and other creeping things on each hand of +old Aegyptos, whose head is hidden in the clouds.</p> + +<p>‘Oh that Mnemosyne would command the staidest of her +three daughters to stand and sing before me! to sing clearly and +strongly. How before thy throne, Saturnian! sharp voices +arose, even the voices of Heré and of thy children. How they +cried out that innumerable mortal men, various-tongued, kid-roasters +in tent and tabernacle, devising in their many-turning +hearts and thoughtful minds how to fabricate well-rounded spits +of beech-tree, how such men having been changed into brute +animals, it behoved thee to trim the balance, and in thy wisdom +to change sundry brute animals into men; in order that they +might pour out flame-coloured wine unto thee, and sprinkle the +white flower of the sea upon the thighs of many bulls, to pleasure +thee. Then didst thou, O storm-driver! overshadow far lands +with thy dark eyebrows, looking down on them, to accomplish +thy will. And then didst thou behold the Gasteres, fat, tall, +prominent-crested, purple-legged, daedal-plumed, white and +black, changeable in colour as Iris. And lo! thou didst will it, +and they were men.’</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> No doubt whatever can be entertained of this +hymn’s antiquity. But what farther says the historian?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I will read on, to gratify you.</p> + +<p>‘It is recorded that this ancient order of a most lordly priesthood +went through many changes of customs and ceremonies, +which indeed they were always ready to accommodate to the +maintenance of their authority and the enjoyment of their +riches. It is recorded that, in the beginning, they kept various +tame animals, and some wild ones, within the precincts of the +temple: nevertheless, after a time, they applied to their own +uses everything they could lay their hands on, whatever might +have been the vow of those who came forward with the offering. +And when it was expected of them to make sacrifices, they not +only would make none, but declared it an act of impiety to +expect it. Some of the people, who feared the Immortals, were +dismayed and indignant at this backwardness; and the discontent +at last grew universal. Whereupon, the two chief +priests held a long conference together, and agreed that something +must be done to pacify the multitude. But it was not +until the greater of them, acknowledging his despondency, called +on the gods to answer for him that his grief was only because +he never could abide bad precedents: and the other, on his side, +protested that he was overruled by his superior, and moreover +had a serious objection (founded on principle) to be knocked on +the head. Meanwhile the elder was looking down on the folds +of his robe, in deep melancholy. After long consideration, he +sprang upon his feet, pushing his chair behind him, and said, +“Well, it is grown old, and was always too long for me: I am +resolved to cut off a finger’s breadth.”</p> + +<p>‘“Having, in your wisdom and piety, well contemplated the +bad precedent,” said the other, with much consternation in his +countenance at seeing so elastic a spring in a heel by no means +bearing any resemblance to a stag’s.... “I have, I have,” +replied the other, interrupting him; “say no more; I am sick at +heart; you must do the same.”</p> + +<p>‘“A cursed dog has torn a hole in mine,” answered the other, +“and, if I cut anywhere about it, I only make bad worse. In +regard to its length, I wish it were as long again.” “Brother! +brother! never be worldly-minded,” said the senior. “Follow +my example: snip off it not a finger’s breadth, half a finger’s +breadth.”</p> + +<p>‘“But,” expostulated the other, “will that satisfy the gods?” +“Who talked about them?” placidly said the senior. “It is +very unbecoming to have them always in our mouths: surely +there are appointed times for them. Let us be contented with +laying the snippings on the altar, and thus showing the people +our piety and condescension. They, and the gods also, will be +just as well satisfied, as if we offered up a buttock of beef, with +a bushel of salt and the same quantity of wheaten flour on it.”</p> + +<p>‘“Well, if that will do ... and you know best,” replied the +other, “so be it.” Saying which words, he carefully and considerately +snipped off as much in proportion (for he was shorter +by an inch) as the elder had done, yet leaving on his shoulders +quite enough of materials to make handsome cloaks for seven +or eight stout-built generals. Away they both went, arm-in-arm, +and then holding up their skirts a great deal higher than +was necessary, told the gods what they two had been doing for +them and their glory. About the court of the temple the sacred +swine were lying in indolent composure: seeing which, the +brotherly twain began to commune with themselves afresh: +and the senior said repentantly, “What fools we have been! +The populace will laugh outright at the curtailment of our +vestures, but would gladly have seen these animals eat daily a +quarter less of the lentils.” The words were spoken so earnestly +and emphatically that they were overheard by the quadrupeds. +Suddenly there was a rising of all the principal ones in the sacred +enclosure: and many that were in the streets took up, each +according to his temperament and condition, the gravest or +shrillest tone of reprobation. The thinner and therefore the +more desperate of the creatures, pushing their snouts under the +curtailed habiliments of the high priests, assailed them with +ridicule and reproach. For it had pleased the gods to work a +miracle in their behoof, and they became as loquacious as those +who governed them, and who were appointed to speak in the +high places. “Let the worst come to the worst, we at least +have our tails to our hams,” said they. “For how long?” +whined others, piteously: others incessantly ejaculated tremendous +imprecations: others, more serious and sedate, groaned +inwardly; and, although under their hearts there lay a huge +mass of indigestible sourness ready to rise up against the chief +priests, they ventured no farther than expostulation. “We +shall lose our voices,” said they, “if we lose our complement of +lentils; and then, most reverend lords, what will ye do for +choristers?” Finally, one of grand dimensions, who seemed +almost half-human, imposed silence on every debater. He lay +stretched out apart from his brethren, covering with his side the +greater portion of a noble dunghill, and all its verdure native +and imported. He crushed a few measures of peascods to cool +his tusks; then turned his pleasurable longitudinal eyes far +toward the outer extremities of their sockets, and leered fixedly +and sarcastically at the high priests, showing every tooth in +each jaw. Other men might have feared them; the high priests +envied them, seeing what order they were in, and what exploits +they were capable of. A great painter, who flourished many +olympiads ago, has, in his volume entitled the <i>Canon</i>, defined +the line of beauty. It was here in its perfection: it followed +with winning obsequiousness every member, but delighted more +especially to swim along that placid and pliant curvature on +which Nature had ranged the implements of mastication. +Pawing with his cloven hoof, he suddenly changed his countenance +from the contemplative to the wrathful. At one effort +he rose up to his whole length, breadth, and height: and they +who had never seen him in earnest, nor separate from the +common swine of the enclosure, with which he was in the habit +of husking what was thrown to him, could form no idea what a +prodigious beast he was. Terrible were the expressions of +choler and comminations which burst forth from his fulminating +tusks. Erimanthus would have hidden his puny offspring +before them; and Hercules would have paused at the encounter. +Thrice he called aloud to the high priests: thrice he swore in +their own sacred language that they were a couple of thieves +and impostors: thrice he imprecated the worst maledictions +on his own head if they had not violated the holiest of their +vows, and were not ready even to sell their gods. A tremor +ran throughout the whole body of the united swine; so awful +was the adjuration! Even the Gasteres themselves in some sort +shuddered, not perhaps altogether at the solemn tone of its +impiety; for they had much experience in these matters. But +among them was a Gaster who was calmer than the swearer, +and more prudent and conciliating than those he swore against. +Hearing this objurgation, he went blandly up to the sacred +porker, and, lifting the flap of his right ear between forefinger +and thumb with all delicacy and gentleness, thus whispered +into it: “You do not in your heart believe that any of us are +such fools as to sell our gods, at least while we have such a +reserve to fall back upon.”</p> + +<p>‘“Are we to be devoured?” cried the noble porker, twitching +his ear indignantly from under the hand of the monitor. “Hush!” +said he, laying it again, most soothingly, rather farther from +the tusks: “hush! sweet friend! Devoured? Oh, certainly +not: that is to say, not <i>all</i>: or, if all, not all at once. Indeed +the holy men my brethren may perhaps be contented with +taking a little blood from each of you, entirely for the advantage +of your health and activity, and merely to compose a few +slender black-puddings for the inferior monsters of the temple, +who latterly are grown very exacting, and either are, or pretend +to be, hungry after they have eaten a whole handful of acorns, +swallowing I am ashamed to say what a quantity of water to +wash them down. We do not grudge them it, as they well +know: but they appear to have forgotten how recently no +inconsiderable portion of this bounty has been conferred. If +we, as they object to us, eat more, they ought to be aware that +it is by no means for our gratification, since we have abjured +it before the gods, but to maintain the dignity of the priesthood, +and to exhibit the beauty and utility of subordination.”</p> + +<p>‘The noble porker had beaten time with his muscular tail +at many of these periods; but again his heart panted visibly, +and he could bear no more.</p> + +<p>‘“All this for our good! for our activity! for our health! +Let us alone: we have health enough; we want no activity. +Let us alone, I say again, or by the Immortals!...” “Peace, +my son! Your breath is valuable: evidently you have but little +to spare: and what mortal knows how soon the gods may +demand the last of it?”</p> + +<p>‘At the beginning of this exhortation, the worthy high priest +had somewhat repressed the ebullient choler of his refractory +and pertinacious disciple, by applying his flat soft palm to the +signet-formed extremity of the snout.</p> + +<p>‘“We are ready to hear complaints at all times,” added he, +“and to redress any grievance at our own. But beyond a doubt, +if you continue to raise your abominable outcries, some of the +people are likely to hit upon two discoveries: first that your +lentils would be sufficient to make daily for every poor family +a good wholesome porridge; and secondly, that your flesh, +properly cured, might hang up nicely against the forthcoming +bean-season.” Pondering these mighty words, the noble porker +kept his eyes fixed upon him for some instants, then leaned +forward dejectedly, then tucked one foot under him, then +another, cautious to descend with dignity. At last he grunted +(it must for ever be ambiguous whether with despondency or +with resignation), pushed his wedgy snout far within the straw +subjacent, and sank into that repose which is granted to the +just.’</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Cousin! there are glimmerings of truth and wisdom +in sundry parts of this discourse, not unlike little broken shells +entangled in dark masses of seaweed. But I would rather you +had continued to adduce fresh arguments to demonstrate the +beneficence of the Deity, proving (if you could) that our horses +and dogs, faithful servants and companions to us, and often +treated cruelly, may recognize us hereafter, and we them. We +have no authority for any such belief.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> We have authority for thinking and doing whatever +is humane. Speaking of humanity, it now occurs to me, I have +heard a report that some well-intentioned men of your religion +so interpret the words or wishes of its Founder, they would +abolish slavery throughout the empire.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Such deductions have been drawn indeed from +our Master’s doctrine: but the saner part of us receive it metaphorically, +and would only set men free from the bonds of sin. +For if domestic slaves were manumitted, we should neither have +a dinner dressed nor a bed made, unless by our own children: +and as to labour in the fields, who would cultivate them in this +hot climate? We must import slaves from Ethiopia and elsewhere, +wheresoever they can be procured: but the hardship +lies not on them; it lies on us, and bears heavily; for we must +first buy them with our money, and then feed them; and not +only must we maintain them while they are hale and hearty +and can serve us, but likewise in sickness and (unless we can +sell them for a trifle) in decrepitude. Do not imagine, my +cousin, that we are no better than enthusiasts, visionaries, +subverters of order, and ready to roll society down into one +flat surface.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I thought you were maligned: I said so.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> When the subject was discussed in our congregation, +the meaner part of the people were much in favour of the +abolition: but the chief priests and ministers absented themselves, +and gave no vote at all, deeming it secular, and saying +that in such matters the laws and customs of the country ought +to be observed.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Several of these chief priests and ministers are robed +in purple and fine linen, and fare sumptuously every day.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I have hopes of you now.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Why so suddenly?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Because you have repeated those blessed words, +which are only to be found in our Scriptures.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> There indeed I found them. But I also found in +the same volume words of the same speaker, declaring that the +rich shall never see His face in heaven.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> He does not always mean what you think He does.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> How is this? Did He then direct His discourses to +none but men more intelligent than I am?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Unless He gave you understanding for the occasion, +they might mislead you.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Indeed!</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Unquestionably. For instance, He tells us to +take no heed of to-morrow: He tells us to share equally all our +worldly goods: but we know that we cannot be respected unless +we bestow due care on our possessions, and that not only the +vulgar but the well-educated esteem us in proportion to the +gifts of fortune.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> The eclectic philosophy is most flourishing among +you Christians. You take whatever suits your appetites, and +reject the rest.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> We are not half so rich as the priests of Isis. +Give us their possessions; and we will not sit idle as they do, +but be able and ready to do incalculable good to our fellow-creatures.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I have never seen great possessions excite to great +alacrity. Usually they enfeeble the sympathies, and often +overlie and smother them.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Our religion is founded less on sympathies than +on miracles. Cousin! you smile most when you ought to be +most serious.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I was smiling at the thought of one whom I would +recommend to your especial notice, as soon as you disinherit +the priests of Isis. He may perhaps be refractory; for he +pretends (the knave!) to work miracles.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Impostor! who is he?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Aulus of Pelusium. Idle and dissolute, he never +gained anything honestly but a scourging, if indeed he ever +made, what he long merited, this acquisition. Unable to run +into debt where he was known, he came over to Alexandria.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I know him: I know him well. Here, of his own +accord, he has betaken himself to a new and regular life.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> He will presently wear it out, or make it sit easier +on his shoulders. My metaphor brings me to my story. Having +nothing to carry with him beside an empty valise, he resolved +on filling it with something, however worthless, lest, seeing his +utter destitution, and hopeless of payment, a receiver of lodgers +should refuse to admit him into the hostelry. Accordingly, +he went to a tailor’s, and began to joke about his poverty. +Nothing is more apt to bring people into good humour; for, if +they are poor themselves, they enjoy the pleasure of discovering +that others are no better off; and, if not poor, there is the +consciousness of superiority.</p> + +<p>‘The favour I am about to ask of a man so wealthy and so +liberal as you are,’ said Aulus, ‘is extremely small: you can +materially serve me, without the slightest loss, hazard, or +inconvenience. In few words, my valise is empty: and to some +ears an empty valise is louder and more discordant than a +bagpipe: I cannot say I like the sound of it myself. Give me +all the shreds and snippings you can spare me. They will feel +like clothes; not exactly so to me and my person, but to those +who are inquisitive, and who may be importunate.’</p> + +<p>The tailor laughed, and distended both arms of Aulus with his +munificence. Soon was the valise well filled and rammed down. +Plenty of boys were in readiness to carry it to the boat. Aulus +waved them off, looking at some angrily, at others suspiciously. +Boarding the skiff, he lowered his treasure with care and caution, +staggering a little at the weight, and shaking it gently on deck, +with his ear against it: and then, finding all safe and compact, +he sat on it; but as tenderly as a pullet on her first eggs. When +he was landed, his care was even greater, and whoever came +near him was warned off with loud vociferations. Anxiously +as the other passengers were invited by the innkeepers to give +their houses the preference, Aulus was importuned most: the +others were only beset; he was borne off in triumphant captivity. +He ordered a bedroom, and carried his valise with him; he +ordered a bath, and carried with him his valise. He started +up from the company at dinner, struck his forehead, and cried +out, ‘Where is my valise?’ ‘We are honest men here,’ replied +the host. ‘You have left it, sir, in your chamber: where else +indeed should you leave it?’</p> + +<p>‘Honesty is seated on your brow,’ exclaimed Aulus; ‘but +there are few to be trusted in the world we live in. I now +believe I can eat.’ And he gave a sure token of the belief that +was in him, not without a start now and then and a finger at +his ear, as if he heard somebody walking in the direction of his +bedchamber. Now began his first miracle: for now he contrived +to pick up, from time to time, a little money. In the +presence of his host and fellow-lodgers, he threw a few obols, +negligently and indifferently, among the beggars. ‘These poor +creatures,’ said he, ‘know a new-comer as well as the gnats do: +in one half-hour I am half ruined by them; and this daily.’</p> + +<p>Nearly a month had elapsed since his arrival, and no account +of board and lodging had been delivered or called for. Suspicion +at length arose in the host whether he really was rich. When +another man’s honesty is doubted, the doubter’s is sometimes +in jeopardy. The host was tempted to unsew the valise. To +his amazement and horror he found only shreds within it. However, +he was determined to be cautious, and to consult his wife, +who, although a Christian like Aulus, and much edified by his +discourses, might dissent from him in regard to a community +of goods, at least in her own household, and might defy him to +prove by any authority that the doctrine was meant for innkeepers. +Aulus, on his return in the evening, found out that his +valise had been opened. He hurried back, threw its contents +into the canal, and, borrowing an old cloak, he tucked it up +under his dress, and returned. Nobody had seen him enter +or come back again, nor was it immediately that his host or +hostess were willing to appear. But, after he had called them +loudly for some time, they entered his apartment: and he +thus addressed the woman:</p> + +<p>‘O Eucharis! no words are requisite to convince you (firm as +you are in the faith) of eternal verities, however mysterious. +But your unhappy husband has betrayed his incredulity in +regard to the most awful. If my prayers, offered up in our +holy temples all day long, have been heard, and that they have +been heard I feel within me the blessed certainty, something +miraculous has been vouchsafed for the conversion of this miserable +sinner. Until the present hour, the valise before you was +filled with precious relics from the apparel of saints and martyrs, +fresh as when on them.’ ‘True, by Jove!’ said the husband to +himself. ‘Within the present hour,’ continued Aulus, ‘they are +united into one raiment, signifying our own union, our own +restoration.’</p> + +<p>He drew forth the cloak, and fell on his face. Eucharis fell +also, and kissed the saintly head prostrate before her. The +host’s eyes were opened, and he bewailed his hardness of heart. +Aulus is now occupied in strengthening his faith, not without +an occasional support to the wife’s: all three live together +in unity.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> And do you make a joke even of this? Will +you never cease from the habitude?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Too soon. The farther we descend into the vale of +years, the fewer illusions accompany us: we have little inclination, +little time, for jocularity and laughter. Light things are +easily detached from us, and we shake off heavier as we can. +Instead of levity, we are liable to moroseness: for always near +the grave there are more briers than flowers, unless we plant +them ourselves, or our friends supply them.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Thinking thus, do you continue to dissemble +or to distort the truth? The shreds are become a cable for the +faithful. That they were miraculously turned into one entire +garment who shall gainsay? How many hath it already clothed +with righteousness? Happy men, casting their doubts away +before it! Who knows, O Cousin Lucian, but on some future +day you yourself will invoke the merciful interposition of Aulus!</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Possibly: for if ever I fall among thieves, nobody is +likelier to be at the head of them.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Uncharitable man! how suspicious! how ungenerous! +how hardened in unbelief! Reason is a bladder on +which you may paddle like a child as you swim in summer +waters: but, when the winds rise and the waves roughen, it +slips from under you, and you sink; yes, O Lucian, you sink +into a gulf whence you never can emerge.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I deem those the wisest who exert the soonest their +own manly strength, now with the stream and now against it, +enjoying the exercise in fine weather, venturing out in foul, if +need be, yet avoiding not only rocks and whirlpools, but also +shallows. In such a light, my cousin, I look on your dispensations. +I shut them out as we shut out winds blowing from the +desert; hot, debilitating, oppressive, laden with impalpable +sands and pungent salts, and inflicting an incurable blindness.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Well, Cousin Lucian! I can bear all you say while +you are not witty. Let me bid you farewell in this happy interval.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Is it not serious and sad, O my cousin, that what the +Deity hath willed to lie incomprehensible in His mysteries, we +should fall upon with tooth and nail, and ferociously growl over, +or ignorantly dissect?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Ho! now you come to be serious and sad, there are +hopes of you. Truth always begins or ends so.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Undoubtedly. But I think it more reverential to +abstain from that which, with whatever effort, I should never +understand.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> You are lukewarm, my cousin, you are lukewarm. +A most dangerous state.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> For milk to continue in, not for men. I would not +fain be frozen or scalded.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Alas! you are blind, my sweet cousin!</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Well; do not open my eyes with pincers, nor compose +for them a collyrium of spurge.</p> + +<p>May not men eat and drink and talk together, and perform +in relation one to another all the duties of social life, whose +opinions are different on things immediately under their eyes? +If they can and do, surely they may as easily on things equally +above the comprehension of each party. The wisest and most +virtuous man in the whole extent of the Roman Empire is +Plutarch of Cheronaea: yet Plutarch holds a firm belief in the +existence of I know not how many gods, every one of whom +has committed notorious misdemeanours. The nearest to the +Cheronaean in virtue and wisdom is Trajan, who holds all the +gods dog-cheap. These two men are friends. If either of them +were influenced by your religion, as inculcated and practised +by the priesthood, he would be the enemy of the other, and +wisdom and virtue would plead for the delinquent in vain. +When your religion had existed, as you tell us, about a century, +Caius Caecilius, of Novum Comum, was proconsul in Bithynia. +Trajan, the mildest and most equitable of mankind, desirous +to remove from them, as far as might be, the hatred and invectives +of those whose old religion was assailed by them, applied +to Caecilius for information on their behaviour as good citizens. +The reply of Caecilius was favourable. Had Trajan applied +to the most eminent and authoritative of the sect, they would +certainly have brought into jeopardy all who differed in one +tittle from any point of their doctrine or discipline. For the +thorny and bitter aloe of dissension required less than a century +to flower on the steps of your temple.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> You are already half a Christian, in exposing to +the world the vanities both of philosophy and of power.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I have done no such thing: I have exposed the +vanities of the philosophizing and the powerful. Philosophy +is admirable; and Power may be glorious: the one conduces to +truth, the other has nearly all the means of conferring peace and +happiness, but it usually, and indeed almost always, takes a +contrary direction. I have ridiculed the futility of speculative +minds, only when they would pave the clouds instead of the +streets. To see distant things better than near is a certain +proof of a defective sight. The people I have held in derision +never turn their eyes to what they can see, but direct them +continually where nothing is to be seen. And this, by their +disciples, is called the sublimity of speculation! There is little +merit acquired, or force exhibited, in blowing off a feather that +would settle on my nose: and this is all I have done in regard to +the philosophers: but I claim for myself the approbation of +humanity, in having shown the true dimensions of the great. +The highest of them are no higher than my tunic; but they +are high enough to trample on the necks of those wretches who +throw themselves on the ground before them.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Was Alexander of Macedon no higher?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> What region of the earth, what city, what theatre, +what library, what private study, hath he enlightened? If +you are silent, I may well be. It is neither my philosophy +nor your religion which casts the blood and bones of men in +their faces, and insists on the most reverence for those who have +made the most unhappy. If the Romans scourged by the hands +of children the schoolmaster who would have betrayed them, +how greatly more deserving of flagellation, from the same +quarter, are those hundreds of pedagogues who deliver up the +intellects of youth to such immoral revellers and mad murderers! +They would punish a thirsty child for purloining a bunch of +grapes from a vineyard, and the same men on the same day +would insist on his reverence for the subverter of Tyre, the +plunderer of Babylon, and the incendiary of Persepolis. And +are these men teachers? are these men philosophers? are these +men priests? Of all the curses that ever afflicted the earth, I +think Alexander was the worst. Never was he in so little mischief +as when he was murdering his friends.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Yet he built this very city; a noble and opulent +one when Rome was of hurdles and rushes.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> He built it! I wish, O Timotheus! he had been as +well employed as the stone-cutters or the plasterers. No, no: +the wisest of architects planned the most beautiful and commodious +of cities, by which, under a rational government and +equitable laws, Africa might have been civilized to the centre, +and the palm have extended her conquests through the remotest +desert. Instead of which, a dozen of Macedonian thieves +rifled a dying drunkard and murdered his children. In process +of time, another drunkard reeled hitherward from Rome, made +an easy mistake in mistaking a palace for a brothel, permitted +a stripling boy to beat him soundly, and a serpent to receive +the last caresses of his paramour.</p> + +<p>Shame upon historians and pedagogues for exciting the +worst passions of youth by the display of such false glories! +If your religion hath any truth or influence, her professors will +extinguish the promontory lights, which only allure to breakers. +They will be assiduous in teaching the young and ardent that +great abilities do not constitute great men, without the right +and unremitting application of them; and that, in the sight of +Humanity and Wisdom, it is better to erect one cottage than to +demolish a hundred cities. Down to the present day we have +been taught little else than falsehood. We have been told to +do this thing and that: we have been told we shall be punished +unless we do: but at the same time we are shown by the finger +that prosperity and glory, and the esteem of all about us, rest +upon other and very different foundations. Now, do the ears +or the eyes seduce the most easily and lead the most directly to +the heart? But both eyes and ears are won over, and alike are +persuaded to corrupt us.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Cousin Lucian, I was leaving you with the +strangest of all notions in my head. I began to think for a +moment that you doubted my sincerity in the religion I profess; +and that a man of your admirable good sense, and at your +advanced age, could reject that only sustenance which supports +us through the grave into eternal life.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I am the most docile and practicable of men, and +never reject what people set before me: for if it is bread, it is +good for my own use; if bone or bran, it will do for my dog or +mule. But, although you know my weakness and facility, it +is unfair to expect I should have admitted at once what the +followers and personal friends of your Master for a long time +hesitated to receive. I remember to have read in one of the +early commentators, that His disciples themselves could not +swallow the miracle of the loaves; and one who wrote more +recently says, that even His brethren did not believe in Him.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Yet, finally, when they have looked over each +other’s accounts, they cast them up, and make them all tally +in the main sum; and if one omits an article, the next supplies +its place with a commodity of the same value. What would +you have? But it is of little use to argue on religion with a +man who, professing his readiness to believe, and even his +credulity, yet disbelieves in miracles.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I should be obstinate and perverse if I disbelieved +in the existence of a thing for no better reason than because +I never saw it, and cannot understand its operations. Do you +believe, O Timotheus, that Perictione, the mother of Plato, +became his mother by the sole agency of Apollo’s divine spirit, +under the phantasm of that god?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> I indeed believe such absurdities?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> You touch me on a vital part if you call an absurdity +the religion or philosophy in which I was educated. Anaxalides, +and Clearagus, and Speusippus, his own nephew, assert it. +Who should know better than they?</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Where are their proofs?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I would not be so indelicate as to require them on +such an occasion. A short time ago I conversed with an old +centurion, who was in service by the side of Vespasian, when +Titus, and many officers and soldiers of the army, and many +captives, were present, and who saw one Eleazar put a ring +to the nostril of a demoniac (as the patient was called) and draw +the demon out of it.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> And do you pretend to believe this nonsense?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I only believe that Vespasian and Titus had nothing +to gain or accomplish by the miracle; and that Eleazar, if he +had been detected in a trick by two acute men and several +thousand enemies, had nothing to look forward to but a cross—the +only piece of upholstery for which Judea seems to have +either wood or workmen, and which are as common in that +country as direction-posts are in any other.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> The Jews are a stiff-necked people.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> On such occasions, no doubt.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Would you, O Lucian, be classed among the +atheists, like Epicurus?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> It lies not at my discretion what name shall be given +me at present or hereafter, any more than it did at my birth. +But I wonder at the ignorance and precipitancy of those who +call Epicurus an atheist. He saw on the same earth with +himself a great variety of inferior creatures, some possessing +more sensibility and more thoughtfulness than others. Analogy +would lead so contemplative a reasoner to the conclusion that +if many were inferior and in sight, others might be superior +and out of sight. He never disbelieved in the existence of the +gods; he only disbelieved that they troubled their heads with +our concerns. Have they none of their own? If they are happy, +does their happiness depend on us, comparatively so imbecile +and vile? He believed, as nearly all nations do, in different +ranks and orders of superhuman beings; and perhaps he thought +(but I never was in his confidence or counsels) that the higher +were rather in communication with the next to them in intellectual +faculties, than with the most remote. To me the suggestion +appears by no means irrational, that if we are managed +or cared for at all by beings wiser than ourselves (which in truth +would be no sign of any great wisdom in them), it can only +be by such as are very far from perfection, and who indulge us +in the commission of innumerable faults and follies, for their +own speculation or amusement.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> There is only one such; and he is the devil.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> If he delights in our wickedness, which you believe, +he must be incomparably the happiest of beings, which you do +not believe. No god of Epicurus rests his elbow on his armchair +with less energetic exertion or discomposure.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> We lead holier and purer lives than such ignorant +mortals as are not living under Grace.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I also live under Grace, O Timotheus! and I +venerate her for the pleasures I have received at her hands. +I do not believe she has quite deserted me. If my grey +hairs are unattractive to her, and if the trace of her fingers +is lost in the wrinkles of my forehead, still I sometimes am +told it is discernible even on the latest and coldest of my +writings.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> You are wilful in misapprehension. The Grace +of which I speak is adverse to pleasure and impurity.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Rightly do you separate impurity and pleasure, +which indeed soon fly asunder when the improvident would +unite them. But never believe that tenderness of heart signifies +corruption of morals, if you happen to find it (which indeed is +unlikely) in the direction you have taken; on the contrary, no +two qualities are oftener found together, on mind as on matter, +than hardness and lubricity.</p> + +<p>Believe me, Cousin Timotheus, when we come to eighty years +of age we are all Essenes. In our kingdom of heaven there is +no marrying or giving in marriage; and austerity in ourselves, +when Nature holds over us the sharp instrument with which +Jupiter operated on Saturn, makes us austere to others. But +how happens it that you, both old and young, break every +bond which connected you anciently with the Essenes? Not +only do you marry (a height of wisdom to which I never have +attained, although in others I commend it), but you never +share your substance with the poorest of your community, as +they did, nor live simply and frugally, nor purchase nor employ +slaves, nor refuse rank and offices in the State, nor abstain from +litigation, nor abominate and execrate the wounds and cruelties +of war. The Essenes did all this, and greatly more, if Josephus +and Philo, whose political and religious tenets are opposite to +theirs, are credible and trustworthy.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Doubtless you would also wish us to retire into +the desert, and eschew the conversation of mankind.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> No, indeed; but I would wish the greater part of +your people to eschew mine, for they bring all the worst of the +desert with them whenever they enter; its smothering heats, +its blinding sands, its sweeping suffocation. Return to the pure +spirit of the Essenes, without their asceticism; cease from controversy, +and drop party designations. If you will not do this, +do less, and be merely what you profess to be, which is quite +enough for an honest, a virtuous, and a religious man.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Cousin Lucian, I did not come hither to receive +a lecture from you.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I have often given a dinner to a friend who did not +come to dine with me.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Then, I trust, you gave him something better +for dinner than bay-salt and dandelions. If you will not assist +us in nettling our enemies a little for their absurdities and +impositions, let me entreat you, however, to let us alone, and to +make no remarks on us. I myself run into no extravagances, +like the Essenes, washing and fasting, and retiring into solitude. +I am not called to them; when I am, I go.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I am apprehensive the Lord may afflict you with +deafness in that ear.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Nevertheless, I am indifferent to the world, and +all things in it. This, I trust, you will acknowledge to be true +religion and true philosophy.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> That is not philosophy which betrays an indifference +to those for whose benefit philosophy was designed; and those +are the whole human race. But I hold it to be the most unphilosophical +thing in the world to call away men from useful +occupations and mutual help, to profitless speculations and +acrid controversies. Censurable enough, and contemptible, +too, is that supercilious philosopher, sneeringly sedate, who +narrates in full and flowing periods the persecutions and tortures +of a fellow-man, led astray by his credulity, and ready to die in +the assertion of what in his soul he believes to be the truth. +But hardly less censurable, hardly less contemptible, is the +tranquilly arrogant sectarian, who denies that wisdom or +honesty can exist beyond the limits of his own ill-lighted +chamber.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> What! is he sanguinary?</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Whenever he can be, he is; and he always has it in +his power to be even worse than that, for he refuses his custom +to the industrious and honest shopkeeper who has been taught +to think differently from himself in matters which he has had +no leisure to study, and by which, if he had enjoyed that leisure, +he would have been a less industrious and a less expert artificer.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> We cannot countenance those hard-hearted men +who refuse to hear the word of the Lord.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> The hard-hearted knowing this of the tender-hearted, +and receiving the declaration from their own lips, will +refuse to hear the word of the Lord all their lives.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Well, well; it cannot be helped. I see, cousin, +my hopes of obtaining a little of your assistance in your own +pleasant way are disappointed; but it is something to have +conceived a better hope of saving your soul, from your readiness +to acknowledge your belief in miracles.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Miracles have existed in all ages and in all religions. +Witnesses to some of them have been numerous; to others of +them fewer. Occasionally, the witnesses have been disinterested +in the result.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Now indeed you speak truly and wisely.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> But sometimes the most honest and the most +quiescent have either been unable or unwilling to push themselves +so forward as to see clearly and distinctly the whole +of the operation; and have listened to some knave who felt a +pleasure in deluding their credulity, or some other who himself +was either an enthusiast or a dupe. It also may have happened +in the ancient religions, of Egypt for instance, or of India, or +even of Greece, that narratives have been attributed to authors +who never heard of them; and have been circulated by honest +men who firmly believed them; by half-honest, who indulged +their vanity in becoming members of a novel and bustling +society; and by utterly dishonest, who, having no other means +of rising above the shoulders of the vulgar, threw dust into their +eyes and made them stoop.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Ha! the rogues! It is nearly all over with them.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> Let us hope so. Parthenius and the Roman poet +Ovidius Naso, have related the transformations of sundry men, +women, and gods.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> Idleness! Idleness! I never read such lying +authors.</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I myself have seen enough to incline me toward a +belief in them.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> You? Why! you have always been thought an +utter infidel; and now you are running, hot and heedless as any +mad dog, to the opposite extreme!</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> I have lived to see, not indeed one man, but certainly +one animal turned into another; nay, great numbers. I have +seen sheep with the most placid faces in the morning, one +nibbling the tender herb with all its dew upon it; another, +negligent of its own sustenance, and giving it copiously to the +tottering lamb aside it.</p> + +<p><i>Timotheus.</i> How pretty! half poetical!</p> + +<p><i>Lucian.</i> In the heat of the day I saw the very same sheep +tearing off each other’s fleeces with long teeth and longer claws, +and imitating so admirably the howl of wolves, that at last the +wolves came down on them in a body, and lent their best assistance +at the general devouring. What is more remarkable, +the people of the villages seemed to enjoy the sport; and, +instead of attacking the wolves, waited until they had filled +their stomachs, ate the little that was left, said piously and +from the bottom of their hearts what you call <i>grace</i>, and +went home singing and piping.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="BISHOP_SHIPLEY_AND_BENJAMIN_FRANKLIN" id="BISHOP_SHIPLEY_AND_BENJAMIN_FRANKLIN"></a>BISHOP SHIPLEY AND BENJAMIN FRANKLIN</h2> + + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> There are very few men, even in the bushes and the +wilderness, who delight in the commission of cruelty; but +nearly all, throughout the earth, are censurable for the admission. +When we see a blow struck, we go on and think no more +about it: yet every blow aimed at the most distant of our +fellow-creatures, is sure to come back, some time or other, to our +families and descendants. He who lights a fire in one quarter +is ignorant to what other the winds may carry it, and whether +what is kindled in the wood may not break out again in the +cornfield.</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> If we could restrain but one generation from deeds +of violence, the foundation for a new and a more graceful edifice +of society would not only have been laid, but would have been +consolidated.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> We already are horrified at the bare mention of +religious wars; we should then be horrified at the mention of +political. Why should they who, when they are affronted or +offended, abstain from inflicting blows, some from a sense of +decorousness and others from a sense of religion, be forward to +instigate the infliction of ten thousand, all irremediable, all +murderous? Every chief magistrate should be arbitrator and +umpire in all differences between any two, forbidding war. +Much would be added to the dignity of the most powerful king +by rendering him an efficient member of such a grand Amphictyonic +council. Unhappily they are persuaded in childhood +that a reign is made glorious by a successful war. What schoolmaster +ever taught a boy to question it? or indeed any point +of political morality, or any incredible thing in history? Caesar +and Alexander are uniformly clement: Themistocles died by a +draught of bull’s blood: Portia by swallowing red-hot pieces of +charcoal.</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> Certainly no woman or man could perform either +of these feats. In my opinion it lies beyond a doubt that +Portia suffocated herself by the fumes of charcoal; and that +the Athenian, whose stomach must have been formed on the +model of other stomachs, and must therefore have rejected a +much less quantity of blood than would have poisoned him, +died by some chemical preparation, of which a bull’s blood might, +or might not, have been part. Schoolmasters who thus betray +their trust, ought to be scourged by their scholars, like him of +their profession who underwent the just indignation of the +Roman Consul. You shut up those who are infected with the +plague; why do you lay no coercion on those who are incurably +possessed by the legion devil of carnage? When a creature is +of intellect so perverted that he can discern no difference between +a review and a battle, between the animating bugle and the +dying groan, it were expedient to remove him, as quietly as +may be, from his devastation of God’s earth and his usurpation +of God’s authority. Compassion points out the cell for him at +the bottom of the hospital, and listens to hear the key turned +in the ward: until then the house is insecure.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> God grant our rulers wisdom, and our brethren peace!</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> Here are but indifferent specimens and tokens. +Those fellows throw stones pretty well: if they practise much +longer, they will hit us: let me entreat you, my lord, to leave me +here. So long as the good people were contented with hooting +and shouting at us, no great harm was either done or apprehended: +but now they are beginning to throw stones, perhaps +they may prove themselves more dexterous in action than their +rulers have done latterly in council.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> Take care, Doctor Franklin! <i>That</i> was very near +being the philosopher’s stone.</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> Let me pick it up, then, and send it to London by +the diligence. But I am afraid your ministers, and the nation +at large, are as little in the way of wealth as of wisdom, in the +experiment they are making.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> While I was attending to you, William had started. +Look! he has reached them: they are listening to him. Believe +me, he has all the courage of an Englishman and of a Christian; +and, if the stoutest of them force him to throw off his new black +coat, the blusterer would soon think it better to have listened +to less polemical doctrine.</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> Meantime a few of the town boys are come nearer, +and begin to grow troublesome. I am sorry to requite your +hospitality with such hard fare.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> True, these young bakers make their bread very +gritty, but we must partake of it together so long as you are +with us.</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> Be pleased, my lord, to give us grace; our repast +is over; this is my boat.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> We will accompany you as far as to the ship. +Thank God! we are now upon the water, and all safe. Give +me your hand, my good Doctor Franklin! and although you +have failed in the object of your mission, yet the intention will +authorize me to say, in the holy words of our Divine Redeemer, +Blessed are the peacemakers!</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> My dear lord! if God ever blessed a man at the +intercession of another, I may reasonably and confidently hope +in such a benediction. Never did one arise from a warmer, a +tenderer, or a purer heart.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> Infatuation! that England should sacrifice to her +king so many thousands of her bravest men, and ruin so many +thousands of her most industrious, in a vain attempt to destroy +the very principles on which her strength and her glory are +founded! The weakest prince that ever sat upon a throne, and +the most needy and sordid Parliament that ever pandered to +distempered power, are thrusting our blindfold nation from the +pinnacle of prosperity.</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> I believe <i>your</i> king (from this moment it is permitted +me to call him <i>ours</i> no longer) to be as honest and as +wise a man as any of those about him: but unhappily he can see +no difference between a review and a battle. Such are the +optics of most kings and rulers. His Parliament, in both Houses, +acts upon calculation. There is hardly a family, in either, that +does not anticipate the clear profit of several thousands a year, +to itself and its connexions. Appointments to regiments and +frigates raise the price of papers; and forfeited estates fly +confusedly about, and darken the air from the Thames to the +Atlantic.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> It is lamentable to think that war, bringing with it +every species of human misery, should become a commercial +speculation. Bad enough when it arises from revenge; another +word for honour.</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> A strange one indeed! but not more strange than +fifty others that come under the same title. Wherever there +is nothing of religion, nothing of reason, nothing of truth, we +come at once to honour; and here we draw the sword, dispense +with what little of civilization we ever pretended to, and murder +or get murdered, as may happen. But these ceremonials +both begin and end with an appeal to God, who, before we +appealed to Him, plainly told us we should do no such thing, +and that He would punish us most severely if we did. And yet, +my lord, even the gentlemen upon your bench turn a deaf ear +to Him on these occasions: nay, they go further; they pray to +Him for success in that which He has forbidden so strictly, and +when they have broken His commandment, thank Him. Upon +seeing these mockeries and impieties age after age repeated, I +have asked myself whether the depositaries and expounders +of religion have really any whatever of their own; or rather, +like the lawyers, whether they do not defend professionally a +cause that otherwise does not interest them in the least. Surely, +if these holy men really believed in a just retributive God, +they would never dare to utter the word <i>war</i>, without horror +and deprecation.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> Let us attribute to infirmity what we must else +attribute to wickedness.</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> Willingly would I: but children are whipped +severely for inobservance of things less evident, for disobedience +of commands less audible and less awful. I am loath to attribute +cruelty to your order: men so entirely at their ease have seldom +any. Certain I am that several of the bishops would not have +patted Cain upon the back while he was about to kill Abel; +and my wonder is that the very same holy men encourage +their brothers in England to kill their brothers in America; +not one, not two nor three, but thousands, many thousands.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> I am grieved at the blindness with which God has +afflicted us for our sins. These unhappy men are little aware +what combustibles they are storing under the Church, and how +soon they may explode. Even the wisest do not reflect on the +most important and the most certain of things; which is, that +every act of inhumanity and injustice goes far beyond what is +apparent at the time of its commission; that these, and all other +things, have their consequences; and that the consequences are +infinite and eternal. If this one truth alone could be deeply +impressed upon the hearts of men, it would regenerate the whole +human race.</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> In regard to politics, I am not quite certain whether +a politician may not be too far-sighted: but I am quite certain +that, if it be a fault, it is one into which few have fallen. The +policy of the Romans in the time of the republic, seems to have +been prospective. Some of the Dutch also, and of the Venetians, +used the telescope. But in monarchies the prince, not the +people, is consulted by the minister of the day; and what +pleases the weakest supersedes what is approved by the wisest.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> We have had great statesmen: Burleigh, Cromwell, +Marlborough, Somers: and whatever may have been in the +eyes of a moralist the vices of Walpole, none ever understood +more perfectly, or pursued more steadily, the direct and palpable +interests of the country. Since his administration, our affairs +have never been managed by men of business; and it was more +than could have been expected that, in our war against the +French in Canada, the appointment fell on an able commander.</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> Such an anomaly is unlikely to recur. You have +in the English Parliament (I speak of both Houses) only two +great men; only two considerate and clear-sighted politicians; +Chatham and Burke. Three or four can say clever things; +several have sonorous voices; many vibrate sharp comminations +from the embrasures of portentously slit sleeves; and there +are those to be found who deliver their oracles out of wigs as +worshipful as the curls of Jupiter, however they may be +grumbled at by the flour-mills they have laid under such heavy +contribution; yet nearly all of all parties want alike the sagacity +to discover that in striking America you shake Europe; that +kings will come out of the war either to be victims or to be +despots; and that within a quarter of a century they will be +hunted down like vermin by the most servile nations, or slain +in their palaces by their own courtiers. In a peace of twenty +years you might have paid off the greater part of your National +Debt, indeed as much of it as it would be expedient to discharge, +and you would have left your old enemy France labouring and +writhing under the intolerable and increasing weight of hers. +This is the only way in which you can ever quite subdue her; +and in this you subdue her without a blow, without a menace, +and without a wrong. As matters now stand, you are calling +her from attending to the corruptions of her court, and inviting +her from bankruptcy to glory.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> I see not how bankruptcy can be averted by the +expenditure of war.</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> It cannot. But war and glory are the same thing +to France, and she sings as shrilly and as gaily after a beating +as before. With a subsidy to a less amount than she has lately +been accustomed to squander in six weeks, and with no more +troops than would garrison a single fortress, she will enable us +to set you at defiance, and to do you a heavier injury in two +campaigns than she has been able to do in two centuries, +although your king was in her pay against you. She will +instantly be our ally, and soon our scholar. Afterward she will +sell her crown jewels and her church jewels, which cover the +whole kingdom, and will derive unnatural strength from her +vices and her profligacy. You ought to have conciliated us +as your ally, and to have had no other, excepting Holland and +Denmark. England could never have, unless by her own folly, +more than one enemy. Only one is near enough to strike her; +and that one is down. All her wars for six hundred years have +not done this; and the first trumpet will untrance her. You +leave your house open to incendiaries while you are running +after a refractory child. Had you laid down the rod, the child +would have come back. And because he runs away from the +rod, you take up the poker. Seriously, what means do you +possess of enforcing your unjust claims and insolent authority? +Never since the Norman Conquest had you an army so utterly +inefficient, or generals so notoriously unskilful: no, not even in +the reign of that venal traitor, that French stipendiary, the +second Charles. Those were yet living who had fought bravely +for his father, and those also who had vanquished him: and +Victory still hovered over the mast that had borne the banners +of our Commonwealth: <i>ours</i>, <i>ours</i>, my lord! the word is the +right word here.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> I am depressed in spirit, and can sympathize but +little in your exultation. All the crimes of Nero and Caligula +are less afflicting to humanity, and consequently we may +suppose will bring down on the offenders a less severe retribution, +than an unnecessary and unjust war. And yet the authors +and abettors of this most grievous among our earthly calamities, +the enactors and applauders (on how vast a theatre!) of the first +and greatest crime committed upon earth, are quiet complacent +creatures, jovial at dinner, hearty at breakfast, and refreshed +with sleep! Nay, the prime movers in it are called most +religious and most gracious; and the hand that signs in cold +blood the death-warrant of nations, is kissed by the kind-hearted, +and confers distinction upon the brave! The prolongation of +a life that shortens so many others, is prayed for by the conscientious +and the pious! Learning is inquisitive in the research +of phrases to celebrate him who has conferred such blessings, +and the eagle of genius holds the thunderbolt by his throne! +Philosophy, O my friend, has hitherto done little for the social +state; and Religion has nearly all her work to do! She too hath +but recently washed her hands from blood, and stands neutrally +by, yes, worse than neutrally, while others shed it. I am convinced +that no day of my life will be so censured by my own +clergy, as this, the day on which the last hopes of peace have +abandoned us, and the only true minister of it is pelted from our +shores. Farewell, until better times! may the next generation +be wiser! and wiser it surely will be, for the lessons of Calamity +are far more impressive than those which repudiated Wisdom +would have taught.</p> + +<p><i>Franklin.</i> Folly hath often the same results as Wisdom: +but Wisdom would not engage in her schoolroom so expensive +an assistant as Calamity. There are, however, some noisy and +unruly children whom she alone has the method of rendering +tame and tractable: perhaps it may be by setting them to +their tasks both sore and supperless. The ship is getting under +weigh. Adieu once more, my most reverend and noble friend! +Before me in imagination do I see America, beautiful as Leda +in her infant smiles, when her father Jove first raised her from +the earth; and behind me I leave England, hollow, unsubstantial, +and broken, as the shell she burst from.</p> + +<p><i>Shipley.</i> O worst of miseries, when it is impiety to pray that +our country may be successful. Farewell! may every good +attend you! with as little of evil to endure or to inflict, as +national sins can expect from the Almighty.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="SOUTHEY_AND_LANDOR" id="SOUTHEY_AND_LANDOR"></a>SOUTHEY AND LANDOR</h2> + + +<p><i>Southey.</i> Of all the beautiful scenery round King’s Weston +the view from this terrace, and especially from this sundial, +is the pleasantest.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> The last time I ever walked hither in company +(which, unless with ladies, I rarely have done anywhere) was +with a just, a valiant, and a memorable man, Admiral Nichols, +who usually spent his summer months at the village of Shirehampton, +just below us. There, whether in the morning or +evening, it was seldom I found him otherwise engaged than in +cultivating his flowers.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> I never had the same dislike to company in my +walks and rambles as you profess to have, but of which I perceived +no sign whatever when I visited you, first at Llanthony +Abbey and afterward on the Lake of Como. Well do I remember +our long conversations in the silent and solitary church +of Sant’ Abondio (surely the coolest spot in Italy), and how +often I turned back my head toward the open door, fearing lest +some pious passer-by, or some more distant one in the wood +above, pursuing the pathway that leads to the tower of Luitprand, +should hear the roof echo with your laughter, at the stories +you had collected about the brotherhood and sisterhood of +the place.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> I have forgotten most of them, and nearly all: but +I have not forgotten how we speculated on the possibility that +Milton might once have been sitting on the very bench we then +occupied, although we do not hear of his having visited that +part of the country. Presently we discoursed on his poetry; +as we propose to do again this morning.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> In that case, it seems we must continue to be seated +on the turf.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> Why so?</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> Because you do not like to walk in company: it +might disturb and discompose you: and we never lose our +temper without losing at the same time many of our thoughts, +which are loath to come forward without it.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> From my earliest days I have avoided society as +much as I could decorously, for I received more pleasure in +the cultivation and improvement of my own thoughts than in +walking up and down among the thoughts of others. Yet, as +you know, I never have avoided the intercourse of men distinguished +by virtue and genius; of genius, because it warmed +and invigorated me by my trying to keep pace with it; of virtue, +that if I had any of my own it might be called forth by such +vicinity. Among all men elevated in station who have made a +noise in the world (admirable old expression!) I never saw any +in whose presence I felt inferiority, excepting Kosciusco. But +how many in the lower paths of life have exerted both virtues +and abilities which I never exerted, and never possessed! what +strength and courage and perseverance in some, in others what +endurance and forbearance! At the very moment when most, +beside yourself, catching up half my words, would call and +employ against me in its ordinary signification what ought to +convey the most honorific, the term <i>self-sufficiency</i>, I bow my +head before the humble, with greatly more than their humiliation. +You are better tempered than I am, and are readier to +converse. There are half-hours when, although in good humour +and good spirits, I would, not be disturbed by the necessity of +talking, to be the possessor of all the rich marshes we see yonder. +In this interval there is neither storm nor sunshine of the mind, +but calm and (as the farmer would call it) <i>growing</i> weather, in +which the blades of thought spring up and dilate insensibly. +Whatever I do, I must do in the open air, or in the silence of +night: either is sufficient: but I prefer the hours of exercise, or, +what is next to exercise, of field-repose. Did you happen to +know the admiral?</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> Not personally: but I believe the terms you have +applied to him are well merited. After some experience, he +contended that public men, public women, and the public press, +may be all designated by one and the same trisyllable. He is +reported to have been a strict disciplinarian. In the mutiny +at the Nore he was seized by his crew, and summarily condemned +by them to be hanged. Many taunting questions were +asked him, to which he made no reply. When the rope was +fastened round his neck, the ringleader cried, ‘Answer this one +thing, however, before you go, sir! What would you do with +any of us, if we were in your power as you are now in ours?’ +The admiral, then captain, looked sternly and contemptuously, +and replied, ‘Hang you, by God!’ Enraged at this answer, +the mutineer tugged at the rope: but another on the instant +rushed forward, exclaiming, ‘No, captain!’ (for thus he called +the fellow) ‘he has been cruel to us, flogging here and flogging +there, but before so brave a man is hanged like a dog, you heave +me overboard.’ Others among the most violent now interceded: +and an old seaman, not saying a single word, came forward with +his knife in his hand, and cut the noose asunder. Nichols did +not thank him, nor notice him, nor speak: but, looking round +at the other ships, in which there was the like insubordination, +he went toward his cabin slow and silent. Finding it locked, +he called to a midshipman: ‘Tell that man with a knife to come +down and open the door.’ After a pause of a few minutes, it +was done: but he was confined below until the quelling of the +mutiny.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> His conduct as Controller of the Navy was no less +magnanimous and decisive. In this office he presided at the +trial of Lord Melville. His lordship was guilty, we know, of all +the charges brought against him; but, having more patronage +than ever minister had before, he refused to answer the questions +which (to repeat his own expression) might incriminate him. +And his refusal was given with a smile of indifference, a +consciousness of security. In those days, as indeed in most others, +the main use of power was promotion and protection: and +<i>honest man</i> was never in any age among the titles of nobility, +and has always been the appellation used toward the feeble and +inferior by the prosperous. Nichols said on the present occasion, +‘If this man is permitted to skulk away under such pretences, +trial is here a mockery.’ Finding no support, he threw up his +office as Controller of the Navy, and never afterward entered +the House of Commons. Such a person, it appears to me, leads +us aptly and becomingly to that steadfast patriot on whose +writings you promised me your opinion; not incidentally, as +before, but turning page after page. It would ill beseem us to +treat Milton with generalities. Radishes and salt are the +picnic quota of slim spruce reviewers: let us hope to find somewhat +more solid and of better taste. Desirous to be a listener +and a learner when you discourse on his poetry, I have been +more occupied of late in examining the prose.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> Do you retain your high opinion of it?</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> Experience makes us more sensible of faults than of +beauties. Milton is more correct than Addison, but less correct +than Hooker, whom I wish he had been contented to receive +as a model in style, rather than authors who wrote in another +and a poorer language; such, I think, you are ready to +acknowledge is the Latin.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> This was always my opinion.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> However, I do not complain that in oratory and +history his diction is sometimes poetical.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> Little do I approve of it in prose on any subject. +Demosthenes and Aeschines, Lisias and Isaeus, and finally +Cicero, avoided it.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> They did: but Chatham and Burke and Grattan did +not; nor indeed the graver and greater Pericles; of whom the +most memorable sentence on record is pure poetry. On the fall +of the young Athenians in the field of battle, he said, ‘The year +hath lost its spring.’ But how little are these men, even +Pericles himself, if you compare them as men of genius with +Livy! In Livy, as in Milton, there are bursts of passion which +cannot by the nature of things be other than poetical, nor (being +so) come forth in other language. If Milton had executed his +design of writing a history of England, it would probably have +abounded in such diction, especially in the more turbulent +scenes and in the darker ages.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> There are quiet hours and places in which a taper +may be carried steadily, and show the way along the ground; +but you must stand a-tiptoe and raise a blazing torch above your +head, if you would bring to our vision the obscure and time-worn +figures depicted on the lofty vaults of antiquity. The philosopher +shows everything in one clear light; the historian +loves strong reflections and deep shadows, but, above all, prominent +and moving characters. We are little pleased with the +man who disenchants us: but whoever can make us wonder, +must himself (we think) be wonderful, and deserve our +admiration.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> Believing no longer in magic and its charms, we still +shudder at the story told by Tacitus, of those which were +discovered in the mournful house of Germanicus.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> Tacitus was also a great poet, and would have been +a greater, had he been more contented with the external and +ordinary appearances of things. Instead of which, he looked +at a part of his pictures through a prism, and at another part +through a <i>camera obscura</i>. If the historian were as profuse +of moral as of political axioms, we should tolerate him less: +for in the political we fancy a writer is but meditating; in the +moral we regard him as declaiming. In history we desire to +be conversant with only the great, according to our notions of +greatness: we take it as an affront, on such an invitation, to be +conducted into the lecture-room, or to be desired to amuse +ourselves in the study.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> Pray go on. I am desirous of hearing more.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> Being now alone, with the whole day before us, +and having carried, as we agreed at breakfast, each his Milton +in his pocket, let us collect all the graver faults we can lay our +hands upon, without a too minute and troublesome research; +not in the spirit of Johnson, but in our own.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> That is, abasing our eyes in reverence to so great a +man, but without closing them. The beauties of his poetry +we may omit to notice, if we can: but where the crowd claps the +hands, it will be difficult for us always to refrain. Johnson, +I think, has been charged unjustly with expressing too freely +and inconsiderately the blemishes of Milton. There are many +more of them than he has noticed.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> If we add any to the number, and the literary world +hears of it, we shall raise an outcry from hundreds who never +could see either his excellences or his defects, and from several +who never have perused the noblest of his writings.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> It may be boyish and mischievous, but I acknowledge +I have sometimes felt a pleasure in irritating, by the cast of a +pebble, those who stretch forward to the full extent of the chain +their open and frothy mouths against me. I shall seize upon +this conjecture of yours, and say everything that comes into my +head on the subject. Beside which, if any collateral thoughts +should spring up, I may throw them in also; as you perceive +I have frequently done in my <i>Imaginary Conversations</i>, and as +we always do in real ones.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> When we adhere to one point, whatever the form, +it should rather be called a disquisition than a conversation. +Most writers of dialogue take but a single stride into questions +the most abstruse, and collect a heap of arguments to be blown +away by the bloated whiffs of some rhetorical charlatan, tricked +out in a multiplicity of ribbons for the occasion.</p> + +<p>Before we open the volume of poetry, let me confess to you +I admire his prose less than you do.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> Probably because you dissent more widely from +the opinions it conveys: for those who are displeased with +anything are unable to confine the displeasure to one spot. +We dislike everything a little when we dislike anything much. +It must indeed be admitted that his prose is often too latinized +and stiff. But I prefer his heavy cut velvet, with its ill-placed +Roman fibula, to the spangled gauze and gummed-on flowers +and puffy flounces of our present street-walking literature. So +do you, I am certain.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> Incomparably. But let those who have gone +astray, keep astray, rather than bring Milton into disrepute by +pushing themselves into his company and imitating his manner. +Milton is none of these: and his language is never a patchwork. +We find daily, in almost every book we open, expressions which +are not English, never were, and never will be: for the writers are +by no means of sufficiently high rank to be masters of the mint. +To arrive at this distinction, it is not enough to scatter in all +directions bold, hazardous, undisciplined thoughts: there must +be lordly and commanding ones, with a full establishment of +well-appointed expressions adequate to their maintenance.</p> + +<p>Occasionally I have been dissatisfied with Milton, because +in my opinion that is ill said in prose which can be said more +plainly. Not so in poetry: if it were, much of Pindar and +Aeschylus, and no little of Dante, would be censurable.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> Acknowledge that he whose poetry I am holding in +my hand is free from every false ornament in his prose, unless +a few bosses of latinity may be called so; and I am ready to +admit the full claims of your favourite South. Acknowledge +that, heading all the forces of our language, he was the great +antagonist of every great monster which infested our country; +and he disdained to trim his lion-skin with lace. No other +English writer has equalled Raleigh, Hooker, and Milton, in +the loftier parts of their works.</p> + +<p><i>Southey.</i> But Hooker and Milton, you allow, are sometimes +pedantic. In Hooker there is nothing so elevated as there is +in Raleigh.</p> + +<p><i>Landor.</i> Neither he, however, nor any modern, nor any +ancient, has attained to that summit on which the sacred ark +of Milton strikes and rests. Reflections, such as we indulged +in on the borders of the Larius, come over me here again. Perhaps +from the very sod where you are sitting, the poet in his +youth sate looking at the Sabrina he was soon to celebrate. +There is pleasure in the sight of a glebe which never has been +broken; but it delights me particularly in those places where +great men have been before. I do not mean warriors: for +extremely few among the most remarkable of them will a considerate +man call great: but poets and philosophers and philanthropists, +the ornaments of society, the charmers of solitude, +the warders of civilization, the watchmen at the gate which +Tyranny would batter down, and the healers of those wounds +which she left festering in the field. And now, to reduce this +demon into its proper toad-shape again, and to lose sight of it, +open your <i>Paradise Lost</i>.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_EMPEROR_OF_CHINA_AND_TSING-TI" id="THE_EMPEROR_OF_CHINA_AND_TSING-TI"></a>THE EMPEROR OF CHINA AND TSING-TI</h2> + + +<p>On the morrow I was received at the folding-doors by Pru-Tsi, +and ushered by him into the presence of his majesty the +Emperor, who was graciously pleased to inform me that he had +rendered thanks to Almighty God for enlightening his mind, +and for placing his empire far beyond the influence of the +persecutor and fanatic. ‘But,’ continued his majesty, ‘this +story of the sorcerer’s man quite confounds me. Little as the +progress is which the Europeans seem to have made in the +path of humanity, yet the English, we know, are less cruel than +their neighbours, and more given to reflection and meditation. +How then is it possible they should allow any portion of their +fellow-citizens to be hoodwinked, gagged, and carried away +into darkness, by such conspirators and assassins? Why didst +thou not question the man thyself?’</p> + +<p><i>Tsing-Ti.</i> I did, O Emperor! and his reply was, ‘We can bury +such only as were in the household of the faith. It would be +a mockery to bid those spirits go in peace which we know are +condemned to everlasting fire.’</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> Amazing! have they that? Who invented it? +Everlasting fire! It surely might be applied to better purposes. +And have those rogues authority to throw people into it? In +what part of the kingdom is it? If natural, it ought to have +been marked more plainly in the maps. The English, no doubt, +are ashamed of letting it be known abroad that they have any +such places in their country. If artificial, it is no wonder they +keep such a secret to themselves. Tsing-Ti, I commend thy +prudence in asking no questions about it; for I see we are equally +at a loss on this curiosity.</p> + +<p><i>Tsing-Ti.</i> The sorcerer has a secret for diluting it. Oysters +and the white of eggs, applied on lucky days, enter into the +composition; but certain charms in a strange language must also +be employed, and must be repeated a certain number of times. +There are stones likewise, and wood cut into particular forms, +good against this eternal fire, as they believe. The sorcerer +has the power, they pretend, of giving the faculty of hearing and +seeing to these stones and pieces of wood; and when he has +given them the faculties, they become so sensible and grateful, +they do whatever he orders. Some roll their eyes, some sweat, +some bleed; and the people beat their breasts before them, calling +themselves miserable sinners.</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> <i>Sinners</i> is not the name I should have given them, +although no doubt they are in the right.</p> + +<p><i>Tsing-Ti.</i> Sometimes, if they will not bleed freely, nor sweat, +nor roll their eyes, the devouter break their heads with clubs, +and look out for others who will.</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> Take heed, Tsing-Ti! Take heed! I do believe +thou art talking all the while of idols. Thou must be respectful; +remember I am head of all the religions in the empire. We have +something in our own country not very unlike them, only the +people do not worship them; they merely fall down before +them as representatives of a higher power. So they say.</p> + +<p><i>Tsing-Ti.</i> I do not imagine they go much farther in Europe, +excepting the introduction of this club-law into their adoration.</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> And difference enough, in all conscience. Our +people is less ferocious and less childish. If any man break an +idol here for not sweating, he himself would justly be condemned +to sweat, showing him how inconvenient a thing it is when the +sweater is not disposed. As for rolling the eyes, surely they +know best whom they should ogle; as for bleeding, that must be +regulated by the season of the year. Let every man choose his +idol as freely as he chooses his wife; let him be constant if he can; +if he cannot, let him at least be civil. Whoever dares to scratch +the face of any one in my empire, shall be condemned to varnish +it afresh, and moreover to keep it in repair all his lifetime.</p> + +<p><i>Tsing-Ti.</i> In Europe such an offence would be punished with +the extremities of torture.</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> Perhaps their idols cost more, and are newer. +Is there no chance, in all their changes, that we may be called +upon to supply them with a few?</p> + +<p><i>Tsing-Ti.</i> They have plenty for the present, and they dig +up fresh occasionally.</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> In regard to the worship of idols, they have not a +great deal to learn from us; and what is deficient will come by +degrees as they grow humaner. But how little care can any +ruler have for the happiness and improvement of his people, +who permits such ferocity in the priesthood. If its members +are employed by the government to preside at burials, as +according to thy discourse I suppose, a virtuous prince would +order a twelvemonth’s imprisonment, and spare diet, to whichever +of them should refuse to perform the last office of humanity +toward a fellow-creature. What separation of citizen from +citizen, and necessarily what diminution of national strength, +must be the consequence of such a system! A single act of it +ought to be punished more severely than any single act of +sedition, not only as being a greater distractor of civic union, +but, in its cruel sequestration of the best affections, a fouler +violator of domestic peace. I always had fancied, from the +books in my library, that the Christian religion was founded +on brotherly love and pure equality. I may calculate ill; but, +in my hasty estimate, damnation and dog-burial stand many +removes from these.</p> + +<p>‘Wait a little,’ the Emperor continued: ‘I wish to read in +my library the two names that my father said are considered +the two greatest in the West, and may vie nearly with the highest +of our own country.’</p> + +<p>Whereupon did his majesty walk forth into his library; and +my eyes followed his glorious figure as he passed through the +doorway, traversing the <i>gallery of the peacocks</i>, so called because +fifteen of those beautiful birds unite their tails in the centre +of the ceiling, painted so naturally as to deceive the beholder, +each carrying in his beak a different flower, the most beautiful +in China, and bending his neck in such a manner as to present +it to the passer below. Traversing this gallery, his majesty +with his own hand drew aside the curtain of the library door. +His majesty then entered; and, after some delay, he appeared +with two long scrolls, and shook them gently over the fish-pond, +in this dormitory of the sages. Suddenly there were so +many splashes and plunges that I was aware of the gratification +the fishes had received from the grubs in them, and the disappointment +in the atoms of dust. His majesty, with his own +right hand, drew the two scrolls trailing on the marble pavement, +and pointing to them with his left, said:</p> + +<p>‘Here they are; Nhu-Tong: Pa-Kong. Suppose they had +died where the sorcerer’s men held firm footing, would the +priests have refused them burial?’</p> + +<p>I bowed my head at the question; for a single tinge of red, +whether arising from such ultra-bestial cruelty in those who +have the impudence to accuse the cannibals of theirs, or whether +from abhorrent shame at the corroding disease of intractable +superstition, hereditary in the European nations for fifteen +centuries, a tinge of red came over the countenance of the +emperor. When I raised up again my forehead, after such time +as I thought would have removed all traces of it, still fixing my +eyes on the ground, I answered:</p> + +<p>‘O Emperor! the most zealous would have done worse. They +would have prepared these great men for burial, and then have +left them unburied.’</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> So! so! they would have embalmed them, in their +reverence for meditation and genius, although their religion +prohibits the ceremony of interring them.</p> + +<p><i>Tsing-Ti.</i> Alas, sire, my meaning is far different. They +would have dislocated their limbs with pulleys, broken them +with hammers, and then have burnt the flesh off the bones. +This is called an <i>act of faith</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> <i>Faith</i>, didst thou say? Tsing-Ti, thou speakest +bad Chinese: thy native tongue is strangely occidentalized.</p> + +<p><i>Tsing-Ti.</i> So they call it.</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> God hath not given unto all men the use of speech. +Thou meanest to designate the ancient inhabitants of the +country, not those who have lived there within the last three +centuries.</p> + +<p><i>Tsing-Ti.</i> The Spaniards and Italians (such are the names of +the nations who are most under the influence of the spells) +were never so barbarous and cruel as during the first of the last +three centuries. The milder of them would have refused two +cubits of earth to the two philosophers; and not only would +have rejected them from the cemetery of the common citizens, +but from the side of the common hangman; the most ignorant +priest thinking himself much wiser, and the most enlightened +prince not daring to act openly as one who could think otherwise. +The Italians had formerly two illustrious men among them; the +earlier was a poet, the later a philosopher; one was exiled, the +other was imprisoned, and both were within a span of being +burnt alive.</p> + +<p><i>Emperor.</i> We have in Asia some odd religions and some +barbarous princes, but neither are like the Europeans. In +the name of God! do the fools think of their Christianity as our +neighbours in Tartary (with better reason) think of their milk; +that it will keep the longer for turning sour? or that it must be +wholesome because it is heady? Swill it out, swill it out, say I, +and char the tub.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="LOUIS_XVIII_AND_TALLEYRAND" id="LOUIS_XVIII_AND_TALLEYRAND"></a>LOUIS XVIII AND TALLEYRAND</h2> + + +<p><i>Louis.</i> M. Talleyrand! in common with all my family, all +France, all Europe, I entertain the highest opinion of your +abilities and integrity. You have convinced me that your heart, +throughout the storms of the revolution, leaned constantly +toward royalty; and that you permitted and even encouraged +the caresses of the usurper, merely that you might strangle +the more certainly and the more easily his new-born empire. +After this, it is impossible to withhold my confidence from you.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> Conscious of the ridicule his arrogance and presumption +would incur, the usurper attempted to silence and +stifle it with other and far different emotions. Half his cruelties +were perpetrated that his vanity might not be wounded: for +scorn is superseded by horror. Whenever he committed an +action or uttered a sentiment which would render him an object +of derision, he instantly gave vent to another which paralysed +by its enormous wickedness. He would extirpate a nation to +extinguish a smile. No man alive could deceive your majesty: +the extremely few who would wish to do it, lie under that +vigilant and piercing eye, which discerned in perspective from +the gardens of Hartwell those of the Tuileries and Versailles. +As joy arises from calamity, so spring arises from the bosom of +winter, purely to receive your majesty, inviting the august +descendant of their glorious founder to adorn and animate +them again with his beneficent and gracious presence. The +waters murmur, in voices half-suppressed, the reverential hymn +of peace restored: the woods bow their heads....</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> Talking of woods, I am apprehensive all the game has +been woefully killed up in my forests.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> A single year will replenish them.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> Meanwhile! M. Talleyrand! meanwhile!</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> Honest and active and watchful gamekeepers, +in sufficient number, must be sought; and immediately.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> Alas! if the children of my nobility had been educated +like the children of the English, I might have promoted some +hundreds of them in this department. But their talents lie +totally within the binding of their breviaries. Those of them +who shoot, can shoot only with pistols; which accomplishment +they acquired in England, that they might challenge any of the +islanders who should happen to look with surprise or displeasure +in their faces, expecting to be noticed by them in +Paris, for the little hospitalities the proud young gentlemen, +and their prouder fathers, were permitted to offer them in +London and at their country-seats. What we call <i>reconnaissance</i>, +they call <i>gratitude</i>, treating a recollector like a debtor. This is +a want of courtesy, a defect in civilization, which it behoves +us to supply. Our memories are as tenacious as theirs, and +rather more eclectic.</p> + +<p>Since my return to my kingdom I have undergone great +indignities from this unreflecting people. One Canova, a +sculptor at Rome, visited Paris in the name of the Pope, and in +quality of his envoy, and insisted on the cession of those statues +and pictures which were brought into France by the French +armies. He began to remove them out of the gallery: I told +him I would never give my consent: he replied, he thought it +sufficient that he had Wellington’s. Therefore, the next time +Wellington presented himself at the Tuileries, I turned my back +upon him before the whole court. Let the English and their +allies be aware, that I owe my restoration not to them, but +partly to God and partly to Saint Louis. They and their +armies are only brute instruments in the hands of my progenitor +and intercessor.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> Fortunate, that the conqueror of France bears +no resemblance to the conqueror of Spain. Peterborough (I +shudder at the idea) would have ordered a file of soldiers +to seat your Majesty in your travelling carriage, and would +have reinstalled you at Hartwell. The English people are so +barbarous, that he would have done it not only with impunity, +but with applause.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> But the sovereign of his country ... would the +sovereign suffer it?</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> Alas! sire! Confronted with such men, what are +sovereigns, when the people are the judges? Wellington can +drill armies: Peterborough could marshal nations.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> Thank God! we have no longer any such pests on earth. +The most consummate general of our days (such is Wellington) +sees nothing one single inch beyond the field of battle; and he is +so observant of discipline, that if I ordered him to be flogged +in the presence of the allied armies, he would not utter a complaint +nor shrug a shoulder; he would only write a dispatch.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> But his soldiers would execute the Duke of +Brunswick’s manifesto, and Paris would sink into her catacombs. +No man so little beloved was ever so well obeyed: +and there is not a man in England, of either party, citizen or +soldier, who would not rather die than see him disgraced. +His firmness, his moderation, his probity, place him more +opposite to Napoleon than he stood in the field of Waterloo. +These are his lofty lines of Torres Vedras, which no enemy dares +assail throughout their whole extent.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> M. Talleyrand! is it quite right to extol an enemy +and an Englishman in this manner?</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> Pardon! Sire! I stand corrected. Forgive me +a momentary fit of enthusiasm, in favour of those qualities by +which, although an Englishman’s, I am placed again in your +majesty’s service.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> We will now then go seriously to business. Wellington +and the allied armies have interrupted and occupied us. I will +instantly write, with my own hand, to the Marquis of Buckingham, +desiring him to send me five hundred pheasants’ eggs. +I am restored to my throne, M. Talleyrand! but in what a +condition! Not a pheasant on the table! I must throw myself +on the mercy of foreigners, even for a pheasant! When I have +written my letter, I shall be ready to converse with you on the +business on which I desired your presence. [<i>Writes.</i>] Here; read +it. Give me your opinion: is not the note a model?</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> If the charms of language could be copied, it +would be. But what is intended for delight may terminate in +despair: and there are words which, unapproachable by distance +and sublimity, may wither the laurels on the most exalted of +literary brows.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> There is grace in that expression of yours, M. Talleyrand! +there is really no inconsiderable grace in it. Seal my +letter: direct it to the Marquis of Buckingham at Stowe. Wait: +open it again: no, no: write another in your own name: instruct +him how sure you are it will be agreeable to me, if he sends +at the same time fifty or a hundred brace of the birds as well as +the eggs. At present I am desolate. My heart is torn, M. +Talleyrand! it is almost plucked out of my bosom. I have no +other care, no other thought, day or night, but the happiness +of my people. The allies, who have most shamefully overlooked +the destitution of my kitchen, seem resolved to turn a +deaf ear to its cries evermore; nay, even to render them shriller +and shriller. The allies, I suspect, are resolved to execute the +design of the mischievous Pitt.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> May it please your majesty to inform me <i>which</i> +of them; for he formed a thousand, all mischievous, but greatly +more mischievous to England than to France. Resolved to +seize the sword, in his drunkenness, he seized it by the edge, +and struck at us with the hilt, until he broke it off and until he +himself was exhausted by loss of breath and of blood. We owe +alike to him the energy of our armies, the bloody scaffolds of +public safety, the Reign of Terror, the empire of usurpation, +and finally, as the calm is successor to the tempest, and sweet +fruit to bitter kernel, the blessing of your majesty’s restoration. +Excepting in this one event, he was mischievous to our country; +but in all events, and in all undertakings, he was pernicious to +his own. No man ever brought into the world such enduring +evil; few men such extensive.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> His king ordered it. George III loved battles and +blood.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> But he was prudent in his appetite for them.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> He talked of peppering his people as I would talk of +peppering a capon.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> Having split it. His subjects cut up by his +subjects were only capers to his leg of mutton. From none +of his palaces and parks was there any view so rural, so composing +to his spirits, as the shambles. When these were not +fresh, the gibbet would do.</p> + +<p>I wish better luck to the pheasants’ eggs than befell Mr. Pitt’s +designs. Not one brought forth anything.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> No: but he declared in the face of his Parliament, and of +Europe, that he would insist on indemnity for the past and +security for the future. These were his words. Now, all the +money and other wealth the French armies levied in Spain, +Portugal, Italy, and everywhere else, would scarcely be sufficient +for this indemnity.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> England shall never receive from us a tithe of +that amount.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> A tithe of it! She may demand a quarter or a third, +and leave us wondering at her moderation and forbearance.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> The matter must be arranged immediately, before +she has time for calculation or reflection. A new peace maddens +England to the same paroxysm as a new war maddens France. +She hath sent over hither her minister ... or rather her +prime minister himself is come to transact all the business ... +the most ignorant and most shortsighted man to be found in +any station of any public office throughout the whole of Europe. +He must be treated as her arbiter: we must talk to him of restoring +her, of regenerating her, of preserving her, of guiding her, +which (we must protest with our hands within our frills) he +alone is capable of doing. We must enlarge on his generosity +(and generous he indeed is), and there is nothing he will not +concede.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> But if they do not come over in a week, we shall lose +the season. I ought to be eating a pheasant-poult by the middle +of July. Oh, but you were talking to me about the other +matter, and perhaps the weightier of the two; ay, certainly. +If this indemnity is paid to England, what becomes of our +civil list, the dignity of my family and household?</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> I do assure your majesty, England shall never +receive ... did I say a tithe?... I say she shall never +receive a fiftieth of what she expended in the war against us. +It would be out of all reason, and out of all custom in her to +expect it. Indeed it would place her in almost as good a +condition as ourselves. Even if she were beaten she could +hardly hope <i>that</i>: she never in the last three centuries has +demanded it when she was victorious. Of all the sufferers by +the war, we shall be the best off.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> The English are calculators and traders.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> Wild speculators, gamblers in trade, who hazard +more ventures than their books can register. It will take +England some years to cast up the amount of her losses.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> But she, in common with her allies, will insist on +our ceding those provinces which my predecessor Louis XIV +annexed to his kingdom. Be quite certain that nothing short +of Alsace, Lorraine, and Franc Comté, will satisfy the German +princes. They must restore the German language in those +provinces: for languages are the only true boundaries of nations, +and there will always be dissension where there is difference of +tongue. We must likewise be prepared to surrender the remainder +of the Netherlands; not indeed to England, who refused +them in the reign of Elizabeth: she wants only Dunkirk, and +Dunkirk she will have.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> This seems reasonable: for which reason it must +never be. Diplomacy, when she yields to such simple arguments +as plain reason urges against her, loses her office, her efficacy, +and her name.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> I would not surrender our conquests in Germany, if +I could help it.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> Nothing more easy. The Emperor Alexander +may be persuaded that Germany united and entire, as she would +then become, must be a dangerous rival to Russia.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> It appears to me that Poland will be more so, with her +free institutions.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> There is only one statesman in the whole number +of those assembled at Paris, who believes that her institutions +will continue free; and he would rather they did not; but he +stipulates for it, to gratify and mystify the people of England.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> I see this clearly. I have a great mind to send Blacas +over to Stowe. I can trust to him to look to the crates and +coops, and to see that the pheasants have enough of air and +water, and that the Governor of Calais finds a commodious +place for them to roost in, forbidding the drums to beat and +disturb them, evening or morning. The next night, according +to my calculation, they repose at Montreuil. I must look at +them before they are let loose. I cannot well imagine why the +public men employed by England are usually, indeed constantly +so inferior in abilities to those of France, Prussia, Austria, and +Russia. What say you, M. Talleyrand? I do not mean about +the pheasants; I mean about the envoys.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> It can only be that I have considered the subject +more frequently and attentively than suited the avocations of +your majesty, that the reason comes out before me clearly and +distinctly. The prime ministers, in all these countries, are +independent, and uncontrolled in the choice of agents. A prime +minister in France may perhaps be willing to promote the +interests of his own family; and hence he may appoint from it +one unworthy of the place. In regard to other families, he +cares little or nothing about them, knowing that his power lies +in the palace, and not in the club-room. Whereas in England he +must conciliate the great families, the hereditary dependants of +his faction, Whig or Tory. Hence even the highest commands +have been conferred on such ignorant and worthless men as the +Duke of York and the Earl of Chatham, although the minister +was fully aware that the honour of his nation was tarnished, +and that its safety was in jeopardy, by such appointments. +Meanwhile he kept his seat however, and fed from it his tame +creatures in the cub.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> Do you apprehend any danger (talking of cubs) that +my pheasants will be bruised against the wooden bars, or suffer +by sea-sickness? I would not command my bishops to offer +up public prayers against such contingencies: for people must +never have positive evidence that the prayers of the Church +can possibly be ineffectual: and we cannot pray for pheasants +as we pray for fine weather, by the barometer. We must drop +it. Now go on with the others, if you have done with England.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> A succession of intelligent men rules Prussia, +Russia, and Austria; because these three are economical, and +must get their bread by creeping, day after day, through the +hedges next to them, and by filching a sheaf or two, early and +late, from cottager or small farmer; that is to say, from free +states and petty princes. Prussia, like a mongrel, would fly +at the legs of Austria and Russia, catching them with the sack +upon their shoulders, unless they untied it and tossed a morsel +to her. These great powers take especial care to impose a +protective duty on intellect; to let none enter the country, +and none leave it, without a passport. Their diplomatists are +as clever and conciliatory as those of England are ignorant and +repulsive, who, while they offer an uncounted sum of secret-service +money with the left hand, give a sounding slap on the +face with the right.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> We, by adopting a contrary policy, gain more information, +raise more respect, inspire more awe, and exercise more +authority. The weightiest of our disbursements are smiles and +flatteries, with a ribbon and a cross at the end of them.</p> + +<p>But, between the Duke of York and the Earl of Chatham, I +must confess, I find very little difference.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> Some, however. The one was only drunk all the +evening and all the night; the other was only asleep all the +day. The accumulated fogs of Walcheren seemed to concentrate +in his brain, puffing out at intervals just sufficient +to affect with typhus and blindness four thousand soldiers. +A cake of powder rusted their musket-pans, which they were +too weak to open and wipe. Turning round upon their scanty +and mouldy straw, they beheld their bayonets piled together +against the green dripping wall of the chamber, which neither +bayonet nor soldier was ever to leave again.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> We suffer by the presence of the allied armies in our +capital: but we shall soon be avenged: for the English minister +in another fortnight will return and remain at home.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> England was once so infatuated as to give up +Malta to us, although fifty Gibraltars would be of inferior value +to her. Napoleon laughed at her: she was angry: she began +to suspect she had been duped and befooled: and she broke +her faith.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> For the first time, M. Talleyrand, and with a man +who never had any.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> We shall now induce her to evacuate Sicily, in +violation of her promises to the people of that island. Faith, +having lost her virginity, braves public opinion, and never +blushes more.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> Sicily is the key to India, Egypt is the lock.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> What, if I induce the minister to restore to us +Pondicherry?</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> M. Talleyrand! you have done great things, and +without boasting. Whenever you do boast, let it be that you +will perform only the thing which is possible. The English +know well enough what it is to allow us a near standing-place +anywhere. If they permit a Frenchman to plant one foot in +India, it will upset all Asia before the other touches the ground. +It behoves them to prohibit a single one of us from ever landing +on those shores. Improbable as it is that a man uniting to the +same degree as Hyder-Ali did political and military genius, will +appear in the world again for centuries; most of the princes +are politic, some are brave, and perhaps no few are credulous. +While England is confiding in our loyalty, we might expatiate +on her perfidy, and our tears fall copiously on the broken +sceptre in the dust of Delhi. Ignorant and stupid as the king’s +ministers may be, the East India Company is well-informed +on its interests, and alert in maintaining them. I wonder that +a republic so wealthy and so wise should be supported on the +bosom of royalty. Believe me, her merchants will take alarm, +and arouse the nation.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> We must do all we have to do, while the nation +is feasting and unsober. It will awaken with sore eyes and +stiff limbs.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> Profuse as the English are, they will never cut the +bottom of their purses.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> They have already done it. Whenever I look +toward the shores of England, I fancy I descry the Danaïds +there, toiling at the replenishment of their perforated vases, +and all the Nereids leering and laughing at them in the mischievous +fullness of their hearts.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> Certainly she can do me little harm at present, and +for several years to come: but we must always have an eye +upon her, and be ready to assert our superiority.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> We feel it. In fifty years, by abstaining from +war, we may discharge our debt and replenish our arsenals. +England will never shake off the heavy old man from her +shoulders. Overladen and morose, she will be palsied in the +hand she unremittingly holds up against Ireland. Proud and +perverse, she runs into domestic warfare as blindly as France +runs into foreign: and she refuses to her subject what she +surrenders to her enemy.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> Her whole policy tends to my security.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> We must now consider how your majesty may +enjoy it at home, all the remainder of your reign.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> Indeed you must, M. Talleyrand! Between you and +me be it spoken, I trust but little my loyal people; their loyalty +being so ebullient, that it often overflows the vessel which should +contain it, and is a perquisite of scouts and scullions. I do not +wish to offend you.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> Really I can see no other sure method of containing +and controlling them, than by bastions and redoubts, +the whole circuit of the city.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> M. Talleyrand! I will not doubt your sincerity: I +am confident you have reserved the whole of it for my service; +and there are large arrears. But M. Talleyrand! such an attempt +would be resisted by any people which had ever heard of liberty, +and much more by a people which had ever dreamt of enjoying it.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> Forts are built in all directions above Genoa.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> Yes; by her conqueror, not by her king.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> Your majesty comes with both titles, and rules, +like your great progenitor,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Et par droit de conquête et par droit de naissance.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> True; my arms have subdued the rebellious; but not +without great firmness and great valour on my part, and some +assistance (however tardy) on the part of my allies. Conquerors +must conciliate: fatherly kings must offer digestible spoon-meat +to their ill-conditioned children. There would be sad +screaming and kicking were I to swaddle mine in stone-work. +No, M. Talleyrand; if ever Paris is surrounded by fortifications +to coerce the populace, it must be the work of some democrat, +some aspirant to supreme power, who resolves to maintain it, +exercising a domination too hazardous for legitimacy. I will +only scrape from the chambers the effervescence of superficial +letters and corrosive law.</p> + +<p><i>Talleyrand.</i> Sire! under all their governments the good +people of Paris have submitted to the <i>octroi</i>. Now, all complaints, +physical or political, arise from the stomach. Were it +decorous in a subject to ask a question (however humbly) of his +king, I would beg permission to inquire of your majesty, in your +wisdom, whether a bar across the shoulders is less endurable +than a bar across the palate. Sire! the French can bear anything +now they have the honour of bowing before your majesty.</p> + +<p><i>Louis.</i> The compliment is in a slight degree (a <i>very</i> slight +degree) ambiguous, and (accept in good part my criticism, +M. Talleyrand) not turned with your usual grace.</p> + +<p>Announce it as my will and pleasure that the Duc de Blacas +do superintend the debarkation of the pheasants; and I pray +God, M. de Talleyrand, to have you in His holy keeping.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="OLIVER_CROMWELL_AND_SIR_OLIVER_CROMWELL" id="OLIVER_CROMWELL_AND_SIR_OLIVER_CROMWELL"></a>OLIVER CROMWELL AND SIR OLIVER CROMWELL</h2> + + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> How many saints and Sions dost carry under thy +cloak, lad? Ay, what dost groan at? What art about to be +delivered of? Troth, it must be a vast and oddly-shapen piece +of roguery which findeth no issue at such capacious quarters. +I never thought to see thy face again. Prithee what, in God’s +name, hath brought thee to Ramsey, fair Master Oliver?</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> In His name verily I come, and upon His errand; +and the love and duty I bear unto my godfather and uncle have +added wings, in a sort, unto my zeal.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> Take ’em off thy zeal and dust thy conscience +with ’em. I have heard an account of a saint, one Phil Neri, +who in the midst of his devotions was lifted up several yards +from the ground. Now I do suspect, Nol, thou wilt finish by +being a saint of his order; and nobody will promise or wish +thee the luck to come down on thy feet again, as he did. So! +because a rabble of fanatics at Huntingdon have equipped thee +as their representative in Parliament, thou art free of all men’s +houses, forsooth! I would have thee to understand, sirrah, +that thou art fitter for the House they have chaired thee unto +than for mine. Yet I do not question but thou wilt be as +troublesome and unruly there as here. Did I not turn thee out +of Hinchinbrook when thou wert scarcely half the rogue thou art +latterly grown up to? And yet wert thou immeasurably too +big a one for it to hold.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> It repenteth me, O mine uncle! that in my boyhood +and youth the Lord had not touched me.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> Touch thee! thou wast too dirty a dog by half.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> Yes, sorely doth it vex and harrow me that I was +then of ill conditions, and that my name ... even your +godson’s ... stank in your nostrils.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> Ha! polecat! it was not thy name, although bad +enough, that stank first; in my house, at least. But perhaps +there are worse maggots in stauncher mummeries.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> Whereas in the bowels of your charity you then +vouchsafed me forgiveness, so the more confidently may I +crave it now in this my urgency.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> More confidently! What! hast got more confidence? +Where didst find it? I never thought the wide +circle of the world had within it another jot for thee. Well, +Nol, I see no reason why shouldst stand before me with thy hat +off, in the courtyard and in the sun, counting the stones in the +pavement. Thou hast some knavery in thy head, I warrant +thee. Come, put on thy beaver.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> Uncle Sir Oliver! I know my duty too well to stand +covered in the presence of so worshipful a kinsman, who, moreover, +hath answered at baptism for my good behaviour.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> God forgive me for playing the fool before Him +so presumptuously and unprofitably! Nobody shall ever take +me in again to do such an absurd and wicked thing. But thou +hast some left-handed business in the neighbourhood, no doubt, +or thou wouldst never more have come under my archway.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> These are hard times for them that seek peace. We +are clay in the hands of the potter.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> I wish your potters sought nothing costlier, and +dug in their own grounds for it. Most of us, as thou sayest, +have been upon the wheel of these artificers; and little was left +but rags when we got off. Sanctified folks are the cleverest +skinners in all Christendom, and their Jordan tans and constringes +us to the avoirdupois of mummies.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> The Lord hath chosen His own vessels.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> I wish heartily He would pack them off, and send +them anywhere on ass-back or cart (cart preferably), to rid our +country of ’em. But now again to the point: for if we fall among +the potsherds we shall hobble on but lamely. Since thou art +raised unto a high command in the army, and hast a dragoon +to hold thy solid and stately piece of horse-flesh, I cannot but +take it into my fancy that thou hast some commission of array +or disarray to execute hereabout.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> With a sad sinking of spirit, to the pitch well-nigh of +swounding, and with a sight of bitter tears, which will not +be put back nor stayed in any wise, as you bear testimony unto +me, Uncle Oliver!</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> No tears, Master Nol, I beseech thee! Wet +days, among those of thy kidney, portend the letting of blood. +What dost whimper at?</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> That I, that I, of all men living, should be put upon +this work!</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> What work, prithee?</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> I am sent hither by them who (the Lord in His loving +kindness having pity, and mercy upon these poor realms) do, +under His right hand, administer unto our necessities, and +righteously command us, <i>by the aforesaid as aforesaid</i> (thus +runs the commission), hither am I deputed (woe is me!) to levy +certain fines in this county, or shire, on such as the Parliament +in its wisdom doth style malignants.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> If there is anything left about the house, never +be over-nice: dismiss thy modesty and lay hands upon it. In +this county or shire, we let go the civet-bag to save the weazon.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> O mine uncle and godfather! be witness for me.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> Witness for thee! not I indeed. But I would +rather be witness than surety, lad, where thou art docketed.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> From the most despised doth the Lord ever choose +His servants.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> Then, faith! thou art His first butler.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> Serving Him with humility, I may peradventure be +found worthy of advancement.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> Ha! now if any devil speaks from within thee, it +is thy own: he does not snuffle: to my ears he speaks plain English. +Worthy or unworthy of advancement, thou wilt attain it. +Come in; at least for an hour’s rest. Formerly thou knewest +the means of setting the heaviest heart afloat, let it be sticking +in what mud-bank it might: and my wet dock at Ramsey is +pretty near as commodious as that over yonder at Hinchinbrook +was erewhile. Times are changed, and places too! yet the +cellar holds good.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> Many and great thanks! But there are certain men +on the other side of the gate, who might take it ill if I turn +away and neglect them.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> Let them enter also, or eat their victuals where +they are.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> They have proud stomachs: they are recusants.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> Recusants of what? of beef and ale? We have +claret, I trust, for the squeamish, if they are above the condition +of tradespeople. But of course you leave no person of higher +quality in the outer court.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> Vain are they and worldly, although such wickedness +is the most abominable in their cases. Idle folks are fond of +sitting in the sun: I would not forbid them this indulgence.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> But who are they?</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> The Lord knows. Maybe priests, deacons, and such-like.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> Then, sir, they are gentlemen. And the commission +you bear from the parliamentary thieves, to sack and pillage +my mansion-house, is far less vexatious and insulting to me, +than your behaviour in keeping them so long at my stable-door. +With your permission, or without it, I shall take the +liberty to invite them to partake of my poor hospitality.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> But, Uncle Sir Oliver! there are rules and ordinances +whereby it must be manifested that they lie under displeasure +... not mine ... not mine ... but my milk must not +flow for them.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> You may enter the house or remain where you are, +at your option; I make my visit to these gentlemen immediately, +for I am tired of standing. If thou ever reachest my age,<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> +Oliver! (but God will not surely let this be) thou wilt know that +the legs become at last of doubtful fidelity in the service of the +body.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> Uncle Sir Oliver! now that, as it seemeth, you have +been taking a survey of the courtyard and its contents, am I +indiscreet in asking your worship whether I acted not prudently +in keeping the <i>men-at-belly</i> under the custody of the <i>men-at-arms</i>? +This pestilence, like unto one I remember to have read +about in some poetry of Master Chapman’s,<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> began with the +dogs and mules, and afterwards crope up into the breasts +of men.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> I call such treatment barbarous; their troopers +will not let the gentlemen come with me into the house, but +insist on sitting down to dinner with them. And yet, having +brought them out of their colleges, these brutal half-soldiers +must know that they are fellows.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> Yea, of a truth are they, and fellows well met. Out +of their superfluities they give nothing to the Lord or His saints; +no, not even stirrup or girth, wherewith we may mount our +horses and go forth against those who thirst for our blood. +Their eyes are fat, and they raise not up their voices to cry for +our deliverance.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> Art mad? What stirrups and girths are hung up +in college halls and libraries? For what are these gentlemen +brought hither?</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> They have elected me, with somewhat short of +unanimity, not indeed to be one of themselves, for of that +distinction I acknowledge and deplore my unworthiness, nor +indeed to be a poor scholar, to which, unless it be a very poor +one, I have almost as small pretension, but simply to undertake +a while the heavier office of bursar for them; to cast up their +accounts; to overlook the scouring of their plate; and to lay a +list thereof, with a few specimens, before those who fight the +fight of the Lord, that His saints, seeing the abasement of the +proud and the chastisement of worldly-mindedness, may rejoice.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> I am grown accustomed to such saints and such +rejoicings. But, little could I have thought, threescore years +ago, that the hearty and jovial people of England would ever +join in so filching and stabbing a jocularity. Even the petticoated +torchbearers from rotten Rome, who lighted the faggots +in Smithfield some years before, if more blustering and cocksy, +were less bitter and vulturine. They were all intolerant, but +they were not all hypocritical; they had not always ‘<i>the Lord</i>’ +in their mouth.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> According to their own notions, they might have had, +at an outlay of a farthing.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> Art facetious, Nol? for it is as hard to find that +out as anything else in thee, only it makes thee look, at times, +a little the grimmer and sourer.</p> + +<p>But, regarding these gentlemen from Cambridge. Not being +such as, by their habits and professions, could have opposed you +in the field, I hold it unmilitary and unmanly to put them under +any restraint, and to lead them away from their peaceful and +useful occupations.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> I always bow submissively before the judgment of +mine elders; and the more reverentially when I know them to +be endowed with greater wisdom, and guided by surer experience +than myself. Alas! these collegians not only are strong +men, as you may readily see if you measure them round the +waistband, but boisterous and pertinacious challengers. When +we, who live in the fear of God, exhorted them earnestly unto +peace and brotherly love, they held us in derision. Thus far +indeed it might be an advantage to us, teaching us forbearance +and self-seeking, but we cannot countenance the evil spirit +moving them thereunto. Their occupations, as you remark +most wisely, might have been useful and peaceful, and had +formerly been so. Why then did they gird the sword of strife +about their loins against the children of Israel? By their own +declaration, not only are they our enemies, but enemies the +most spiteful and untractable. When I came quietly, lawfully, +and in the name of the Lord, for their plate, what did they? +Instead of surrendering it like honest and conscientious men, +they attacked me and my people on horseback, with syllogisms +and enthymemes, and the Lord knows with what other such +gimcracks; such venomous and rankling old weapons as those +who have the fear of God before their eyes are fain to lay aside. +Learning should not make folks mockers ... should not make +folks malignants ... should not harden their hearts. We +came with bowels for them.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> That ye did! and bowels which would have stowed +within them all the plate on board of a galleon. If tankards +and wassail-bowls had stuck between your teeth, you would not +have felt them.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> We did feel them; some at least: perhaps we missed +too many.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> How can these learned societies raise the money +you exact from them, beside plate? dost think they can create +and coin it?</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> In Cambridge, Uncle Sir Oliver, and more especially +in that college named in honour (as they profanely call it) of +the Blessed Trinity, there are great conjurors or chemists. Now +the said conjurors or chemists not only do possess the faculty +of making the precious metals out of old books and parchments, +but out of the skulls of young lordlings and gentlefolks, which +verily promise less. And this they bring about by certain +gold wires fastened at the top of certain caps. Of said metals, +thus devilishly converted, do they make a vain and sumptuous +use; so that, finally, they are afraid of cutting their lips with +glass. But indeed it is high time to call them.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> Well ... at last thou hast some mercy.</p> + +<p><i>Oliver.</i> [<i>Aloud.</i>] Cuffsatan Ramsbottom! Sadsoul Kiteclaw! +advance! Let every gown, together with the belly that is +therein, mount up behind you and your comrades in good fellowship. +And forasmuch as you at the country places look to bit +and bridle, it seemeth fair and equitable that ye should leave +unto them, in full propriety, the mancipular office of discharging +the account. If there be any spare beds at the inns, allow the +doctors and dons to occupy the same ... they being used to +lie softly; and be not urgent that more than three lie in +each ... they being mostly corpulent. Let pass quietly and +unreproved any light bubble of pride or impetuosity, seeing +that they have not always been accustomed to the service of +guards and ushers. The Lord be with ye!... Slow trot! +And now, Uncle Sir Oliver, I can resist no longer your loving +kindness. I kiss you, my godfather, in heart’s and soul’s duty; +and most humbly and gratefully do I accept of your invitation +to dine and lodge with you, albeit the least worthy of your +family and kinsfolk. After the refreshment of needful food, +more needful prayer, and that sleep which descendeth on the +innocent like the dew of Hermon, to-morrow at daybreak I +proceed on my journey Londonward.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Oliver.</i> [<i>Aloud.</i>] Ho, there! [<i>To a servant.</i>] Let dinner be +prepared in the great dining-room; let every servant be in waiting, +each in full livery; let every delicacy the house affords be +placed upon the table in due courses; arrange all the plate upon +the sideboard: a gentleman by descent ... a stranger ... +has claimed my hospitality. [<i>Servant goes.</i>]</p> + +<p>Sir! you are now master. Grant me dispensation, I entreat +you, from a further attendance on you.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Sir Oliver, who died in 1655, aged ninety-three, might, by possibility, +have seen all the men of great genius, excepting Chaucer and Roger Bacon, +whom England had produced from its first discovery down to our own times, +Francis Bacon, Shakespeare, Milton, Newton, and the prodigious shoal +that attended these leviathans through the intellectual deep. Newton +was but in his thirteenth year at Sir Oliver’s death. Raleigh, Spenser, +Hooker, Eliot, Selden, Taylor, Hobbes, Sidney, Shaftesbury, and Locke, +were existing in his lifetime; and several more, who may be compared +with the smaller of these.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> Chapman’s <i>Homer</i>, first book.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_COUNT_GLEICHEM_THE_COUNTESS_THEIR" id="THE_COUNT_GLEICHEM_THE_COUNTESS_THEIR_CHILDREN_AND_ZAIDA"></a>THE COUNT GLEICHEM: THE COUNTESS: THEIR CHILDREN, AND ZAIDA.</h2> + + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Ludolph! my beloved Ludolph! do we meet again? +Ah! I am jealous of these little ones, and of the embraces you +are giving them.</p> + +<p>Why sigh, my sweet husband?</p> + +<p>Come back again, Wilhelm! Come back again, Annabella! +How could you run away? Do you think you can see better +out of the corner?</p> + +<p><i>Annabella.</i> Is this indeed our papa? What, in the name +of mercy, can have given him so dark a colour? I hope I shall +never be like that; and yet everybody tells me I am very like +papa.</p> + +<p><i>Wilhelm.</i> Do not let her plague you, papa; but take me +between your knees (I am too old to sit upon them), and tell me +all about the Turks, and how you ran away from them.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Wilhelm! if your father had run away from the +enemy, we should not have been deprived of him two whole +years.</p> + +<p><i>Wilhelm.</i> I am hardly such a child as to suppose that a +Christian knight would run away from a rebel Turk in battle. +But even Christians are taken, somehow, by their tricks and +contrivances, and their dog Mahomet. Beside, you know you +yourself told me, with tear after tear, and scolding me for mine, +that papa was taken by them.</p> + +<p><i>Annabella.</i> Neither am I, who am only one year younger, so +foolish as to believe there is any dog Mahomet. And, if there +were, we have dogs that are better and faithfuller and stronger.</p> + +<p><i>Wilhelm.</i> [<i>To his father.</i>] I can hardly help laughing to think +what curious fancies girls have about Mahomet. We know that +Mahomet is a dog-spirit with three horsetails.</p> + +<p><i>Annabella.</i> Papa! I am glad to see you smile at Wilhelm. +I do assure you he is not half so bad a boy as he was, although +he did point at me, and did tell you some mischief.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> I ought to be indeed most happy at seeing you all +again.</p> + +<p><i>Annabella.</i> And so you are. Don’t pretend to look grave now. +I very easily find you out. I often look grave when I am the +happiest. But forth it bursts at last: there is no room for it +in tongue, or eyes, or anywhere.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> And so, my little angel, you begin to recollect me.</p> + +<p><i>Annabella.</i> At first I used to dream of papa, but at last I +forgot how to dream of him: and then I cried, but at last I left +off crying. And then, papa, who could come to me in my +sleep, seldom came again.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> Why do you now draw back from me, Annabella?</p> + +<p><i>Annabella.</i> Because you really are so very very brown: just +like those ugly Turks who sawed the pines in the saw-pit under +the wood, and who refused to drink wine in the heat of summer, +when Wilhelm and I brought it to them. Do not be angry; +we did it only once.</p> + +<p><i>Wilhelm.</i> Because one of them stamped and frightened her +when the other seemed to bless us.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> Are they still living?</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> One of them is.</p> + +<p><i>Wilhelm.</i> The fierce one.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> We will set him free, and wish it were the other.</p> + +<p><i>Annabella.</i> Papa! I am glad you are come back without +your spurs.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Hush, child, hush.</p> + +<p><i>Annabella.</i> Why, mamma? Do not you remember how +they tore my frock when I clung to him at parting? Now I +begin to think of him again: I lose everything between that +day and this.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> The girl’s idle prattle about the spurs has pained +you: always too sensitive; always soon hurt, though never soon +offended.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> O God! O my children! O my wife! it is not the +loss of spurs I now must blush for.</p> + +<p><i>Annabella.</i> Indeed, papa, you never can blush at all, until +you cut that horrid beard off.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Well may you say, my own Ludolph, as you do; +for most gallant was your bearing in the battle.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> Ah! why was it ever fought?</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Why were most battles? But they may lead to +glory even through slavery.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> And to shame and sorrow.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Have I lost the little beauty I possessed, that you +hold my hand so languidly, and turn away your eyes when they +meet mine? It was not so formerly ... unless when first +we loved.</p> + +<p>That one kiss restores to me all my lost happiness.</p> + +<p>Come; the table is ready: there are your old wines upon it: +you must want that refreshment.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> Go, my sweet children! you must eat your supper +before I do.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Run into your own room for it.</p> + +<p><i>Annabella.</i> I will not go until papa has patted me again on the +shoulder, now I begin to remember it. I do not much mind the +beard: I grow used to it already: but indeed I liked better to +stroke and pat the smooth laughing cheek, with my arm across +the neck behind. It is very pleasant even so. Am I not grown? +I can put the whole length of my finger between your lips.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> And now, will not <i>you</i> come, Wilhelm?</p> + +<p><i>Wilhelm.</i> I am too tall and too heavy: she is but a child. +[<i>Whispers.</i>] Yet I think, papa, I am hardly so much of a man +but you may kiss me over again ... if you will not let her see it.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> My dears! why do not you go to your supper?</p> + +<p><i>Annabella.</i> Because he has come to show us what Turks +are like.</p> + +<p><i>Wilhelm.</i> Do not be angry with her. Do not look down, papa!</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> Blessings on you both, sweet children!</p> + +<p><i>Wilhelm.</i> We may go now.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> And now, Ludolph, come to the table, and tell me +all your sufferings.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> The worst begin here.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Ungrateful Ludolph!</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> I am he: that is my name in full.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> You have then ceased to love me?</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> Worse; if worse can be: I have ceased to deserve +your love.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> No: Ludolph hath spoken falsely for once; but +Ludolph is not false.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> I have forfeited all I ever could boast of, your affection +and my own esteem. Away with caresses! Repulse me, +abjure me; hate, and never pardon me. Let the abject heart +lie untorn by one remorse. Forgiveness would split and shiver +what slavery but abased.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Again you embrace me; and yet tell me never to +pardon you! O inconsiderate man! O idle deviser of impossible +things!</p> + +<p>But you have not introduced to me those who purchased your +freedom, or who achieved it by their valour.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> Mercy! O God!</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Are they dead? Was the plague abroad.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> I will not dissemble ... such was never my intention +... that my deliverance was brought about by means of——</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Say it at once ... a lady.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> It was.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> She fled with you.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> She did.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> And have you left her, sir?</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> Alas! alas! I have not; and never can.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Now come to my arms, brave, honourable Ludolph! +Did I not say thou couldst not be ungrateful? Where, where +is she who has given me back my husband?</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> Dare I utter it! in this house.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Call the children.</p> + +<p><i>Count.</i> No; they must not affront her: they must not even +stare at her: other eyes, not theirs, must stab me to the heart.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> They shall bless her; we will all. Bring her in.</p> + +<p>[<i>Zaida is led in by the Count.</i>]</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> We three have stood silent long enough: and much +there may be on which we will for ever keep silence. But, +sweet young creature! can I refuse my protection, or my love, +to the preserver of my husband? Can I think it a crime, or +even a folly, to have pitied the brave and the unfortunate? +to have pressed (but alas! that it ever should have been so here!) +a generous heart to a tender one?</p> + +<p>Why do you begin to weep?</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> Under your kindness, O lady, lie the sources of these +tears.</p> + +<p>But why has he left us? He might help me to say many things +which I want to say.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Did he never tell you he was married?</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> He did indeed.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> That he had children?</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> It comforted me a little to hear it.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Why? prithee why?</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> When I was in grief at the certainty of holding but +the second place in his bosom, I thought I could at least go and +play with them, and win perhaps their love.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> According to our religion, a man must have only +one wife.</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> That troubled me again. But the dispenser of your +religion, who binds and unbinds, does for sequins or services +what our Prophet does purely through kindness.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> We can love but one.</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> We indeed can love only one: but men have large +hearts.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Unhappy girl!</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> The very happiest in the world.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Ah! inexperienced creature!</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> The happier for that perhaps.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> But the sin!</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> Where sin is, there must be sorrow: and I, my sweet +sister, feel none whatever. Even when tears fall from my eyes, +they fall only to cool my breast: I would not have one the fewer: +they all are for him: whatever he does, whatever he causes, is +dear to me.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> [<i>Aside.</i>] This is too much. I could hardly endure +to have him so beloved by another, even at the extremity of +the earth. [<i>To Zaida.</i>] You would not lead him into perdition?</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> I have led him (Allah be praised!) to his wife and +children. It was for those I left my father. He whom we love +might have stayed with me at home: but there he would have +been only half happy, even had he been free. I could not often +let him see me through the lattice; I was too afraid; and I dared +only once let fall the water-melon; it made such a noise in +dropping and rolling on the terrace: but, another day, when +I had pared it nicely, and had swathed it up well among vine-leaves, +dipped in sugar and sherbet, I was quite happy. I +leaped and danced to have been so ingenious. I wonder what +creature could have found and eaten it. I wish he were here, +that I might ask him if he knew.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> He quite forgot home then!</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> When we could speak together at all, he spoke perpetually +of those whom the calamity of war had separated from +him.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> It appears that you could comfort him in his distress, +and did it willingly.</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> It is delightful to kiss the eye-lashes of the beloved: is +it not? but never so delightful as when fresh tears are on them.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> And even this too? you did this?</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> Fifty times.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Insupportable!</p> + +<p>He often then spoke about me?</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> As sure as ever we met: for he knew I loved him the +better when I heard him speak so fondly.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> [<i>To herself.</i>] Is this possible? It may be ... of +the absent, the unknown, the unfeared, the unsuspected.</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> We shall now be so happy, all three.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> How can we all live together?</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> Now he is here, is there no bond of union?</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> Of union? of union? [<i>Aside</i>.] Slavery is a frightful +thing! slavery for life, too! And she released him from it. +What then? Impossible! impossible! [<i>To Zaida.</i>] We are +rich....</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> I am glad to hear it. Nothing anywhere goes on +well without riches.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> We can provide for you amply....</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> Our husband....</p> + +<p><i>Countess. Our!... husband!...</i></p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> Yes, yes; I know he is yours too; and you, being the +elder and having children, are lady above all. He can tell you +how little I want: a bath, a slave, a dish of pilau, one jonquil +every morning, as usual; nothing more. But he must swear +that he has kissed it first. No, he need not swear it; I may +always see him do it, now.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> [<i>Aside.</i>] She agonizes me. [<i>To Zaida.</i>] Will you +never be induced to return to your own country? Could not +Ludolph persuade you?</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> He who could once persuade me anything, may now +command me everything: when he says I must go, I go. But +he knows what awaits me.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> No, child! he never shall say it.</p> + +<p><i>Zaida.</i> Thanks, lady! eternal thanks! The breaking of his +word would break my heart; and better <i>that</i> break first. Let +the command come from you, and not from him.</p> + +<p><i>Countess.</i> [<i>Calling aloud.</i>] Ludolph! Ludolph! hither! Kiss +the hand I present to you, and never forget it is the hand of a +preserver.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE PENTAMERON;</h2> + +<p class="center"><b>OR,</b></p> + +<h3>INTERVIEWS OF MESSER GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO<br /> +AND MESSER FRANCESCO PETRARCA</h3> + +<p class="center"><b>WHEN</b></p> + +<p class="center"><b>SAID MESSER GIOVANNI LAY INFIRM AT HIS VILLETTA</b><br /> +<b>HARD BY CERTALDO;</b><br /> +<br /> +<b>AFTER WHICH THEY SAW NOT EACH OTHER ON OUR SIDE</b><br /> +<b>OF PARADISE.</b></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h3>THE PENTAMERON</h3> + +<h4><a name="FIRST_DAYS_INTERVIEW" id="FIRST_DAYS_INTERVIEW"></a>FIRST DAY’S INTERVIEW</h4> + + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Who is he that entered, and now steps so silently +and softly, yet with a foot so heavy it shakes my curtains?</p> + +<p>Frate Biagio! can it possibly be you?</p> + +<p>No more physic for me, nor masses neither, at present.</p> + +<p>Assunta! Assuntina! who is it?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> I cannot say, Signor Padrone! he puts his finger +in the dimple of his chin, and smiles to make me hold my tongue.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Fra Biagio! are you come from Samminiato for +this? You need not put your finger there. We want no secrets. +The girl knows her duty and does her business. I have slept +well, and wake better. [<i>Raising himself up a little.</i>]</p> + +<p>Why? who are you? It makes my eyes ache to look aslant +over the sheets; and I cannot get to sit quite upright so +conveniently; and I must not have the window-shutters opened, +they tell me.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Dear Giovanni! have you then been very unwell?</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> O that sweet voice! and this fat friendly hand of +thine, Francesco!</p> + +<p>Thou hast distilled all the pleasantest flowers, and all the +wholesomest herbs of spring, into my breast already.</p> + +<p>What showers we have had this April, ay! How could you +come along such roads? If the devil were my labourer, I would +make him work upon these of Certaldo. He would have little +time and little itch for mischief ere he had finished them, but +would gladly fan himself with an Agnus-castus, and go to sleep +all through the carnival.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Let us cease to talk both of the labour and the +labourer. You have then been dangerously ill?</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I do not know: they told me I was: and truly a +man might be unwell enough, who has twenty masses said for +him, and fain sigh when he thinks what he has paid for them. +As I hope to be saved, they cost me a lira each. Assunta is a +good market-girl in eggs, and mutton, and cow-heel; but I +would not allow her to argue and haggle about the masses. +Indeed she knows best whether they were not fairly worth all +that was asked for them, although I could have bought a winter +cloak for less money. However, we do not want both at the +same time. I did not want the cloak: I wanted <i>them</i>, it seems. +And yet I begin to think God would have had mercy on me, if I +had begged it of him myself in my own house. What think you?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I think he might.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Particularly if I offered him the sacrifice on which +I wrote to you.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> That letter has brought me hither.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> You do then insist on my fulfilling my promise, +the moment I can leave my bed. I am ready and willing.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Promise! none was made. You only told me that, +if it pleased God to restore you to your health again, you are +ready to acknowledge His mercy by the holocaust of your +<i>Decameron</i>. What proof have you that God would exact it? +If you could destroy the <i>Inferno</i> of Dante, would you?</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Not I, upon my life! I would not promise to burn +a copy of it on the condition of a recovery for twenty years.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> You are the only author who would not rather +demolish another’s work than his own; especially if he thought +it better: a thought which seldom goes beyond suspicion.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I am not jealous of any one: I think admiration +pleasanter. Moreover, Dante and I did not come forward at +the same time, nor take the same walks. His flames are too +fierce for you and me: we had trouble enough with milder. I +never felt any high gratification in hearing of people being +damned; and much less would I toss them into the fire myself. +I might indeed have put a nettle under the nose of the learned +judge in Florence, when he banished you and your family; +but I hardly think I could have voted for more than a scourging +to the foulest and fiercest of the party.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Be as compassionate, be as amiably irresolute, +toward your own <i>Novelle</i>, which have injured no friend of yours, +and deserve more affection.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Francesco! no character I ever knew, ever heard +of, or ever feigned, deserves the same affection as you do; +the tenderest lover, the truest friend, the firmest patriot, and, +rarest of glories! the poet who cherishes another’s fame as dearly +as his own.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> If aught of this is true, let it be recorded of me +that my exhortations and entreaties have been successful, in +preserving the works of the most imaginative and creative +genius that our Italy, or indeed our world, hath in any age beheld.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I would not destroy his poems, as I told you, or +think I told you. Even the worst of the Florentines, who in +general keep only one of God’s commandments, keep it rigidly +in regard to Dante—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love them who curse you.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>He called them all scoundrels, with somewhat less courtesy +than cordiality, and less afraid of censure for veracity than +adulation: he sent their fathers to hell, with no inclination +to separate the child and parent: and now they are hugging +him for it in his shroud! Would you ever have suspected them +of being such lovers of justice?</p> + +<p>You must have mistaken my meaning; the thought never +entered my head: the idea of destroying a single copy of Dante! +And what effect would that produce? There must be fifty, +or near it, in various parts of Italy.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I spoke of you.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Of me! My poetry is vile; I have already thrown +into the fire all of it within my reach.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Poetry was not the question. We neither of us +are such poets as we thought ourselves when we were younger, +and as younger men think us still. I meant your <i>Decameron</i>; +in which there is more character, more nature, more invention, +than either modern or ancient Italy, or than Greece, from whom +she derived her whole inheritance, ever claimed or ever knew. +Would you consume a beautiful meadow because there are +reptiles in it; or because a few grubs hereafter may be generated +by the succulence of the grass?</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> You amaze me: you utterly confound me.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> If you would eradicate twelve or thirteen of the +<i>Novelle</i>, and insert the same number of better, which you could +easily do within as many weeks, I should be heartily glad to see +it done. Little more than a tenth of the <i>Decameron</i> is bad: +less than a twentieth of the <i>Divina Commedia</i> is good.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> So little?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Let me never seem irreverent to our master.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Speak plainly and fearlessly, Francesco! Malice +and detraction are strangers to you.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Well then: at least sixteen parts in twenty of the +<i>Inferno</i> and <i>Purgatorio</i> are detestable, both in poetry and +principle: the higher parts are excellent indeed.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I have been reading the <i>Paradiso</i> more recently. +Here it is, under the pillow. It brings me happier dreams +than the others, and takes no more time in bringing them. +Preparation for my lectures made me remember a great deal of +the poem. I did not request my auditors to admire the beauty +of the metrical version:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Osanna sanctus deus Sabbaoth,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Super-illustrans charitate tuâ</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Felices ignes horum Malahoth,</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>nor these, with a slip of Italian between two pales of Latin:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Modicum,<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> et non videbitis me,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Et iterum, sorelle mie dilette,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Modicum, et vos videbitis me.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>I dare not repeat all I recollect of</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pepe Setan, Pepe Setan, aleppe,</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>as there is no holy-water-sprinkler in the room: and you are +aware that other dangers awaited me, had I been so imprudent +as to show the Florentines the allusion of our poet. His <i>gergo</i> is +perpetually in play, and sometimes plays very roughly.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> We will talk again of him presently. I must now +rejoice with you over the recovery and safety of your prodigal +son, the <i>Decameron</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> So then, you would preserve at any rate my +favourite volume from the threatened conflagration.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Had I lived at the time of Dante, I would have +given him the same advice in the same circumstances. Yet how +different is the tendency of the two productions! Yours is +somewhat too licentious; and young men, in whose nature, or +rather in whose education and habits, there is usually this failing, +will read you with more pleasure than is commendable or +innocent. Yet the very time they occupy with you, would +perhaps be spent in the midst of those excesses or irregularities, +to which the moralist, in his utmost severity, will argue that +your pen directs them. Now there are many who are fond of +standing on the brink of precipices, and who nevertheless are +as cautious as any of falling in. And there are minds desirous +of being warmed by description, which without this warmth +might seek excitement among the things described.</p> + +<p>I would not tell you in health what I tell you in convalescence, +nor urge you to compose what I dissuade you from cancelling. +After this avowal, I do declare to you, Giovanni, that in my +opinion, the very idlest of your tales will do the world as much +good as evil; not reckoning the pleasure of reading, nor the +exercise and recreation of the mind, which in themselves are +good. What I reprove you for, is the indecorous and uncleanly; +and these, I trust, you will abolish. Even these, however, may +repel from vice the ingenuous and graceful spirit, and can never +lead any such toward them. Never have you taken an inhuman +pleasure in blunting and fusing the affections at the furnace of +the passions; never, in hardening by sour sagacity and ungenial +strictures, that delicacy which is more productive of innocence +and happiness, more estranged from every track and tendency +of their opposites, than what in cold, crude systems hath holden +the place and dignity of the highest virtue. May you live, +O my friend, in the enjoyment of health, to substitute the +facetious for the licentious, the simple for the extravagant, the +true and characteristic for the indefinite and diffuse.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> And after all this, can you bear to think what +I am?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Complacently and joyfully; venturing, nevertheless, +to offer you a friend’s advice.</p> + +<p>Enter into the mind and heart of your own creatures: think +of them long, entirely, solely: never of style, never of self, never +of critics, cracked or sound. Like the miles of an open country, +and of an ignorant population, when they are correctly measured +they become smaller. In the loftiest rooms and richest entablatures +are suspended the most spider-webs; and the quarry out +of which palaces are erected is the nursery of nettle and bramble.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> It is better to keep always in view such writers +as Cicero, than to run after those idlers who throw stones that +can never reach us.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> If you copied him to perfection, and on no occasion +lost sight of him, you would be an indifferent, not to say a bad +writer.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I begin to think you are in the right. Well then, +retrenching some of my licentious tales, I must endeavour to +fill up the vacancy with some serious and some pathetic.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I am heartily glad to hear of this decision; for, +admirable as you are in the jocose, you descend from your +natural position when you come to the convivial and the festive. +You were placed among the Affections, to move and master +them, and gifted with the rod that sweetens the fount of tears. +My nature leads me also to the pathetic; in which, however, +an imbecile writer may obtain celebrity. Even the hard-hearted +are fond of such reading, when they are fond of any; +and nothing is easier in the world than to find and accumulate +its sufferings. Yet this very profusion and luxuriance of misery +is the reason why few have excelled in describing it. The eye +wanders over the mass without noticing the peculiarities. To +mark them distinctly is the work of genius; a work so rarely +performed, that, if time and space may be compared, specimens +of it stand at wider distances than the trophies of Sesostris. +Here we return again to the <i>Inferno</i> of Dante, who overcame the +difficulty. In this vast desert are its greater and its less oasis; +Ugolino and Francesca di Rimini. The peopled region is +peopled chiefly with monsters and moschitoes: the rest for the +most part is sand and suffocation.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Ah! had Dante remained through life the pure +solitary lover of Bice, his soul had been gentler, tranquiller, and +more generous. He scarcely hath described half the curses +he went through, nor the roads he took on the journey: theology, +politics, and that barbican of the <i>Inferno</i>, marriage, surrounded +with its</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Selva selvaggia ed aspra e forte.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Admirable is indeed the description of Ugolino, to whoever can +endure the sight of an old soldier gnawing at the scalp of an old +archbishop.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> The thirty lines from</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ed io sentii,</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>are unequalled by any other continuous thirty in the whole +dominions of poetry.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Give me rather the six on Francesca: for if in the +former I find the simple, vigorous, clear narration, I find also +what I would not wish, the features of Ugolino reflected full in +Dante. The two characters are similar in themselves; hard, +cruel, inflexible, malignant, but, whenever moved, moved +powerfully. In Francesca, with the faculty of divine spirits, +he leaves his own nature (not indeed the exact representative +of theirs) and converts all his strength into tenderness. The great +poet, like the original man of the Platonists, is double, possessing +the further advantage of being able to drop one half at his +option, and to resume it. Some of the tenderest on paper +have no sympathies beyond; and some of the austerest in their +intercourse with their fellow-creatures have deluged the world +with tears. It is not from the rose that the bee gathers her +honey, but often from the most acrid and the most bitter leaves +and petals:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Quando leggemmo il disiato viso</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Esser baciato di cotanto amante,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Questi, chi mai da me non sia diviso!</span><br /> +<span class="i1">La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante ...</span><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>Galeotto</i> fù il libro, e chi lo scrisse ...</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>In the midst of her punishment, Francesca, when she comes to +the tenderest part of her story, tells it with complacency and +delight; and, instead of naming Paolo, which indeed she never +has done from the beginning, she now designates him as</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Questi chi mai da me non sia diviso!</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Are we not impelled to join in her prayer, wishing them happier +in their union?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> If there be no sin in it.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Ay, and even if there be ... God help us!</p> + +<p>What a sweet aspiration in each cesura of the verse! three +love-sighs fixed and incorporate! Then, when she hath said</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">La bocca mi baciò, tutto tremante,</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>she stops: she would avert the eyes of Dante from her: he +looks for the sequel: she thinks he looks severely: she says: +‘<i>Galeotto</i> is the name of the book,’ fancying by this timorous +little flight she has drawn him far enough from the nest of her +young loves. No, the eagle beak of Dante and his piercing eyes +are yet over her.</p> + +<p>‘<i>Galeotto</i> is the name of the book.’</p> + +<p>‘What matters that?’</p> + +<p>‘And of the writer.’</p> + +<p>‘Or that either?’</p> + +<p>At last she disarms him: but how?</p> + +<p>‘<i>That</i> day we read no more.’</p> + +<p>Such a depth of intuitive judgment, such a delicacy of +perception, exists not in any other work of human genius; and +from an author who, on almost all occasions, in this part of +the work, betrays a deplorable want of it.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Perfection of poetry! The greater is my wonder at +discovering nothing else of the same order or cast in this whole +section of the poem. He who fainted at the recital of Francesca,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And he who fell as a dead body falls,</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>would exterminate all the inhabitants of every town in Italy! +What execrations against Florence, Pistoia, Siena, Pisa, Genoa! +what hatred against the whole human race! what exultation +and merriment at eternal and immitigable sufferings! Seeing +this, I cannot but consider the <i>Inferno</i> as the most immoral +and impious book that ever was written. Yet, hopeless that our +country shall ever see again such poetry, and certain that without +it our future poets would be more feebly urged forward to +excellence, I would have dissuaded Dante from cancelling it, +if this had been his intention. Much however as I admire his +vigour and severity of style in the description of Ugolino, I +acknowledge with you that I do not discover so much imagination, +so much creative power, as in the Francesca. I find indeed +a minute detail of probable events: but this is not all I want +in a poet: it is not even all I want most in a scene of horror. +Tribunals of justice, dens of murderers, wards of hospitals, +schools of anatomy, will afford us nearly the same sensations, +if we hear them from an accurate observer, a clear reporter, a +skilful surgeon, or an attentive nurse. There is nothing of +sublimity in the horrific of Dante, which there always is in +Aeschylus and Homer. If you, Giovanni, had described so +nakedly the reception of Guiscardo’s heart by Gismonda, or +Lorenzo’s head by Lisabetta, we could hardly have endured it.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Prithee, dear Francesco, do not place me over +Dante: I stagger at the idea of approaching him.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Never think I am placing you blindly or indiscriminately. +I have faults to find with you, and even here. +Lisabetta should by no means have been represented cutting +off the head of her lover, ‘<i>as well as she could</i>,’ with a clasp-knife. +This is shocking and improbable. She might have found +it already cut off by her brothers, in order to bury the corpse +more commodiously and expeditiously. Nor indeed is it likely +that she should have entrusted it to her waiting-maid, who carried +home in her bosom a treasure so dear to her, and found so +unexpectedly and so lately.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> That is true: I will correct the oversight. Why do +we never hear of our faults until everybody knows them, and +until they stand in record against us?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Because our ears are closed to truth and friendship +for some time after the triumphal course of composition. We +are too sensitive for the gentlest touch; and when we really +have the most infirmity, we are angry to be told that we +have any.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Ah, Francesco! thou art poet from scalp to heel: +but what other would open his breast as thou hast done! They +show ostentatiously far worse weaknesses; but the most honest +of the tribe would forswear himself on this. Again, I acknowledge +it, you have reason to complain of Lisabetta and Gismonda.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> In my delight to listen to you after so long an +absence, I have been too unwary; and you have been speaking +too much for one infirm. Greatly am I to blame, not to have +moderated my pleasure and your vivacity. You must rest now: +to-morrow we will renew our conversation.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> God bless thee, Francesco! I shall be talking +with thee all night in my slumbers. Never have I seen thee +with such pleasure as to-day, excepting when I was deemed +worthy by our fellow-citizens of bearing to thee, and of placing +within this dear hand of thine, the sentence of recall from +banishment, and when my tears streamed over the ordinance +as I read it, whereby thy paternal lands were redeemed from +the public treasury.</p> + +<p>Again God bless thee! Those tears were not quite exhausted: +take the last of them.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> It may puzzle an Englishman to read the lines beginning with +‘Modicum’, so as to give the metre. The secret is, to draw out <i>et</i> into a +disyllable, et-te, as the Italians do, who pronounce Latin verse, if possible, +worse than we, adding a syllable to such as end with a consonant.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h4><a name="THIRD_DAYS_INTERVIEW" id="THIRD_DAYS_INTERVIEW"></a>THIRD DAY’S INTERVIEW</h4> + +<p>It being now the Lord’s day, Messer Francesco thought it meet +that he should rise early in the morning and bestir himself, to +hear mass in the parish church at Certaldo. Whereupon he +went on tiptoe, if so weighty a man could indeed go in such a +fashion, and lifted softly the latch of Ser Giovanni’s chamber +door, that he might salute him ere he departed, and occasion +no wonder at the step he was about to take. He found Ser +Giovanni fast asleep, with the missal wide open across his nose, +and a pleasant smile on his genial, joyous mouth. Ser Francesco +leaned over the couch, closed his hands together, and looking +with even more than his usual benignity, said in a low voice:</p> + +<p>‘God bless thee, gentle soul! the mother of purity and innocence +protect thee!’</p> + +<p>He then went into the kitchen, where he found the girl +Assunta, and mentioned his resolution. She informed him that +the horse had eaten his two beans,<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> and was as strong as a lion +and as ready as a lover. Ser Francesco patted her on the +cheek, and called her <i>semplicetta</i>! She was overjoyed at this +honour from so great a man, the bosom friend of her good master, +whom she had always thought the greatest man in the world, +not excepting Monsignore, until he told her he was only a +dog confronted with Ser Francesco. She tripped alertly across +the paved court into the stable, and took down the saddle +and bridle from the farther end of the rack. But Ser Francesco, +with his natural politeness, would not allow her to equip his +palfrey.</p> + +<p>‘This is not the work for maidens,’ said he; ‘return to the +house, good girl!’</p> + +<p>She lingered a moment, then went away; but, mistrusting +the dexterity of Ser Francesco, she stopped and turned back +again, and peeped through the half-closed door, and heard +sundry sobs and wheezes round about the girth. Ser Francesco’s +wind ill seconded his intention; and, although he had +thrown the saddle valiantly and stoutly in its station, yet the +girths brought him into extremity. She entered again, and +dissembling the reason, asked him whether he would not take +a small beaker of the sweet white wine before he set out, and +offered to girdle the horse while his Reverence bitted and +bridled him. Before any answer could be returned, she had +begun. And having now satisfactorily executed her undertaking, +she felt irrepressible delight and glee at being able to +do what Ser Francesco had failed in. He was scarcely more +successful with his allotment of the labour; found unlooked-for +intricacies and complications in the machinery, wondered that +human wit could not simplify it, and declared that the animal had +never exhibited such restiveness before. In fact, he never had +experienced the same grooming. At this conjuncture, a green +cap made its appearance, bound with straw-coloured ribbon, and +surmounted with two bushy sprigs of hawthorn, of which the +globular buds were swelling, and some bursting, but fewer yet +open. It was young Simplizio Nardi, who sometimes came on +the Sunday morning to sweep the courtyard for Assunta.</p> + +<p>‘Oh! this time you are come just when you were wanted,’ +said the girl.</p> + +<p>‘Bridle, directly, Ser Francesco’s horse, and then go away +about your business.’</p> + +<p>The youth blushed, and kissed Ser Francesco’s hand, begging +his permission. It was soon done. He then held the stirrup; +and Ser Francesco, with scarcely three efforts, was seated and +erect on the saddle. The horse, however, had somewhat more +inclination for the stable than for the expedition; and, as +Assunta was handing to the rider his long ebony staff, bearing +an ivory caduceus, the quadruped turned suddenly round. +Simplizio called him <i>bestiaccia</i>! and then, softening it, <i>poco +garbato</i>! and proposed to Ser Francesco that he should leave the +bastone behind, and take the crab-switch he presented to him, +giving at the same time a sample of its efficacy, which covered +the long grizzle hair of the worthy quadruped with a profusion +of pink blossoms, like embroidery. The offer was declined; but +Assunta told Simplizio to carry it himself, and to walk by the +side of Ser Canonico quite up to the church porch, having seen +what a sad, dangerous beast his reverence had under him.</p> + +<p>With perfect good will, partly in the pride of obedience to +Assunta, and partly to enjoy the renown of accompanying a +canon of Holy Church, Simplizio did as she enjoined.</p> + +<p>And now the sound of village bells, in many hamlets and +convents and churches out of sight, was indistinctly heard, +and lost again; and at last the five of Certaldo seemed to crow +over the faintness of them all. The freshness of the morning +was enough of itself to excite the spirits of youth; a portion of +which never fails to descend on years that are far removed from +it, if the mind has partaken in innocent mirth while it was its +season and its duty to enjoy it. Parties of young and old passed +the canonico and his attendant with mute respect, bowing and +bare-headed; for that ebony staff threw its spell over the tongue, +which the frank and hearty salutation of the bearer was inadequate +to break. Simplizio, once or twice, attempted to call +back an intimate of the same age with himself; but the utmost +he could obtain was a <i>riveritissimo</i>! and a genuflexion to the rider. +It is reported that a heart-burning rose up from it in the breast +of a cousin, some days after, too distinctly apparent in the long-drawn +appellation of <i>Gnor</i><a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> Simplizio.</p> + +<p>Ser Francesco moved gradually forward, his steed picking +his way along the lane, and looking fixedly on the stones with +all the sobriety of a mineralogist. He himself was well satisfied +with the pace, and told Simplizio to be sparing of the switch, +unless in case of a hornet or a gadfly. Simplizio smiled, toward +the hedge, and wondered at the condescension of so great a +theologian and astrologer, in joking with him about the gadflies +and hornets in the beginning of April. ‘Ah! there are men +in the world who can make wit out of anything!’ said he to +himself.</p> + +<p>As they approached the walls of the town, the whole country +was pervaded by a stirring and diversified air of gladness. +Laughter and songs and flutes and viols, inviting voices and +complying responses, mingled with merry bells and with processional +hymns, along the woodland paths and along the yellow +meadows. It was really the <i>Lord’s Day</i>, for He made His creatures +happy in it, and their hearts were thankful. Even the cruel +had ceased from cruelty; and the rich man alone exacted from +the animal his daily labour. Ser Francesco made this remark, +and told his youthful guide that he had never been before +where he could not walk to church on a Sunday; and that +nothing should persuade him to urge the speed of his beast, on +the seventh day, beyond his natural and willing foot’s-pace. +He reached the gates of Certaldo more than half an hour before +the time of service, and he found laurels suspended over them, +and being suspended; and many pleasant and beautiful faces +were protruded between the ranks of gentry and clergy who +awaited him. Little did he expect such an attendance; but +Fra Biagio of San Vivaldo, who himself had offered no +obsequiousness or respect, had scattered the secret of his visit +throughout the whole country. A young poet, the most +celebrated in the town, approached the canonico with a long +scroll of verses, which fell below the knee, beginning:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How shall we welcome our illustrious guest?</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>To which Ser Francesco immediately replied: ‘Take your +favourite maiden, lead the dance with her, and bid all your +friends follow; you have a good half-hour for it.’</p> + +<p>Universal applauses succeeded, the music struck up, couples +were instantly formed. The gentry on this occasion led out +the cittadinanza, as they usually do in the villeggiatura, rarely +in the carnival, and never at other times. The elder of the +priests stood round in their sacred vestments, and looked with +cordiality and approbation on the youths, whose hands and +arms could indeed do much, and did it, but whose active eyes +could rarely move upward the modester of their partners.</p> + +<p>While the elder of the clergy were thus gathering the fruits +of their liberal cares and paternal exhortations, some of the +younger looked on with a tenderer sentiment, not unmingled +with regret. Suddenly the bells ceased; the figure of the dance +was broken; all hastened into the church; and many hands that +joined on the green, met together at the font, and touched the +brow reciprocally with its lustral waters, in soul-devotion.</p> + +<p>After the service, and after a sermon a good church-hour in +length to gratify him, enriched with compliments from all +authors, Christian and Pagan, informing him at the conclusion +that, although he had been crowned in the Capitol, he must die, +being born mortal, Ser Francesco rode homeward. The sermon +seemed to have sunk deeply into him, and even into the horse +under him, for both of them nodded, both snorted, and one +stumbled. Simplizio was twice fain to cry:</p> + +<p>‘Ser Canonico! Riverenza! in this country if we sleep before +dinner it does us harm. There are stones in the road, Ser +Canonico, loose as eggs in a nest, and pretty nigh as thick +together, huge as mountains.’</p> + +<p>‘Good lad!’ said Ser Francesco, rubbing his eyes, ‘toss the +biggest of them out of the way, and never mind the rest.’</p> + +<p>The horse, although he walked, shuffled almost into an amble +as he approached the stable, and his master looked up at it +with nearly the same contentment. Assunta had been ordered +to wait for his return, and cried:</p> + +<p>‘O Ser Francesco! you are looking at our long apricot, that +runs the whole length of the stable and barn, covered with +blossoms as the old white hen is with feathers. You must come +in the summer, and eat this fine fruit with Signor Padrone. +You cannot think how ruddy and golden and sweet and mellow +it is. There are peaches in all the fields, and plums, and pears, +and apples, but there is not another apricot for miles and miles. +Ser Giovanni brought the stone from Naples before I was born: +a lady gave it to him when she had eaten only half the fruit off +it: but perhaps you may have seen her, for you have ridden +as far as Rome, or beyond. Padrone looks often at the fruit, +and eats it willingly; and I have seen him turn over the stones +in his plate, and choose one out from the rest, and put it into +his pocket, but never plant it.’</p> + +<p>‘Where is the youth?’ inquired Ser Francesco.</p> + +<p>‘Gone away,’ answered the maiden.</p> + +<p>‘I wanted to thank him,’ said the Canonico.</p> + +<p>‘May I tell him so?’ asked she.</p> + +<p>‘And give him ...’ continued he, holding a piece of silver.</p> + +<p>‘I will give him something of my own, if he goes on and +behaves well,’ said she; ‘but Signor Padrone would drive him +away for ever, I am sure, if he were tempted in an evil hour to +accept a quattrino for any service he could render the friends +of the house.’</p> + +<p>Ser Francesco was delighted with the graceful animation of +this ingenuous girl, and asked her, with a little curiosity, how +she could afford to make him a present.</p> + +<p>‘I do not intend to make him a present,’ she replied: ‘but it +is better he should be rewarded by me,’ she blushed and +hesitated, ‘or by Signor Padrone,’ she added, ‘than by your +reverence. He has not done half his duty yet; not half. I will +teach him: he is quite a child; four months younger than me.’</p> + +<p>Ser Francesco went into the house, saying to himself at the +doorway:</p> + +<p>‘Truth, innocence, and gentle manners have not yet left the +earth. There are sermons that never make the ears weary. +I have heard but few of them, and come from church for this.’</p> + +<p>Whether Simplizio had obeyed some private signal from +Assunta, or whether his own delicacy had prompted him to +disappear, he was now again in the stable, and the manger was +replenished with hay. A bucket was soon after heard ascending +from the well; and then two words: ‘Thanks, Simplizio.’</p> + +<p>When Petrarca entered the chamber, he found Boccaccio with +his breviary in his hand, not looking into it indeed, but repeating +a thanksgiving in an audible and impassioned tone of voice. +Seeing Ser Francesco, he laid the book down beside him, and +welcomed him.</p> + +<p>‘I hope you have an appetite after your ride,’ said he, ‘for +you have sent home a good dinner before you.’</p> + +<p>Ser Francesco did not comprehend him, and expressed it not +in words but in looks.</p> + +<p>‘I am afraid you will dine sadly late to-day: noon has struck +this half-hour, and you must wait another, I doubt. However, +by good luck, I had a couple of citrons in the house, intended +to assuage my thirst if the fever had continued. This being +over, by God’s mercy, I will try (please God!) whether we two +greyhounds cannot be a match for a leveret.’</p> + +<p>‘How is this?’ said Ser Francesco.</p> + +<p>‘Young Marc-Antonio Grilli, the cleverest lad in the parish +at noosing any wild animal, is our patron of the feast. He has +wanted for many a day to say something in the ear of Matilda +Vercelli. Bringing up the leveret to my bedside, and opening +the lips, and cracking the knuckles, and turning the foot round +to show the quality and quantity of the hair upon it, and to +prove that it really and truly was a leveret, and might be eaten +without offence to my teeth, he informed me that he had left +his mother in the yard, ready to dress it for me; she having been +cook to the prior. He protested he owed the <i>crowned martyr</i> +a forest of leverets, boars, deers, and everything else within +them, for having commanded the most backward girls to +dance directly. Whereupon he darted forth at Matilda, saying, +“The <i>crowned martyr</i> orders it,” seizing both her hands, and +swinging her round before she knew what she was about. He +soon had an opportunity of applying a word, no doubt as +dexterously as hand or foot; and she said submissively, but +seriously, and almost sadly, “Marc-Antonio, now all the people +have seen it, they will think it.”</p> + +<p>‘And after a pause:</p> + +<p>‘“I am quite ashamed: and so should you be: are not you +now?”</p> + +<p>‘The others had run into the church. Matilda, who scarcely +had noticed it, cried suddenly:</p> + +<p>‘“O Santissima! we are quite alone.”</p> + +<p>‘“Will you be mine?” cried he, enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>‘“Oh! they will hear you in the church,” replied she.</p> + +<p>‘“They shall, they shall,” cried he again, as loudly.</p> + +<p>‘“If you will only go away.”</p> + +<p>‘“And then?”</p> + +<p>‘“Yes, yes, indeed.”</p> + +<p>‘“The Virgin hears you: fifty saints are witnesses.”</p> + +<p>‘“Ah! they know you made me: they will look kindly +on us.”</p> + +<p>‘He released her hand: she ran into the church, doubling her +veil (I will answer for her) at the door, and kneeling as near it +as she could find a place.</p> + +<p>‘“By St. Peter,” said Marc-Antonio, “if there is a leveret +in the wood, the <i>crowned martyr</i> shall dine upon it this blessed +day.” And he bounded off, and set about his occupation. +I inquired what induced him to designate you by such a title. +He answered, that everybody knew you had received the crown +of martyrdom at Rome, between the pope and antipope, and +had performed many miracles, for which they had canonized +you, and that you wanted only to die to become a saint.’</p> + +<p>The leveret was now served up, cut into small pieces, and +covered with a rich tenacious sauce, composed of sugar, citron, +and various spices. The appetite of Ser Francesco was contagious. +Never was dinner more enjoyed by two companions, +and never so much by a greater number. One glass of a fragrant +wine, the colour of honey, and unmixed with water, crowned +the repast. Ser Francesco then went into his own chamber, +and found, on his ample mattress, a cool, refreshing sleep, quite +sufficient to remove all the fatigues of the morning; and Ser +Giovanni lowered the pillow against which he had seated himself, +and fell into his usual repose. Their separation was not of long continuance: +and, the religious duties of the Sabbath having been performed, +a few reflections on literature were no longer interdicted.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> The land, O Giovanni, of your early youth, the +land of my only love, fascinates us no longer. Italy is our +country; and not ours only, but every man’s, wherever may +have been his wanderings, wherever may have been his birth, +who watches with anxiety the recovery of the Arts, and acknowledges +the supremacy of Genius. Besides, it is in Italy at last +that all our few friends are resident. Yours were left behind +you at Paris in your adolescence, if indeed any friendship can +exist between a Florentine and a Frenchman: mine at Avignon +were Italians, and older for the most part than myself. Here +we know that we are beloved by some, and esteemed by many. +It indeed gave me pleasure the first morning as I lay in bed, +to overhear the fondness and earnestness which a worthy priest +was expressing in your behalf.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> In mine?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Yes indeed: what wonder?</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> A worthy priest?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> None else, certainly.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Heard in bed! dreaming, dreaming; ay?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> No indeed: my eyes and ears were wide open.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> The little parlour opens into your room. But +what priest could that be? Canonico Casini? He only comes +when we have a roast of thrushes, or some such small matter, +at table: and this is not the season; they are pairing. Plover +eggs might tempt him hitherward. If he heard a plover he +would not be easy, and would fain make her drop her oblation +before she had settled her nest.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> It is right and proper that you should be informed +who the clergyman was, to whom you are under an obligation.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Tell me something about it, for truly I am at a +loss to conjecture.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> He must unquestionably have been expressing a +kind and ardent solicitude for your eternal welfare. The first +words I heard on awakening were these:</p> + +<p>‘Ser Giovanni, although the best of masters ...’</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Those were Assuntina’s.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> ‘... may hardly be quite so holy (not being priest +or friar) as your Reverence.’</p> + +<p>She was interrupted by the question: ‘What conversation +holdeth he?’</p> + +<p>She answered:</p> + +<p>‘He never talks of loving our neighbour with all our heart, +all our soul, and all our strength, although he often gives away +the last loaf in the pantry.’</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> It was she! Why did she say that? the slut!</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> ‘He doth well,’ replied the confessor. ‘Of the +Church, of the brotherhood, that is, of me, what discourses +holdeth he?’</p> + +<p>I thought the question an indiscreet one; but confessors vary +in their advances to the seat of truth.</p> + +<p>She proceeded to answer:</p> + +<p>‘He never said anything about the power of the Church to +absolve us, if we should happen to go astray a little in good +company, like your Reverence.’</p> + +<p>Here, it is easy to perceive, is some slight ambiguity. Evidently +she meant to say, by the seduction of ‘bad’ company, and to +express that his Reverence had asserted his power of absolution; +which is undeniable.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I have my version.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> What may yours be?</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Frate Biagio; broad as daylight; the whole frock +round!</p> + +<p>I would wager a flask of oil against a turnip, that he laid +another trap for a penance. Let us see how he went on. I +warrant, as he warmed, he left off limping in his paces, and bore +hard upon the bridle.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> ‘Much do I fear,’ continued the expositor, ‘he +never spoke to thee, child, about another world.’</p> + +<p>There was a silence of some continuance.</p> + +<p>‘Speak!’ said the confessor.</p> + +<p>‘No indeed he never did, poor Padrone!’ was the slow and +evidently reluctant avowal of the maiden; for, in the midst of +the acknowledgment her sighs came through the crevices of +the door: then, without any farther interrogation, and with +little delay, she added:</p> + +<p>‘But he often makes this look like it.’</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> And now, if he had carried a holy scourge, it would +not have been on his shoulders that he would have laid it.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Zeal carries men often too far afloat; and confessors +in general wish to have the sole steerage of the conscience. +When she told him that your benignity made this world another +heaven, he warmly and sharply answered:</p> + +<p>‘It is only we who ought to do that.’</p> + +<p>‘Hush,’ said the maiden; and I verily believe she at that +moment set her back against the door, to prevent the sounds +from coming through the crevices, for the rest of them seemed +to be just over my night-cap. ‘Hush,’ said she, in the whole +length of that softest of all articulations. ‘There is Ser Francesco +in the next room: he sleeps long into the morning, but he is so +clever a clerk, he may understand you just the same. I doubt +whether he thinks Ser Giovanni in the wrong for making so +many people quite happy; and if he should, it would grieve me +very much to think he blamed Ser Giovanni.’</p> + +<p>‘Who is Ser Francesco?’ he asked, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>‘Ser Canonico,’ she answered.</p> + +<p>‘Of what Duomo?’ continued he.</p> + +<p>‘Who knows?’ was the reply; ‘but he is Padrone’s heart’s +friend, for certain.’</p> + +<p>‘Cospetto di Bacco! It can then be no other than Petrarca. +He makes rhymes and love like the devil. Don’t listen to him, +or you are undone. Does he love you too, as well as Padrone?’ +he asked, still lowering his voice.</p> + +<p>‘I cannot tell that matter,’ she answered, somewhat impatiently; +‘but I love him.’</p> + +<p>‘To my face!’ cried he, smartly.</p> + +<p>‘To the Santissima!’ replied she, instantaneously; ‘for have +not I told your Reverence he is Padrone’s true heart’s friend! +And are not you my confessor, when you come on purpose?’</p> + +<p>‘True, true!’ answered he; ‘but there are occasions when we +are shocked by the confession, and wish it made less daringly.’</p> + +<p>‘I was bold; but who can help loving him who loves my good +Padrone?’ said she, much more submissively.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Brave girl, for that!</p> + +<p>Dog of a Frate! They are all of a kidney; all of a kennel. +I would dilute their meal well and keep them low. They should +not waddle and wallop in every hollow lane, nor loll out their +watery tongues at every wash-pool in the parish. We shall +hear, I trust, no more about Fra Biagio in the house while you +are with us. Ah! were it then for life.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> The man’s prudence may be reasonably doubted, +but it were uncharitable to question his sincerity. Could a +neighbour, a religious one in particular, be indifferent to the +welfare of Boccaccio, or any belonging to him?</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I do not complain of his indifference. Indifferent! +no, not he. He might as well be, though. My villetta here is +my castle: it was my father’s; it was his father’s. Cowls did +not hang to dry upon the same cord with caps in their podere; +they shall not in mine. The girl is an honest girl, Francesco, +though I say it. Neither she nor any other shall be befooled +and bamboozled under my roof. Methinks Holy Church might +contrive some improvement upon confession.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Hush! Giovanni! But, it being a matter of discipline, +who knows but she might.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Discipline! ay, ay, ay! faith and troth there are +some who want it.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> You really terrify me. These are sad surmises.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Sad enough: but I am keeper of my handmaiden’s +probity.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> It could not be kept safer.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I wonder what the Frate would be putting into +her head?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Nothing, nothing: be assured.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Why did he ask her all those questions?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Confessors do occasionally take circuitous ways to +arrive at the secrets of the human heart.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> And sometimes they drive at it, me thinks, a whit +too directly. He had no business to make remarks about me.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Anxiety.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> ’Fore God, Francesco, he shall have more of that; +for I will shut him out the moment I am again up and stirring, +though he stand but a nose’s length off. I have no fear about +the girl; no suspicion of her. He might whistle to the moon on +a frosty night, and expect as reasonably her descending. Never +was a man so entirely at his ease as I am about that; never, +never. She is adamant; a bright sword now first unscabbarded; +no breath can hang about it. A seal of beryl, of chrysolite, of +ruby; to make impressions (all in good time and proper place +though) and receive none: incapable, just as they are, of splitting, +or cracking, or flawing, or harbouring dirt. Let him mind that. +Such, I assure you, is that poor little wench, Assuntina.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I am convinced that so well-behaved a young +creature as Assunta——</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Right! Assunta is her name by baptism; we +usually call her Assuntina, because she is slender, and scarcely +yet full-grown, perhaps: but who can tell?</p> + +<p>As for those friars, I never was a friend to impudence: I hate +loose suggestions. In girls’ minds you will find little dust but +what is carried there by gusts from without. They seldom +want sweeping; when they do, the broom should be taken from +behind the house door, and the master should be the sacristan.</p> + +<p>... Scarcely were these words uttered when Assunta was +heard running up the stairs; and the next moment she rapped. +Being ordered to come in, she entered with a willow twig in +her hand, from the middle of which willow twig (for she held +the two ends together) hung a fish, shining with green and gold.</p> + +<p>‘What hast there, young maiden?’ said Ser Francesco.</p> + +<p>‘A fish, Riverenza!’ answered she. ‘In Tuscany we call +it <i>tinca</i>.’</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I too am a little of a Tuscan.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Indeed! well, you really speak very like one, but +only more sweetly and slowly. I wonder how you can keep +up with Signor Padrone—he talks fast when he is in health; +and you have made him so. Why did not you come before? +Your Reverence has surely been at Certaldo in time past.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Yes, before thou wert born.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Ah, sir! it must have been long ago then.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Thou hast just entered upon life.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> I am no child.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> What then art thou?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> I know not: I have lost both father and mother; +there is a name for such as I am.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> And a place in heaven.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Who brought us that fish, Assunta? hast paid for +it? there must be seven pounds: I never saw the like.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> I could hardly lift up my apron to my eyes with it +in my hand. Luca, who brought it all the way from the Padule, +could scarcely be entreated to eat a morsel of bread or sit down.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Give him a flask or two of our wine; he will like it +better than the sour puddle of the plain.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> He is gone back.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Gone! who is he, pray?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Luca, to be sure.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> What Luca?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Dominedio! O Riverenza! how sadly must Ser +Giovanni, my poor Padrone, have lost his memory in this cruel +long illness! he cannot recollect young Luca of the Bientola, +who married Maria.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I never heard of either, to the best of my knowledge.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Be pleased to mention this in your prayers to-night, +Ser Canonico! May Our Lady soon give him back his memory! +and everything else she has been pleased (only in play, I hope) +to take away from him! Ser Francesco, you must have heard +all over the world how Maria Gargarelli, who lived in the service +of our paroco, somehow was outwitted by Satanasso. Monsignore +thought the paroco had not done all he might have done +against his wiles and craftiness, and sent his Reverence over +to the monastery in the mountains, Laverna yonder, to make +him look sharp; and there he is yet.</p> + +<p>And now does Signor Padrone recollect?</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Rather more distinctly.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Ah me! Rather more distinctly! have patience, +Signor Padrone! I am too venturous, God help me! But, +Riverenza, when Maria was the scorn or the abhorrence of +everybody else, excepting poor Luca Sabbatini, who had always +cherished her, and excepting Signor Padrone, who had never +seen her in his lifetime ... for paroco Snello said he desired +no visits from any who took liberties with Holy Church ... +as if Padrone did! Luca one day came to me out of breath, +with money in his hand for our duck. Now it so happened that +the duck, stuffed with noble chestnuts, was going to table at +that instant. I told Signor Padrone....</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Assunta, I never heard thee repeat so long and +tiresome a story before, nor put thyself out of breath so. Come, +we have had enough of it.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> She is mortified: pray let her proceed.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> As you will.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> I told Signor Padrone how Luca was lamenting that +Maria was seized with an <i>imagination</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> No wonder then she fell into misfortune, and her +neighbours and friends avoided her.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Riverenza! how can you smile? Signor Padrone! +and you too? You shook your head and sighed at it when it +happened. The Demonio, who had caused all the first mischief, +was not contented until he had given her the <i>imagination</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> He could not have finished his work more effectually.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> He was balked, however. Luca said:</p> + +<p>‘She shall not die under her wrongs, please God!’</p> + +<p>I repeated the words to Signor Padrone.... He seems to +listen, Riverenza! and will remember presently ... and Signor +Padrone cut away one leg for himself, clean forgetting all the +chestnuts inside, and said sharply, ‘Give the bird to Luca; +and, hark ye, bring back the minestra.’</p> + +<p>Maria loved Luca with all her heart, and Luca loved Maria +with all his: but they both hated paroco Snello for such neglect +about the evil one. And even Monsignore, who sent for Luca +on purpose, had some difficulty in persuading him to forbear +from choler and discourse. For Luca, who never swears, swore +bitterly that the devil should play no such tricks again, nor +alight on girls napping in the parsonage. Monsignore thought +he intended to take violent possession, and to keep watch there +himself without consent of the incumbent. ‘I will have no +scandal,’ said Monsignore; so there was none. Maria, though +she did indeed, as I told your Reverence, love her Luca dearly, +yet she long refused to marry him, and cried very much at last +on the wedding day, and said, as she entered the porch:</p> + +<p>‘Luca! it is not yet too late to leave me.’</p> + +<p>He would have kissed her, but her face was upon his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Pievano Locatelli married them, and gave them his blessing: +and going down from the altar, he said before the people, as +he stood on the last step: ‘Be comforted, child! be comforted! +God above knows that thy husband is honest, and that thou +art innocent.’ Pievano’s voice trembled, for he was an aged +and holy man, and had walked two miles on the occasion. +Pulcheria, his governante, eighty years old, carried an apronful +of lilies to bestrew the altar; and partly from the lilies, and +partly from the blessed angels who (although invisible) were +present, the church was filled with fragrance. Many who heretofore +had been frightened at hearing the mention of Maria’s +name, ventured now to walk up toward her; and some gave her +needles, and some offered skeins of thread, and some ran home +again for pots of honey.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> And why didst not thou take her some trifle?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> I had none.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Surely there are always such about the premises.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Not mine to give away.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> So then at thy hands, Assunta, she went off not +overladen. Ne’er a bone-bodkin out of thy bravery, ay?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> I ran out knitting, with the woodbine and syringa +in the basket for the parlour. I made the basket ... I and +... but myself chiefly, for boys are loiterers.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Well, well: why not bestow the basket, together +with its rich contents?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> I am ashamed to say it ... I covered my half-stocking +with them as quickly as I could, and ran after her, +and presented it. Not knowing what was under the flowers, +and never minding the liberty I had taken, being a stranger to +her, she accepted it as graciously as possible, and bade me be +happy.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I hope you have always kept her command.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Nobody is ever unhappy here, except Fra Biagio, +who frets sometimes: but that may be the walk; or he may +fancy Ser Giovanni to be worse than he really is.</p> + +<p>... Having now performed her mission and concluded her +narrative, she bowed, and said:</p> + +<p>‘Excuse me, Riverenza! excuse me, Signor Padrone! my arm +aches with this great fish.’</p> + +<p>Then, bowing again, and moving her eyes modestly toward +each, she added, ‘with permission!’ and left the chamber.</p> + +<p>‘About the sposina,’ after a pause began Ser Francesco: +‘about the sposina, I do not see the matter clearly.’</p> + +<p>‘You have studied too much for seeing all things clearly,’ +answered Ser Giovanni; ‘you see only the greatest. In fine, +the devil, on this count, is acquitted by acclamation; and the +paroco Snello eats lettuce and chicory up yonder at Laverna. +He has mendicant friars for his society every day; and snails, +as pure as water can wash and boil them, for his repast on +festivals. Under this discipline, if they keep it up, surely one +devil out of legion will depart from him.’</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Literally, <i>due fave</i>, the expression on such occasions to signify a small +quantity.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Contraction of <i>signor</i>, customary in Tuscany.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h4><a name="FOURTH_DAYS_INTERVIEW" id="FOURTH_DAYS_INTERVIEW"></a>FOURTH DAY’S INTERVIEW</h4> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Giovanni, you are unsuspicious, and would scarcely +see a monster in a minotaur. It is well, however, to draw good +out of evil, and it is the peculiar gift of an elevated mind. +Nevertheless, you must have observed, although with greater +curiosity than concern, the slipperiness and tortuousness of +your detractors.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Whatever they detract from me, they leave more +than they can carry away. Beside, they always are detected.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> When they are detected, they raise themselves up +fiercely, as if their nature were erect and they could reach your +height.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Envy would conceal herself under the shadow and +shelter of contemptuousness, but she swells too huge for the den +she creeps into. Let her lie there and crack, and think no more +about her. The people you have been talking of can find no +greater and no other faults in my writings than I myself am +willing to show them, and still more willing to correct. There +are many things, as you have just now told me, very unworthy +of their company.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> He who has much gold is none the poorer for having +much silver too. When a king of old displayed his wealth and +magnificence before a philosopher, the philosopher’s exclamation +was:</p> + +<p>‘How many things are here which I do not want!’</p> + +<p>Does not the same reflection come upon us, when we have +laid aside our compositions for a time, and look into them again +more leisurely? Do we not wonder at our own profusion, and +say like the philosopher:</p> + +<p>‘How many things are here which I do not want!’</p> + +<p>It may happen that we pull up flowers with weeds; but +better this than rankness. We must bear to see our first-born +dispatched before our eyes, and give them up quietly.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> The younger will be the most reluctant. There +are poets among us who mistake in themselves the freckles +of the hay-fever for beauty-spots. In another half-century their +volumes will be inquired after; but only for the sake of cutting +out an illuminated letter from the title-page, or of transplanting +the willow at the end, that hangs so prettily over the tomb of +Amaryllis. If they wish to be healthy and vigorous, let them +open their bosoms to the breezes of Sunium; for the air of +Latium is heavy and overcharged. Above all, they must +remember two admonitions; first, that sweet things hurt +digestion; secondly, that great sails are ill adapted to small +vessels. What is there lovely in poetry unless there be moderation +and composure? Are they not better than the hot, +uncontrollable harlotry of a flaunting, dishevelled enthusiasm? +Whoever has the power of creating, has likewise the inferior +power of keeping his creation in order. The best poets are the +most impressive, because their steps are regular; for without +regularity there is neither strength nor state. Look at Sophocles, +look at Aeschylus, look at Homer.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I agree with you entirely to the whole extent of +your observations; and, if you will continue, I am ready to lay +aside my Dante for the present.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> No, no; we must have him again between us: there +is no danger that he will sour our tempers.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> In comparing his and yours, since you forbid me +to declare all I think of your genius, you will at least allow me +to congratulate you as being the happier of the two.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Frequently, where there is great power in poetry, +the imagination makes encroachments on the heart, and uses +it as her own. I have shed tears on writings which never cost +the writer a sigh, but which occasioned him to rub the palms +of his hands together, until they were ready to strike fire, +with satisfaction at having overcome the difficulty of being +tender.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Giovanni! are you not grown satirical?</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Not in this. It is a truth as broad and glaring +as the eye of the Cyclops. To make you amends for your +shuddering, I will express my doubt, on the other hand, whether +Dante felt all the indignation he threw into his poetry. We +are immoderately fond of warming ourselves; and we do not +think, or care, what the fire is composed of. Be sure it is not +always of cedar, like Circe’s. Our Alighieri had slipped into +the habit of vituperation; and he thought it fitted him; so he +never left it off.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Serener colours are pleasanter to our eyes and more +becoming to our character. The chief desire in every man of +genius is to be thought one; and no fear or apprehension lessens +it. Alighieri, who had certainly studied the gospel, must have +been conscious that he not only was inhumane, but that he +betrayed a more vindictive spirit than any pope or prelate who +is enshrined within the fretwork of his golden grating.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Unhappily, his strong talon had grown into him, +and it would have pained him to suffer amputation. This +eagle, unlike Jupiter’s, never loosened the thunderbolt from it +under the influence of harmony.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> The only good thing we can expect in such minds +and tempers is good poetry: let us at least get that; and, having +it, let us keep and value it. If you had never written some +wanton stories, you would never have been able to show the +world how much wiser and better you grew afterward.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Alas! if I live, I hope to show it. You have +raised my spirits: and now, dear Francesco! do say a couple of +prayers for me, while I lay together the materials of a tale; +a right merry one, I promise you. Faith! it shall amuse you, +and pay decently for the prayers; a good honest litany-worth. +I hardly know whether I ought to have a nun in it: do you +think I may?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Cannot you do without one?</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> No; a nun I must have: say nothing against her; +I can more easily let the abbess alone. Yet Frate Biagio ... +that Frate Biagio, who never came to visit me but when he +thought I was at extremities or asleep.... Assuntina! are +you there?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> No; do you want her?</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Not a bit. That Frate Biagio has heightened my +pulse when I could not lower it again. The very devil is that +Frate for heightening pulses. And with him I shall now make +merry ... God willing ... in God’s good time ... should +it be His divine will to restore me! which I think He has begun +to do miraculously. I seem to be within a frog’s leap of well +again; and we will presently have some rare fun in my <i>Tale of +the Frate</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Do not openly name him.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> He shall recognize himself by one single expression. +He said to me, when I was at the worst:</p> + +<p>‘Ser Giovanni! it would not be much amiss (with permission!) +if you begin to think (at any spare time), just a morsel, of +eternity.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah! Fra Biagio!’ answered I, contritely, ‘I never heard a +sermon of yours but I thought of it seriously and uneasily, long +before the discourse was over.’</p> + +<p>‘So must all,’ replied he, ‘and yet few have the grace to own it.’</p> + +<p>Now mind, Francesco! if it should please the Lord to call +me unto Him, I say, <i>The Nun and Fra Biagio</i> will be found, after +my decease, in the closet cut out of the wall, behind yon Saint +Zacharias in blue and yellow.</p> + +<p>Well done! well done! Francesco. I never heard any man +repeat his prayers so fast and fluently. Why! how many (at a +guess) have you repeated? Such is the power of friendship, +and such the habit of religion! They have done me good: +I feel myself stronger already. To-morrow I think I shall be +able, by leaning on that stout maple stick in the corner, to walk +half over my podere.</p> + +<p>Have you done? have you done?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Be quiet: you may talk too much.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I cannot be quiet for another hour; so, if you have +any more prayers to get over, stick the spur into the other side +of them: they must verily speed, if they beat the last.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Be more serious, dear Giovanni.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Never bid a convalescent be more serious: no, nor +a sick man neither. To health it may give that composure +which it takes away from sickness. Every man will have his +hours of seriousness; but, like the hours of rest, they often are +ill-chosen and unwholesome. Be assured, our heavenly Father +is as well pleased to see His children in the playground as in the +schoolroom. He has provided both for us, and has given us +intimations when each should occupy us.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> You are right, Giovanni! but we know which bell +is heard the most distinctly. We fold our arms at the one, try +the cooler part of the pillow, and turn again to slumber; at the +first stroke of the other, we are beyond our monitors. As for +you, hardly Dante himself could make you grave.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I do not remember how it happened that we slipped +away from his side. One of us must have found him tedious.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> If you were really and substantially at his side, he +would have no mercy on you.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> In sooth, our good Alighieri seems to have had +the appetite of a dogfish or shark, and to have bitten the harder +the warmer he was. I would not voluntarily be under his +manifold rows of dentals. He has an incisor to every saint in +the calendar. I should fare, methinks, like Brutus and the +archbishop. He is forced to stretch himself, out of sheer listlessness, +in so idle a place as Purgatory: he loses half his strength +in Paradise: Hell alone makes him alert and lively: there he +moves about and threatens as tremendously as the serpent +that opposed the legions on their march in Africa. He would +not have been contented in Tuscany itself, even had his enemies +left him unmolested. Were I to write on his model a tripartite +poem, I think it should be entitled, <i>Earth, Italy, and Heaven</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> You will never give yourself the trouble.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I should not succeed.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Perhaps not: but you have done very much, and +may be able to do very much more.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Wonderful is it to me, when I consider that an +infirm and helpless creature, as I am, should be capable of laying +thoughts up in their cabinets of words, which Time, as he rushes +by, with the revolutions of stormy and destructive years, can +never move from their places. On this coarse mattress, one +among the homeliest in the fair at Impruneta, is stretched an +old burgess of Certaldo, of whom perhaps more will be known +hereafter than we know of the Ptolemies and the Pharaohs; +while popes and princes are lying as unregarded as the fleas +that are shaken out of the window. Upon my life, Francesco! +to think of this is enough to make a man presumptuous.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> No, Giovanni! not when the man thinks justly +of it, as such a man ought to do, and must. For so mighty a +power over Time, who casts all other mortals under his, comes +down to us from a greater; and it is only if we abuse the victory +that it were better we had encountered a defeat. Unremitting +care must be taken that nothing soil the monuments we are +raising: sure enough we are that nothing can subvert, and +nothing but our negligence, or worse than negligence, efface +them. Under the glorious lamp entrusted to your vigilance, +one among the lights of the world, which the ministering angels +of our God have suspended for His service, let there stand, with +unclosing eyes, Integrity, Compassion, Self-denial.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> These are holier and cheerfuller images than +Dante has been setting up before us. I hope every thesis in +dispute among his theologians will be settled ere I set foot among +them. I like Tuscany well enough: it answers all my purposes +for the present: and I am without the benefit of those preliminary +studies which might render me a worthy auditor of +incomprehensible wisdom.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I do not wonder you are attached to Tuscany. +Many as have been your visits and adventures in other parts, +you have rendered it pleasanter and more interesting than any: +and indeed we can scarcely walk in any quarter from the gates +of Florence without the recollection of some witty or affecting +story related by you. Every street, every farm, is peopled +by your genius: and this population cannot change with seasons +or with ages, with factions or with incursions. Ghibellines and +Guelphs will have been contested for only by the worms, long +before the <i>Decameron</i> has ceased to be recited on our banks of +blue lilies and under our arching vines. Another plague may +come amidst us; and something of a solace in so terrible a +visitation would be found in your pages, by those to whom letters +are a refuge and relief.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I do indeed think my little bevy from Santa Maria +Novella would be better company on such an occasion, than a +devil with three heads, who diverts the pain his claws inflicted, +by sticking his fangs in another place.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> This is atrocious, not terrific nor grand. Alighieri +is grand by his lights, not by his shadows; by his human +affections, not by his infernal. As the minutest sands are the +labours of some profound sea, or the spoils of some vast mountain, +in like manner his horrid wastes and wearying minutenesses +are the chafings of a turbulent spirit, grasping the loftiest things +and penetrating the deepest, and moving and moaning on the +earth in loneliness and sadness.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Among men he is what among waters is</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The strange, mysterious, solitary Nile.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Is that his verse? I do not remember it.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> No, it is mine for the present: how long it may +continue mine I cannot tell. I never run after those who steal +my apples: it would only tire me: and they are hardly worth recovering +when they are bruised and bitten, as they are usually. +I would not stand upon my verses: it is a perilous boy’s trick, +which we ought to leave off when we put on square shoes. Let +our prose show what we are, and our poetry what we have been.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> You would never have given this advice to Alighieri.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I would never plough porphyry; there is ground +fitter for grain. Alighieri is the parent of his system, like the +sun, about whom all the worlds are but particles thrown forth +from him. We may write little things well, and accumulate +one upon another; but never will any be justly called a great +poet unless he has treated a great subject worthily. He may +be the poet of the lover and of the idler, he may be the poet of +green fields or gay society; but whoever is this can be no more. +A throne is not built of birds’-nests, nor do a thousand reeds +make a trumpet.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I wish Alighieri had blown his on nobler occasions.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> We may rightly wish it: but, in regretting what +he wanted, let us acknowledge what he had: and never forget +(which we omitted to mention) that he borrowed less from his +predecessors than any of the Roman poets from theirs. Reasonably +may it be expected that almost all who follow will be greatly +more indebted to antiquity, to whose stores we, every year, +are making some addition.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> It can be held no flaw in the title-deeds of genius, +if the same thoughts reappear as have been exhibited long ago. +The indisputable sign of defect should be looked for in the +proportion they bear to the unquestionably original. There are +ideas which necessarily must occur to minds of the like magnitude +and materials, aspect and temperature. When two ages +are in the same phasis, they will excite the same humours, and +produce the same coincidences and combinations. In addition +to which, a great poet may really borrow: he may even condescend +to an obligation at the hand of an equal or inferior: but +he forfeits his title if he borrows more than the amount of his +own possessions. The nightingale himself takes somewhat of +his song from birds less glorified: and the lark, having beaten +with her wing the very gates of heaven, cools her breast among +the grass. The lowlier of intellect may lay out a table in their +field, at which table the highest one shall sometimes be disposed +to partake: want does not compel him. Imitation, as we call +it, is often weakness, but it likewise is often sympathy.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Our poet was seldom accessible in this quarter. +Invective picks up the first stone on the wayside, and wants +leisure to consult a forerunner.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Dante (original enough everywhere) is coarse and +clumsy in this career. Vengeance has nothing to do with comedy, +nor properly with satire. The satirist who told us that Indignation +made his verses for him, might have been told in return +that she excluded him thereby from the first class, and thrust +him among the rhetoricians and declaimers. Lucretius, in his +vituperation, is graver and more dignified than Alighieri. +Painful; to see how tolerant is the atheist, how intolerant the +Catholic: how anxiously the one removes from among the sufferings +of Mortality, her last and heaviest, the fear of a vindictive +Fury pursuing her shadow across rivers of fire and tears; how +laboriously the other brings down Anguish and Despair, even +when Death has done his work. How grateful the one is to +that beneficent philosopher who made him at peace with himself, +and tolerant and kindly toward his fellow-creatures! how +importunate the other that God should forgo His divine mercy, +and hurl everlasting torments both upon the dead and the living!</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I have always heard that Ser Dante was a very +good man and sound Catholic: but Christ forgive me if my +heart is oftener on the side of Lucretius!<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> Observe, I say, my +heart; nothing more. I devoutly hold to the sacraments and +the mysteries: yet somehow I would rather see men tranquillized +than frightened out of their senses, and rather fast asleep than +burning. Sometimes I have been ready to believe, as far as +our holy faith will allow me, that it were better our Lord were +nowhere, than torturing in His inscrutable wisdom, to all eternity, +so many myriads of us poor devils, the creatures of His hands. +Do not cross thyself so thickly, Francesco! nor hang down thy +nether lip so loosely, languidly, and helplessly; for I would be +a good Catholic, alive or dead. But, upon my conscience, it +goes hard with me to think it of Him, when I hear that woodlark +yonder, gushing with joyousness, or when I see the beautiful +clouds, resting so softly one upon another, dissolving ... and +not damned for it. Above all, I am slow to apprehend it, when +I remember His great goodness vouchsafed to me, and reflect +on my sinful life heretofore, chiefly in summer time, and in cities, +or their vicinity. But I was tempted beyond my strength; and +I fell as any man might do. However, this last illness, by God’s +grace, has well-nigh brought me to my right mind again in all +such matters: and if I get stout in the present month, and can +hold out the next without sliding, I do verily think I am safe, +or nearly so, until the season of beccaficoes.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Be not too confident!</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Well, I will not be.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> But be firm.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Assuntina! what! are you come in again?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Did you or my master call me, Riverenza?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> No, child!</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Oh! get you gone! Get you gone! you little +rogue you!</p> + +<p>Francesco, I feel quite well. Your kindness to my playful +creatures in the <i>Decameron</i> has revived me, and has put me +into good humour with the greater part of them. Are you quite +certain the Madonna will not expect me to keep my promise? +You said you were: I need not ask you again. I will accept the +whole of your assurances, and half your praises.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> To represent so vast a variety of personages so +characteristically as you have done, to give the wise all their +wisdom, the witty all their wit, and (what is harder to do +advantageously) the simple all their simplicity, requires a genius +such as you alone possess. Those who doubt it are the least +dangerous of your rivals.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Qy. How much of Lucretius (or Petronius or Catullus, before cited) +was then known?</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h4><a name="FIFTH_DAYS_INTERVIEW" id="FIFTH_DAYS_INTERVIEW"></a>FIFTH DAY’S INTERVIEW</h4> + +<p>It being now the last morning that Petrarca could remain with +his friend, he resolved to pass early into his bedchamber. +Boccaccio had risen and was standing at the open window, with +his arms against it. Renovated health sparkled in the eyes of +the one; surprise and delight and thankfulness to Heaven +filled the other’s with sudden tears. He clasped Giovanni, +kissed his flaccid and sallow cheek, and falling on his knees, +adored the Giver of life, the source of health to body and soul. +Giovanni was not unmoved: he bent one knee as he leaned on +the shoulder of Francesco, looking down into his face, repeating +his words, and adding:</p> + +<p>‘Blessed be Thou, O Lord! who sendest me health again! +and blessings on Thy messenger who brought it.’</p> + +<p>He had slept soundly; for ere he closed his eyes he had unburdened +his mind of its freight, not only by employing the +prayers appointed by Holy Church, but likewise by ejaculating; +as sundry of the fathers did of old. He acknowledged his +contrition for many transgressions, and chiefly for uncharitable +thoughts of Fra Biagio: on which occasion he turned fairly +round on his couch, and leaning his brow against the wall, and +his body being in a becomingly curved position, and proper for +the purpose, he thus ejaculated:</p> + +<p>‘Thou knowest, O most Holy Virgin! that never have I +spoken to handmaiden at this villetta, or within my mansion +at Certaldo, wantonly or indiscreetly, but have always been, +inasmuch as may be, the guardian of innocence; deeming it +better, when irregular thoughts assailed me, to ventilate them +abroad than to poison the house with them. And if, sinner as +I am, I have thought uncharitably of others, and more especially +of Fra Biagio, pardon me, out of thy exceeding great mercies! +And let it not be imputed to me, if I have kept, and may keep +hereafter, an eye over him, in wariness and watchfulness; not +otherwise. For thou knowest, O Madonna! that many who +have a perfect and unwavering faith in thee, yet do cover up +their cheese from the nibblings of vermin.’</p> + +<p>Whereupon, he turned round again, threw himself on his back +at full length, and feeling the sheets cool, smooth, and refreshing, +folded his arms, and slept instantaneously. The consequence +of his wholesome slumber was a calm alacrity: and +the idea that his visitor would be happy at seeing him on his +feet again, made him attempt to get up: at which he succeeded, +to his own wonder. And it was increased by the manifestation +of his strength in opening the casement, stiff from being closed, +and swelled by the continuance of the rains. The morning was +warm and sunny: and it is known that on this occasion he +composed the verses below:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My old familiar cottage-green!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I see once more thy pleasant sheen;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The gossamer suspended over</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Smart celandine by lusty clover;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the last blossom of the plum</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Inviting her first leaves to come;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Which hang a little back, but show</span><br /> +<span class="i0">’Tis not their nature to say no.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I scarcely am in voice to sing</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How graceful are the steps of Spring;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And ah! it makes me sigh to look</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How leaps along my merry brook,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The very same to-day as when</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He chirrupt first to maids and men.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I can rejoice at the freshness of your feelings: but +the sight of the green turf reminds me rather of its ultimate +use and destination.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For many serves the parish pall,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The turf in common serves for all.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Very true; and, such being the case, let us carefully +fold it up, and lay it by until we call for it.</p> + +<p>Francesco, you made me quite light-headed yesterday. I +am rather too old to dance either with Spring, as I have been +saying, or with Vanity: and yet I accepted her at your hand as +a partner. In future, no more of comparisons for me! You +not only can do me no good, but you can leave me no pleasure: +for here I shall remain the few days I have to live, and shall +see nobody who will be disposed to remind me of your praises. +Beside, you yourself will get hated for them. We neither can +deserve praise nor receive it with impunity.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Have you never remarked that it is into quiet +water that children throw pebbles to disturb it? and that it +is into deep caverns that the idle drop sticks and dirt? We +must expect such treatment.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Your admonition shall have its wholesome influence +over me, when the fever your praises have excited has grown +moderate.</p> + +<p>... After the conversation on this topic and various others +had continued some time, it was interrupted by a visitor. The +clergy and monkery at Certaldo had never been cordial with +Messer Giovanni, it being suspected that certain of his <i>Novelle</i> +were modelled on originals in their orders. Hence, although +they indeed both professed and felt esteem for Canonico Petrarca, +they abstained from expressing it at the villetta. But Frate +Biagio of San Vivaldo was (by his own appointment) the friend +of the house; and, being considered as very expert in pharmacy, +had, day after day, brought over no indifferent store of simples, +in ptisans, and other refections, during the continuance of +Ser Giovanni’s ailment. Something now moved him to cast +about in his mind whether it might not appear dutiful to make +another visit. Perhaps he thought it possible that, among those +who peradventure had seen him lately on the road, one or other +might expect from him a solution of the questions, What sort of +person was the <i>crowned martyr</i>? whether he carried a palm in +his hand? whether a seam was visible across the throat? whether +he wore a ring over his glove, with a chrysolite in it, like the +bishops, but representing the city of Jerusalem and the judgment-seat +of Pontius Pilate? Such were the reports; but the inhabitants +of San Vivaldo could not believe the Certaldese, who, +inhabiting the next township to them, were naturally their +enemies. Yet they might believe Frate Biagio, and certainly +would interrogate him accordingly. He formed his determination, +put his frock and hood on, and gave a curvature to his +shoe, to evince his knowledge of the world, by pushing the +extremity of it with his breast-bone against the corner of his +cell. Studious of his figure and of his attire, he walked as much +as possible on his heels, to keep up the reformation he had +wrought in the workmanship of the cordwainer. On former +occasions he had borrowed a horse, as being wanted to hear +confession or to carry medicines, which might otherwise be too +late. But, having put on an entirely new habiliment, and it +being the season when horses are beginning to do the same, he +deemed it prudent to travel on foot. Approaching the villetta, +his first intention was to walk directly into his patient’s room: +but he found it impossible to resist the impulses of pride, in +showing Assunta his rigid and stately frock, and shoes rather +of the equestrian order than the monastic. So he went into the +kitchen where the girl was at work, having just taken away the +remains of the breakfast.</p> + +<p>‘Frate Biagio!’ cried she, ‘is this you? Have you been sleeping +at Conte Jeronimo’s?’</p> + +<p>‘Not I,’ replied he.</p> + +<p>‘Why!’ said she, ‘those are surely his shoes! Santa Maria! +you must have put them on in the dusk of the morning, to say +your prayers in! Here! here! take these old ones of Signor +Padrone, for the love of God! I hope your Reverence met +nobody.’</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> What dost smile at?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Smile at! I could find in my heart to laugh outright, +if I only were certain that nobody had seen your Reverence +in such a funny trim. Riverenza! put on these.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> Not I indeed.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Allow me then?</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> No, nor you.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Then let me stand upon yours, to push down the +points.</p> + +<p>... Frate Biagio now began to relent a little, when Assunta, +who had made one step toward the project, bethought herself +suddenly, and said:</p> + +<p>‘No; I might miss my footing. But, mercy upon us! what +made you cramp your Reverence with those ox-yoke shoes? +and strangle your Reverence with that hangdog collar?’</p> + +<p>‘If you must know,’ answered the Frate, reddening, ‘it was +because I am making a visit to the Canonico of Parma. I +should like to know something about him: perhaps you could +tell me?’</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Ever so much.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> I thought no less: indeed I knew it. Which goes to +bed first?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Both together.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> Demonio! what dost mean?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> He tells me never to sit up waiting, but to say my +prayers and dream of the Virgin.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> As if it was any business of his! Does he put out his +lamp himself?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> To be sure he does: why should not he? what +should he be afraid of? It is not winter: and beside, there is a +mat upon the floor, all round the bed, excepting the top and +bottom.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> I am quite convinced he never said anything to make +you blush. Why are you silent?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> I have a right.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> He did then? ay? Do not nod your head: that will +never do. Discreet girls speak plainly.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> What would you have?</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> The truth; the truth; again, I say, the truth.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> He <i>did</i> then.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> I knew it! The most dangerous man living!</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Ah! indeed he is! Signor Padrone said so.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> He knows him of old: he warned you, it seems.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Me! He never said it was I who was in danger.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> He might: it was his duty.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Am I so fat? Lord! you may feel every rib. Girls +who run about as I do, slip away from apoplexy.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> Ho! ho! that is all, is it?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> And bad enough too! that such good-natured men +should ever grow so bulky; and stand in danger, as Padrone +said they both do, of such a seizure?</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> What? and art ready to cry about it? Old folks cannot +die easier: and there are always plenty of younger to run +quick enough for a confessor. But I must not trifle in this +manner. It is my duty to set your feet in the right way: it +is my bounden duty to report to Ser Giovanni all irregularities +I know of, committed in his domicile. I could indeed, and +would, remit a trifle, on hearing the worst. Tell me now, +Assunta! tell me, you little angel! did you ... we all may, +the very best of us may, and do ... sin, my sweet?</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> You may be sure I did not: for whenever I sin I +run into church directly, although it snows or thunders: else I +never could see again Padrone’s face, or any one’s.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> You do not come to me.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> You live at San Vivaldo.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> But when there is sin so pressing I am always ready +to be found. You perplex, you puzzle me. Tell me at once +how he made you blush.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Well then!</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> Well then! you did not hang back so before him. I +lose all patience.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> So famous a man!...</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> No excuse in that.</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> So dear to Padrone....</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> The more shame for him!</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Called me....</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> And <i>called</i> you, did he! the traitorous swine!</p> + +<p><i>Assunta.</i> Called me ... <i>good girl</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> Psha! the wenches, I think, are all mad: but few of +them in this manner.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>... Without saying another word, Fra Biagio went forward +and opened the bedchamber door, saying briskly:</p> + +<p>‘Servant! Ser Giovanni! Ser Canonico! most devoted! most +obsequious! I venture to incommode you. Thanks to God, +Ser Canonico, you are looking well for your years. They tell +me you were formerly (who would believe it?) the handsomest +man in Christendom, and worked your way glibly, yonder +at Avignon.</p> + +<p>‘Capperi! Ser Giovanni! I never observed that you were +sitting bolt-upright in that long-backed armchair, instead of +lying abed. Quite in the right. I am rejoiced at such a change +for the better. Who advised it?’</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> So many thanks to Fra Biagio! I not only am +sitting up, but have taken a draught of fresh air at the window, +and every leaf had a little present of sunshine for me.</p> + +<p>There is one pleasure, Fra Biagio, which I fancy you never +have experienced, and I hardly know whether I ought to +wish it you; the first sensation of health after a long +confinement.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> Thanks! infinite! I would take any man’s word for +that, without a wish to try it. Everybody tells me I am exactly +what I was a dozen years ago; while, for my part, I see everybody +changed: those who ought to be much about my age, +even those.... Per Bacco! I told them my thoughts when +they had told me theirs; and they were not so agreeable as they +used to be in former days.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> How people hate sincerity!</p> + +<p>Cospetto! why, Frate! what hast got upon thy toes? Hast +killed some Tartar and tucked his bow into one, and torn the +crescent from the vizier’s tent to make the other match it? +Hadst thou fallen in thy mettlesome expedition (and it is a +mercy and a miracle thou didst not) those sacrilegious shoes +would have impaled thee.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> It was a mistake in the shoemaker. But no pain or +incommodity whatsoever could detain me from paying my duty +to Ser Canonico, the first moment I heard of his auspicious arrival, +or from offering my congratulations to Ser Giovanni, on the +annunciation that he was recovered and looking out of the +window. All Tuscany was standing on the watch for it, and +the news flew like lightning. By this time it is upon the +Danube.</p> + +<p>And pray, Ser Canonico, how does Madonna Laura do?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Peace to her gentle spirit! she is departed.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> Ay, true. I had quite forgotten: that is to say, I +recollect it. You told us as much, I think, in a poem on her +death. Well, and do you know! our friend Giovanni here is +a bit of an author in his way.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Frate! you confuse my modesty.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> Murder will out. It is a fact, on my conscience. +Have you never heard anything about it, Canonico! Ha! we +poets are sly fellows: we can keep a secret.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Are you quite sure you can?</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> Try, and trust me with any. I am a confessional +on legs: there is no more a whisper in me than in a woolsack.</p> + +<p>I am in feather again, as you see; and in tune, as you shall hear.</p> + +<p>April is not the month for moping. Sing it lustily.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Let it be your business to sing it, being a Frate; +I can only recite it.</p> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> Pray do, then.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Frate Biagio! sempre quando</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Quà tu vieni cavalcando,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Pensi che le buone strade</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Per il mondo sien ben rade;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">E, di quante sono brutte,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">La più brutta è tua di tutte.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Badi, non cascare sulle</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Graziosissime fanciulle,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Che con capo dritto, alzato,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Uova portano al mercato.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Pessima mi pare l’opra</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Rovesciarle sottosopra.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Deh! scansando le erte e sassi,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Sempre con premura passi.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Caro amico! Frate Biagio!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Passi pur, ma passi adagio.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Frate.</i> Well now really, Canonico, for one not exactly one of +us, that canzone of Ser Giovanni has merit; has not it? I did +not ride, however, to-day; as you may see by the lining of my +frock. But <i>plus non vitiat</i>; ay, Canonico! About the roads +he is right enough; they are the devil’s own roads; that must be +said for them.</p> + +<p>Ser Giovanni! with permission; your mention of eggs in the +canzone has induced me to fancy I could eat a pair of them. +The hens lay well now: that white one of yours is worth more +than the goose that laid the golden: and you have a store of +others, her equals or betters: we have none like them at poor +St. Vivaldo. <i>A riverderci, Ser Giovanni! Schiavo! Ser Canonico! +mi commandino.</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>... Fra Biagio went back into the kitchen, helped himself +to a quarter of a loaf, ordered a flask of wine, and, trying several +eggs against his lips, selected seven, which he himself fried in +oil, although the maid offered her services. He never had been +so little disposed to enter into conversation with her; and on +her asking him how he found her master, he replied, that in +bodily health Ser Giovanni, by his prayers and ptisans, had much +improved, but that his faculties were wearing out apace. ‘He +may now run in the same couples with the Canonico: they cannot +catch the mange one of the other: the one could say nothing +to the purpose, and the other nothing at all. The whole conversation +was entirely at my charge,’ added he. ‘And now, +Assunta, since you press it, I will accept the service of your +master’s shoes. How I shall ever get home I don’t know.’ +He took the shoes off the handles of the bellows, where Assunta +had placed them out of her way, and tucking one of his own +under each arm, limped toward St. Vivaldo.</p> + +<p>The unwonted attention to smartness of apparel, in the only +article wherein it could be displayed, was suggested to Frate +Biagio by hearing that Ser Francesco, accustomed to courtly +habits and elegant society, and having not only small hands, +but small feet, usually wore red slippers in the morning. Fra +Biagio had scarcely left the outer door, than he cordially cursed +Ser Francesco for making such a fool of him, and wearing slippers +of black list. ‘These canonicoes,’ said he, ‘not only lie themselves, +but teach everybody else to do the same. He has lamed +me for life: I burn as if I had been shod at the blacksmith’s forge.’</p> + +<p>The two friends said nothing about him, but continued the +discourse which his visit had interrupted.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Turn again, I entreat you, to the serious; and do +not imagine that because by nature you are inclined to playfulness, +you must therefore write ludicrous things better. Many +of your stories would make the gravest men laugh, and yet there +is little wit in them.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I think so myself; though authors, little disposed +as they are to doubt their possession of any quality they would +bring into play, are least of all suspicious on the side of wit. +You have convinced me. I am glad to have been tender, and +to have written tenderly: for I am certain it is this alone that +has made you love me with such affection.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Not this alone, Giovanni! but this principally. I +have always found you kind and compassionate, liberal and +sincere, and when Fortune does not stand very close to such a +man, she leaves only the more room for Friendship.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Let her stand off then, now and for ever! To +my heart, to my heart, Francesco! preserver of my health, my +peace of mind, and (since you tell me I may claim it) my glory.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Recovering your strength you must pursue your +studies to complete it. What can you have been doing with +your books? I have searched in vain this morning for the +treasury. Where are they kept? Formerly they were always +open. I found only a short manuscript, which I suspect is +poetry, but I ventured not on looking into it, until I had brought +it with me and laid it before you.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Well guessed! They are verses written by a +gentleman who resided long in this country, and who much +regretted the necessity of leaving it. He took great delight in +composing both Latin and Italian, but never kept a copy +of them latterly, so that these are the only ones I could obtain +from him. Read: for your voice will improve them:</p> + + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">TO MY CHILD CARLINO</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Carlino! what art thou about, my boy?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Often I ask that question, though in vain,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For we are far apart: ah! therefore ’tis</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I often ask it; not in such a tone</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As wiser fathers do, who know too well.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Were we not children, you and I together?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Stole we not glances from each other’s eyes?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Swore we not secrecy in such misdeeds?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Well could we trust each other. Tell me then</span><br /> +<span class="i0">What thou art doing. Carving out thy name,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or haply mine, upon my favourite seat,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With the new knife I sent thee over sea?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or hast thou broken it, and hid the hilt</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Among the myrtles, starr’d with flowers, behind?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or under that high throne whence fifty lilies</span><br /> +<span class="i0">(With sworded tuberoses dense around)</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Lift up their heads at once, not without fear</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That they were looking at thee all the while.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Does Cincirillo follow thee about?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Inverting one swart foot suspensively,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And wagging his dread jaw at every chirp</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of bird above him on the olive-branch?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Frighten him then away! ’twas he who slew</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Our pigeons, our white pigeons peacock-tailed,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That fear’d not you and me ... alas, nor him!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I flattened his striped sides along my knee,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And reasoned with him on his bloody mind,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Till he looked blandly, and half-closed his eyes</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To ponder on my lecture in the shade.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I doubt his memory much, his heart a little,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And in some minor matters (may I say it?)</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Could wish him rather sager. But from thee</span><br /> +<span class="i0">God hold back wisdom yet for many years!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whether in early season or in late</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It always comes high-priced. For thy pure breast</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I have no lesson; it for me has many.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Come throw it open then! What sports, what cares</span><br /> +<span class="i0">(Since there are none too young for these) engage</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Thy busy thoughts? Are you again at work,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Walter and you, with those sly labourers,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Geppo, Giovanni, Cecco, and Poeta,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To build more solidly your broken dam</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Among the poplars, whence the nightingale</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Inquisitively watch’d you all day long?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I was not of your council in the scheme,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or might have saved you silver without end,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And sighs too without number. Art thou gone</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Below the mulberry, where that cold pool</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Urged to devise a warmer, and more fit</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For mighty swimmers, swimming three abreast?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or art thou panting in this summer noon</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Upon the lowest step before the hall,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Drawing a slice of water-melon, long</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As Cupid’s bow, athwart thy wetted lips</span><br /> +<span class="i0">(Like one who plays Pan’s pipe) and letting drop</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The sable seeds from all their separate cells,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And leaving bays profound and rocks abrupt,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Redder than coral round Calypso’s cave?</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> There have been those anciently who would have +been pleased with such poetry, and perhaps there may be again. +I am not sorry to see the Muses by the side of childhood, and +forming a part of the family. But now tell me about the books.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Resolving to lay aside the more valuable of those +I had collected or transcribed, and to place them under the +guardianship of richer men, I locked them up together in the +higher story of my tower at Certaldo. You remember the old +tower?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Well do I remember the hearty laugh we had +together (which stopped us upon the staircase) at the calculation +we made, how much longer you and I, if we continued to +thrive as we had thriven latterly, should be able to pass within +its narrow circle. Although I like this little villa much better, +I would gladly see the place again, and enjoy with you, as we +did before, the vast expanse of woodlands and mountains and +maremma; frowning fortresses inexpugnable; and others more +prodigious for their ruins; then below them, lordly abbeys, +overcanopied with stately trees and girded with rich luxuriance; +and towns that seem approaching them to do them honour, and +villages nestling close at their sides for sustenance and protection.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> My disorder, if it should keep its promise of +leaving me at last, will have been preparing me for the accomplishment +of such a project. Should I get thinner and thinner +at this rate, I shall soon be able to mount not only a turret or +a belfry, but a tube of macarone, while a Neapolitan is +suspending it for deglutition.</p> + +<p>What I am about to mention will show you how little you +can rely on me! I have preserved the books, as you desired, +but quite contrary to my resolution: and, no less contrary to it, +by your desire I shall now preserve the <i>Decameron</i>. In vain +had I determined not only to mend in future, but to correct the +past; in vain had I prayed most fervently for grace to accomplish +it, with a final aspiration to Fiametta that she would unite with +your beloved Laura, and that, gentle and beatified spirits as +they are, they would breathe together their purer prayers on +mine. See what follows.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Sigh not at it. Before we can see all that follows +from their intercession, we must join them again. But let me +hear anything in which they are concerned.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I prayed; and my breast, after some few tears, +grew calmer. Yet sleep did not ensue until the break of morning, +when the dropping of soft rain on the leaves of the fig-tree +at the window, and the chirping of a little bird, to tell another +there was shelter under them, brought me repose and slumber. +Scarcely had I closed my eyes, if indeed time can be reckoned +any more in sleep than in heaven, when my Fiametta seemed to +have led me into the meadow. You will see it below you: turn +away that branch: gently! gently! do not break it; for the little +bird sat there.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I think, Giovanni, I can divine the place. Although +this fig-tree, growing out of the wall between the cellar and us, +is fantastic enough in its branches, yet that other which I see +yonder, bent down and forced to crawl along the grass by the +prepotency of the young shapely walnut-tree, is much more so. +It forms a seat, about a cubit above the ground, level and long +enough for several.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Ha! you fancy it must be a favourite spot with me, +because of the two strong forked stakes wherewith it is propped +and supported!</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Poets know the haunts of poets at first sight; and +he who loved Laura.... O Laura! did I say he who <i>loved</i> thee? +... hath whisperings where those feet would wander which +have been restless after Fiametta.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> It is true, my imagination has often conducted +her thither; but there in this chamber she appeared to me more +visibly in a dream.</p> + +<p>‘Thy prayers have been heard, O Giovanni,’ said she.</p> + +<p>I sprang to embrace her.</p> + +<p>‘Do not spill the water! Ah! you have spilt a part of it.’</p> + +<p>I then observed in her hand a crystal vase. A few drops +were sparkling on the sides and running down the rim: a few +were trickling from the base and from the hand that held it.</p> + +<p>‘I must go down to the brook,’ said she, ‘and fill it again as +it was filled before.’</p> + +<p>What a moment of agony was this to me! Could I be certain +how long might be her absence? She went: I was following: +she made a sign for me to turn back: I disobeyed her only an +instant: yet my sense of disobedience, increasing my feebleness +and confusion, made me lose sight of her. In the next moment +she was again at my side, with the cup quite full. I stood +motionless: I feared my breath might shake the water over. +I looked her in the face for her commands ... and to see it +... to see it so calm, so beneficent, so beautiful. I was forgetting +what I had prayed for, when she lowered her head, +tasted of the cup, and gave it me. I drank; and suddenly +sprang forth before me many groves and palaces and gardens, +and their statues and their avenues, and their labyrinths of +alaternus and bay, and alcoves of citron, and watchful loopholes +in the retirements of impenetrable pomegranate. Farther off, +just below where the fountain slipped away from its marble +hall and guardian gods, arose, from their beds of moss and +drosera and darkest grass, the sisterhood of oleanders, fond +of tantalizing with their bosomed flowers and their moist and +pouting blossoms the little shy rivulet, and of covering its face +with all the colours of the dawn. My dream expanded and +moved forward. I trod again the dust of Posilipo, soft as the +feathers in the wings of Sleep. I emerged on Baia; I crossed +her innumerable arches; I loitered in the breezy sunshine of her +mole; I trusted the faithful seclusion of her caverns, the keepers +of so many secrets; and I reposed on the buoyancy of her tepid +sea. Then Naples, and her theatres and her churches, and +grottoes and dells and forts and promontories, rushed forward +in confusion, now among soft whispers, now among sweetest +sounds, and subsided, and sank, and disappeared. Yet a +memory seemed to come fresh from every one: each had time +enough for its tale, for its pleasure, for its reflection, for its pang. +As I mounted with silent steps the narrow staircase of the old +palace, how distinctly did I feel against the palm of my hand +the coldness of that smooth stone-work, and the greater of the +cramps of iron in it!</p> + +<p>‘Ah me! is this forgetting?’ cried I anxiously to Fiametta.</p> + +<p>‘We must recall these scenes before us,’ she replied: ‘such is +the punishment of them. Let us hope and believe that the +apparition, and the compunction which must follow it, will be +accepted as the full penalty, and that both will pass away +almost together.’</p> + +<p>I feared to lose anything attendant on her presence: I feared +to approach her forehead with my lips: I feared to touch the +lily on its long wavy leaf in her hair, which filled my whole heart +with fragrance. Venerating, adoring, I bowed my head at +last to kiss her snow-white robe, and trembled at my presumption. +And yet the effulgence of her countenance vivified +while it chastened me. I loved her ... I must not say <i>more</i> +than ever ... <i>better</i> than ever; it was Fiametta who had +inhabited the skies. As my hand opened toward her:</p> + +<p>‘Beware!’ said she, faintly smiling; ‘beware, Giovanni! +Take only the crystal; take it, and drink again.’</p> + +<p>‘Must all be then forgotten?’ said I sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>‘Remember your prayer and mine, Giovanni. Shall both +have been granted ... oh, how much worse than in vain?’</p> + +<p>I drank instantly; I drank largely. How cool my bosom +grew; how could it grow so cool before her! But it was not to +remain in its quiescency; its trials were not yet over. I will +not, Francesco! no, I may not commemorate the incidents she +related to me, nor which of us said, ‘I blush for having loved +<i>first</i>;’ nor which of us replied, ‘Say <i>least</i>, say <i>least</i>, and blush +again.’</p> + +<p>The charm of the words (for I felt not the encumbrance of +the body nor the acuteness of the spirit) seemed to possess me +wholly. Although the water gave me strength and comfort, +and somewhat of celestial pleasure, many tears fell around the +border of the vase as she held it up before me, exhorting me to +take courage, and inviting me with more than exhortation to +accomplish my deliverance. She came nearer, more tenderly, +more earnestly; she held the dewy globe with both hands, leaning +forward, and sighed and shook her head, drooping at my +pusillanimity. It was only when a ringlet had touched the rim, +and perhaps the water (for a sunbeam on the surface could +never have given it such a golden hue), that I took courage, +clasped it, and exhausted it. Sweet as was the water, sweet +as was the serenity it gave me ... alas! that also which it +moved away from me was sweet!</p> + +<p>‘This time you can trust me alone,’ said she, and parted +my hair, and kissed my brow. Again she went toward the brook: +again my agitation, my weakness, my doubt, came over me: +nor could I see her while she raised the water, nor knew I whence +she drew it. When she returned, she was close to me at once: +she smiled: her smile pierced me to the bones: it seemed an +angel’s. She sprinkled the pure water on me; she looked most +fondly; she took my hand; she suffered me to press hers to my +bosom; but, whether by design I cannot tell, she let fall a few +drops of the chilly element between.</p> + +<p>‘And now, O my beloved!’ said she, ‘we have consigned to +the bosom of God our earthly joys and sorrows. The joys cannot +return, let not the sorrows. These alone would trouble my +repose among the blessed.’</p> + +<p>‘Trouble thy repose! Fiametta! Give me the chalice!’ +cried I ... ‘not a drop will I leave in it, not a drop.’</p> + +<p>‘Take it!’ said that soft voice. ‘O now most dear Giovanni! +I know thou hast strength enough; and there is but little ... +at the bottom lies our first kiss.’</p> + +<p>‘Mine! didst thou say, beloved one? and is that left thee still?’</p> + +<p>‘<i>Mine</i>,’ said she, pensively; and as she abased her head, the +broad leaf of the lily hid her brow and her eyes; the light of +heaven shone through the flower.</p> + +<p>‘O Fiametta! Fiametta!’ cried I in agony, ‘God is the God +of mercy, God is the God of love ... can I, can I ever?’ I +struck the chalice against my head, unmindful that I held it; +the water covered my face and my feet. I started up, not yet +awake, and I heard the name of Fiametta in the curtains.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Love, O Giovanni, and life itself, are but dreams +at best. I do think</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Never so gloriously was Sleep attended</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As with the pageant of that heavenly maid.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>But to dwell on such subjects is sinful. The recollection of +them, with all their vanities, brings tears into my eyes.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> And into mine too ... they were so very +charming.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Alas, alas! the time always comes when we must +regret the enjoyments of our youth.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> If we have let them pass us.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I mean our indulgence in them.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Francesco! I think you must remember Raffaellino +degli Alfani.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Was it Raffaellino who lived near San Michele in +Orto?</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> The same. He was an innocent soul, and fond of +fish. But whenever his friend Sabbatelli sent him a trout from +Pratolino, he always kept it until next day or the day after, +just long enough to render it unpalatable. He then turned it +over in the platter, smelt at it closer, although the news of its +condition came undeniably from a distance, touched it with his +forefinger, solicited a testimony from the gills which the eyes had +contradicted, sighed over it, and sent it for a present to somebody +else. Were I a lover of trout as Raffaellino was, I think +I should have taken an opportunity of enjoying it while the +pink and crimson were glittering on it.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Trout, yes.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> And all other fish I could encompass.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> O thou grave mocker! I did not suspect such +slyness in thee: proof enough I had almost forgotten thee.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Listen! listen! I fancied I caught a footstep in +the passage. Come nearer; bend your head lower, that I may +whisper a word in your ear. Never let Assunta hear you sigh. +She is mischievous: she may have been standing at the door: +not that I believe she would be guilty of any such impropriety: +but who knows what girls are capable of! She has no malice, +only in laughing; and a sigh sets her windmill at work, van over +van, incessantly.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I should soon check her. I have no notion....</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> After all, she is a good girl ... a trifle of the +wilful. She must have it that many things are hurtful to me +... reading in particular ... it makes people so odd. Tina +is a small matter of the madcap ... in her own particular +way ... but exceedingly discreet, I do assure you, if they will +only leave her alone.</p> + +<p>I find I was mistaken, there was nobody.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> A cat, perhaps.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> No such thing. I order him over to Certaldo +while the birds are laying and sitting: and he knows by experience, +favourite as he is, that it is of no use to come back before +he is sent for. Since the first impetuosities of youth, he has +rarely been refractory or disobliging. We have lived together +now these five years, unless I miscalculate; and he seems to have +learnt something of my manners, wherein violence and enterprise +by no means predominate. I have watched him looking +at a large green lizard; and, their eyes being opposite and near, +he has doubted whether it might be pleasing to me if he began +the attack; and their tails on a sudden have touched one another +at the decision.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Seldom have adverse parties felt the same desire +of peace at the same moment, and none ever carried it more +simultaneously and promptly into execution.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> He enjoys his <i>otium cum dignitate</i> at Certaldo: +there he is my castellan, and his chase is unlimited in those +domains. After the doom of relegation is expired, he comes +hither at midsummer. And then if you could see his joy! +His eyes are as deep as a well, and as clear as a fountain: he +jerks his tail into the air like a royal sceptre, and waves it like +the wand of a magician. You would fancy that, as Horace +with his head, he was about to smite the stars with it. There +is ne’er such another cat in the parish; and he knows it, a rogue! +We have rare repasts together in the bean-and-bacon time, +although in regard to the bean he sides with the philosopher of +Samos; but after due examination. In cleanliness he is a very +nun; albeit in that quality which lies between cleanliness and +godliness, there is a smack of Fra Biagio about him. What +is that book in your hand?</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> My breviary.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Well, give me mine too ... there, on the little +table in the corner, under the glass of primroses. We can do +nothing better.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> What prayer were you looking for? let me find it.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> I don’t know how it is: I am scarcely at present +in a frame of mind for it. We are of one faith: the prayers of +the one will do for the other: and I am sure, if you omitted my +name, you would say them all over afresh. I wish you could +recollect in any book as dreamy a thing to entertain me as I have +been just repeating. We have had enough of Dante: I believe +few of his beauties have escaped us: and small faults, which +we readily pass by, are fitter for small folks, as grubs are the +proper bait for gudgeons.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> I have had as many dreams as most men. We +are all made up of them, as the webs of the spider are particles +of her own vitality. But how infinitely less do we profit by +them! I will relate to you, before we separate, one among the +multitude of mine, as coming the nearest to the poetry of yours, +and as having been not totally useless to me. Often have I +reflected on it; sometimes with pensiveness, with sadness never.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Then, Francesco, if you had with you as copious +a choice of dreams as clustered on the elm-trees where the +Sibyl led Aeneas, this, in preference to the whole swarm of them, +is the queen dream for me.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> When I was younger I was fond of wandering in +solitary places, and never was afraid of slumbering in woods +and grottoes. Among the chief pleasures of my life, and among +the commonest of my occupations, was the bringing before me +such heroes and heroines of antiquity, such poets and sages, +such of the prosperous and the unfortunate, as most interested +me by their courage, their wisdom, their eloquence, or their +adventures. Engaging them in the conversation best suited +to their characters, I knew perfectly their manners, their steps, +their voices: and often did I moisten with my tears the models +I had been forming of the less happy.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Great is the privilege of entering into the studies +of the intellectual; great is that of conversing with the guides of +nations, the movers of the mass, the regulators of the unruly +will, stiff, in its impurity and rust, against the finger of the +Almighty Power that formed it: but give me, Francesco, give +me rather the creature to sympathize with; apportion me the +sufferings to assuage. Ah, gentle soul! thou wilt never send +them over to another; they have better hopes from thee.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> We both alike feel the sorrows of those around us. +He who suppresses or allays them in another, breaks many +thorns off his own; and future years will never harden fresh ones.</p> + +<p>My occupation was not always in making the politician talk +politics, the orator toss his torch among the populace, the +philosopher run down from philosophy to cover the retreat or +the advances of his sect; but sometimes in devising how such +characters must act and discourse, on subjects far remote from +the beaten track of their career. In like manner the philologist, +and again the dialectician, were not indulged in the review and +parade of their trained bands, but, at times, brought forward +to show in what manner and in what degree external habits +had influenced the conformation of the internal man. It was +far from unprofitable to set passing events before past actors, +and to record the decisions of those whose interests and passions +are unconcerned in them.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> This is surely no easy matter. The thoughts are +in fact your own, however you distribute them.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> All cannot be my own; if you mean by <i>thoughts</i> +the opinions and principles I should be the most desirous to +inculcate. Some favourite ones perhaps may obtrude too +prominently, but otherwise no misbehaviour is permitted them: +reprehension and rebuke are always ready, and the offence is +punished on the spot.</p> + +<p><i>Boccaccio.</i> Certainly you thus throw open, to its full extent, +the range of poetry and invention; which cannot but be very +limited and sterile, unless where we find displayed much diversity +of character as disseminated by nature, much peculiarity of +sentiment as arising from position, marked with unerring skill +through every shade and gradation; and finally and chiefly, +much intertexture and intensity of passion. You thus convey +to us more largely and expeditiously the stores of your understanding +and imagination, than you ever could by sonnets or +canzonets, or sinewless and sapless allegories.</p> + +<p>But weightier works are less captivating. If you had published +any such as you mention, you must have waited for their +acceptance. Not only the fame of Marcellus, but every other,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Crescit occulto velut arbor aevo;</span><br /> +</div> +</div> + +<p>and that which makes the greatest vernal shoot is apt to make +the least autumnal. Authors in general who have met celebrity +at starting, have already had their reward; always their utmost +due, and often much beyond it. We cannot hope for both +celebrity and fame: supremely fortunate are the few who are +allowed the liberty of choice between them. We two prefer +the strength that springs from exercise and toil, acquiring it +gradually and slowly: we leave to others the earlier blessing of +that sleep which follows enjoyment. How many at first sight +are enthusiastic in their favour! Of these how large a portion +come away empty-handed and discontented! like idlers who +visit the seacoast, fill their pockets with pebbles bright from the +passing wave, and carry them off with rapture. After a short +examination at home, every streak seems faint and dull, and +the whole contexture coarse, uneven, and gritty: first one is +thrown away, then another; and before the week’s end the store +is gone, of things so shining and wonderful.</p> + +<p><i>Petrarca.</i> Allegory, which you named with sonnets and +canzonets, had few attractions for me, believing it to be the +delight in general of idle, frivolous, inexcursive minds, in whose +mansions there is neither hall nor portal to receive the loftier +of the Passions. A stranger to the Affections, she holds a low +station among the handmaidens of Poetry, being fit for little +but an apparition in a mask. I had reflected for some time on +this subject, when, wearied with the length of my walk over +the mountains, and finding a soft old molehill, covered with +grey grass, by the wayside, I laid my head upon it and slept. +I cannot tell how long it was before a species of dream or vision +came over me.</p> + +<p>Two beautiful youths appeared beside me; each was winged; +but the wings were hanging down, and seemed ill adapted to +flight. One of them, whose voice was the softest I ever heard, +looking at me frequently, said to the other:</p> + +<p>‘He is under my guardianship for the present: do not awaken +him with that feather.’</p> + +<p>Methought, hearing the whisper, I saw something like the +feather on an arrow; and then the arrow itself; the whole of it, +even to the point; although he carried it in such a manner +that it was difficult at first to discover more than a palm’s length +of it: the rest of the shaft, and the whole of the barb, was behind +his ankles.</p> + +<p>‘This feather never awakens any one,’ replied he, rather +petulantly; ‘but it brings more of confident security, and more +of cherished dreams, than you without me are capable of +imparting.’</p> + +<p>‘Be it so!’ answered the gentler ... ‘none is less inclined to +quarrel or dispute than I am. Many whom you have wounded +grievously, call upon me for succour. But so little am I disposed +to thwart you, it is seldom I venture to do more for them than +to whisper a few words of comfort in passing. How many +reproaches on these occasions have been cast upon me for +indifference and infidelity! Nearly as many, and nearly in +the same terms, as upon you!’</p> + +<p>‘Odd enough that we, O Sleep! should be thought so alike,’ +said Love, contemptuously. ‘Yonder is he who bears a nearer +resemblance to you: the dullest have observed it.’ I fancied +I turned my eyes to where he was pointing, and saw at a distance +the figure he designated. Meanwhile the contention went on +uninterruptedly. Sleep was slow in asserting his power or his +benefits. Love recapitulated them; but only that he might +assert his own above them. Suddenly he called on me to +decide, and to choose my patron. Under the influence, first of +the one, then of the other, I sprang from repose to rapture, I +alighted from rapture on repose ... and knew not which +was sweetest. Love was very angry with me, and declared +he would cross me throughout the whole of my existence. +Whatever I might on other occasions have thought of his +veracity, I now felt too surely the conviction that he would +keep his word. At last, before the close of the altercation, the +third Genius had advanced, and stood near us. I cannot tell +how I knew him, but I knew him to be the Genius of Death. +Breathless as I was at beholding him, I soon became familiar +with his features. First they seemed only calm; presently +they grew contemplative; and lastly beautiful: those of the +Graces themselves are less regular, less harmonious, less composed. +Love glanced at him unsteadily, with a countenance +in which there was somewhat of anxiety, somewhat of disdain; +and cried: ‘Go away! go away! nothing that thou touchest, +lives.’</p> + +<p>‘Say rather, child!’ replied the advancing form, and advancing +grew loftier and statelier, ‘say rather that nothing of beautiful +or of glorious lives its own true life until my wing hath passed +over it.’</p> + +<p>Love pouted, and rumpled and bent down with his forefinger +the stiff short feathers on his arrow-head; but replied not. +Although he frowned worse than ever, and at me, I dreaded him +less and less, and scarcely looked toward him. The milder and +calmer Genius, the third, in proportion as I took courage to +contemplate him, regarded me with more and more complacency. +He held neither flower nor arrow, as the others did; but, throwing +back the clusters of dark curls that overshadowed his +countenance, he presented to me his hand, openly and benignly. +I shrank on looking at him so near, and yet I sighed to love him. +He smiled, not without an expression of pity, at perceiving my +diffidence, my timidity: for I remembered how soft was the +hand of Sleep, how warm and entrancing was Love’s. By +degrees, I became ashamed of my ingratitude; and turning my +face away, I held out my arms, and felt my neck within his. +Composure strewed and allayed all the throbbings of my bosom; +the coolness of freshest morning breathed around: the heavens +seemed to open above me; while the beautiful cheek of my +deliverer rested on my head. I would now have looked for +those others; but knowing my intention by my gesture, he +said, consolatorily:</p> + +<p>‘Sleep is on his way to the Earth, where many are calling +him; but it is not to these he hastens; for every call only makes +him fly farther off. Sedately and gravely as he looks, he is +nearly as capricious and volatile as the more arrogant and +ferocious one.’</p> + +<p>‘And Love!’ said I, ‘whither is he departed? If not too late, +I would propitiate and appease him.’</p> + +<p>‘He who cannot follow me, he who cannot overtake and pass +me,’ said the Genius, ‘is unworthy of the name, the most glorious +in earth or heaven. Look up! Love is yonder, and ready to +receive thee.’</p> + +<p>I looked: the earth was under me: I saw only the clear blue +sky, and something brighter above it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="POEMS" id="POEMS"></a>POEMS</h2> + + +<h3><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She I love (alas in vain!)</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Floats before my slumbering eyes:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When she comes she lulls my pain,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">When she goes what pangs arise!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Thou whom love, whom memory flies,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Gentle Sleep! prolong thy reign!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If even thus she soothe my sighs,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Never let me wake again!</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pleasure! why thus desert the heart</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In its spring-tide?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I could have seen her, I could part,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And but have sigh’d!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O’er every youthful charm to stray,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To gaze, to touch....</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Pleasure! why take so much away,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Or give so much?</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Past ruin’d Ilion Helen lives,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Alcestis rises from the shades;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Verse calls them forth; ’tis verse that gives</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Immortal youth to mortal maids.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soon shall Oblivion’s deepening veil</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Hide all the peopled hills you see,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The gay, the proud, while lovers hail</span><br /> +<span class="i1">These many summers you and me.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ianthe! you are call’d to cross the sea!</span><br /> +<span class="i3">A path forbidden <i>me</i>!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Remember, while the Sun his blessing sheds</span><br /> +<span class="i3">Upon the mountain-heads,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How often we have watcht him laying down</span><br /> +<span class="i3">His brow, and dropt our own</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Against each other’s, and how faint and short</span><br /> +<span class="i3">And sliding the support!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">What will succeed it now? Mine is unblest,</span><br /> +<span class="i3">Ianthe! nor will rest</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But on the very thought that swells with pain.</span><br /> +<span class="i3">O bid me hope again!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">O give me back what Earth, what (without you)</span><br /> +<span class="i3">Not Heaven itself can do,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">One of the golden days that we have past;</span><br /> +<span class="i3">And let it be my last!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or else the gift would be, however sweet,</span><br /> +<span class="i3">Fragile and incomplete.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The gates of fame and of the grave</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Stand under the same architrave.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Twenty years hence my eyes may grow</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If not quite dim, yet rather so,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Still yours from others they shall know</span><br /> +<span class="i8">Twenty years hence.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Twenty years hence tho’ it may hap</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That I be call’d to take a nap</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In a cool cell where thunder-clap</span><br /> +<span class="i8">Was never heard,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There breathe but o’er my arch of grass</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A not too sadly sigh’d <i>Alas</i>,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I shall catch, ere you can pass,</span><br /> +<span class="i8">That winged word.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here, ever since you went abroad,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">If there be change, no change I see,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I only walk our wonted road,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">The road is only walkt by me.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes; I forgot; a change there is;</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Was it of <i>that</i> you bade me tell?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I catch at times, at times I miss</span><br /> +<span class="i1">The sight, the tone, I know so well.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Only two months since you stood here!</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Two shortest months! then tell me why</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Voices are harsher than they were,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">And tears are longer ere they dry.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell me not things past all belief;</span><br /> +<span class="i1">One truth in you I prove;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The flame of anger, bright and brief,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Sharpens the barb of Love.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Four not exempt from pride some future day.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Resting on one white hand a warm wet cheek</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Over my open volume you will say,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">‘This man loved <i>me</i>!’ then rise and trip away.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h3> + +<h4>FIESOLE IDYL</h4> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here, where precipitate Spring, with one light bound</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Into hot Summer’s lusty arms, expires,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Soft airs that want the lute to play with ’em,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And softer sighs that know not what they want,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Aside a wall, beneath an orange-tree,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whose tallest flowers could tell the lowlier ones</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of sights in Fiesole right up above,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">While I was gazing a few paces off</span><br /> +<span class="i0">At what they seem’d to show me with their nods,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Their frequent whispers and their pointing shoots,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A gentle maid came down the garden-steps</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And gathered the pure treasure in her lap.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I heard the branches rustle, and stept forth</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To drive the ox away, or mule, or goat,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Such I believed it must be. How could I</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Let beast o’erpower them? When hath wind or rain</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Borne hard upon weak plant that wanted me,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I (however they might bluster round)</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Walkt off? ’Twere most ungrateful: for sweet scents</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are the swift vehicles of still sweeter thoughts,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And nurse and pillow the dull memory</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That would let drop without them her best stores.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They bring me tales of youth and tones of love,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And ’tis and ever was my wish and way</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To let all flowers live freely, and all die</span><br /> +<span class="i0">(Whene’er their Genius bids their souls depart)</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Among their kindred in their native place.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I never pluck the rose; the violet’s head</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And not reproacht me; the ever-sacred cup</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of the pure lily hath between my hands</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Felt safe, unsoil’d, nor lost one grain of gold.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I saw the light that made the glossy leaves</span><br /> +<span class="i0">More glossy; the fair arm, the fairer cheek</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Warmed by the eye intent on its pursuit;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I saw the foot that, although half-erect</span><br /> +<span class="i0">From its grey slipper, could not lift her up</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To what she wanted: I held down a branch</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And gather’d her some blossoms; since their hour</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Was come, and bees had wounded them, and flies</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of harder wing were working their way thro’</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And scattering them in fragments under-foot.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So crisp were some, they rattled unevolved,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Others, ere broken off, fell into shells,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For such appear the petals when detacht,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Unbending, brittle, lucid, white like snow,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And like snow not seen thro’, by eye or sun:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet every one her gown received from me</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Was fairer than the first. I thought not so,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But so she praised them to reward my care.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I said, ‘You find the largest.’</span><br /> +<span class="i10">‘This indeed,’</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Cried she, ‘is large and sweet.’ She held one forth,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whether for me to look at or to stake</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She knew not, nor did I; but taking it</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Would best have solved (and this she felt) her doubt.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I dared not touch it; for it seemed a part</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of her own self; fresh, full, the most mature</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of blossoms, yet a blossom; with a touch</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To fall, and yet unfallen. She drew back</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The boon she tender’d, and then, finding not</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The ribbon at her waist to fix it in,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Dropt it, as loath to drop it, on the rest.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah what avails the sceptred race,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Ah what the form divine!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">What every virtue, every grace!</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Rose Aylmer, all were thine.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes</span><br /> +<span class="i1">May weep, but never see,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A night of memories and of sighs</span><br /> +<span class="i1">I consecrate to thee.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With rosy hand a little girl prest down</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A boss of fresh-cull’d cowslips in a rill:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Often as they sprang up again, a frown</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Show’d she disliked resistance to her will:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But when they droopt their heads and shone much less,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She shook them to and fro, and threw them by,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And tript away. ‘Ye loathe the heaviness</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Ye love to cause, my little girls!’ thought I,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">‘And what had shone for you, by you must die.’</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Ternissa! you are fled!</span><br /> +<span class="i3">I say not to the dead,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But to the happy ones who rest below:</span><br /> +<span class="i3">For, surely, surely, where</span><br /> +<span class="i3">Your voice and graces are,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Nothing of death can any feel or know.</span><br /> +<span class="i3">Girls who delight to dwell</span><br /> +<span class="i3">Where grows most asphodel,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Gather to their calm breasts each word you speak:</span><br /> +<span class="i3">The mild Persephone</span><br /> +<span class="i3">Places you on her knee,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And your cool palm smooths down stern Pluto’s cheek.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Various the roads of life; in one</span><br /> +<span class="i1">All terminate, one lonely way</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We go; and ‘Is he gone?’</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Is all our best friends say.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes; I write verses now and then,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But blunt and flaccid is my pen,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No longer talkt of by young men</span><br /> +<span class="i8">As rather clever:</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the last quarter are my eyes,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You see it by their form and size;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is it not time then to be wise?</span><br /> +<span class="i8">Or now or never.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fairest that ever sprang from Eve!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">While Time allows the short reprieve,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Just look at me! would you believe</span><br /> +<span class="i8">’Twas once a lover?</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I cannot clear the five-bar gate,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But, trying first its timber’s state,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Climb stiffly up, take breath, and wait</span><br /> +<span class="i8">To trundle over.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thro’ gallopade I cannot swing</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The entangling blooms of Beauty’s spring:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I cannot say the tender thing,</span><br /> +<span class="i8">Be ’t true or false,</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And am beginning to opine</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Those girls are only half-divine</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whose waists yon wicked boys entwine</span><br /> +<span class="i8">In giddy waltz.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I fear that arm above that shoulder,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I wish them wiser, graver, older,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Sedater, and no harm if colder</span><br /> +<span class="i8">And panting less.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! people were not half so wild</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In former days, when, starchly mild,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Upon her high-heel’d Essex smiled</span><br /> +<span class="i8">The brave Queen Bess.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h3> + +<h4>ON SEEING A HAIR OF LUCRETIA BORGIA</h4> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Borgia, thou once wert almost too august</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And high for adoration; now thou’rt dust.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All that remains of thee these plaits unfold,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Calm hair, meandering in pellucid gold.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Once, and once only, have I seen thy face,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Elia! once only has thy tripping tongue</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Run o’er my breast, yet never has been left</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Impression on it stronger or more sweet.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Cordial old man! what youth was in thy years,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">What wisdom in thy levity, what truth</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In every utterance of that purest soul!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Few are the spirits of the glorified</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I’d spring to earlier at the gate of Heaven.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h3> + +<h4>TO WORDSWORTH</h4> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Those who have laid the harp aside</span><br /> +<span class="i1">And turn’d to idler things,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">From very restlessness have tried</span><br /> +<span class="i1">The loose and dusty strings.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And, catching back some favourite strain,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Run with it o’er the chords again.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But Memory is not a Muse,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">O Wordsworth! though ’tis said</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They all descend from her, and use</span><br /> +<span class="i1">To haunt her fountain-head:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That other men should work for me</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In the rich mines of Poesie,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Pleases me better than the toil</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Of smoothing under hardened hand,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With Attic emery and oil,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">The shining point for Wisdom’s wand,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Like those thou temperest ’mid the rills</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Descending from thy native hills.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Without his governance, in vain</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Manhood is strong, and Youth is bold</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If oftentimes the o’er-piled strain</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Clogs in the furnace, and grows cold</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Beneath his pinions deep and frore,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And swells and melts and flows no more,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That is because the heat beneath</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Pants in its cavern poorly fed.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Life springs not from the couch of Death,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Nor Muse nor Grace can raise the dead;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Unturn’d then let the mass remain,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Intractable to sun or rain.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A marsh, where only flat leaves lie,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And showing but the broken sky,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Too surely is the sweetest lay</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That wins the ear and wastes the day,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where youthful Fancy pouts alone</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And lets not Wisdom touch her zone.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He who would build his fame up high,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The rule and plummet must apply,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Nor say, ‘I’ll do what I have plann’d,’</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Before he try if loam or sand</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Be still remaining in the place</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Delved for each polisht pillar’s base.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With skilful eye and fit device</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Thou raisest every edifice,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whether in sheltered vale it stand</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or overlook the Dardan strand,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Amid the cypresses that mourn</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Laodameia’s love forlorn.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We both have run o’er half the space</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Listed for mortal’s earthly race;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We both have crost life’s fervid line,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And other stars before us shine:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">May they be bright and prosperous</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As those that have been stars for us!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Our course by Milton’s light was sped,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And Shakespeare shining overhead:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Chatting on deck was Dryden too,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The Bacon of the rhyming crew;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">None ever crost our mystic sea</span><br /> +<span class="i0">More richly stored with thought than he;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Tho’ never tender nor sublime,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He wrestles with and conquers Time.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To learn my lore on Chaucer’s knee,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I left much prouder company;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Thee gentle Spenser fondly led,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But me he mostly sent to bed.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wish them every joy above</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That highly blessed spirits prove,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Save one: and that too shall be theirs,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But after many rolling years,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When ’mid their light thy light appears.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h3> + +<h4>TO CHARLES DICKENS</h4> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Go then to Italy; but mind</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To leave the pale low France behind;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Pass through that country, nor ascend</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The Rhine, nor over Tyrol wend:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Thus all at once shall rise more grand</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The glories of the ancient land.</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Dickens! how often, when the air</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Breath’d genially, I’ve thought me there,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And rais’d to heaven my thankful eyes</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To see three spans of deep blue skies.</span><br /> +<span class="i1">In Genoa now I hear a stir,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A shout ... <i>Here comes the Minister!</i></span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yes, thou art he, although not sent</span><br /> +<span class="i0">By cabinet or parliament:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yes, thou art he. Since Milton’s youth</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Bloom’d in the Eden of the South,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Spirit so pure and lofty none</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Hath heavenly Genius from his throne</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Deputed on the banks of Thames</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To speak his voice and urge his claims.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Let every nation know from thee</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How less than lovely Italy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is the whole world beside; let all</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Into their grateful breasts recall</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How Prospero and Miranda dwelt</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In Italy: the griefs that melt</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The stoniest heart, each sacred tear</span><br /> +<span class="i0">One lacrymatory gathered here;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All Desdemona’s, all that fell</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In playful Juliet’s bridal cell.</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Ah! could my steps in life’s decline</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Accompany or follow thine!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But my own vines are not for me</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To prune, or from afar to see.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I miss the tales I used to tell</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With cordial Hare and joyous Gell,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And that good old Archbishop whose</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Cool library, at evening’s close</span><br /> +<span class="i0">(Soon as from Ischia swept the gale</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And heav’d and left the dark’ning sail),</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Its lofty portal open’d wide</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To me, and very few beside:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet large his kindness. Still the poor</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Flock round Taranto’s palace door,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And find no other to replace</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The noblest of a noble race.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Amid our converse you would see</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Each with white cat upon his knee,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And flattering that grand company:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For Persian kings might proudly own</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Such glorious cats to share the throne.</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Write me few letters: I’m content</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With what for all the world is meant;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Write then for all: but, since my breast</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is far more faithful than the rest,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Never shall any other share</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With little Nelly nestling there.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>XX</h3> + +<h4>TO BARRY CORNWALL</h4> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Barry! your spirit long ago</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Has haunted me; at last I know</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The heart it sprung from: one more sound</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Ne’er rested on poetic ground.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But, Barry Cornwall! by what right</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Wring you my breast and dim my sight,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And make me wish at every touch</span><br /> +<span class="i0">My poor old hand could do as much?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No other in these later times</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Has bound me in so potent rhymes.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I have observed the curious dress</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And jewelry of brave Queen Bess,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But always found some o’ercharged thing,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Some flaw in even the brightest ring,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Admiring in her men of war,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A rich but too argute guitar.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Our foremost now are more prolix,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And scrape with three-fell fiddlesticks,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And, whether bound for griefs or smiles,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are slow to turn as crocodiles.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Once, every court and country bevy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Chose the gallant of loins less heavy,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And would have laid upon the shelf</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Him who could talk but of himself.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Reason is stout, but even Reason</span><br /> +<span class="i0">May walk too long in Rhyme’s hot season.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I have heard many folks aver</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They have caught horrid colds with her.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Imagination’s paper kite,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Unless the string is held in tight,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whatever fits and starts it takes,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Soon bounces on the ground, and breaks.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You, placed afar from each extreme,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Nor dully drowse nor wildly dream,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But, ever flowing with good-humour,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are bright as spring and warm as summer.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Mid your Penates not a word</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of scorn or ill-report is heard;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Nor is there any need to pull</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A sheaf or truss from cart too full,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Lest it o’erload the horse, no doubt,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or clog the road by falling out.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We, who surround a common table,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And imitate the fashionable,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Wear each two eyeglasses: <i>this</i> lens</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Shows us our faults, <i>that</i> other men’s.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We do not care how dim may be</span><br /> +<span class="i0"><i>This</i> by whose aid our own we see,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But, ever anxiously alert</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That all may have their whole desert,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We would melt down the stars and sun</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In our heart’s furnace, to make one</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Thro’ which the enlighten’d world might spy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A mote upon a brother’s eye.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a>XXI</h3> + +<h4>TO ROBERT BROWNING</h4> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is delight in singing, tho’ none hear</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Beside the singer: and there is delight</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In praising, tho’ the praiser sit alone</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And see the prais’d far off him, far above.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world’s,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No man hath walkt along our roads with step</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So varied in discourse. But warmer climes</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Give brighter plumage, stronger wing: the breeze</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of Alpine highths thou playest with, borne on</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a>XXII</h3> + +<h4>AGE</h4> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Death, tho’ I see him not, is near</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And grudges me my eightieth year.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Now, I would give him all these last</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For one that fifty have run past.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Ah! he strikes all things, all alike,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But bargains: those he will not strike.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XXIII" id="XXIII"></a>XXIII</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Leaf after leaf drops off, flower after flower,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Some in the chill, some in the warmer hour:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Alike they flourish and alike they fall,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And Earth who nourisht them receives them all.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Should we, her wiser sons, be less content</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To sink into her lap when life is spent?</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></a>XXIV</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well I remember how you smiled</span><br /> +<span class="i1">To see me write your name upon</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The soft sea-sand—‘<i>O! what a child!</i></span><br /> +<span class="i1"><i>You think you’re writing upon stone!</i>’</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I have since written what no tide</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Shall ever wash away, what men</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Unborn shall read o’er ocean wide</span><br /> +<span class="i1">And find Ianthe’s name again.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XXV" id="XXV"></a>XXV</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I warmed both hands before the fire of Life;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It sinks, and I am ready to depart.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></a>XXVI</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Death stands above me, whispering low</span><br /> +<span class="i1">I know not what into my ear:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of his strange language all I know</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Is, there is not a word of fear.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></a>XXVII</h3> + +<h4>A PASTORAL</h4> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Damon was sitting in the grove</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With Phyllis, and protesting love;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And she was listening; but no word</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of all he loudly swore she heard.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How! was she deaf then? no, not she,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Phyllis was quite the contrary.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Tapping his elbow, she said, ‘Hush!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">O what a darling of a thrush!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I think he never sang so well</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As now, below us, in the dell.’</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XXVIII" id="XXVIII"></a>XXVIII</h3> + +<h4>THE LOVER</h4> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now thou art gone, tho’ not gone far,</span><br /> +<span class="i1">It seems that there are worlds between us;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Shine here again, thou wandering star!</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Earth’s planet! and return with Venus.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At times thou broughtest me thy light</span><br /> +<span class="i1">When restless sleep had gone away;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">At other times more blessed night</span><br /> +<span class="i1">Stole over, and prolonged thy stay.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XXIX" id="XXIX"></a>XXIX</h3> + +<h4>THE POET WHO SLEEPS</h4> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One day, when I was young, I read</span><br /> +<span class="i0">About a poet, long since dead,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who fell asleep, as poets do</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In writing—and make others too.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But herein lies the story’s gist,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How a gay queen came up and kist</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The sleeper.</span><br /> +<span class="i5">‘Capital!’ thought I.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">‘A like good fortune let me try.’</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Many the things we poets feign.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I feign’d to sleep, but tried in vain.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I tost and turn’d from side to side,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With open mouth and nostrils wide.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">At last there came a pretty maid,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And gazed; then to myself I said,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">‘Now for it!’ She, instead of kiss,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Cried, ‘What a lazy lout is this!’</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XXX" id="XXX"></a>XXX</h3> + +<h4>DANIEL DEFOE</h4> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Few will acknowledge what they owe</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To persecuted, brave Defoe.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Achilles, in Homeric song,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">May, or he may not, live so long</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As Crusoe; few their strength had tried</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Without so staunch and safe a guide.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">What boy is there who never laid</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Under his pillow, half afraid,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That precious volume, lest the morrow</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For unlearnt lessons might bring sorrow?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But nobler lessons he has taught</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Wide-awake scholars who fear’d naught:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A Rodney and a Nelson may</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Without him not have won the day.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XXXI" id="XXXI"></a>XXXI</h3> + +<h4>IDLE WORDS</h4> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say that every idle word</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is numbered by the Omniscient Lord.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">O Parliament! ’tis well that He</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Endureth for Eternity,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And that a thousand Angels wait</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To write them at thy inner gate.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3><a name="XXXII" id="XXXII"></a>XXXII</h3> + +<h4>TO THE RIVER AVON</h4> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Avon! why runnest thou away so fast?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Rest thee before that Chancel where repose</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The bones of him whose spirit moves the world.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I have beheld thy birthplace, I have seen</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Thy tiny ripples where they play amid</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The golden cups and ever-waving blades.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I have seen mighty rivers, I have seen</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Padus, recovered from his fiery wound,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And Tiber, prouder than them all to bear</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Upon his tawny bosom men who crusht</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The world they trod on, heeding not the cries</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of culprit kings and nations many-tongued.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">What are to me these rivers, once adorn’d</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With crowns they would not wear but swept away?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Worthier art thou of worship, and I bend</span><br /> +<span class="i0">My knees upon thy bank, and call thy name,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And hear, or think I hear, thy voice reply.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<div class="bbox"> +<p><b>Transcriber’s Note:</b></p> + +<p>Minor errors (missing or transposed letters, omitted punctuation, etc.) +have been corrected without note. The author used a lot of archaic spelling, +which remains unchanged.</p> + +<p>There is a single Greek word, indicated with a thin red dotted underline; +you may need to adjust your browser settings if it does not display properly. +A <ins class="greek" title="like this">transliteration</ins> is provided, hover +your mouse over it to see it.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Imaginary Conversations and Poems, by +Walter Savage Landor + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS AND POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 21628-h.htm or 21628-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/6/2/21628/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sam W. and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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