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3  1822  00129  4453 


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3  1822  00129  4453 


•t, 


III 


.33 


THE 


LOVES   OF    THE   POETS. 


VOL.  II. 


LONDON : 
PRINTED    BY    S.  AND  R.  BENTLEV, 

Dorset  Street,  Fleet  Street. 


THE 


ROMANCE  OF  BIOGRAPHY; 

OK 

MEMOIRS  OF  WOMEN 

LOVED  AND  CELEBRATED  BY  POETS, 


THE  DAYS  OF  THE  TROUBADOURS 
TO  THE  PRESENT  AGE; 

A  SERIES  OF  ANECDOTES  INTENDED  TO  ILLUSTRATE  THE  INFLUENCE 

WHICH    FEMALE    BEAUTY  AND  VIRTUE    HAVE  EXERCISED  OVER    THE 

CHARACTERS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  MEN  OF  GENIUS. 


BY    MRS.    JAMESON, 

A  nthortss  nf  the  Diary  of  an  Ennuyie  ;   Live*  of  Celebrated  Female  Sovereigns  , 

femaff  Characters  of  Shakspeare's  Plays;  Beauties  of  the 

Court  of  Charles  the  Second. 


THIRD    EDITION, 
IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 

VOL.  II. 

LONDON: 
SAUNDERS   AND    OTLEY. 

MDCCCXXXVII. 


CONTENTS 

OF    THE    SECOND    VOLUME. 


Page 

CHAPTER  I. 
CAREW'S  CELIA. — LUCY  SACHEVEREL          .  .        1 

CHAPTER  II. 

WALLER'S  SACHARISSA         .  .       15 

CHAPTER  III. 
BEAUTIES  AMD  POETS  IN  THE  REIGN  OF  CHARLES  I.       33 


VI  CONTENTS. 

Page- 

CHAPTER  IV. 

CONJUGAL  POETRY. 

OVID  AND  PERILLA — SENECA'S  PAULINA — SULPICIA 
— CLOTILDE  DE  SURVILLE    .  .  .  .43 

CHAPTER  V. 

CONJUGAL  POETRY  (continued.) 

VlTTORIA    COLONNA  .  .  .  .60 

CHAPTER  VI. 

CONJUGAL  POETRY  (continued.) 

VERONICA  GAMBARA — CAMILLA  VALENTIN! — POR- 
TIA ROTA— CASTIGLIONE     .  .  .  .81 

CHAPTER  VII. 

CONJUGAL  POETRY  (continued.) 

DOCTOR  DONNE  AND  HIS  WIFE — HABINGTON'S  CAS- 
TARA.  .  .  .  .  .  .94 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

CONJUGAL  POETRY  (continued.) 
THE  Two  ZAPPI          .  .  .  .  .131 

CHAPTER  IX. 

CONJUGAL  POETRY  (continued.) 
LORD    LYTTELTON — PRINCE  FREDERICK  —  DOCTOR 

PARNELL.  .  .  139 


CONTENTS.  vil 

Page 

CHAPTER  X. 

CONJUGAL  POETRY  (continued.) 
KLOPSTOCK  AND  META  ....     154 

CHAPTER  XL 
CONJUGAL  POETRY  (continued.) 

BONNIE  JEAN — HIGHLAND  MARY  —  LOVES  or 
BURNS  ......  182 

CHAPTER  XII. 

CONJUGAL  POETRY  (continued.) 
MONTI  AND  HIS  WIFE  ....     209 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

POETS  AND  BEAUTIES  FROM  CHARLES  n.  TO 

QUEEN  ANNE. 

COWLEY'S  ELEONORA  —  MARIA  D'ESTE  —  ANNE 
KILLEGREW — LADY  HYDE — GRANVILLE'S  MIRA 
— PRIOR'S  CHLOE— DUCHESS  or  QUEENSBURY  .  218 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

SWIFT,  STELLA  AND  VANESSA  .  .  .     240 

CHAPTER  XV. 

POPE  AND  MARTHA  BLOUNT  .     274 


Hi  CONTENTS. 

^Page 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
POPE  AND  LADY  M.  W.  MONTAGU       .  .     '287 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

POETICAL  OLD  BACHELORS. 

GRAY  —  COLLINS  —  GOLDSMITH  —  SHENSTONE  — 
THOMSON  —  HAMMOND     .  •  308 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

FRENCH  POETS. 

VOLTAIRE  AND  MADAME  DU  CHATELET—  MADAME 
DE  GOUVERNE  ....     317 


CHAPTER 

FRENCH  POETS  (continued.) 
MADAME  D'HOUDETOT     .  .  .     333 

CONCLUSION. 

HEROINES  OF  MODERN  POETRY         .  .  .     342 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  POETS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

i 

CARKW'S    CELIA. — LUCY    SACHEVEREL. 

FROM  the  reign  of  Charles  the  First  may  be 
dated  that  revolution  in  the  spirit  and  form  of 
our  lyric  poetry,  which  led  to  its  subsequent 
degradation.  The  first  Italian  school  of  poetry, 
to  which  we  owed  our  Surreys,  our  Spensers, 
and  our  Miltons,  had  now  declined.  The  high 
contemplative  tone  of  passion,  the  magnanimous 
and  chivalrous  homage  paid  to  women,  gradually 
gave  way  before  the  French  taste  and  French 
gallantry,  introduced,  or  at  least  encouraged  and 

VOL      II.  B 


2  CAREW'S    CELIA. 

rendered  fashionable,  by  Henrietta  Maria  and  her 
gay  household.  The  muse  of  amatory  poetry  (I 
presume  there  is  such  a  Muse,  though  I  know 
not  to  which  of  the  Nine  the  title  properly  ap- 
plies,) no  longer  walked  the  earth  star-crowned 
and  vestal-robed,  "  col  dir  pien  d'  intelletti,  dolci 
ed  aid," — "  with  love  upon  her  lips,  and  looks 
commercing  with  the  skies ;" — she  suited  her  garb 
to  the  fashion  of  the  times,  and  tripped  along  in 
guise  of  an  Arcadian  princess,  half  regal,  half 
pastoral,  trailing  a  sheep-hook  crowned  with 
flowers,  and  sparkling  with  foreign  ornaments, 

Pale  glistering  pearls  and  rainbow-coloured  gems. 

Then  in  the  "  brisk  and  giddy  paced  times"  of 
Charles  the  Second,  she  flaunted  an  airy  coquette, 
or  an  unblushing  courtezan,  ("  unveiled  her  eyes — 
unclasped  her  zone  ;")  and  when  these  sinful  doings 
were  banished,  she  took  the  hue  of  the  new  morals 
— new  fashions — new  manners, — and  we  find  her 
a  court  prude,  swimming  in  a  hoop  and  red-heeled 
shoes,  "  conscious  of  the  rich  brocade,1''  and  ogling 


CAR raw'S    CELIA.  3 

behind  her  fan  ;  or  else  in  the  opposite  extreme, 
like  a  bergdre  in  a  French  ballet,  stuck  over 
with  sentimental  common-places  and  artificial 
flowers. 

This,  in  general  terms,  was  the  progress  of  the 
lyric. muse,  from  the  poets  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 
days  down  to  the  wits  of  Queen  Anne's.  Of 
course,  there  are  modifications  and  exceptions, 
which  will  suggest  themselves  to  the  poetical 
reader;  but  it  does  not  enter  into  the  plan  of 
this  sketch  to  treat  matters  thus  critically  %nd 
profoundly.  To  return  then  to  the  days  of  Charles 
the  First. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  union  of 
Italian  sentiment  and  imagination  with  French 
vivacity  and  gallantry,  was,  in  the  commence- 
ment, exceedingly  graceful,  before  all  poetry 
was  lost  in  wit,  and  gallantry  sunk  into  licen- 
tiousness. 

Carew,  one  of  the  first  who  distinguished  him- 
self in  this  style,  has  been  most  unaccountably 
eclipsed  by  the  reputation  of  Waller,  and  deserved 
B  2 


4  CAREW'S    CELIA. 

better  than  to  have  had  his  name  hitched  into 
line  between  Sprat  and  Sedley ; 

Sprat,  Carew,  Sedley,  and  a  hundred  more.* 

As  an  amatory  poet,  he  is  far  superior  to 
Waller  :  he  had  equal  smoothness  and  fancy,  and 
much  more  variety,  tenderness,  and  earnestness ; 
if  his  love  was  less  ambitiously,  and  even  less 
honourably  placed,  it  was,  at  least,  more  deep 
seated,  and  far  more  fervent.  The  real  name  of 
the  lady  he  has  celebrated  under  the  poetical 
appellation  of  Celia,  is  not  known — it  is  only  cer- 
tain that  she  was  no  "  fabled  fair," — and  that  his 
love  was  repaid  with  falsehood. 

Hard  fate  !  to  have  been  once  possessed 

As  victor  of  a  heart, 
Achieved  with  labour  and  unrest, 

And  then  forced  to  depart ! 

From  the  irregular  habits  of  Carew,  it  is  pos- 
sible he  might  have  set  the  example  of  incon- 
stancy ;  and  yet  this  is  but  a  poor  excuse  for 
her. 

*  Pope. 


CAREW'S   CELIA.  5 

Carew  spent  his  life  in  the  Court  of  Charles 
the  First,  who  admired  and  loved  him  for  his 
wit  and  amiable  manners,  though  he  reproved 
his  libertinage.  In  the  midst  of  that  dissipation, 
which  has  polluted  some  of  his  poems,  he  was 
full  of  high  poetic  feeling,  and  a  truly  generous 
lover :  for  even  while  he  wooes  his  fair  one  in  the 
most  soul-moving  terms  of  flowery  adulation  and 
tender  entreaty,  he  puts  her  on  her  guard  against 
his  own  arts,  and  thus  sweetly  pleads  against 
himself ; 

Rather  let  the  lover  pine, 
Than  his  pale  cheek  should  assign 
A  perpetual  blush  to  thine  ! 

And  his  admiration  of  female  chastity  is  else- 
where frequently,  as  well  as  forcibly,  expressed. — 
With  all  his  elegance  and  tenderness,  Carew  is 
never  feeble ;  and  in  his  laments  there  is  nothing 
whining  or  unmanly.  After  lavishing  at  the  feet 
of  his  mistress  the  most  passionate  devotion,  and 
the  most  exquisite  flattery,  hear  him  rebuke  her 
pride  with  all  the  spirit  of  an  offended  poet ! 


)  CAREW'S    CELIA. 

Know,  Celia !  since  tbou  art  so  proud, 

'Twas  I  that  gave  thee  thy  renown ; 
Thou  hadst  in  the  forgotten  crowd 

Of  common  beauties,  lived  unknown, 
Had  not  my  verse  exhaled  thy  name, 
And  with  it  impt  the  wings  of  fame. 

That  killing  power  is  none  of  thine, 

I  gave  it  to  thy  voice  and  eyes, 
Thy  sweets,  thy  graces,  all  are  mine. 

Thou  art  my  star — shin'st  in  my  skies  ; 
Then  dart  not  from  thy  borrowed  sphere 
Light'ning  on  him,  who  fixed  thee  there. 

The  identity  of  his  Celia  is  now  lost  in  a  name, 
— and  she  deserves  it :  perhaps  had  she  appre- 
ciated the  love  she  inspired,  and  been  true  to 
that  she  professed,  she  might  have  won  her  ele- 
gant lover  back  to  virtue,  and  wreathed  her  fame 
with  his  for  ever.  Disappointed  in  the  object  of 
his  idolatry,  Carew  plunged  madly  into  pleasure, 
and  thus  hastened  his  end.  He  died,  as  Clarendon 
tells  us,  with  "  deep  remorse  for  his  past  excesses, 
and  every  manifestation  of  Christianity  his  best 
friends  could  desire." 


CAREW'S    CKLIA.  7 

Besides  his  Celia,  Carew  has  celebrated  several 
other  ladies  of  the  Court,  and  particularly  Lady 
Mary  Villars  ;    the   Countess  of  Anglesea ;   Lady 
Carlisle,  the  theme  of  all  the  poets  of  her  age,  and 
her  lovely  daughter,  Lady  Anne  Hay,  on  whom 
he  wrote  an  elegy,  which  begins  with  some  lines 
never  surpassed  in  harmony  and  tenderness. 
I  heard  the  virgin's  sigh  !  I  saw  the  sleek 
And  polish'd  courtier  channel  his  fresh  cheek 
With  real  tears ;  the  new  betrothed  maid 
Smil'd  not  that  day  ;  the  graver  senate  laid 
Their  business  by  ;  of  all  the  courtly  throng 

Grief  seal'd  the  heart,  and  silence  bound  the  tongue  ! 
*  *  *  *  * 

We  will  not  bathe  thy  corpse  with  a  forc'd  tear, 
Nor  shall  thy  train  borrow  the  blacks  they  wear  ; 
Such  vulgar  spice  and  gums  embalm  not  thee, 
That  art  the  theme  of  Truth,  not  Poetry. 

Here  Carew  has  fallen  into  the  vulgar  error, 
that  poetry  andjiction  are  synonymous. 

Lady  Anne  Wentworth,*  daughter  of  the  first 

*  The  only  daughter  of  this  Lady  Anne  Wentworth,  mar- 
ried Sir  W.  Noel,  and  was  the  ancestress  of  Lady  Byron, 
the  widow  of  the  poet. 


8  CAREW'S    CELIA. 

Earl  of  Cleveland,  who,  after  making  terrible 
havoc  in  the  heart  of  the  Lord  Chief  Justice 
Finch,  married  Lord  Lovelace,  is  another  of 
Carew's  fair  heroines.  For  her  marriage  he  wrote 
the  epithalamium, 

Break  not  the  slumbers  of  the  bride,  &c. 

As  Carew  is  not  a  popular  poet,  nor  often 
found  in  a  lady's  library,  I  add  a  few  extracts 
of  peculiar  beauty. 

TO    CELIA. 

Ask  me  no  more  where  Jove  bestows, 
When  June  is  past,  the  fading  rose ; 
For  in  your  beauties  orient  dee 
Those  flowers  as  in  their  causes  sleep. 

Ask  me  no  more,  whither  do  stray 
The  golden  atoms  of  the  day ; 
For  in  pure  love,  Heaven  did  prepare 
Those  powders  to  enrich  your  hair. 

Ask  me  no  more,  whither  doth  haste 
The  nightingale,  when  May  is  past ; 
For  in  your  sweet  dividing  throat 
She  winters,  and  keeps  warm  her  note. 

Ask  me  no  more,  where  those  stars  light 
That  downwards  fall  in  dead  of  night ; 


CAREW'S   CELIA. 

For  in  your  eyes  they  sit — and  there 
Fix'd  become,  as  in  their  sphere. 

Ask  me  no  more,  if  east  or  west, 
The  phoenix  builds  her  spicy  nest ; 
For  unto  you  at  last  she  flies, 
And  in  your  fragrant  bosom  dies. 


Ladies,  fly  from  Love's  smooth  tale, 
Oaths  steep'd  in  tears  do  oft  prevail ; 
Grief  is  infectious,  and  the  air, 
Inflam'd  with  sighs,  will  blast  the  fair: 
Then  stop  your  ears  when  lovers  cry, 
Lest  yourself  weep,  when  no  soft  eye 
Shall  with  a  sorrowing  tear  repay 
That  pity  which  you  cast  away. 


And  when  thou  breath'st,  the  winds  are  ready  straight 
To  filch  it  from  thee  ;  and  do  therefore  wait 
Close  at  thy  lips,  and  snatching  it  from  thence, 
Bear  it  to  heaven,  where  'tis  Jove's  frankincense. 
Fair  goddess,  since  thy  feature  makes  thee  one, 
Yet  be  not  such  for  these  respects  alone  ; 
But  as  you  are  divine  in  outward  view, 
So  be  within  as  fair,  as  good,  as  true. 


10  CAREW'S    CEL1A. 

Hark  !  how  the  bashful  morn  in  vain 

Courts  the  amorous  marigold 
With  sighing  blasts  and  weeping  vain  ; 

Yet  she  refuses  to  unfold. 
But  when  the  planet  of  the  day 
Approacheth  with  his  powerful  ray, 
Then  she  spreads,  then  she  receives, 
His  warmer  beams  into  her  virgin  leaves. 

So  shalt  thou  thrive  in  love,  fond  boy  ; 

If  thy  tears  and  sighs  discover 
Thy  grief,  thou  never  shalt  enjoy 

The  just  reward  of  a  bold  lover  : 
But  when  with  moving  accents  thou 
Shall  constant  faith  and  service  vow, 
Thy  Celia  shall  receive  those  charms 
With  open  ears,  and  with  unfolded  arms. 
***** 

The  gallant  and  accomplished  Colonel  Lovelace 
was,  I  believe,  a  relation  of  the  Lord  Lovelace 
who  married  Lady  Anne  Wentworth,  and  the 
friend  and  contemporary  of  Carew.  His  fate  and 
history  would  form  the  groundwork  of  a  ro- 
mance; and  in  his  person  and  character  he  was 
formed  to  be  the  hero  of  one.  He  was  as  fear- 
lessly brave  as  a  knight-errant ;  so  handsome  in 


LUCY    SACHEVEREL.  II 

person,  that  he  could  not  appear  without  inspir- 
ing admiration ;  a  polished  courtier ;  an  elegant 
scholar ;  and  to  crown  all,  a  lover  and  a  poet. 
He  wrote  a  volume  of  poems,  dedicated  to  the 
praises  of  Lucy  Sacheverel,  with  whom  he  had 
exchanged  vows  of  everlasting  love.  Her  poetical 
appellation,  according  to  the  affected  taste  of  the 
day,  was  Lucasta.  When  the  civil  wars  broke 
out,  Lovelace  devoted  his  life  and  fortunes  to  the 
service  of  the  King;  and  on  joining  the  army,  he 
wrote  that  beautiful  song  to  his  mistress,  which 
lias  been  so  often  quoted, — 

Tell  me  not,  sweet,  I  am  unkind, 

That  from  the  nunnery 
Of  thy  chaste  breast  and  quiet  mind 

To  war  arid  arms  I  fly. 

True,  a  new  mistress  now  I  chase, 

The  first  foe  in  the  field  ; 
And  with  a  stronger  faith  embrace 

A  sword,  a  horse,  a  shield. 

Yet  this  inconstancy  is  such 

As  you  too  shall  adore ; 
I  could  not  love  thee,  dear !  so  much, 

Lov'd  I  not  honour  more. 


12  LUCY    SACHEVKREL. 

The  rest  of  his  life  was  a  series  of  the  most 
cruel  misfortunes.  He  was  imprisoned  on  account 
of  his  enthusiastic  and  chivalrous  loyalty ;  but 
no  dungeon  could  subdue  his  buoyant  spirit. 
His  song  "  to  Althea  from  Prison,"  is  full  of 
grace  and  animation,  and  breathes  the  very  soul  of 
love  and  honour. 

When  Love,  with  unconfined  wings, 

Hovers  within  my  gates, 
And  my  divine  Althea  brings 

To  whisper  at  the  grates ; 

When  I  lie  tangled  in  her  hair, 

And  fettered  to  her  eye, 
The  birds  that  wanton  in  the  air, 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage ; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 

That  for  a  hermitage. 
If  I  have  freedom  in  my  love, 

And  in  my  soul  am  free, — 
Angels  alone  that  soar  above 

Enjoy  such  liberty. 


LUCY    SACHEVEREL.  13 

Lovelace  afterwards  commanded  a  regiment  at 
the  siege  of  Dunkirk,  where  he  was  severely,  and, 
as  it   was  supposed,    mortally    wounded.      False 
tidings  of  his  death   were  brought  to  England ; 
and  when   he  returned,  he  found  his   Lucy  ("  O 
most  wicked  haste  !")  married  to  another ;  it  was 
a  blow  he  never  recovered.     He  had  spent  nearly 
his   whole  patrimony  in   the  King's  service,  and 
now    became    utterly    reckless.     After  wandering 
about   London    in    obscurity    and   penury,    dissi- 
pating his  scanty  resources  in  riot  with  his  bro- 
ther cavaliers,  and  in  drinking  the  health  of  the 
exiled  King  and  confusion  to  Cromwell,  this  idol 
of  women  and  envy  of  men, — the  beautiful,  brave, 
high-born,   and  accomplished  Lovelace,  died  mise- 
rably  in  a  little  lodging  in  Shoe  Lane.     He  was 
only  in  his  thirty-ninth  year. 

The  mother  of  Lucy  Sacheverel  was  Lucy, 
daughter  of  Sir  Henry  Hastings,  ancestor  to  the 
present  Marquis  of  Hastings.  How  could  she  so 
belie  her  noble  blood  ?  I  would  excuse  her  were 
it  possible,  for  she  must  have  been  a  fine  creature 
to  have  inspired  and  appreciated  such  a  sentiment 


14  LUCY    SACHEVEREL. 

as  that  contained  in  the  first  song  ;  but  facts  cry 
aloud  against  her.  Her  plighted  hand  was  not 
transferred  to  another,  when  time  had  sanctified 
and  mellowed  regret ;  but  with  a  cruel  and 
unfeminine  precipitancy.  Since  then  her  lover 
has  bequeathed  her  name  to  immortality,  he  is 
sufficiently  avenged.  Let  her  stand  forth  con- 
demned and  scorned  for  ever,  as  faithless,  heart- 
less,-r-light  as  air,  false  as  water,  and  rash  as  fire. 
—I  abjure  her. 


15 


CHAPTER  II. 
WALLER'S  SACHARISSA. 

THE  courtly  Waller,  like  the  lady  in  the 
Maids'  Tragedy,  loved  with  his  ambition, — 
not  with  his  eyes ;  still  less  with  his  heart.  A 
critic,  in  designating  the  poets  of  that  time,  says 
truly  that  "  Waller  still  lives  in  Sacharissa  :"  he 
lives  in  her  name  more  than  she  does  in  his 
poetry  ;  he  gave  that  name  a  charm  and  a  cele- 
brity which  has  survived  the  admiration  his  verses 
inspired,  and  which  has  assisted  to  preserve  them 
and  himself  from  oblivion.  If  Sacharissa  had  not 
been  a  real  and  an  interesting  object,  Waller's 
poetical  praises  had  died  with  her,  and  she  with 
them.  He  wants  earnestness ;  his  lines  were  not 
inspired  by  love,  and  they  give  "  no  echo  to  the 


16  SACHARISSA. 

seat  where  love  is  throned."  Instead  of  passion 
and  poetry,  we  have  gallantry  and  flattery ; 
gallantry,  which  was  beneath  the  dignity  of  its 
object ;  and  flattery,  which  was  yet  more  super- 
fluous,— it  was  painting  the  lily  and  throwing 
perfume  on  the  violet. 

Waller's  Sacharissa  was  the  Lady  Dorothea 
Sydney,  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Lei- 
cester, and  born  in  1620.  At  the  time  he  thought 
fit  to  make  her  the  object  of  his  homage,  she  was 
about  eighteen,  beautiful,  accomplished,  and 
admired.  Waller  was  handsome,  rich,  a  wit,  and 
five-and-twenty.  He  had  ever  an  excellent  opi- 
nion of  himself,  and  a  prudent  care  of  his  worldly 
interests.  He  was  a  great  poet,  in  days  when 
Spenser  was  forgotten,  Milton  neglected,  and 
Pope  unborn.  He  began  by  addressing  to  her 
the  lines  on  her  picture, 

Such  was  Philoclea  and  such  Doras'  flame.* 

*  Alluding  to  the  two  heroines  of  Sir  Philip  Sydney's  Arca- 
dia; Sacharissa  was  the  grandniece  of  thai  preitjc  chevalier,  and 
hence  the  frequent  allusions  to  his  name  and  fame. 


SACHARISSA.  17 

Then  we  have  the   poems  written  at   Penshurst, 
— in  this  strain, — 

Ye  lofty  beeches  !  tell  this  matchles  dame, 

That  if  together  ye  fed  all  one  flame, 

It  could  not  equalise  the  hundredth  part 

Of  what  her  eyes  have  kindled  in  my  heart,  &c. 

The  lady  was  content  to  be  the  theme  of  a 
fashionable  poet :  but  when  he  presumed  farther, 
she  crushed  all  hopes  with  the  most  undisguised 
aversion  and  disdain :  thereupon  he  rails, — thus — 

To  thee  a  wild  and  cruel  soul  is  given, 

More  deaf  than  trees,  and  prouder  than  the  heaven ; 

Love's  foe  profest !  why  dost  thou  falsely  feign 

Thyself  a  Sydney  ?     From  which  noble  strain 

He  sprung  that  could  so  far  exalt  the  name 

Of  love,  and  warm  a  nation  with  his  flame.* 

His  mortified  vanity  turned  for  consolation  to 
Amoret,  (Lady  Sophia  Murray,)  the  intimate  com- 
panion of  Sacharissa.  He  describes  the  friend- 
ship between  these  two  beautiful  girls  very 
gracefully. 

*  Alluding  to  Sir  Philip  Sydney. 
VOL.    II.  (J 


18  SACHARISSA. 

Tell  me,  lovely,  loving  pair ! 

Why  so  kind,  and  so  severe  ? 
Why  so  careless  of  our  care 

Only  to  yourselves  so  dear '( 

*  #  * 

Not  the  silver  doves  that  fly  • 

Yoked  to  Cytherea's  car ; 
Not  the  wings  that  lift  so  high, 

And  convey  her  son  so  far, 
Are  so  lovely,  sweet  and  fair, 

Or  do  more  ennoble  love, 
Are  so  choicely  matched  a  pair, 

Or  with  more  consent  do  move. 

And  they  are  very  beautifully  contrasted  in  the 
lines  to  Amoret — 

If  sweet  Amoret  complains, 
I  have  sense  of  all  her  pains  ; 
But  for  Sacharissa,  I 
Do  not  only  grieve,  but  die ! 

*  *  * 

Tis  amazement  more  than  love, 
Which  her  radiant  eyes  do  move ; 
If  less  splendour  wait  on  thine, 
Yet  they  so  benignly  shine, 


SACHARISSA.  19 

I  would  turn  my  dazzled  sight 
To  behold  their  milder  light. 

*  *  * 

Amoret !  as  sweet  and  good 
As  the  most  delicious  food, 
Which  but  tasted  does  impart 
Life  and  gladness  to  the  heart. 
Sacharissa's  beauty 's  wine, 
Which  to  madness  doth  incline, 
Such  a  liquor  as  no  brain 
That  is  mortal,  can  sustain. 

But  Lady  Sophia,  though  of  a  softer  disposi- 
tion, and  not  carrying  in  her  mild  eyes  the  scorn- 
ful and  destructive  light  which  sparkled  in  those 
of  Sacharissa,  was  not  to  be  "  berhymed"  into 
love  any  more  than  her  fair  friend.  She  ap- 
plauded, but  she  repelled ;  she  smiled,  but  she 
was  cold.  Waller  consoled  himself  by  marrying 
a  city  widow,  worth  thirty  thousand  pounds. 

The  truth  is,  that  with  all    his   wit    and   his 

elegance   of  fancy,    of    which    there    are    some 

inimitable   examples, — as  the  application    of  the 

story  of  Daphne,  and  of  the  fable  of  the  wound- 

c  2 


20  SACHARISSA. 

ed  eagle ;  the  lines  on  Sacharissa's  girdle ;  the 
graceful  little  song,  "  Go,  lovely  Rose,""  to  which 
I  need  only  allude,  and  many  others, — Waller 
has  failed  in  convincing  us  of  his  sincerity. 
As  Rosalind  says,  "  Cupid  might  have  clapped 
him  on  the  shoulder,  but  we  could  warrant  him 
heart-whole."  All  along  our  sympathy  is  rather 
with  the  proud  beauty,  than  with  the  irritable 
self-complacent  poet.  Sacharissa  might  have  been 
proud,  but  she  was  not  arrogant ;  her  manners 
were  gentle  and  retiring;  and  her  disposition 
rather  led  her  to  shun  than  to  seek  publicity  and 
admiration. 

Such  cheerful  modesty,  such  humble  state, 
Moves  certain  love,  but  with  as  doubtful  fate; 
As  when  beyond  our  greedy  reach,  we  see 
Inviting  fruit  on  too  sublime  a  tree.* 

The  address  to  Sacharissa's  femme-de-chambre^ 
beginning,  "  Fair  fellow-servant,"  is  not  to  be 
compared  with  Tasso's  ode  to  the  Countess  of 

*  Lines  on  her  picture. 


SACHARISSA.  21 

ScandiancTs  maid,  but  contains  some  most  elegant 

lines. 

You  the  soft  season  know,  when  best  her  mind 
May  be  to  pity,  or  to  love  inclined  : 
In  some  well-chosen  hour  supply  his  fear, 
Whose  hopeless  love  durst  never  tempt  the  ear 
Of  that  stern  goddess;  you,  her  priest,  declare 
What  offerings  may  propitiate  the  fair : 
Rich  orient  pearl,  bright  stones  that  ne'er  decay, 
Or  polished  lines,  that  longer  last  than  they. 
*  #   '  *  *  * 

But  since  her  eyes,  her  teeth,  her  lip  excels 
All  that  is  found  in  mines  or  fishes'  shells, 
Her  nobler  part  as  far  exceeding  these, 
None  but  immortal  gifts  her  mind  should  please. 

These  lines  impress  us  with  the  image  of  a  very 
imperious  and  disdainful  beauty  ;  yet  such  was 
not  the  character  of  Sacharissa's  person  or  mind.* 
Nor  is  it  necessary  to  imagine  her  such,  to  account 
for  her  rejection  of  Waller,  and  her  indifference 
to  his  flattery.  There  was  a  meanness  about  the 

*  Sacharissa,  the  poetical  name  Waller  himself  gave  her, 
signifies  sweetness. 


'2'2  SACHARISSA. 

man  :  he  wanted  not  birth  alone,  but  all  the  high 
and  generous  qualities  which  must  have  been 
required  to  recommend  him  to  a  woman,  who, 
with  the  blood  and  the  pride  of  the  Sydneys, 
inherited  their  large  heart  and  noble  spirit.  We 
are  not  surprised  when  she  turned  from  the  poet 
to  give  her  hand  to  Henry  Spencer,  Earl  of 
Sunderland,  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  he- 
roic characters  of  that  time.  He  was  then  only 
nineteen,  and  she  was  about  the  same  age.  This 
marriage  was  celebrated  with  great  splendour  at 
Penshurst,  July  30,  1639- 

Waller,  who  had  professed  that  his  hope 

Should  ne'er  rise  higher 
Than  for  a  pardon  that  he  dared  admire, 

pressed  forward  with  his  congratulations  in  verse 
and  prose,  and  wrote  the  following  letter,  full  of 
pleasant  imprecations,  to  Lady  Lucy  Sydney,  the 
younger  sister  of  Sacharissa.  It  will  be  allowed 
that  it  argues  more  wit  and  good  nature  than 
love  or  sorrow ;  and  that  he  was  resolved  that  the 


SACHARISSA.  23 

* 

willow   should   sit   as  gracefully  and   lightly  on 
his  brow,  as  the  myrtle  or  the  bays. 

"  To  my  Lady  Lucy  Sydney,  on  the  marriage 
of  my  Lady  Dorothea,  her  Sister. 

"  MADAM. — In  this  common  joy,  at  Penshurst, 
I  know  none  to  whom  complaints  may  come  less 
unseasonable  than  to  your  Ladyship, — the  loss 
of  a  bedfellow  being  almost  equal  to  that  of  a 
mistress ;  and  therefore  you  ought,  at  least,  to  par- 
don, if  you  consent  not  to  the  imprecations  of  the 
deserted,  which  just  Heaven,  no  doubt,  will  hear. 

"  May  my  Lady  Dorothea,  if  we  may  yet  call  her 
so,  suffer  as  much,  and  have  the  like  passion,  for 
this  young  Lord,  whom  she  has  preferred  to  the 
rest  of  mankind,  as  others  have  had  for  her;  and 
may  this  love,  before  the  year  come  about,  make 
her  taste  of  the  first  curse  imposed  on  woman- 
kind— the  pains  of  becoming  a  mother.  May 
her  first-born  be  none  of  her  own  sex,  nor  so 
like  her,  but  that  he  may  resemble  her  Lord 
as  much  as  herself. 


24  SACHARISSA. 

'  May  she,  tht!t  always  affected  silence  and  re- 
tiredness,  have  the  house  filled  with  the  noise  and 
number  of  her  children,  and  hereafter  of  her 
grand-children,  and  then  may  she  arrive  at  that 
great  curse,  so  much  declined  by  fair  ladies, — old 
age.  May  she  live  to  be  very  old,  and  yet  seem 
young — be  told  so  by  her  glass — and  have  no 
aches  to  inform  her  of  the  truth :  and  when  she 
shall  appear  to  be  mortal,  may  her  Lord  not 
mourn  for  her,  but  go  hand-in-hand  with  her  to 
that  place,  where,  we  are  told,  there  is  neither 
marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage,  that  being  there 
divorced,  we  may  all  have  an  equal  interest  in 
her  again.  My  revenge  being  immortal,  I  wish 
that  all  this  may  also  befall  their  posterity  to  the 
world's  end  and  afterwards. 

"  To  you,  Madam,  I  wish  all  good  things,  and 
that  this  loss  may,  in  good  time,  be  happily  sup- 
plied with  a  more  constant  bedfellow  of  the  other 
sex. 

"  Madam,  I  humbly  kiss  your  hands,  and  beg 
pardon  for  this  trouble  from  your  Ladyship's 
most  humble  Servant, 

E.    WALLER." 


SACHARISSA.  25 

Lady  Sunderland  had  been  married  about  three 
years  ;  she  and  her  youthful  husband  lived  in  the 
tenderest  union,  and  she  was  already  the  happy 
.mother  of  two  fair  infants,  a  son  and  a  daughter, 
— when  the  civil  wars  broke  out,  and  Lord  Sun- 
derland followed  the  King  to  the  field.  In  the 
Sydney  papers  are  some  beautiful  letters  to  his 
wife,  written  from  the  camp  before  Oxford.  The 
last  of  these,  which  is  in  a  strain  of  playful  and 
affectionate  gaiety,  thus  concludes, — "  Pray  bless 
Poppet  for  me !  *  and  tell  her  I  would  have  wrote 
to  her,  but  that,  upon  mature  deliberation,  I  found 
it  uncivil  to  return  an  answer  to  a  lady  in  another 
character  than  her  o\vn,  which  I  am  not  yet 
learned  enough  to  do. — I  beseech  you  to  present 
his  service  to  my  Lady,  -f-  who  is  most  passion- 
ately and  perfectly  yours,  &c. 

"  SUNDERLAND." 


*  His  infant  daughter,  then  about  two  years  old,  afterwards 
Marchioness  of  Halifax. 

f  The  Countess's  mother,  Lady  Leicester,  who  was  then 
with  her  at  Althorpe. 


26  SACHARISSA. 

Three  days  afterwards  this  tender  and  gallant 
heart  had  ceased  to  beat :  he  was  killed  in  the 
battle  of  Newbury,  at  the  age  of  three-and- 
twenty.  His  unhappy  wife,  on  hearing  the  news 
of  his  death,  was  prematurely  taken  ill,  and  de- 
livered of  an  infant,  which  died  almost  imme- 
diately after  its  birth.  She  recovered,  however, 
from  a  dangerous  and  protracted  illness,  through 
the  affectionate  and  unceasing  attentions  of  her 
mother,  Lady  Leicester,  who  never  quitted  her 
for  several  months.  Her  father  wrote  her  a  letter 
of  condolence,  which  would  serve  as  a  model  for 
all  letters  on  similar  occasions.  "  I  know,""  he 
says,  "  that  it  is  to  no  purpose  to  advise  you 
not  to  grieve ;  that  is  not  my  intention :  for  such 
a  loss  as  yours,  cannot  be  received  indifferently 
by  a  nature  so  tender  and  sensible  as  yours,"  &c. 
After  touching  lightly  and  delicately  on  the 
obvious  sources  of  consolation,  he  reminds  her, 
that  her  duty  to  the  dead  requires  her  to  be 
careful  of  herself,  and  not  hazard  her  very  ex- 
istence by  the  indulgence  of  grief.  "  You  offend 
him  whom  you  loved,  if  you  hurt  that  person 


SACHARISSA.  27 

whom  he  loved ;  remember  how  apprehensive  he 
was  of  your  danger,  how  grieved  for  any  thing 
that  troubled  you !  I  know  you  lived  happily 
together,  so  as  nobody  but  yourself  could  measure 
the  contentment  of  it.  I  rejoiced  at  it,  and  did 
thank  God  for  making  me  one  of  the  means  to 
procure  it  for  you,11  &c.* 

Those  who  have  known  deep  sorrow,  and  felt 
what  it  is  to  shrink  with  shattered  nerves  and  a 
wounded  spirit  from  the  busy  hand  of  consolation, 
fretting  where  it  cannot  heal,  will  appreciate  such 
a  letter  as  this. 

Lady  Sunderland,  on  her  recovery,  retired 
from  the  world,  and  centering  all  her  affections 
in  her  children,  seemed  to  live  only  for  them. 
She  resided,  after  her  widowhood,  at  Althorpe, 
where  she  occupied  herself  with  improving  the 
house  and  gardens.  The  fine  hall  and  stair- 
case of  that  noble  seat,  which  are  deservedly 
admired  for  their  architectural  beauty,  were 
planned  and  erected  by  her.  After  the  lapse  of 

*  Sydney's  Memorials,  vol.  ii.  p.  271. 


28  SACHARISSA. 

about  thirteen  years,  her  father,  Lord  Leicester, 
prevailed  on  her  to  choose  one  from  among  the 
numerous  suitors  who  sought  her  hand :  he  dread- 
ed, lest  on  his  death,  she  should  be  left  unpro- 
tected, with  her  infant  children,  in  those  evil 
times ;  and  she  married,  in  obedience  to  his  wish, 
Sir  Robert  Smythe,  of  Sutton,  who  was  her 
second  cousin,  and  had  long  been  attached  to 
her.  She  lived  to  see  her  eldest  son,  the  second 
Earl  of  Sunderland,  a  man  of  transcendant  talents, 
but  versatile  principles,  at  the  head  of  the  govern- 
ment, and  had  the  happiness  to  close  her  eyes 
before  he  had  abused  his  admirable  abilities,  to 
the  vilest  purposes  of  party  and  court  intrigue. 
The  Earl  was  appointed  principal  Secretary  of 
State  in  1682 :  his  mother  died  in  1683. 

There  is  a  fine  portrait  of  Sacharissa  at  Blen- 
heim, of  which  there  are  many  engravings.  It 
must  have  been  painted  by  Vandyke,  shortly  after 
her  marriage,  and  before  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band. If  the  withered  branch,  to  which  she  is 
pointing,  be  supposed  to  allude  to  her  widowhood, 
it  must  have  been  added  afterwards,  as  Vandyke 


SACHARISSA.  29 

died  in  1641,  and  Lord  Sunderland  in  1643.  In 
the  gallery  at  Althorpe,  there  are  three  pictures 
of  this  celebrated  woman.  One  represents  her  in 
a  hat,  and  at  the  age  of  fifteen  or  sixteen,  gay, 
girlish,  and  blooming :  the  second,  far  more  in- 
teresting, was  painted  about  the  time  of  her  first 
marriage  :  it  is  exceedingly  sweet  and  lady-like. 
The  features  are  delicate,  with  redundant  light 
brown  air,  and  eyes  and  eyebrows  of  a  darker 
hue;  the  bust  and  hands  very  exquisite :  on  the 
whole,  however,  the  high  breeding  of  the  face  and 
air  is  more  conspicuous  than  the  beauty  of  the 
person.  These  two  portraits  are  by  Vandyke ; 
nor  ought  I  to  forget  to  mention  that  the  painter 
himself  was  supposed  to  have  indulged  a  respect- 
ful but  ardent  passion  for  Lady  Sunderland, 
and  to  have  painted  her  portrait  literally  con 
amore.* 

A  third  picture  represents  her  about  the  time 
of  her  second  marriage:  the  expression  wholly 
changed, — cold,  faded,  sad,  but  still  sweet-look- 

*  See  State  Poems,  vol.  iii.  p.  396. 


30  SACHARISSA. 

ing  and  delicate.  One  might  fancy  her  contem- 
plating with  a  sick  heart,  the  portrait  of  Lord 
Sunderland,  the  lover  and  husband  of  her  early 
youth,  and  that  of  her  unfortunate  but  celebrated 
brother,  Algernon  Sydney;  both  which  hang  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  gallery. 

The  present  Duke  of  Marlborough,  and  the 
present  Earl  Spencer,  are  the  lineal  descendants 
of  Waller's  Sacharissa. 

One  little  incident,  somewhat  prosaic  indeed, 
proves  how  little  heart  there  was  in  Waller's 
poetical  attachment  to  this  beautiful  and  admir- 
able woman.  When  Lady  Sunderland,  after  a 
retirement  of  thirty  years;  re-appeared  in  the 
court  she  had  once  adorned,  she  met  Waller  at 
Lady  Wharton's,  and  addressing  him  with  a  smil- 
ing courtesy,  she  reminded  him  of  their  youthful 
days : — "  When,"  said  she,  "  will  you  write  such 
fine  verses  on  me  again  ?" — "  Madam,"11  replied 
Waller,  "  when  your  Ladyship  is  young  and 
handsome  again.1'  This  was  contemptible  and 
coarse, — the  sentiment  was  not  that  of  a  well- 


SACHARISSA.  31 

bred  or  a  feeling  man,  far  less  that  of  a  lover  or 
a  poet, — no! 

Love  is  not  love, 

That  alters  where  it  alteration  finds. 

One  would  think  that  the  sight  of  a  woman, 
whom  he  had  last  seen  in  the  full  bloom  of  youth 
and  glow  of  happiness, — who  had  endured,  since 
they  parted,  such  extremity  of  affliction,  as  far 
more  than  avenged  his  wounded  vanity,  might 
have  awakened  some  tender  thoughts,  and  called 
forth  a  gentler  reply.  When  some  one  expressed 
surprise  to  Petrarch,  that  Laura,  no  longer  young, 
had  still  power  to  charm  and  inspire  him,  he 
answered,  "  Piaga  per  allentar  d'  arco  non  sana," 
— "  The  wound  is  not  healed  though  the  bow  be 
unbent.'1  This  was  in  a  finer  spirit. 

Something  in  the  same  character,  as  his  reply 
to  Lady  Sunderland,  was  Waller's  famous  re- 
partee, when  Charles  the  Second  told  him  that 
his  lines  on  Oliver  Cromwell  were  better  than 
those  written  on  his  royal  self.  "  Please  your 
Majesty,  we  poets  succeed  better  in  fiction  than 


32  SACHARISSA. 

in  truth."  Nothing  could  be  more  admirably 
apropos,  more  witty,  more  courtier-like :  it  was 
only  false,  and  in  a  poor,  time-serving  spirit.  It 
showed  as  much  meanness  of  soul  as  presence  of 
mind.  What  true  poet,  who  felt  as  a  poet,  would 
have  said  this  ? 


33 


CHAPTER  III. 

BEAUTIES    AND    POETS. 

NEARLY  contemporary  with  Waller's  Sacharissa 
lived  several  women  of  high  rank,  distinguished 
as  munificent  patronesses  of  poetry,  and  favourite 
themes  of  poets,  for  the  time  being.  There  was 
the  Countess  of  Pembroke,  celebrated  by  Ben 

Jon son, 

The  subject  of  all  verse, 
Sydney's  sister,  Pembroke's  mother. 

There  was  the  famous  Lucy  Percy,  Countess 
of  Carlisle,  very  clever,  and  very  fantastic,  who 
aspired  to  be  the  Aspasia,  the  De  Rambouillet 
of  her  day,  and  did  not  quite  succeed.  She  was 
celebrated  by  almost  all  the  contemporary  poets, 

VOL.  II.  D 


34  BEAUTIES    AND    POETS. 

and  even  in  French,  by  Voiture.  There  was 
Lucy  Harrington,  Countess  of  Bedford,  who,  not- 
withstanding the  accusation  of  vanity  and  extra- 
vagance which  has  been  brought  against  her,  was 
an  amiable  woman,  and  munificently  rewarded,  in 
presents  and  pensions,  the  incense  of  the  poets 
around  her.  I  know  not  what  her  Ladyship  may 
have  paid  for  the  following  exquisite  lines  by 
Ben  Jonson  ;  but  the  reader  will  agree  with  me, 
that  it  could  not  have  been  too  much. 

ON    LUCY    COUNTESS    OF    BEDFORD. 

This  morning,  timely  rapt  with  holy  fire, 

I  thought' to  form  unto  my  zealous  muse 
What  kind  of  creature  I  could  most  desire 

To  honour,  serve,  and  love ;  as  poets  use  : 
I  meant  to  make  her  fair,  and  free,  and  wise, 

Of  greatest  blood,  and  yet  more  good  than  great. 
I  meant  the  day-star  should  not  brighter  rise, 

Nor  lend  like  influence  from  his  ancient  seat. 
I  meant  she  should  be  courteous,  facile,  sweet, 

Hating  that  solemn  vice  of  greatness,  pride ; 
I  meant  each  softest  virtue  there  should  meet, 

Fit  in  that  softer  bosom  to  reside. 


BEAUTIES    AND    POETS.  35 

Only  a  learned,  and  a  manly  soul 

I  purpos'd  her  ;  that  should,  with  even  powers, 

The  rock,  the  spindle,  and  the  sheers  controul 
Of  destiny,  and  spin  her  own  free  hours. 

Such  when  I  meant  to  feign,  and  wished  to  see, 

My  muse  bade  Bedford  write, — and  that  was  she. 

There  was  also  the  "  beautiful  and  every  way 
excellent"  Lady  Anne  Rich,*  the  daughter-in-law 
of  her  who  was  so  loved  by  Sir  Philip  Sydney ; 
and  the  memorable  and  magnificent — but  some- 
what masculine — Anne  Clifford,  Countess  of  Cum- 
berland, Pembroke,  and  Dorset,  who  erected 
monuments  to  Spenser,  Drayton,  and  Daniel ;  and 
above  them  all,  though  living  a  little  later,  the 
Queen  herself,  Henrietta  Maria,  whose  feminine 

*  Daughter  of  the  first  Earl  of  Devonshire,  of  the  Cavendish 
family.  She  was  celebrated  by  Sidney  Godolphin  in  some 
very  sweet  lines,  which  contain  a  lovely  female  portrait. 
Waller's  verses  on  her  sudden  death  are  remarkable  for  a 
signal  instance  of  the  Bathos, 

That  horrid  word,  at  once  like  lightning  spread, 
Struck  all  our  ears, — (fie  Lady  Iticli  is  tlrad  ! 
D   2 


36  BEAUTIES    AND    POETS. 

caprices,  French  graces,  and  brilliant  eyes,  ren- 
dered her  a  very  splendid  and  fruitful  theme  for 
the  poets  of  the  time.* 

There  was  at  this  time  a  kind  of  traffic  between 
rich  beauties  and  poor  poets.  The  ladies  who, 
in  earlier  ages,  were  proud  in  proportion  to  the 
quantity  of  blood  spilt  in  honour  of  their  charms, 
were  now  seized  with  a  passion  for  being  be- 
rhymed. Surrey,  and  his  Geraldine,  began  this 
taste  in  England  by  introducing  the  school  of 
Petrarch  :  and  Sir  Philip  Sydney  had  entreated 
women  to  listen  to  those  poets  who  promised  them 
immortality, — "  For  thus  doing,  ye  shall  be  most 
fair,  most  wise,  most  rich,  most  every  thing  ! — ye 
shall  dwell  upon  superlatives :"  -f-  and  women 
believed  accordingly.  In  spite  of  the  satirist, 
I  do  maintain,  that  the  love  of  praise  and  the 
love  of  pleasing  are  paramount  in  our  sex, 

*  See  Waller,  Carew,  D'Avenant :  the  latter  has  paid  her 
some  exquisite  compliments. 

f  Sir  Philip  Sydney's  Works,  "  Defence  of  Poesie." 


BEAUTIES    AND    POETS.  37 

both    to    the   love   of  pleasure   and    the   love   of 
sway. 

This  connection  between  the  high-born  beauties 
and  the  poets  was  at  first  delightful,  and  honour- 
able to  both  :  but,  in  time,  it  became  degraded 
and  abused.  The  fees  paid  for  dedications,  odes, 
and  sonnets,  were  any  thing  but  sentimental: — 
can  we  wonder  if,  under  such  circumstances,  the 
profession  of  a  poet  "  was  connected  with  personal 
abasement,  which  made  it  disreputable?"*  or, 
that  women,  while  they  required  the  tribute,  des- 
pised those  who  paid  it, — and  were  paid  for  it  ? — 
not  in  sweet  looks,  soft  smiles,  and  kind  wishes, 
but  with  silver  and  gold,  a  cover  at  her  ladyship1  s 
table  "  below  the  salt,"  or  a  bottle  of  sack  from 
my  lord's  cellar.  It  followed,  as  a  thing  of  course, 
that  our  amatory  and  lyric  poetry  declined,  and 
instead  of  the  genuine  rapture  of  tenderness,  the 
glow  of  imagination,  and  all  "  the  purple  light 
of  love,""  we  have  too  often  only  a  heap  of  glit- 

*  Scott's  Life  of  Dryden,  p.  89. 


38  BEAUTIES    AND    POETS 

tering  and   empty  compliment  and  metaphysical 
conceits. — It  was  a  miserable  state  of  things. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  aspiring  loves 
of  some  of  our  poets  have  not  proved  auspicious 
even  when  successful.  Dryden  married  Lady 
Elizabeth  Howard,  the  daughter  of  the  Earl  of 
Berkshire :  but  not  "  all  the  blood  of  all  the  How- 
ards" could  make  her  either  wise  or  amiable  :  he 
had  better  have  married  a  milkmaid.  She  was 
weak  in  intellect,  and  violent  in  temper.  Sir 
Walter  Scott  observes,  very  feelingly,  that  "  The 
the  wife  of  one  who  is  to  gain  his  livelihood  by 
poetry,  or  by  any  labour  (if  any  there  be,)  equally 
exhausting,  must  either  have  taste  enough  to  relish 
her  husband's  performances,  or  good  nature  suffi- 
cient to  pardon  his  infirmities."  It  was  Dryden's 
misfortune,  that  Lady  Elizabeth  had  neither  one 
nor  the  other. 

Of  all  our  really  great  poets,  Dryden  is  the  one 
least  indebted  to  woman,  and  to  whom,  in  return, 
women  are  least  indebted :  he  is  almost  devoid  of 
sentiment  in  the  true  meaning  of  the  word. — "  His 


DRY  DEN.  39 

idea  of  the  female  character  was  low;"  his  homage 
to  beauty  was  not  of  that  kind  which  beauty 
should  be  proud  to  receive.  *  When  he  attempted 
the  praise  of  women,  it  was  in  a  strain  of  fulsome, 
far-fetched,  laboured  adulation,  which  betrayed 
his  insincerity ;  but  his  genius  was  at  home  when 
we  were  the  subject  of  licentious  tales  and  coarse 
satire. 

It  was  through  this  inherent  want  of  refinement 
and  true  respect  for  our  sex,  that  he  deformed 
Boccaccio's  lovely  tale  of  Gismunda ;  and  as  the 
Italian  novelist  has  sins  enough  of  his  own  to 
answer  for.  Dryden  might  have  left  him  the  beau- 
ties of  this  tender  story,  unsullied  by  the  profane 
coarseness  of  his  own  taste.  In  his  tragedies,  his 
heroines  on  stilts,  and  his  drawcansir  heroes,  whine, 
rant,  strut  and  rage,  and  tear  passion  to  tatters — 
to  very  rags ;  but  love,  such  as  it  exists  in  gentle, 
pure,  unselfish  bosoms — love,  such  as  it  glows  in 

*  With  the  exception  of  the  dedication  of  his  Palamon  and 
Arcite  to  the  young  and  beautiful  Duchess  of  Ormonde  (Lady 
Anne  Somerset,  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Beaufort.) 


40  BEAUTIES   AND    POETS. 

*the  pages  of  Shakspeare  and  Spenser,  Petrarch 
and  Tasso,: — such  love 

As  doth  become  mortality 
Glancing  at  heaven, 

he  could  not  imagine  or  appreciate,  far  less  ex- 
press or  describe.  He  could  pourtray  a  Cleo- 
patra; but  he  could  not  conceive  a  Juliet.  His 
ideas  of  our  sex  seem  to  have  been  formed  from 
a  profligate  actress,*  and  a  silly,  wayward,  provok- 
ing wife;  and  we  have  avenged  ourselves, — for 
Dryden  is  not  the  poet  of  women  ;  and,  of  all  our 
English  classics,  is  the  least  honoured  in  a  lady's 
library. 

Dryden  was  the  original  of  the  famous  repartee 
to  be  found,  I  believe,  in  every  jest  book:  shortly 
after  his  marriage,  Lady  Elizabeth,  being  rather 
annoyed  at  her  husband"^  very  studious  habits, 
wished  herself  a  book,  that  she  might  have  a  little 
more  of  his  attention. — "  Yes,  my  dear,11  replied 
Dryden,  "  an  almanack." — "  Why  an  almanack  ?" 
asked  the  wife  innocently. — "  Because  then,  my 

*  Mrs.  Reeves,  his  mistress :  she  afterwards  became  a  nun. 


ADDISON    AND    YOUNG.  41 

dear,  I  should  change  you  once  a  year."  Tne 
laugh,  of  course,  is  on  the  side  of  the  wit ;  but 
Lady  Elizabeth  was  a  young  spoiled  beauty  of 
rank,  married  to  a  man  she  loved ;  and  her  wish, 
methinks,  was  very  feminine  and  natural :  if  it 
was  spoken  with  petulance  and  bitterness,  it  de- 
served the  repartee ;  if  with  tenderness  and  play- 
fulness, the  wit  of  the  reply  can  scarcely  excuse  its 
ill-nature. 

Addison  married  the  Countess  of  Warwick. 
Poor  man !  I  believe  his  patrician  bride  did 
every  thing  but  beat  him.  His  courtship  had  been 
long,  timid,  and  anxious ;  and  at  length,  the  lady 
was  persuaded  to  marry  him,  on  terms  much  like 
those  on  which  a  Turkish  Princess  is  espoused, 
to  whom  the  Sultan  is  reported  to  pronounce, 
"Daughter,  I  give  thee  this  man  to  be  thy  slave.""* 
They  were  only  three  years  married,  and  those 
were  years  of  bitterness. 

Young,  the  author  of  the  Night  Thoughts,  mar- 
ried Lady  Elizabeth  Lee,  the  daughter  of  the  Earl 

*  Johnson's  Life  of  Addison. 


42  BEAUTIES    AND    POETS. 

of  Litchfield,  and  grand-daughter  of  the  too 
famous,  or  more  properly,  infamous  Duchess  of 
Cleveland:  —  the  marriage  was  not  a  happy  one. 
I  think,  however,  in  the  two  last  instances,  the 
ladies  were  not  entirely  to  blame. 

But  these,  it  will  be  said,  are  the  wives  of 
poets,  not  the  loves  of  the  poets  ;  and  the  phrases 
are  not  synonymus, — au  contraire.  This  is  a 
question  to  be  asked  and  examined ;  and  I  proceed 
to  examine  it  accordingly.  But  as  I  am  about 
to  take  the  field  on  new  ground,  it  will  require  a 
new  chapter. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

IF  it  be  generally  true,  that  Love,  to  be  poeti- 
cal, must  be  wreathed  with  the  willow  and  the 
cypress,  as  well  as  the  laurel  and  the  myrtle, — 
still  it  is  not  always  true.  It  is  not,  happily,  a 
necessary  condition,  that  a  passion,  to  be  constant, 
must  be  unfortunate ;  that  faithful  lovers  must 
needs  be  wretched ;  that  conjugal  tenderness  and 
"  domestic  doings"  are  ever  dull  and  invariably 
prosaic.  The  witty  invectives  of  some  of  our 
poets,  whose  domestic  misery  stung  them  into 
satirists,  and  blasphemers  of  a  happiness  denied 
to  them,  are  familiar  in  the  memory — ready  on 


44  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

the  lips  of  common-place  scoffers.  But  of  matri- 
monial poetics,  in  a  far  different  style,  we  have 
instances  sufficient  to  put  to  shame  such  heartless 
raillery  ;  that  there  are  not  more,  is  owing  to  the 
reason  which  Klopstock  has  given,  when  writing 
of  his  angelic  Meta.  "  A  man,'1''  said  he,  "  should 
speak  of  his  wife  as  seldom  and  with  as  much 
modesty  as  of  himself." 

A  woman  is  not  under  the  same  restraint  in 
speaking  of  her  husband ;  and  this  distinction 
arises  from  the  relative  position  of  the  two  sexes. 
It  is  a  species  of  vain-glory  to  boast  of  a  posses- 
sion ;  but  we  may  exult,  unreproved,  in  the 
virtues  of  him  who  disposes  of  our  fate.  Our  in- 
feriority has  here  given  to  us,  as  women,  so  high 
and  dear  a  privilege,  that  it  is  a  pity  we  have 
been  so  seldom  called  on  to  exert  it. 

The  first  instance  of  conjugal  poetry  which 
occurs  to  me,  will  perhaps  startle  the  female 
reader,  for  it  is  no  other  than  the  gallant  Ovid 
himself.  One  of  the  epistles,  written  during  his 
banishment  to  Pontus,  is  addressed  to  his  wife 
Perilla,  and  very  tenderly  alludes  to  their  mutual 


SENECA'S  PAULINA.  45 

affection,  and  to  the  grief  she  must  have  suffered 
during  his  absence. 

And  thou,  whom  young  I  left  when  leaving  Rome, 
Thou,  by  my  woes  art  haply  old  become  : 
Grant,  heaven  !  that  such  I  may  behold  thy  face, 
And  thy  changed  cheek,  with  dear  loved  kisses  trace  ; 
Fold  thy  diminished  person,  and  exclaim, 
Regret  for  me  has  thinned  this  beauteous  frame. 

Here  then  we  have  the  most  abandoned  libertine 
of  his  profligate  times  reduced  at  last  in  his  old 
age,  in  disgrace  and  exile,  to  throw  himself,  for 
sympathy  and  consolation,  into  the  arms  of  a  ten- 
def  and  amiable  wife  ;  and  this,  after  spending  his 
life  and  talents  in  deluding  the  tenderness,  cor- 
rupting the  virtue,  and  reviling  the  characters  of 
women.  In  truth,  half  a  do/en  volumes  in  praise 
of  our  sex  could  scarce  say  more  than  this. 

Every  one,  I  believe,  recollects  the  striking  story 
of  Paulina,  the  wife  of  Seneca.  When  the  order 
was  brought  from  Nero  that  he  should  die,  she 
insisted  upon  dying  with  him,  and  by  the  same 
operation.  She  accordingly  prepared  to  be  bled 
to  death  ;  but  fainting  away  in  the  midst  of  her 


46  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

sufferings,  Seneca  commanded  her  wounds  to  be 
bound  up,  and  conjured  her  to  live.  She  lived 
therefore;  but  excessive  weakness  and  loss  of 
blood  gave  her,  during  the  short  remainder  of  her 
life,  that  spectral  appearance  which  has  caused 
her  conjugal  fidelity  and  her  pallid  hue  to  pass 
into  a  proverb, — "  As  pale  as  Seneca's  Paulina  ;" 
and  be  it  remembered,  that  Paulina  was  at  this 
time  young  in  comparison  of  her  husband,  who 
was  old,  and  singularly  ugly. 

This  picturesque  story  of  Paulina  affects  us  in 
our  younger  years ;  but  at  a  later  period  we  are 
more  likely  to  sympathise  with  the  wife  of  Lucan, 
Polla  Argentaria,  who  beheld  her  husband  pe- 
rish by  the  same  death  as  his  uncle  Seneca,  and, 
through  love  for  his  fame,  consented  to  survive 
him.  She  appears  to  have  been  the  original  after 
whom  he  drew  his  beautiful  portrait  of  Cornelia, 
the  wife  of  Pompey.  Lucan  had  left  the  manu- 
script of  the  Pharsalia  in  an  imperfect  state ;  and 
his  wife,  who  had  been  in  its  progress  his  amanu- 
ensis, his  counsellor  and  confidant,  and  therefore 


SULPICIA.  47 

best  knew  his  wishes  and  intentions,  undertook  to 
revise  and  copy  it  with  her  own  hand.  During  the 
rest  of  her  life,  which  was  devoted  to  this  dear 
and  pious  task,  she  had  the  bust  of  Lucan  always 
placed  beside  her  couch,  and  his  works  lying 
before  her :  and  in  the  form  in  which  Polla 
Argentaria  left  it,  his  great  poem  has  descended 
to  our  times. 

I  have  read  also,  though  I  confess  my  ac- 
quaintance with  the  classics  is  but  limited,  of  a 
certain  Latin  poetess  Sulpicia,  who  celebrated  her 
husband  Galenas :  and  the  poet  Ausonius  com- 
posed many  fine  verses  in  praise  of  a  beatiful  and 
virtuous  wife,  whose  name  I  forget.* 

But  I  feel  I  am  treading  unsafe  ground,  render- 
ed so  both  by  my  ignorance,  and  by  my  preju- 
dices as  a  woman.  Generally  speaking,  the  he- 
roines of  classical  poetry  and  history  are  not  much 
to  my  taste ;  in  their  best  virtues  they  were  a 
little  masculine,  and  in  their  vices,  so  completely 

*   Elton's  Specimens. 


48  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

unsexed,     that    one  would    rather   not    think   of 
them — speak  of  them — far  less  write  of  them. 
***** 

The  earliest  instance  I  can  recollect  of  modern 
conjugal  poetry,  is  taken  from  a  country,  and  a 
class,  and  a  time  where  one  would  scarce  look  for 
high  poetic  excellence  inspired  by  conjugal  ten- 
derness. It  is  that  of  a  Frenchwoman  of  high 
rank,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  when  France  was 
barbarised  by  the  prevalence  of  misery,  profligacy, 
and  bloodshed,  in  every  revolting  form. 

Marguerite-Eleonore-Clotilde  de  Surville,  of 
the  noble  family  of  Vallon  Chalys,  was  the  wife  of 
Berenger  de  Surville,  and  lived  in  those  disastrous 
times  which  immediately  succeeded  the  battle  of 
Agincourt.  She  was  born  in  1405,  and  educated 
in  the  court  of  the  Count  de  Foix,  where  she  gave 
an  early  proof  of  literary  and  poetical  talent,  by 
translating,  when  eleven  years  old,  one  of  Pe- 
trarch's Canzoni,  with  a  harmony  of  style  won- 
derful, not  only  for  her  age,  but  for  the  times  in 
which  she  lived.  At  the  age  of  sixteen  she  married 
the  Chevalier  de  Surville,  then,  like  herself,  in  the 


CLOTILDE    DE    SURVILLE.  49 

bloom  of  youth,  and  to  whom  she  was  passionately 
attached.  In  those  days,  no  man  of  noble  blood, 
who  had  a  feeling  for  the  misery  of  his  country,  or 
a  hearth  and  home  to  defend,  could  avoid  taking 
an  active  part  in  the  scenes  of  barbarous  strife 
around  him  ;  and  De  Surville,  shortly  after  his 
marriage,  followed  his  heroic  sovereign,  Charles 
the  Seventh,  to  the  field.  During  his  absence, 
his  wife  addressed  to  him  the  most  beautiful 
effusions  of  conjugal  tenderness  to  be  found,  I 
think,  in  the  compass  of  poetry.  In  the  time  of 
Clotilde,  French  verse  was  not  bound  down  by 
those  severe  laws  and  artificial  restraints  by  which 
it  has  since  been  shackled :  we  have  none  of  the 
prettinesses,  the  epigrammatic  turns,  the  spark- 
ling points,  find  elaborate  graces,  which  were  the 
fashion  in  the  days  of  Louis  Quatorze.  Boileau 
would  have  shrugged  up  his  shoulders,  and  ele- 
vated his  eyebrows,  at  the  rudeness  of  the  style  ; 
but  Moliere,  who  preferred 

J'aime  mieux  ma  mie,  oh  gai ! 

to  all  the  Jades  galanteries  of  his  contemporary 
VOL.  II.  E 


50  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

bek  esprits,  would  have  been  enchanted  with  the 
naive  tenderness,  the  freshness  and  flow  of  youth- 
ful feeling  which  breathe  through  the  poetry 
of  Clotilde.  The  antique  simplicity  of  the  old 
French  lends  it  such  an  additional  charm,  that 
though  in  making  a  few  extracts,  I  have  ventured 
to  modernize  the  spelling,  I  have  not  attempted 
to  alter  a  word  of  the  original. 

Clotilde  has  entitled  her  first  epistle  "  Heroi'de 
a  mon  epoux  Berenger ;"  and  as  it  is  dated  in 
1422,  she  could  not  have  been  more  than  seven- 
teen when  it  was  written.  The  commencement 
recalls  the  superscription  of  the  first  letter  of  He- 
loise  to  Abelard. 

Clotilde,  au  sien  ami,  douce  mande  accolade  ! 

A  son  epoux,  salut,  respect,  amour ! 
Ah,  tandis  qu'eploree  et  de  cceur  si  malade, 

Te  quier  *  la  nuit,  te  redemande  au  jour — 
Que  deviens  ?  ou  cours  tu  ?     Loin  de  ta  bien-aimee, 

Ou  les  destins,  entrainent  done  tes  pas  ? 
Taut  que  le  disc,  helas !  s'en  crois  la  renommee 

De  bien  long  temps  ne  te  reverrai  pas  ? 

*  Querir. 


CLOTILDE    DE   SURVILLE.  51 

She  then  describes  her  lonely  state,  her  grief 
for  his  absence,  her  pining  for  his  return.  She 
laments  the  horrors  of  war  which  have  torn  him 
from  her  ;  but  in  a  strain  of  eloquent  poetry,  and 
in  the  spirit  of  a  high-souled  woman,  to  whom 
her  husband's  honour  was  dear  as  his  life,  she 
calls  on  him  to  perform  all  that  his  duty  as  a  brave 
knight,  and  his  loyalty  to  his  sovereign  require. 
She  reminds  him,  with  enthusiasm,  of  the  motto 
of  French  chivalry,  "  mourir  plutot  que  trahir 
son  devoir;"  then  suddenly  breaking  off,  with  a 
graceful  and  wife-like  modesty,  she  wonders  at 
her  own  presumption  thus  to  address  her  lord, 
her  husband,  the  son  of  a  race  of  heroes, — 

Mais  que  dis  !  ah  d'ou  vient  qu'orgueilleuse  t'advise ! 

Toi,  escolier  !  toi,  1'enfant  des  heros 
Pardonne  maintes  soucis  a  celle  qui  t'adore — 
A  tant  d'amour,  est  permis  quelque  effroi. 

She  describes  herself  looking  out  from  the 
tower  of  her  castle  to  watch  the  return  of  his 
banner;  she  tells  him  how  she  again  and  again 
visits  the  scenes  endeared  by  the  remembrance  of 
their  mutual  happiness.  The  most  beautiful 

K  2 


52  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

touches  of  description  are  here  mingled  with  the 
fond  expressions  of  feminine  tenderness. 

La,  me  dis-je,  ai  recu  sa  derniere  caresse, 

Et  jusqu'aux  os,  soudain,  me  sens  bruler. 
Ici  les  ung  ormeil,  cercle  par  aubespine 

Que  doux  printemps  ja*  courronnait  de  fleurs, 
Me  dit  adieu — Sanglots  suffoquent  ma  poctrine, 

Et  dans  mes  yeux  roulent  torrents  de  pleurs. 

***** 

D'autresfois,  e"cartant  ces  cruelles  images, 

Crois  m'enfonj  ant  au  plus  dense  des  bois, 
Meier  des  rossignols  aux  amoureuse  ramages, 

Entre  tes  bras,  mon  amoureux  voix  : 
Me  semble  ou'ir,  echappant  de  ta  bouche  rosee, 

Ces  mots  gentils,  qui  me  font  tressaillir, 
Ainzf  vois  au  meme  instant  que  me  suis  abusee 

Et  soupirant,  suis  prete  a  defailler ! 

After  indulging  in  other  regrets,  expressed  with 
rather  more  naivete  than  suits  the  present  taste, 
she  bursts  into  an  eloquent  invective  against 
the  English  invaders,  j  and  the  factious  nobles  of 

*  Jk — jadis  (the  old  French  ja  is  the  Italian  gia). 
f  Ainz : — cependant  (the  Italian  ami). 
She  calls  them  "  the  Vultures  of  Albion." 


CLOT1LDE    DE    SURVILLE.  53 

France,  whose  crimes  and  violence  detained  her 
husband  from  her  arms. 

Quand  reverrai,  dis-moi,  ton  si  duisant*  visage  ? 

Quand  te  pourrai  face  a  face  mirer  ? 
T'enlacer  tellement  a  mon  frementf  corsage, 
Que  toi,  ni  moi,  n'en  puissions  respirer? 

and  she  concludes  with  this  tender  envoi : 

Ou  que  suives  ton  roi,  ne  mets  ta  douce  amie 

En  tel  oubli,  qu'ignore  ou  git  ce  lieu: 
Jusqu'alors  en  souci,  de  calme  n'aura  mie, — 

Plus  ne  t'en  dis — que  t'en  souvienne  !  adieu  ! 

Clotilde  became  a  mother  before  the  return  of 
her  husband ;  and  the  delicious  moment  in  which 
she  first  placed  her  infant  in  his  father's  arms, 
suggested  the  verses  she  has  entitled  "  Ballade  a 
mon  epoux,  lors,  quand  tournait  aprtis  un  an 
d'absence,  mis  en  ses  bras  notre  fils  enfancon." 

The  pretty  burthen  of  this  little  ballad  has  often, 
been  quoted. 

Faut  etre  deux  pour  avoir  du  plaisir, 
Plaisir  ne  1'est  qu'autant  qu'on  le  partage ! 

•  Duisant,  stdutsant. 
\  Fremissant. 


54  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

But,  says  the  mother, 

Un  tiers  si  doux  ne  fait  tort  a  plaisir  ? 

and  should  her  husband  be  again  torn  from  her, 
she  will  console  herself  in  his  absence,  by  teaching 
her  boy  to  lisp  his  father's  name. 

Gentil  epoux !  si  Mars  et  ton  courage 
Plus  contraignaient  ta  Clotilde  a  gemir, 

De  lui  montrer  en  son  petit  langage, 
A  t'appeller  ferai  tout  mon  plaisir — 

Plaisir  ne  Test  qu'autant  qu'on  le  partage  ! 

Among  some  other  little  poems,  which  place  the 
conjugal  and  maternal  character  of  Clotilde  in  a 
most  charming  light,  I  must  notice  one  more  for 
its  tender  and  heartfelt  beauty.  It  is  entitled 
"  Ballade  a  mon  premier  ne,"  and  is  addressed 
to  her  child,  apparently  in  the  absence  of  its 
father. 

O  cher  enfantelet,  vrai  portrait  de  ton  pere  ! 

Dors  sur  le  sein  que  ta  bouche  a  presse  ! 
Dors  petit ! — clos,  ami,  sur  le  sein  de  ta  mere, 

Tien  doux  ceillet,  par  le  somme  oppresse. 


CLOTILDE    UK    SURVILLE.  55 

Bel  ami — cher  petit !  que  ta  pupille  tendre, 
Goute  un  sommeil  que  plus  n'est  fait  pour  moi  : 

]e  veille  pour  te  voir,  te  nourir,  te  defendre, 
Ainz  qu'  il  est  doux  ne  veiller  que  pour  toi ! 

Contemplating  him  asleep,  she  says, 

N'etait  ce  teint  fleuri  des  couleurs  de  la  pomme, 
Ne  le  diriez  vous  dans  les  bras  de  la  raort  ? 

Tlien,  shuddering  at  the  idea  she  had  conjured  up, 
she  breaks  forth  into  a  passionate  apostrophe  to 
her  sleeping  child, 

Arrete,  cher  enfant !  j'en  fremis  toute  entiere — 

Reveille  toi !  chasse  un  fatal  propos  ! 
Mon  fils  .  .  .  .  pour  un  moment  —ah  revois  la  lumiere! 

Au  prix  du  tien,  rends-moi  tout  mon  r£pos ! 
Douce  erreur !  il  dormait  ....  c'est  assez,  je  respire. 

Songes  legers,  flattez  son  doux  sommeil; 
Ah  !  quand  verrai  celui  pour  qui  mon  co3ur  soupire, 

Au  miens  cote's  jouir  de  son  reveil  ? 


Quand  reverrai  celui  dont  as  recu  la  vie  ? 

Mon  jeune  tpoux,  le  plus  beau  des  humains 
Oui— deja  crois  voir  ta  mere,  aux  cieux  ravie, 

Que  tends  vers  lui  tes  innocentes  mains. 


56  CONJUGAL   POETRY. 

Comme  ira  se  duisant  a  ta  premiere  caresse  '. 

Au  miens  baisers  com'  t'ira  disputant ! 
Ainz  ne  compte,  a  toi  seul,  d'epuiser  sa  tendresse, — 

A  sa  Clotilde  en  garde  bien  autant ! 

Along  the  margin  of  the  original  MS.  of  this 
poem,  was  written  an  additional  stanza,  in  the 
same  hand,  and  quite  worthy  of  the  rest. 

Voila  ses  traits  . . .  son  air  ...  voila  tout  ce  que  j'aime  ! 
Feu  de  son  ceil,  et  roses  de  son  teint .... 

D'ou  vient  m'en  ebahir?  autre  quen  tout  lui  m$me, 
Put-iljamais  e'clore  de  mon  sein? 

This  is  beautiful  and  true  ;  beautiful,  because 
it  is  true.  There  is  nothing  of  fancy  nor  of  art, 
the  intense  feeling  gushes,  warm  and  strong,  from 
the  heart  of  the  writer,  and  it  comes  home  to 
the  heart  of  the  reader,  filling  it  with  sweetness. 
— Am  I  wrong  in  supposing  that  the  occasional 
obscurity  of  the  old  French  will  not  disguise  the 
beauty  of  the  sentiment  from  the  young  wife  or 
mother,  whose  eye  may  glance  over  this  page  ? 

It  is  painful,  it  is  pitiful,  to  draw  the  veil  of 
death  and  sorrow  over  this  sweet  picture. 


CLOTILDE    DE   SURVILLE.  57 

What  is  this  world  ?  what  asken  men  to  have  ? 
Now  with  his  love— now  in  his  cold  grave, 
Alone,  withouten  any  companie  !* 

De  Surville  closed  his  brief  career  of  happiness 
and  glory  (and  what  more  than  these  could  he 
have  asked  of  heaven  ?)  at  the  seige  of  Orleans, 
where  he  fought  under  the  banner  of  Joan  of  Arc.+ 
He  was  a  gallant  and  a  loyal  knight ;  so  were 
hundreds  of  others  who  then  strewed  the  desolated 
fields  of  France :  and  De  Surville  had  fallen  un- 
distinguished amid  the  general  havoc  of  all  that 
was  noble  and  brave,  if  the  love  and  genius  of  his 
wife  had  not  immortalised  him. 

Clotilde,  after  her  loss,  resided  in  the  chateau 
of  her  husband,  in  the  Lyonnois,  devoting  herself 
to  literature  and  the  education  of  her  son  :  and  it 
is  very  remarkable,  considering  the  times  in  which 
she  lived,  that  she  neither  married  again,  nor  en- 

*  Chaucer. 

f  He  perished  in  1429,  leaving  his  widow  in  her  twenty- 
i'ourth  year. 


58  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

tered  a  religious  house.     The  fame  of  her  poetical 
talents,  which  she  continued  to  cultivate  in  her  re- 
tirement, rendered  her.  at  length,  an  object  of  cele- 
brity and  interest.  The  Duke  of  Orleans  happened 
one  day  to  repeat  some  of  her  verses  to  Margaret 
of  Scotland,  the  first  wife  of  Louis  the  Eleventh  ; 
and    that  accomplished  patroness  of  poetry    and 
poets  wrote  her  an  invitation  to  attend  her  at  court, 
which   Clotilde    modestly    declined.      The   Queen 
then  sent  her,  as  a  token  of  her  admiration  and 
friendship,  a  wreath  of  laurel,  surmounted  with 
a   bouquet    of  daisies,   (Marguerites,    in  allusion 
to  the  name  of  both,)  the  leaves  of  which   were 
wrought  in  silver  and  the  flowers  in  gold,  with 
this  inscription :   "  Marguerite  d'Ecosse    a    Mar- 
guerite   d'Helicon."     We    are    told    that    Alain 
Chartier,    envious  perhaps    of  these  distinctions, 
wrote  a  satirical  quatrain,  in  which  he    accused 
Clotilde   of  being    deficient  in  V air  de  cour,   and 
that  she  replied  to  him,  and  defended  herself  in 
a  very  spirited  rondeau.     Nothing  more  is  known 
of  the  life  of  this  interesting  woman,  but  that  she 
had  the  misfortune  to  survive  her  son  as  well  as 


CLOTILDE    DE    SURYILLE.  59 

her  husband;  and  dying  at  the  advanced  age  of 
ninety,  in  1 495,  she  was  buried  with  them  in  the 
same  tomb.* 

*  Les  Poetes  Fran^-ais  jusqu'a  Malherbes,  par  Augin.  A 
good  edition  of  the  works  of  Clotilde  de  Surville  was  pub- 
lished at  Paris  in  1802,  and  another  in  1804.  I  believe  both 
have  become  scarce.  Her  Poesies  consist  of  pastorals,  ballads, 
songs,  epistles,  and  the  fragment  of  an  epic  poem,  of  which  the 
MS.  is  lost.  Of  her  merit  there  is  but  one  opinion.  She  is 
confessedly  the  greatest  poetical  genius  which  France  could 
boast  in  a  period  of  two  hundred  years ;  that  is,  from  the  de- 
cline of  the  Provenfal  poetry,  till  about  1500. 


60 


CHAPTER  V. 

CONJUGAL    POETRY    CONTINUED. 
VITTORIA    COLONNA. 

HALF  a  century  later,  we  find  the  name  of  an 
Italian  poetess,  as  interesting  as  our  Clotilde  de 
Surville,  and  far  more  illustrious.  Vittoria  Co- 
lonna  was  not  thrown,  with  all  her  eminent  gifts 
and  captivating  graces,  among  a  rude  people  in  a 
rude  age ;  but  all  favourable  influences,  of  time  and 
circumstances,  and  fortune,  conspired,  with  native 
talent,  to  make  her  as  celebrated  as  she  was  truly 
admirable.  She  was  the  wife  of  that  Marquis  of 
Pescara,  who  has  earned  himself  a  name  in  the 
busiest  and  bloodiest  page  of  history : — of  that 
Pescara  who  commanded  the  armies  of  Charles 


VITTOR1A    COLONNA.  61 

the  Fifth  in  Italy,  and  won  the  battle  of  Pavia, 
where  Francis  the  First  was  taken  prisoner.  But 
great  as  was  Pescara  as  a  statesman  and  a  mili- 
tary commander,  he  is  far  more  interesting  as  the 
husband  of  Vittoria  Colonna,  and  the  laurels  he 
reaped  in  the  battle-field,  are  perishable  and  worth- 
less, compared  to  those  which  his  admirable  wife 
wreathed  around  his  brow.  So  thought' Ariosto; 
who  tell  us,  that  if  Alexander  envied  Achilles  the 
fame  he  had  acquired  in  the  songs  of  Homer,  how 
much  more  had  he  envied  Pescara  those  strains 
in  which  his  gifted  consort  had  exalted  his  fame 
above  that  of  all  contemporary  heroes  ?  and  not 
only  rendered  herself  immortal ; 

Col  dolce  stil,  di  che  il  miglior  nou  odo, 
Ma  puo  qualunque,  di  cui  parli  o  scriva 
Trar  dal  sepolcro,  e  fa  ch'  eterno  viva. 

He   prefers   her     to   Artemisia,    for   a    reason 
rather  quaintly  expressed, — 

Anzi 

Tanto  maggior,  quanto  e  piu  assai  bell'  opra, 
Che  por  sotterra  UH  uom,  trarlo  di  sopra. 


62  CONJUGAL    PIETY. 

"  So  much  more  praise  it  is,  to  raise  a  man 
above  the  earth,  than  to  bury  him  under  it."  He 

compares  her  successively  to  all  the  famed  heroines 
of  Greece  and  Rome, — to  Laodamia,  to  Portia,  to 
Arria,  to  Argia,  to  Evadne, — who  died  with  or 
for  their  husbands ;  and  concludes, 

Quanto  onore  a  Vittoria  e  piu  dovuto 
Che  di  Lete,  e  del  Rio  che  nove  volte 
L'  ombre  circonda,  ha  tratto  il  suo  consorte, 
Malgrado  delle  parche,  e  della  morte.* 

In  fact,  at  a  period  when  Italy  could  boast  of  a 
constellation  of  female  talent,  such  as  never  be- 
fore or  since  adorned  any  one  country  at  the  same 
time,  and  besides  a  number  of  women  accom- 
plished in  languages,  philosophy,  and  the  ab- 
struser  branches  of  learning,  reckoned  sixty 
poetesses,  nearly  contemporary,  there  was  not  one 
to  be  compared  with  Vittoria  Colonna, — herself 
the  theme  of  song ;  and  upon  whom  her  enthu- 
siastic countrymen  have  lavished  all  the  high- 
sounding  superlatives  of  a  language,  so  rich  in 

*  Orlando  Furioso,  canto  37. 


VITTORIA    COLONNA.  63 

expressive  and  sonorous  epithets,  that  it  seems 
to  multiply  fame  and  magnify  praise.  We  find 
Vittoria  designated  in  Italian  biography,  as 
Diva,  divina,  maravigliosa,  elettissima,  illustris- 
sima,  virtuosissima,  dottissima,  castissima,  glo- 
riosissima,  &c. 

But  immortality  on  earth,  as  in  heaven,  must 
be  purchased  at  a  certain  price;  and  Vittoria, 
rich  in  all  the  gifts  which  heaven,  and  nature,  and 
fortune  combined,  ever  lavished  on  one  of  her 
sex,  paid  for  her  celebrity  with  her  happiness  : 
for  thus  it  has  ever  been,  and  must  ever  be,  in 
this  world  of  ours,  "  oil  les  plus  belles  choses  ont 
le  pire  destin." 

Her  descent  was  illustrious  on  both  sides. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  the  Grand  Constable 
Fabrizio  Colonna,  and  of  Anna  di  Montefeltro, 
daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Urbino,  and  was  born 
about  1490.  At  four  years  old  she  was  destined 
to  seal  the  friendship  which  existed  between  her 
own  family  and  that  of  d'Avalo,  by  a  union  with 
the  young  Count  d'Avalo,  afterwards  Marquis 


64  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

of  Pescara,  who  was  exactly  her  own  age.  Such 
infant  marriages  are  contracted  at  a  fearful  risk ; 
yet,  if  auspicious,  the  habit  of  loving  from  an 
early  age,  and  the  feeling  of  settled  appropri- 
ation, prevents  the  affections  from  wandering, 
and  plant  a  mutual  happiness  upon  a  foundation 
much  surer  than  that  of  fancy  or  impulse.  It 
was  so  in  this  instance, 

Conforme  era  1'  etate 

Ma  '1  pensier  piu  conforme. 

Vittoria,  from  her  childish  years,  displayed 
the  most  extraordinary  talents,  combined  with  all 
the  personal  charms  and  sweet  proprieties  more 
characteristic  of  her  sex.  When  not  more  than 
fifteen  or  sixteen,  she  was  already  distinguished 
among  her  countrywomen,  and  sought  even  by 
sovereign  princes.  The  Duke  of  Savoy  and  the 
Duke  of  Braganza  made  overtures  to  obtain 
her  hand ;  the  Pope  himself  interfered  in  behalf 
of  one  of  these  princes ;  but  both  were  rejected. 
Vittoria,  accustomed  to  consider  herself  as  the 
destined  bride  of  young  d'Avalo,  cultivated  for 


VITTOR1A    COLONNA.  65 

him  alone  those  talents  and  graces  which  others 
admired  and  coveted,  and  resolved  to  wait  till 
her  youthful  lover  was  old  enough  to  demand 
the  ratification  of  their  infant  vows.  She  says  of 
herself, 

Appena  avean  gli  spirti  intera  vita, 

Quando  il  mio  cor  proscrisse  ogn'  altro  oggetto. 

Pescara  had  not  the  studious  habits  or  literary 
talents  of  his  betrothed  bride ;  but  his  beauty 
of  person,  his  martial  accomplishments,  and  his 
brave  and  noble  nature,  were  precisely  calculated 
to  impress  her  poetical  imagination,  as  contras- 
ted with  her  own  gentler  and  more  contemplative 
character.  He  loved  her  too  with  the  most  en- 
thusiastic adoration  ;  he  even  prevailed  on  their 
mutual  parents  to  anticipate  the  period  fixed  for 
their  nuptials  ;  and  at  the  age  of  seventeen  they 
were  solemnly  united. 

The  first  four  years  after  their  marriage  were 
chiefly  spent  in  a  delightful  retreat  in  the  island 
of  Ischia,  where  Pescara  had  a  palace  and  domain. 
Here,  far  from  the  world,  and  devoted  to  each 

VOL.  n.  F 


66  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

other,  and  to  the  most  elegant  pursuits,  they 
seem  to  have  revelled  in  such  bliss  as  poets  fancy 
and  romancers  feign.  Hence  the  frequent  allu- 
sions to  the  island  of  Ischia,  in  Vittoria's  later 
poems,  as  a  spot  beloved  by  her  husband,  and 
the  scene  of  their  youthful  happiness.  One 
thing  alone  was  wanting  to  complete  this  happi- 
ness:  Heaven  denied  them  children.  She  laments 
this  disappointment  in  the  22d  Sonnet,  where 
she  says,  that  "  since  she  may  not  be  the  mother  of 
sons,  who  shall  inherit  their  father's  glory,  yet  she 
will  at  least,  by  uniting  her  name  with  his  in 
verse,  become  the  mother  of  his  illustrious  deeds 
and  lofty  fame."" 

Pescara,  whose  active  and  martial  genius  led 
him  to  take  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  wars  which 
then  agitated  Italy,  at  length  quitted  his  wife  to 
join  the  army  of  the  Emperor.  Vittoria,  with 
tears,  resigned  him  to  his  duties.  On  his  de- 
parture she  presented  him  with  many  tokens  of 
love,  and  among  the  rest,  with  a  banner,  and  a 
dressing-gown  richly  embroidered ;  on  the  latter  she 
had  worked  with  her  own  hand,  in  silken  charac- 


VITTORIA   COLONNA.  67 

ters,  the  motto,  "  Nunquam  minus  otiosus  quam 
cum  otiosus  erat.v*  She  also  presented  him  with 
some  branches  of  palm,  "  In  segno  di  felice  au- 
gurio ;"  but  her  bright  anticipations  were  at  first 
cruelly  disappointed.  Pescara,  then  in  his  twenty- 
second  year,  commanded  as  general  of  cavalry  at 
the  battle  of  Ravenna,  where  he  was  taken  pri- 
soner, and  detained  at  Milan.  While  in  confine- 
ment, he  amused  his  solitude  by  showing  his  Vit- 
toria  that  he  had  not  forgotten  their  mutual  stu- 
dies and  early  happiness  at  Ischia.  He  composed 
an  essay  or  dialogue  on  Love,  which  he  addressed 
to  her;  and  which,  we  are  told,  was  remarkable  for 
its  eloquence  and  spirit  as  a  composition,  as  well 
as  for  the  most  high-toned  delicacy  of  sentiment. 
He  was  not  liberated  till  the  following  year. 

Vittoria  had  taken  for  her  devise,  such  was  the 
fashion  of  the  day,  a  little  Cupid  within  a  circle 
formed  by  a  serpent,  with  the  motto,  "  Quern 
peperit  virtus  prudentia  servet  amorem," — "  The 
love  which  virtue  inspired,  discretion  shall 
guard ;""  and  during  her  husband's  absence, 

*  "  Never  less  idle  than  when  idle." 
F   2 


68  CONJUGAL   POETRY. 

she  lived  in  retirement,  principally  in  her  loved 
retreat  in  the  island  of  Ischia,  devoting  her  time  to 
literature,  and  to  the  composition  of  those  beauti- 
ful Sonnets  in  which  she  celebrated  the  exploits 
and  virtues  of  her  husband.  He,  whenever  his 
military  or  political  duties  allowed  of  a  short 
absence  from  the  theatre  of  war,  flew  to  rejoin 
her  ;  and  these  short  and  delicious  meetings,  and 
the  continual  dangers  to  which  he  was  exposed, 
seem  to  have  kept  alive,  through  many  long  years, 
all  the  romance  and  fervour  of  their  early  love. 
In  the  79th  Sonnet,  Vittoria  so  beautifully  alludes 
to  one  of  these  meetings,  that  I  am  tempted  to 
extract  it,  in  preference  to  others  better  known, 
and  by  many  esteemed  superior  as  compositions. 

Qui  fece  il  mio  bel  sol  a  noi  ritorno, 
Di  Regie  spoglie  carco,  e  ricche  prede : 
Ahi !  con  quanto  dolor,  1'occhio  rivede 
Quei  lochi,  ov'  ei  mi  fea  gia  il  giorno  ! 

Di  mille  glorie  allor  cinto  d'  intorno, 
E  d'  onor  veto,  alia  piu  altiera  sede 
Facean  delle  opre  udite  intera  fede 
L'  ardito  volto,  il  parlar  saggio  adorno. 


V1TTORIA    COLONNA.  69 

Vinto  da  prieghi  miei,  poi  mi  raostrava 
Le  belle  cicatrici,  e  '1  tempo,  e  '1  mode 
Delle  vittorie  sue  tante,  e  si  chiare. 

Quanta  pena  or  mi  da,  gioja  mi  dava  ; 

E  in  questo,  e  in  quel  pensier,  piangendo  godc 
Tra  poche  dolci,  e  assai  lagrime  amare. 

This  description  of  her  husband  returning,  load- 
ed with  spoils  and  honours; — of  her  fond  admira- 
tion, mingled  with  a  feminine  awe,  of  his  warlike 
demeanor ;— of  his  yielding,  half  reluctant,  to  her 
tender  entreaties,  and  showing  her  the  wounds  he 
had  received  in  battle  ; — then  the  bitter  thoughts 
of  his  danger  and  absence,  mingling  with,  and  in- 
terrupting these  delicious  recollections  of  happi- 
ness,— are  all  as  true  to  feeling  as  they  are  beau- 
tiful in  poetry. 

After  a  short  career  of  glory,  Pescara  was  at 
length  appointed  commander-in-chief  of  the  Im- 
perial armies,  and  gained  the  memorable  battle  of 
Pavia.  Feared  by  his  enemies,  and  adored  by  his 
soldiers,  his  power  was  at  this  time  so  great,  that 
many  attempts  were  made  to  shake  his  fidelity  to 
the  Emperor.  Even  the  kingdom  of  Naples  was 


70  CONJUGAL   POETRY. 

offered  to  him  if  he  would  detach  himself  from 
the  party  of  Charles  the  Fifth.  Pescara  was  not 
without  ambition,  though  without  "  the  ill  that 
should  attend  it."  He  wavered — he  consulted 
his  wife; — he  expressed  his  wish  to  place  her  on  a 
throne  she  was  so  fitted  to  adorn.  That  admirable 
and  high-minded  woman  wrote  to  confirm  him  in 
the  path  of  honour,  and  besought  him  not  to  sell 
his  faith  and  truth,  and  his  loyalty  to  the  cause 
in  which  he  had  embarked,  for  a  kingdom. 
"  For  me,"  she  said,  "  believe  that  I  do  not  desire 
to  be  the  wife  of  a  King ;  I  am  more  proud  to  be 
the  wife  of  that  great  captain,  who  in  war,  by  his 
valour,  and  in  peace,  by  his  magnanimity,  has 
vanquished  the  greatest  monarchs."* 

On  receiving  this  letter,  Pescara  hastened  to 
shake  off  the  subtle  tempters  round  him ;  but  he 
had  previously  become  so  far  entangled,  that  he 

*  "  Non  desidero  d'esser  moglie  d'un  re ;  bensi  di  quel  gran 
capitano,  il  quale  non  solamente  in  guerra  con  valor,  ma  an- 
cora  in  pace  con  la  magnanimita  ha  saputo  vincere  i  re  piu 
grande."  (Vita  di  Vittoria  Colonna,  da  Giambattista  Rota.) 


VITTORIA  COLONNA.  71 

did  not  escape  without  some  impeachment  of  his 
before  stainless  honour.  The  bitter  consciousness 
of  this,  and  the  effects  of  some  desperate  wounds 
he  had  received  at  the  battle  of  Pa  via,  which 
broke  out  afresh,  put  a  period  to  his  life  at 
Milan,  in  his  thirty-fifth  year.* 

The  Marchesana  was  at  Naples  when  the  news 
of  his  danger  arrived.  She  immediately  set  out 
to  join  him  ;  but  was  met  at  Viterbo  by  a  courier, 
bearing  the  tidings  of  his  death.  On  hearing 
this  intelligence,  she  fainted  away ;  and  being 
brought  a  little  to  herself,  sank  into  a  stupor  of 
grief,  which  alarmed  her  attendants  for  her 
reason  or  her  life.  Seasonable  tears  at  length 
came  to  her  relief;  but  her  sorrow,  for  a  long, 
long  time,  admitted  no  alleviation.  She  retired, 
after  her  first  overwhelming  anguish  had  subsided, 
to  her  favourite  residence  in  the  isle  of  Ischia, 
where  she  spent,  almost  uninterruptedly,  the  first 
seven  years  of  her  widowhood. 

*  See  in  Robertson's  Charles  V.  an  account  of  the  generous 
conduct  of  Pescara  to  the  Chevalier  Bayard. 


72  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

Being  only  in  her  thirty-fifth  year,  in  the 
prime  of  her  life  and  beauty,  and  splendidly 
dowered,  it  was  supposed  that  she  would  marry 
again,  and  many  of  the  Princes  of  Italy  sought 
her  hand ;  her  brothers  urged  it ;  but  she  re- 
plied to  their  entreaties  and  remonstrances, 
with  a  mixture  of  dignity  and  tenderness,  that 
"  Though  her  noble  husband  might  be  by  others 
reputed  dead,  he  still  lived  to  her,  and  to  her 
heart.'"*  And  in  one  of  her  poems,  she  alludes  to 
these  attempts  to  shake  her  constancy.  "  I  will 
preserve,"  she  says,  "the  title  of  a  faithful  wife 
to  my  beloved, — a  title  dear  to  me  beyond  every 
other  :  and  on  this  island-rock,  •{•  once  so  dear  to 
him,  will  I  wait  patiently,  till  time  brings  the  end 
of  all  my  griefs,  as  once  of  all  my  joys." 

D'  arder  sempre  piangendo  non  mi  doglio  ! 

Forse  avrb  di  fedele  il  titol  vero, 

Caro  a  me  sopra  ogn'  altro  eterno  onore. 

*  Che  il  suo  sole,  quantunque  dagli   altri   fosse   riputato 
morte,  appresso  di  lei  sempre  vivea.     (Vita.) 
f  Ischia. 


VITTORIA    COLONNA.  3 

Non  cambiero  la  fe, — ne  questo  scoglio 
Ch'  al  mio  sol  piacque,  ove  finire  spero 
Come  le  dolci  gia,  quest'  amare  ore !  * 

This  Sonnet  was  written  in  the  seventh  year  of 
her  widowhood.  She  says  elsewhere,  that  her 
heart  having  once  been  so  nobly  bestowed,  dis- 
dains a  meaner  chain  ;  and  that  her  love  had  not 
ceased  with  the  death  of  its  object. — 

Di  cosi  nobil  fiamraa  amore  mi  cinse, 
Ch'  essendo  spenta,  in  me  viva  1'  ardore. 

There  is  another,  addressed  to  the  poet  Molza,  in 
which  she  alludes  to  the  fate  of  his  parents,  who, 
by  a  singular  providence,  both  expired  in  the  same 
day  and  hour  :  such  a  fate  appeared  to  her  worthy  of 
envy ;  and  she  laments  very  tenderly  that  Heaven 
had  doomed  her  to  survive  him  with  whom  her 
heart  lay  buried.  There  are  others  addressed 
to  Cardinal  Bembo,  in  which  she  thus  excuses 
herself  for  making  Pescara  the  subject  of  her 
verse. 

*  Sonnet  74. 


7^  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

Scrivo  sol  per  sfogar  1'  interna  doglia ; 
La  pura  fe,  1'  ardor,  1'  intensa  pena 
Mi  scusa  appo  ciascun ;  che  '1  grave  pianto 
E  tal,  che  tempo,  ne  raggion  1'  affrena. 

There  is  also  a  Canzone  by  Vittoria,  full  of 
poetry  and  feeling,  in  which  she  alludes  to  the 
loss  of  that  beauty  which  once  she  was  proud  to 
possess,  because  it  was  dear  in  her  husband's  sight. 
"  Look  down  upon  me,"  she  exclaims,  "  from  thy 
seat  of  glory  !  look  down  upon  me  with  those  eyes 
that  ever  turned  with  tenderness  on  mine  !  Behold, 
how  misery  has  changed  me ;  how  all  that  once 
was  beauty  is  fled  ! — and  yet  I  am — I  am  the 
same  !" — (lo  son — io  son  ben  dessa  !) — But  no 
translation — none  at  least  that  I  could  execute — 
would  do  justice  to  the  deep  pathos,  the  feminine 
feeling,  and  the  eloquent  simplicity  of  this  beau- 
tiful and  celebrated  poem.  The  reader  will  find 
it  in  Mathias^s  collection.* 

After  the  lapse  of  several  years,  her  mind,  ele- 
vated  by  the  very  nature  of  her  grief,   took   a 

*  Componimenti  Lirici,  vol.  i.  144. 


VITTORIA    COLON N A.  *]5 

strong  devotional  turn:  and  from  this  time,  we  find 
her  poetry  entirely  consecrated  to  sacred  subjects. 
The  first  of  these  Rime  spirituali  is  exquisitely 
beautiful.  She  allows  that  the  anguish  she  had 
felt  on  the  death  of  her  noble  husband,  was  not 
alleviated,  but  rather  nourished  and  kept  alive  in 
all  its  first  poignancy,  by  constantly  dwelling  on 
the  theme  of  his  virtues  and  her  own  regrets  ;  that 
the  thirst  of  fame,  and  the  possession  of  glory, 
could  not  cure  the  pining  sickness  of  her  heart ; 
and  that  she  now  turned  to  Heaven  as  a  last 
and  best  resource  against  sorrow.* 

*  L'honneur  d'avoir  etc,  entre  toutes  les  poetes,  la  pre- 
miere a  composer  un  recueil  de  poesies  sacrees,  appartient, 
toute  entiere,  a  Vittoria  Colonna.  (See  Ginguene.)  Her  mas- 
terpieces, in  this  style,  are  said  to  be  the  sonnet  on  the  death 
of  our  Saviour. — 

"  Gli  Angeli  eletti  al  gran  bene  infinito ;" 
and  the  hymn 

"  Padre  Eterno  del  cielo !" 

which  is  sublime :  it  may  be  found  in  Mathias's  Collection, 
vol.  iii. 


76  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

Poiche  '1  mio  casto  amor,  gran  tempo  tenne 
L'  alma  di  fama  accesa,  ed  ella  un  angue 
In  sen  nudrio,  per  cui  dolente  or  langue, — 
Volta  al  Signor,  onde  il  remedio  venne. 
*  *  *  * 

Chiamar  qui  non  convien  Parnasso  o  Delo  ; 
Ch'  ad  altra  acqua  s'  aspira,  ad  altro  monte 
Si  poggia,  u'  piede  uman  per  se  non  sale. 

Not  the  least  of  Vittoria's  titles  to  fame,  was 
the  intense  adoration  with  which  she  inspired 
Michel  Angelo.  Condivi  says  he  was  enamoured 
of  her  divine  talents.  "  In  particolare  egli  amo 
grandemente  la  Marchesana  di  Pescara,  del  cui 
divino  spirito  era  inamorato  :"  and  he  makes  use 
of  a  strong  expression  to  describe  the  admiration 
and  friendship  she  felt  for  him  in  return.  She 
was  fifteen  years  younger  than  Michel  Angelo, 
who  not  only  employed  his  pencil  and  his  chisel 
for  her  pleasure,  or  at  her  suggestion,  but  has 
left  among  his  poems  several  which  are  addressed 
to  her,  and  which  breathe  that  deep  and  fervent, 
yet  pure  and  reverential  love  she  was  as  worthy 
to  inspire  as  he  was  to  feel. 


VITTORIA    COLONNA.  77 

I  cannot  refuse  myself  the  pleasure  of  adding 
here  one  of  the  Sonnets,  addressed  by  Michel 
Angelo  to  the  Marchesana  of  Pescara,  as  trans- 
lated by  Wordsworth,  in  a  peal  of  grand  harmony, 
almost  as  literally  faithful  to  the  expression  as  to 
the  spirit  of  the  original. 


Yes  !  hope  may  with  my  strong  desire  keep  pace, 

And  I  be  undeluded,  unbetrayed ; 

For  if  of  our  affections  none  find  grace 

In  sight  of  Heaven,  then,  wherefore  had  God  made 

The  world  which  we  inhabit  ?     Better  plea 

Ix)ve  cannot  have,  than  that  in  loving  thee 

Glory  to  that  eternal  peace  is  paid, 

Who  such  divinity  to  thee  imparts 

As  hallows  and  makes  pure  all  gentle  hearts. 

His  hope  is  treacherous  only  whose  love  dies 

With  beauty,  which  is  varying  every  hour  : 

But,  in  chaste  hearts,  uninfluenced  by  the  power 

Of  outward  change,  there  blooms  a  deathless  flower, 

That  breathes  on  earth  the  air  of  Paradise. 

He  stood  by  her  in  her  last  moments;  and  when 
her  lofty   and  gentle  spirit  had  forsaken  its  fair 


#  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

tenement,  he  raised  her  hand  and  kissed  it  with  a 
sacred  respect.  He  afterwards  expressed  to  an 
intimate  friend  his  regret,  that  being  oppressed 
by  the  awful  feelings  of  that  moment,  he  had  not, 
for  the  first  and  last  time,  pressed  his  lips  to 
hers. 

Vittoria  had  another  passionate  admirer  in  Ga- 
leazzo  di  Tarsia,  Count  of  Belmonte  in  Calabria, 
and  an  excellent  poet  of  that  time.*  His  attach- 
ment was  as  poetical,  but  apparently  not  quite  so 
Platonic,  as  that  of  Michel  Angelo.  His  beautiful 
Canzone  beginning, 

A  qual  pietra  somraiglia 
La  mia  bella  Colonna, 

contains  lines  rather  more  impassioned  than  the 
modest  and  grave  Vittoria  could  have  ap- 
proved :  for  example — 

Con  lei  foss'  io  da  che  si  parte  il  sole, 

E  npn  ci  vedesse  altri  che  le  stelle, 

— Solo  una  notte — e  mai  non  fosse  1'  Alba ! 

*  Died  1535. 


VITTORIA.    COLONNA.  "J9 

Marini  and  Bernardo  Tasso  were  also  numbered 
among  her  poets  and  admirers. 

Vittoria  Colonna  died  at  Rome,  in  1547-  She 
was  suspected  of  favouring  in  secret  the  reformed 
doctrines ;  but  I  do  not  know  on  what  authority 
Roscoe  mentions  this.  Her  noble  birth,  her  ad- 
mirable beauty,  her  illustrious  marriage,  her 
splendid  genius,  (which  made  her  the  worship  of 
genius— and  the  theme  of  poets,)  have  rendered 
her  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  women  ; — as  her 
sorrows,  her  conjugal  virtues,  her  innocence  of 
heart,  and  elegance  of  mind,  have  rendered  her  one 
of  the  most  interesting. 

Where  could  she  fix  on  mortal  ground 

Those  tender  thoughts  and  high  ? 
Now  peace,  the  woman's  heart  hath  found, 

And  joy,  the  poet's  eye  '.* 

Antiquity  may  boast  its  heroines;  but  it  re- 
quired virtues  of  a  higher  order  to  be  a  Vittoria 
Colonna,  or  a  Lady  Russel,  than  to  be  a  Portia 

*  Mrs.  llemans. 


80  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

or  an  Arria.  How  much  more  graceful,  and  even 
more  sublime,  is  the  moral  strength,  the  silent 
enduring  heroism  of  the  Christian,  than  the  stern, 
impatient  defiance  of  destiny,  which  showed  so 
imposing  in  the  heathen  !  How  much  more 
difficult  is  it  sometimes  to  live  than  to  die ! 

Piu  val  d'  ogni  vittoria  un  bel  soffirire. 

Or  as  Campbell  has  expressed  nearly  the  same 
sentiment, 

To  bear,  is  to  conquer  our  fate ! 


81 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CONJUGAL    POETRY    CONTINUED. 
VERONICA    GAMBARA. 

VITTORIA  COLON N A,  and  her  famed  friend 
and  contemporary, Veronica,  Countess  of  Correggio, 
are  inseparable  names  in  the  history  of  Italian 
literature,  as  living  at  the  same  time,  and  equally 
ornaments  of  their  sex.  They  resembled  each 
other  in  poetical  talent,  in  their  domestic  sorrows 
and  conjugal  virtues:  in  every  other  respect  the 
contrast  is  striking.  Vittoria,  with  all  her  genius, 
seems  to  have  been  as  lovely,  gentle,  and  feminine 
a  creature  as  ever  wore  the  form  of  woman. 

No  lily — no — nor  fragrant  hyacinth, 
Had  half  such  softness,  sweetness,  blessedness. 
VOL.    II.  G 


82  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

Veronica,  on  the  contrary,  was  one, 

to  whose  masculine  spirit 

To  touch  the  stars  had  seemed  an  easy  flight. 

She  added  to  her  talents  and  virtues,  strong 
passions,  —  and  happily  also  sufficient  energy  of 
mind  to  govern  and  direct  them.  She  had  not 
Vittoria's  personal  charms :  it  is  said,  that  if  her 
face  had  equalled  her  form,  she  would  have  been 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  women  of  her  time ;  but 
her  features  were  irregular,  and  her  grand  com- 
manding figure,  which  in  her  youth  was  admired 
for  its  perfect  proportions,  grew  large  and  heavy 
as  she  advanced  in  life.  She  retained,  however, 
to  the  last,  the  animation  of  her  countenance,  the 
dignity  of  her  deportment,  and  powers  of  con- 
versation so  fascinating,  that  none  ever  approach- 
ed her  without  admiration,  or  quitted  her  society 
without  regret. 

Her  verses  have  not  the  polished  harmony 
and  the  graceful  suavity  of  Vittoria's ;  but  more 
vigour  of  expression,  and  more  vivacity  of  co- 
louring. Their  defects  were  equally  opposed : 


VERONICA    GAMBARA.  83 

the  simplicity  of  Veronica  sometimes  borders  upon 
harshness  and  carelessness;  the  uniform  sweet- 
ness of  Vittoria  is  sometimes  too  elaborate  and 
artificial. 

Veronica  Gambara  was  born  in  1485.  Her 
fortunate  parents,  as  her  biographer  expresses  it,* 
were  Count  Gian  Francisco  Gambara,  and  Alda 
Pia.  In  her  twenty-fifth  year,  when  already  dis- 
tinguished as  a  poetess,  and  a  woman  of  great  and 
various  learning,  she  married  Ghiberto  Count  of 
Correggio,  to  whom  she  appears  to  have  been 
attached  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  her  character, 
and  by  whom  she  was  tenderly  loved  in  return. 
After  the  birth  of  her  second  son,  she  was  seized 
with  a  dangerous  disorder,  of  what  nature  we  are 
not  told.  The  physicians  informed  her  husband 
that  they  did  not  despair  of  her  recovery,  but 
that  the  remedies  they  should  be  forced  to  em- 
ploy would  probably  preclude  all  hope  of  her 
becoming  again  a  mother.  The  Count,  who  had 
always  wished  for  a  numerous  offspring,  ordered 

*  Zamboni. 
G    2 


84  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

them  to  employ  these  remedies  instantly,  and 
save  her  to  him  at  every  other  risk.  She  recover- 
ed ;  but  the  effects  upon  her  constitution  were 
such  as  had  been  predicted. 

Like  Vittoria  Colonna,  she  made  the  personal 
qualities  and  renown  of  her  husband  the  principal 
subjects  of  her  verse.  She  dwells  particularly 
on  his  fine  dark  eyes,  expressing  very  gracefully 
the  various  feelings  they  excited  in  her  heart, 
whether  clouded  with  thought,  or  serene  with 
happiness,  or  sparkling  with  affection.*  She 
devotes  six  Sonnets  and  a  Madrigal  to  this  sub- 
ject ;  and  if  we  may  believe  his  poetical  and 
admiring  wife,  these  "  occhi  stellante"  could  com- 
bine more  variety  of  expression  in  a  single  glance 
than  ever  did  eyes  before  or  since. 

Lieti,  mesti,  superbi,  umili,  altieri, 

Vi  mostrate  in  un  punto  ;  oude  di  sperae 

E  di  timor  m'  empiete. — 

*  "  Molto    vagamente  spiegando  i  varj  e  different*  effetti 
che  andavano  cagionando  nel  di  lei  core,  a  misura  che  essi  eran 
torbidi,  o  lieti,  o  sereni  " — See  her  Life  by  Zamloni. 


VERONICA    GAMBARA.  85 

There  is  great  power  and  pathos  in  one  of  her 
poems,  written  on  his  absence. 

O  Stella !  O  Fato  !  del  mio  raal  si  avaro  ! 
Ch'  1  mio  ben  ra'  allontani,  anzi  m'  involi — 
Fia  mai  quel  di  ch'  io  lo  riveggia  o  mora  ?  * 

Veronica  lost  her  husband,  after  nine  years  of 
the  happiest  union. -f  He  gave  her  an  incontro- 
vertible proof  of  his  attachment  and  boundless 
confidence,  by  leaving  her  his  sole  executrix,  with 
the  government  of  Correggio,  and  the  guardian- 
ship of  his  children  during  their  minority.  Her 
grief  on  this  occasion  threw  her  into  a  dangerous 
and  protracted  fever,  which  during  the  rest  of  her 
life  attacked  her  periodically.  She  says  in  one  of 
her  poems,  that  nothing  but  the  fear  of  not 
meeting  her  beloved  husband  in  Paradise  pre- 
vented her  from  dying  with  him.  She  not  only 
vowed  herself  to  a  perpetual  widowhood,  but  to  a 
perpetual  mourning  ;  and  the  extreme  vivacity  of 
her  imagination  was  displayed  in  the  strange 

*  Sonnet  16. 
f  Ghiberto  da  Correggio  died  1.518. 


86  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

trappings  of  woe  with  which  she  was  henceforth 
surrounded.  She  lived  in  apartments  hung  and 
furnished  with  black,  and  from  which  every  object 
of  luxury  was  banished  :  her  liveries,  her  coach, 
her  horses,  were  of  the  same  funereal  hue.  There 
is  extant  a  curious  letter  addressed  by  her  to 
Ludovico  Rossi,  in  which  she  entreats  her  dear 
Messer  Ludovico,  by  all  their  mutual  friendship, 
to  procure,  at  any  price,  a  certain  black  horse, 
to  complete  her  set  of  carriage  horses — "  piu  che 
notte  oscuri,  conformi,  proprio  a  miei  travagli." 
Over  the  door  of  her  sleeping-room  she  inscribed 
the  distich  which  Virgil  has  put  into  the  mouth  of 
Dido. 

Ille  meos,  primus  qui  me  sibi  junxit,  amores 
Abstulit :  ille  habeat  secum  servetque  sepulchre ! 

He  who  once  had  my  vows,  shall  ever  have, 
Beloved  on  earth  and  worshipped  in  the  grave  ! 

But,  unlike  Dido,  she   did  not  "  profess  too 

much."  She   kept  her   word.     Neither    did  she 

neglect  her  duties ;  but   more   fortunate   in  one 

respect  than    her    fair    and  elegant    friend  the 


VERONICA    GAMBARA.  87 

Marchesana,  she  had  two  sons,  to  whose  education 
she    paid   the    utmost    attention,    while    she  ad- 
ministered    the    government    of    Correggio    with 
equal  firmness  and  gentleness.     Her  husband  had 
left  a  daughter,*  whom  she   educated   and  mar- 
ried  with  a  noble  dower.    Her  eldest  son,  Hypo- 
lito,  became    a   celebrated   military   commander  ; 
her  youngest   and  favourite   son,  Girolamo,    was 
created  a    cardinal.     Wherever   Veronica   loved, 
it  seems  to  have  been  with    the   same  passionate 
abandon  which    distinguished    her    character   in 
every  thing.     Writing  to  a  friend  to  recommend 
her  son  to  his  kind  offices,  she  assures  him   that 
"  he  (her  son)  is  not  only  a  part  of  herself — but 
rather  herself.     Remember,11  she  says,  "  Ch1  egli 
e  la  Veronica  medesima," — a  strong   and  tender 
expression. 

We  find  her  in  correspondence  with  all  the 
most  illustrious  characters,  political  and  literary, 
of  that  time ;  and  chiefly  with  Ariosto,  Bembo, 
Molza,  Sanazzaro,  and  Vittoria  Colonna.  Ariosto 

*  Constance  ;  by  his  first  wife,  Violante  di  Mirandola. 


88  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

has  paid  her  an  elegant  compliment  in  the  last 
canto  of  the  Orlando  Furioso.  She  is  one  among 
the  company  of  beautiful  and  accomplished  women 
and  noble  knights,  who  hail  the  poet,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  his  work,  as  a  long-travelled  mariner  is 
welcomed  to  the  shore  : 

Veronica  da  Gambara  e  con  loro 

Si  grata  a  Febo,  e  al  santo  aonio  coro. 

This  was  distinction  enough  to  immortalize  her, 
if  she  had  not  already  immortalized  herself. 

Veronica  was  not  a  prolific  poetess ;  but  the 
few  Sonnets  she  has  left,  have  a  vigour,  a  truth 
and  simplicity,  not  often  met  with  among  the 
rimatori  of  that  rhyming  age.  She  has  written 
fewer  good  poems  than  Vittoria  Colonna,  but 
among  them,  two  which  are  reckoned  superior  to 
Vittoria's  best, — one  addressed  to  the  rival  mo- 
narchs,  Charles  the  Fifth  and  Francis  the  First, 
exhorting  them  to  give  peace  to  Italy,  and  unite 
their  forces  to  protect  civilized  Europe  from  the 
incursions  of  the  infidels  ;  the  other,  which  Is  ex- 
quisitely tender  and  picturesque,  was  composed 


CAMILLA    VALENTINI.  89 

on  revisiting  her   native  place  Brescia,  after  the 
death  of  her  husband. 

Poi  che  per  mia  ventura  a  veder  torno,  8cc. 

It  may  be  found  in  the  collection  of  Mathias. 

\reronica  da  Gambara  died  in  1550,  and  was 
buried  by  her  husband. 

It  should  seem  that  poetical  talents  and  con- 
jugal truth  and  tenderness  were  inherent  in  the 
family  of  Veronica.  Her  niece,  Camilla  Valen- 
tini,  the  authoress  of  some  v.ery  sweet  poems, 
which  are  to  be  found  in  various  Scelte,  married 
the  Count  del  Verme,  who  died  after  a  union  of 
several  years.  She  had  flung  herself,  in  a  transport 
of  grief,  on  the  body  of  her  husband  ;  and  when 
her  attendants  attempted  to  remove  her,  they 
found  her — dead  !  Even  in  that  moment  of 
anguish  her  heart  had  broken. 

C)  judge  her  gently,  who  so  deeply  loved  ! 
Her,  who  in  reason's  sp.te,  without  a  crime, 
Was  in  a  trance  of  passion  thus  removed  ! 

*  *  *  *  # 

I   have  been  detained  too  long  in  "  the  sweet 


90  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

South  ;"  yet,  before  we  quit  it  for  the  present,  I 
must  allude  to  one  or  two  names  which  cannot 
be  entirely  passed  over,  as  belonging  to  the  period 
of  which  we  have  been  speaking — the  golden  age 
of  Italy  and  of  literature. 

Bernardino  Rota,  who  died  in  157^>  a  poet  of 
considerable  power  and  pathos,  has  left  a  volume  of 
poems,  "  In  vita  e  in  morte  di  Porzia  Capece  ;"*  she 
was  a  beautiful  woman  of  Naples,  whom  he  loved 
and  afterwards  married,  and  who  was  snatched  from 
him  in  the  pride  of  her  youth  and  beauty.  Among 
his  Sonnets,  I  find  one  peculiarly  striking,  though 
far  from  being  the  best.     The  picture  it  presents, 
with    all    its   affecting   accompaniments,  and    the 
feelings  commemorated,  are  obviously  taken  from 
nature  and  reality.     The  poet — the  husband — ap- 
proaches to   contemplate    the  lifeless  form  of  his 
Portia,  and  weeping,  he  draws  from  her  pale  cold 
hand   the    nuptial    ring,    which   he   had    himself 
placed  on  her  finger  with  all  the  fond  anticipations 
of  love  and  hope — the  pledge  of  a  union  which 
death  alone  could  dissolve  :  and  now,  with  a  break- 
ing heart,  he  transfers  it  to  his  own.     Such  is  the 


PORTIA    ROTA.  91 

subject  of  this  striking  poem,  which,  with  some 
few  faults  against  taste,  is  still  singularly  pic- 
turesque and  eloquent,  particularly  the  last  six 
lines. — 

SONETTO. 

Questa  scolpita  in  oro,  arnica  fede, 
Che  santo  amor  nel  tuo  bel  dito  pose, 
O  prima  a  me  delle  terrene  cose  ! 
Donna  !  caro  mio  pregio, — alta  mercede — 
Ben  fa  da  te  serbata ;  e  ben  si  vede 
Che  al  commun'  voler'  sempre  rispose, 
Del  di  ch'  il  ciel  nel  mio  pensier'  t'  ascose, 
E  quanto  puote  dar,  tutto  mi  diede  ! 

Ecco  ch'  io  la  t'  invola — ecco  ne  spoglio 
II  freddo  avorio  che  1'  ornava ;  e  vesto 
La  mia,  piu  assai  che  la  tua,  mano  esangue. 
Dolce  mio  furto !  finchc  vivo  io  voglio 
Che  tu  stia  meco — ne  le  sia  molesto 
Ch'  or  di  pianto  ti  bagni,— e  poi  di  sangue! 

.«. 

LITERAL   TRANSLATION. 

"  This  circlet  of  sculptured  gold — this  pledge  which  sacred 
affection  placed  on  that  fair  hand — O  Lady  !  dearest  to  me  of 
all  earthly  things, — my  sweet  possession  and  my  lovely  prize, — 
well  and  faithfully  didst  thou  preserve  it !  the  bond  of  a  mutual 


92  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

love  and  mutual  faith,  even  from  that  hour  when  Heaven  be- 
stowed on  me  all  it  could  bestow  of  bliss.  Now  then — O  now 
do  I  take  it  from  thee  !  and  thus  do  I  withdraw  it  from  the 
cold  ivory  of  that  hand  which  so  adorned  and  honoured  it. 
I  place  it  on  mine  own,  now  chill,  and  damp,  and  pale  as 
thine. — O  beloved  theft ! — While  I  live  thou  shall  never  part 
from  me.  Ah  !  be  not  offended  if  thus  I  stain  thee  with  these 
tears, — and  soon  perhaps  with  life  drops  from  my  heart." 

*  *  #  * 

Castiglione,  besides  being  celebrated  as  the 
finest  gentleman  of  his  day,  and  the  author  of 
that  code  of  all  noble  and  knightly  accomplish- 
ments, of  perfect  courtesy  and  gentle  bearing — 
"  II  Cortigiano,"  must  have  a  place  among  our 
conjugal  poets.  He  had  married  in  1516,  Hypo- 
lita  di  Torrello,  whose  accomplishments,  beauty, 
and  illustrious  birth,  rendered  her  worthy  of  him. 
It  appears,  however,  that  her  family,  who  were 
of  Mantua,  could  not  bear  to  part  with  her,^  and 
that  after  her  marriage,  she  remained  in  that  city, 
while  Castiglione  was  ambassador  at  Rome.  This 
separation  gave  rise  to  a  very  impassioned  cor- 

*  Serassi. — Vita  di  Baldassare  Castiglione. 


CASTIGL10NE.  93 

respondence  ;  and  the  tender  regrets  and  remon- 
strances scattered  through  her  letters,  he  trans- 
posed into  a  very  beautiful  poem,  in  the  form  of 
an  epistle  from  his  wife.  It  may  be  found  in  the 
appendix  to  Roscoe's  Leo  X.  (No.  196.)  Hypo- 
lita  died  in  giving  birth  to  a  daughter,  after  a 
union  of  little  more  than  three  years,  and  left 
Castiglione  for  some  time  inconsolable.  We  are 
particularly  told  of  the  sympathy  of  the  Pope  and 
the  Cardinals  on  this  occasion,  and  that  Leo  con- 
doled with  him  in  a  manner  equally  unusual  and 
substantial,  by  bestowing  on  him  immediately  a 
pension  of  two  hundred  gold  crowns. 


94 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CONJUGAL  POETRY  CONTINUED. 
STORY  OF  DR.  DONNE  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

MY  next  instance  of  conjugal  poetry  is  taken 
from  the  literary  history  of  our  own  country,  and 
founded  on  as  true  and  touching  a  piece  of 
romance  as  ever  was  taken  from  the  page  of  real 
life. 

Dr.  Donne,  once  so  celebrated  as  a  writer,  now 
so  neglected,  is  more  interesting  for  his  matrimo- 
nial history,  and  for  one  little  poem  addressed  to 
his  wife,  than  for  all  his  learned,  metaphysical, 
and  theological  productions.  As  a  poet,  it  is  pro- 
bable that  even  readers  of  poetry  know  little  of 
him,  except  from  the  lines  at  the  bottom  of  the 
pages  in  Pope"1*  version,  or  rather  translation,  of 


DR.    DONNE    AND    HIS    WIFE.  95 

his  Satires,  the  very  recollection  of  which  is 
enough  to  "set  one's  ears  on  edge,"  and  verify 
Coleridge's  witty  and  imitative  couplet. — 

Donne — whose  muse  on  dromedary  trots, — 
Twists  iron  pokers  into  true  love  knots. 

It  is  this  inconceivable  harshness  of  versifica- 
tion, which  has  caused  Donne  to  be  so  little  read, 
except  by  those  who  make  our  old  poetry  their 
study.  One  of  these  critics  has  truly  observed, 
that  "  there  is  scarce  a  writer  in  our  language  who 
has  so  thoroughly  mixed  up  the  good  and  the  bad 
together."  What  is  good,  is  the  result  of  truth, 
of  passion,  of  a  strong  mind,  and  a  brilliant  wit : 
what  is  bad,  is  the  effect  of  a  most  perverse  taste, 
and  total  want  of  harmony.  No  sooner  has  he 
kindled  the  fancy  with  a  splendid  thought,  than  it 
is  as  instantly  quenched  in  a  cloud  of  cold  and 
obscure  conceits  :  no  sooner  has  he  touched  the 
heart  with  a  feeling  or  sentiment,  true  to  nature 
and  powerfully  expressed,  than  we  are  chilled 
or  disgusted  by  pedantry  or  coarseness. 

The   events  of  Donne's    various  life,  and    the 


96  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

romantic  love  he  inspired  and  felt,  make  us  recur 
to  his  works,  with  an  interest  and  a  curiosity, 
which  while  they  give  a  value  to  every  beauty  we 
can  discover,  render  his  faults  more  glaring, — 
more  provoking, — more  intolerable. 

In  his  youth  he  lavished  a  considerable  fortune 
in  dissipation,  in  travelling,  and,  it  may  be  added, 
in  the  acquisition  of  great  and  various  learning. 
He  then  entered  the  service  of  Lord  Chancellor 
Ellesmere,  as  secretary.  Under  the  same  roof 
resided  Lady  Ellesmere''s  niece,  Anne  Moore,  a 
lovely  and  amiable  woman.  She  was  about  nine- 
teen, and  Donne  was  about  thirty,  handsome, 
lively,  and  polished  by  travel  and  study.  They 
met  constantly,  and  the  result  was  a  mutual 
attachment  of  the  most  ardent  and  romantic  cha- 
racter. As  they  were  continually  together,  and 
always  in  presence  of  watchful  relations  ("  am- 
bushed round  with  household  spies,""  as  he  ex- 
presses it,)  it  could  not  long  be  concealed.  "  The 
friends  of  both  parties,1'  says  Walton,  "  used 
much  diligence  and  many  arguments  to  kill  or 
cool  their  affections  for  each  other,  but  in  vain :" 


DR.    DONNE    AND    HIS    WIFE.  97 

and  the  lady's  father,  Sir  George  Moore,  "  know- 
ing prevention  to  be  the  best  part  of  wisdom," 
came  up  to  town  in  all  haste,  and  carried  off  his 
daughter  into  the  country.  But  his  preventive 
wisdom  came  too  late:  the  lovers  had  been  se- 
cretly married  three  weeks  before. 

This  precipitate  step  was  perhaps  excusable, 
from  the  known  violence  and  sternness  of  Sir 
George's  character.  His  daughter  was  well  aware 
that  his  consent  would  never  be  voluntary :  she 
preferred  marrying  without  it,  to  marrying 
against  it ;  and  trusted  to  obtain  his  forgiveness 
when  there  was  no  remedy : — a  common  mode  of 
reasoning,  I  believe,  in  such  cases.  Never  perhaps 
was  a  youthful  error  of  this  description  more 
bitterly  punished — more  deeply  expiated — and  so 
little  repented  of ! 

The  Earl  of  Northumberland  undertook  to 
break  the  matter  to  Sir  George,  to  reason  witli 
him  on  the  subject;  and  to  represent  the  excellent 
qualities  of  his  son-in-law,  and  the  duty  of  for- 
giveness, as  a  wise  man,  a  father,  and  Christian. 
His  intention  was  benevolent,  and  we  have  reason 

VOL.  u.  ii 


9H  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

to  regret  that  his  speech  or  letter  has  not  been 
preserved;     for    (such   is  human   inconsistency  !) 
this   very   Earl   of  Northumberland  never  could 
forgive  his  own  daughter  a  similar  disobedience,* 
but  followed  it  with  his  curse,  which  he  was  with 
difficulty  prevailed  on  to  retract.     His  mediation 
failed:   Sir  George,  on  learning  that  his  precau- 
tions came  too  late,  burst  into  a  transport  of  rage, 
the  effect  of  which  resembled  insanity.     He  had 
sufficient  interest  in  the  arbitrary  court  of  James, 
to    procure  the  imprisonment  of  Donne  and  the 
witnesses   of    his    daughter's   marriage;     and   he 
insisted  that  his  brother-in-law  should  dismiss  the 
young   man   from    his  office, — his  only    support. 
Lord  Ellesmere  yielded  with  extreme  reluctance, 
saying,  "he  parted  with  such  a  friend  and  such 
a  secretary,  as  were  a  fitter  servant  for  a  King/' 
Donne,  in  sending  this  news  to  his  wife,  signs  his 
name  with  the  quaint  oddity,  which  was  so  cha- 
racteristic of  his  mind, — John  Donne,  Anne  Donne, 

*  Lady  Lucy  Percy,  afterwards    the  famous   Countess   of 
Carlisle,  mentioned  in  page  33. 


DR.    DONNE    AND    HIS    WIFE.  99 

—undone :  and  undone  they  truly  were.  As  soon 
as  he  was  released  he  claimed  his  wife  ;  but  it  was 
many  months  before  they  were  allowed  to  meet. 

Have  we  for  this  kept  guard,  like  spy  o'er  spy  ? 

Had  correspondence  whilst  the  foe  stood  by  ? 

Stolen  (more  to  sweeten  them)  our  many  blisses 

Of  meetings,  conference,  embracemeuts,  kisses  ? 

Shadow'd  with  negligence  our  best  respects  ? 

Varied  our  language  through  all  dialects 

Of  becks,  winks,  looks  ;  and  often  under  boards, 

Spoke  dialogues,  with  our  feet  far  from  our  words? 

And  after  all  this  passed  purgatory, 

Must  sad  divorce  make  us  the  vulgar  story  ?• 

At  length  this  unkind  father  in  some  degree  re- 
lented ;  he  suffered  his  daughter  and  her  husband 
to  live  together,  but  he  refused  to  contribute  to 
their  support ;  and  they  were  reduced  to  the 
greatest  distress.  Donne  had  nothing.  "  His  wife 
had  been  curiously  and  plentifully  educated ;  both 
their  natures  generous,  accustomed  to  confer,  not 
to  receive  courtesies ;"  and  whep  he  looked  on  her 
who  was  to  be  the  partner  of  his  lot,  he  was  filled 

*  Donne's  poems. 
H  2 


100  CONJUGAL   POETRY. 

with  such  sadness  and  apprehension  as  he  could 
never  have  felt  for  himself  alone.* 

In   this    situation    they  were   invited   into   the 
house  of  a  generous  kinsman  (Sir  Francis  Wool- 
ley),  who  maintained  them  and   their  increasing 
family  for  several  years,  "  to  their  mutual  con- 
tent""   and  undiminished  friendship,  -f-      Volumes 
could  not   say  more  in  praise  of  both  than  this 
singular  connection  : — to  bestow  favours,  so  long 
continued    and  of  such  magnitude,  with  a  grace 
which    made    them    sit    lightly    on    those    who 
received  them,  and  to  preserve,  under  the  weight 
of  such   obligation,    dignity,    independence,    and 
happiness,  bespeaks  uncommon  greatness  of  spirit 
and  goodness  of  heart  and  temper  on  all  sides. 

This  close  and  domestic  intimacy  was  dissolved 
only  by  the  death  of  Sir  Francis,  who  had  pre- 
viously procured  a  kind  of  reconcilement  with  the 
father  of  Mrs.  Donne,  and  an  allowance  of  about 
eighty  pounds  a  year.  They  fell  again  into  debt, 

*  Walton's  Lives, 
f  Walton's  Life  of  Donne. — Chalmers's  Biography. 


DR.    DONNE    AND    HIS    WIFE.  *101 

and  into  misery ;  and  "  doubtless,"  says  old  Wal- 
ton, with  a  quaint,  yet  eloquent  simplicity,  "  their 
marriage  had  been  attended  with  a  heavy  re- 
pentance, if  God  had  not  blessed  them  with  so 
mutual  and  cordial  affections,  as,  in  the  midst  of 
their  sufferings,  made  their  bread  of  sorrow  taste 
more  pleasantly  than  the  banquets  of  dull  and 
low-spirited*  people."  We  find  in  some  of 
Donne's  letters,  the  most  heart-rending  pictures 
of  family  distress,  mingled  with  the  tenderest 
touches  of  devoted  affection  for  his  amiable  wife. 
"  I  write,"  he  says,  "  from  the  fire-side  in  my 
parlour,  and  in  the  noise  of  three  gamesome 
children,  and  by  the  side  of  her,  whom,  because 
I  have  transplanted  into  a  wretched  fortune,  I 
must  labour  to  disguise  that  from  her  by  all  such 
honest  devices,  as  giving  her  my  company  and 
discourse,"  &c.  &c. 

And  in  another  letter  he  describes  himself,  with 
all  his  family  sick,  his  wife  stupified  by  her  own 
and  her  children's  sufferings,  without  money  to 

*  i.  e.  low-minded. 


102  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

purchase  medicine, — "  and  if  God  should  ease  us 
with  burials,  I  know  not  how  to  perform  even 
that ;  but  I  flatter  myself  that  I  am  dying  too, 
for  1  cannot  waste  faster  than  by  such  griefs. 
— From  my  hospital.  "  JOHN  DONNE." 

This  is  the  language  of  despair ;  but  love  was 
stronger  than  despair,  and  supported  this  affec- 
tionate couple  through  all  their  trials.  Add  to 
mutual  love  the  spirit  of  high  honour  and  con- 
scious desert ;  for  in  the  midst  of  this  sad,  and 
almost  sordid  misery  and  penury,  Donne,  whose 
talents  his  contemporaries  acknowledged  with  ad- 
miration, refused  to  take  orders  and  accept  a  be- 
nefice, from  a  scruple  of  conscience,  on  account  of 
the  irregular  life  he  had  led  in  his  youthful  years. 

But  in  their  extremity,  Providence  raised  them 
up  another  munificent  friend.  Sir  Robert  Drury 
received  the  whole  family  into  his  house,  treated 
Donne  with  the  most  cordial  respect  and  affec- 
tion, and  some  time  afterwards  invited  him  to 
accompany  him  abroad. 

Donne  had  been  married  to  his  wife  seven  years, 
during  which  they  had  suffered  every  variety  of 


DR.   DONNE    AND   HIS    WIFE.  103 

wretchedness,  except  the  greatest  of  all, — that  of 
being  separated.  The  idea  of  this  first  parting 
was  beyond  her  fortitude ;  she  said,  her  "  divin- 
ing soul  boded  her  some  ill  in  his  absence,"  and 
with  tears  she  entreated  him  not  to  leave  her 
Her  affectionate  husband  yielded ;  but  Sir  Robert 
Drury  was  urgent,  and  would  not  be  refused. 
Donne  represented  to  his  wife  all  that  honour  and 
gratitude  required  of  him ;  and  she,  too  really 
tender,  and  too  devoted  to  be  selfish  and  unreason- 
able, yielded  with  "  an  unwilling  willingness ;" 
yet,  womanlike,  she  thought  she  could  not  bear 
a  pain  she  had  never  tried,  and  was  seized  with 
the  romantic  idea  of  following  him  in  the  dis- 
guise of  a  page.*  In  a  delicate  and  amiable 
woman,  and  a  mother,  it  could  have  been  but 
a  momentary  thought,  suggested  in  the  frenzy 
of  anguish.  It  inspired,  however,  the  following 
beautiful  dissuasion,  which  her  husband  addressed 
to  her. 

By  our  first  strange  and  fatal  interview  ; 

By  all  desires  which  thereof  did  ensue ; 

*  Chalmers's  Biography. 


104  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

By  our  long-striving  hopes ;  by  that  remorse 
Which  my  words'  masculine  persuasive  force 
Begot  in  thee,  and  by  the  memory 
Of  hurts  which  spies  and  rivals  threaten'd  me, — 
I  calmly  beg  :  but  by  thy  father's  wrath, 
By  all  pains  which  want  and  divorcement  hath, 
I  conjure  thee  ; — and  all  the  oaths  which  I 
And  thou  have  sworn  to  seal  joint  constancy, 
I  here  unswear,  and  overs  wear  them  thus  : 
Thou  shall  not  love  by  means  so  dangerous. 
Temper,  O  fair  Love !  Love's  impetuous  rage ; 
Be  my  true  mistress,  not  my  feigned  page. 
'11  go,  and  by  thy  kind  leave,  leave  behind 
Thee,  only  worthy  to  nurse  in  my  mind 
Thirst  to  come  back.     O !  if  thou  die  before, 
My  soul  from  other  lands  to  thee  shall  soar  : 
Thy  (else  almighty)  beauty  cannot  move 
Rage  from  the  seas,  not  thy  love  teach  them  love, 
Nor  tame  wild  Boreas'  harshness :  thou  hast  read 
How  roughly  he  in  pieces  shivered 
Fair  Orithea,  whom  he  swore  he  loved. 
Fall  ill  or  good,  'tis  madness  to  have  proved 
Dangers  unurg'd  :  feed  on  this  flattery, 
That  absent  lovers  one  in  th*  other  be. 
Dissemble  nothing, — not  a  boy, — nor  change 
Thy  body's  habit  nor  mind  :  be  not  strange 


DR.    DONNE   AND    HIS   WIFE.  105 

To  thyself  only  :  all  will  spy  in  thy  face 
A  blushing,  womanly,  discovering  grace. 
When  I  am  gone  dream  me  some  happiness, 
Nor  let  thy  looks  our  long  hid  love  confess : 
Nor  praise  nor  dispraise  me ;  nor  bless  nor  curse 
Openly  love's  force ;  nor  in  bed  fright  thy  nurse 
With  midnight  starlings,  crying  out,  Oh  !  oh  ! 
Nurse,  oh  !  my  love  is  slain !  I  saw  him  go 
O'er  the  white  Alps  alone  ;  I  saw  him,  I, 
Assailed,  ta'en,  fight,  stabb'd,  bleed,  fall,  and  die  ! 
Augur  me  better  chance,  except  dread  Jove 
Think  it  enough  for  me  to  have  had  thy  love. 

I -would  not  have  the  heart  of  one  who  could 
read  these  lines,  and  think  only  of  their  rugged 
style,  and  faults  of  taste  and  expression.  The 
superior  power  of  truth  and  sentiment  have  im- 
mortalised this  little  poem,  and  the  occasion  which 
gave  it  birth.  The  wife  and  husband  parted,  and 
he  left  with  her  another  little  poem,  which  he 
calls  a  "  Valediction,  forbidding  to  mourn/1 

When  Donne  was  at  Paris,  and  still  suffering 
under  the  grief  of  this  separation,  he  saw,  or 
fancied  he  saw,  the  apparition  of  his  wife  pass 
through  the  room  in  which  he  sat,  her  hair  di- 


106  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

shevelled  and  hanging  down  upon  her  shoulders, 
her  face  pale  and  mournful,  and  carrying  in  her 
arms  a  dead  infant.  Sir  Robert  Drury  found  him 
a  few  minutes  afterwards  in  such  a  state  of  horror, 
and  his  mind  so  impressed  with  the  reality  of  this 
vision,  that  an  express  was  immediately  sent  off 
to  England,  to  inquire  after  the  health  of  Mrs. 
Donne.  She  had  been  seized,  after  the  departure 
of  her  husband,  with  a  premature  confinement ; 
had  been  at  the  point  of  death  ;  but  was  then 
out  of  danger,  and  recovering. 

This  incident  has  been  related  by  all  Donne's 
biographers,  by  some  with  infinite  solemnity,  by 
others  with  sneering  incredulity.  I  can  speak  from 
experience,  of  the  power  of  the  imagination  to  im- 
press us  with  a  palpable  sense  of  what  is  not,  and 
cannot  be ;  and  it  seems  to  me  that,  in  a  man  of 
Donne's  ardent,  melancholy  temperament,  brooding 
day  and  night  on  the  one  sad  idea,  a  high  state 
of  nervous  excitement  is  sufficient  to  account 
for  this  impression,  without  having  recourse  to 
supernatural  agency,  or  absolute  disbelief. 

Donne,  after  several  years  of  study,  was    pre- 


DR.  DONNE    AND    HIS    WIFE.  107 

vailed  on  to  enter  holy  orders;  and  about  four 
years  afterwards,  his  amiable  wife  died  in  her 
twelfth  confinement.  *  His  grief  was  so  over- 
whelming, that  his  old  friend  Walton  thinks  it 
necessary  thus  to  apologise  for  him: — "Nor  is 
it  hard  to  think  (being  that  passions  may  be  both 
changed  and  heightened  by  accidents,)  but  that 
the  abundant  affection  which  was  once  betwixt 
him  and  her,  who  had  so  long  been  the  delight 
of  his  eyes  and  the  companion  of  his  youth  ; 
her,  with  whom  he  had  divided  so  many  pleasant 
sorrows  and  contented  fears,  as  common  people 
are  not  capable  of,  should  be  changed  into  a 
commensurable  grief."  He  roused  himself  at 
length  to  his  duties ;  and  preaching  his  first 
sermon  at  St.  Clement's  Church,  in  the  Strand, 
where  his  beloved  wife  lay  buried,  he  took  for  his 
text,  Jer.  iii.  v.  1, — "  Lo  !  I  am  the  man  that  hath 
seen  affliction ;"  and  sent  all  his  congregation 
home  in  tears. 


*  In  1617. 


108  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

Among  Donne's  earlier  poetry  may  be  dis- 
tinguished the  following  little  song,  which  has 
so  much  more  harmony  and  elegance  than  his 
other  pieces,  that  it  is  scarcely  a  fair  specimen  of 
his  style.  It  was  long  popular,  and  I  can  re- 
member when  a  child,  hearing  it  sung  to  very 
beautiful  music. 

Send  home  my  long  stray'd  eyes  to  me, 
Which,  oh  I  too  long  have  dwelt  on  thee  ! 
But  if  from  thee  they  Ve  learnt  such  ill, 

Such  forced  fashions 

And  false  passions, 

That  they  be 

Made  by  thee 
Fit  for  no  good  sight — keep  them  still ! 

Send  home  my  harmless  heart  again, 
Which  no  unworthy  thought  could  stain  I 
But  if  it  hath  been  taught  by  thine 

To  make  jestings 

Of  protestings, 

To  forget  both 

Its  word  and  troth, 
Keep  it  still — 'tis  none  of  mine ! 

Perhaps  it  may   interest  some   readers  to  add, 


DR.    DONNE    AND    HIS    WIFE.  109 

that    Donne's    famous    lines,    which    have    been 
quoted  ad  injinitum, — 

The  pure  and  eloquent  blood 
Spoke  in  her  cheeks,  and  so  distinctly  wrought, 
Ye  might  have  almost  said  her  body  thought ! 

were  not  written  on  his  wife,  but  on  Elizabeth 
Drury,  the  only  daughter  of  his  patron  and 
friend,  Sir  Robert  Drury.  She  was  the  richest 
heiress  in  England,  the  wealth  of  her  father  being 
considered  almost  incalculable ;  and  this,  added 
to  her  singular  beauty,  and  extraordinary  talents 
and  acquirements,  rendered  her  so  popularly  in- 
teresting, that  she  was  considered  a  fit  match  for 
Henry,  Prince  of  Wales.  She  died  in  her  six- 
teenth year. 

Dr.  Donne  and  his  wife  were  maternal  ances- 
tors of  the  Poet  Cowper. 


110 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CONJUGAL  POETRY  CONTINUED. 

HABINGTON'S  CASTARA. 

ONE  of  the  most  elegant  monuments  ever 
raised  by  genius  to  conjugal  affection,  was  Ha- 
bingtonns  Castara. 

William  Habington,  who  ranks  among  the  most 
graceful  of  our  old  minor  poets,  was  a  gentleman 
of  an  ancient  Roman  Catholic  family  in  Worces- 
tershire, and  born  in  1605.*  On  his  return  from 
his  travels,  he  saw  and  loved  Lucy  Herbert,  the 

*  It  was  the  mother  of  William  Habington  who  addressed 
to  her  brother,  Lord  Mounteagle,  that  extraordinary  letter 
which  led  to  the  discovery  of  the  Gunpowder  Plot. 

Wash's  History  itf  Worcestershire. 


HABINGTON'S  CASTARA.  Ill 

daughter  of  Lord  Powis,  and  granddaughter  of 
the  Earl  of  Northumberland.  She  was  far  his  supe- 
rior in  birth,  being  descended,  on  both  sides,  from 
the  noblest  blood  in  England;    and  her  haughty 
relations  at  first  opposed  their  union.    It  was,  how- 
ever, merely   that  degree  of  opposition,   without 
which  the  "course  of  true  love  would  have  run 
too  smooth."     It  was  just  sufficient  to  pique  the 
ardour   of   the   lover,  and  prove   the  worth  and 
constancy  of  her  he  loved.     The  history  of  their 
attachment  has  none  of  the  painful  interest  which 
hangs  round  that  of  Donne  and  his  wife :  it  is  a 
picture  of  pure  and  peaceful  happiness,  and   of 
mutual    tenderness,     on    which    the    imagination 
dwells   with   a   soft   complacency   and    unalloyed 
pleasure ;   with  nothing  of  romance  but  what  was 
borrowed  from    the    elegant    mind    and    playful 
fancy,  which  heightened  and  embellished  the  de- 
lightful reality. 

If  Habington  had  not  been  born  a  poet,  a 
tombstone  in  an  obscure  country  church  would 
have  been  the  only  memorial  of  himself  and  his 
Castara.  "  She  it  was  who  animated  his  ima- 


112  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

gination  with  tenderness  and  elegance,  and  filled  it 
with  images  of  beauty,  purified  by  her  feminine 
delicacy  from  all  grosser  alloy."  In  return,  he 
may  be  allowed  to  exult  in  the  immortality  he  has 
given  her. 

Thy  vows  are  heard  !  and  thy  Castara's  name 

Is  writ  as  fair  i'  the  register  of  fame, 

As  the  ancient  beauties  which  translated  are 

By  poets  up  to  Heaven — each  there  a  star. 
***** 

Fix'd  in  Love's  firmament  no  star  shall  shine 
So  nobly  fair,  so  purely  chaste  as  thine  ! 
The  collection  of  poems  which  Habington  de- 
dicated to  his  Castara,  is  divided  into  two  parts  : 
those  written  before  his  marriage  he  has  entitled 
"  The     Mistress,"    those    written     subsequently, 
"  The  Wife." 

He  has  prefixed  to  the  whole  an  introduction 
in  prose,  written  with  some  quaintness,  but  more 
feeling  and  elegance,  in  which  he  claims  for  him- 
self the  honour  of  being  the  first  conjugal  poet  in 
our  language.  To  use  his  own  words  :  "  Though 
I  appear  to  strive  against  the  stream  of  the  best 
wits  in  erecting  the  same  altar  to  chastity  and 


HABINGTON'S  CASTARA.  113 

love,  I  will,  for  one,  adventure  to  do  well  without 
a  precedent/' 

Habington  had,  however,  been  anticipated,  as 
we  have  seen,  by  some  of  the  Italian  poets  whom 
he  has  imitated  :  he  has  a  little  of  the  recherche 
and  affectation  of  their  school,  and  is  not  untinc- 
tured  by  the  false  taste  of  his  day.  He  has 
not  great  power,  nor  much  pathos ;  but  these  de- 
fects are  redeemed  by  a  delicacy  of  expression 
uncommon  at  that  time ;  by  the  interest  he  has 
thrown  round  a  love  as  pure  as  its  object,  and  by 
the  most  exquisite  touches  of  fancy,  sentiment, 
and  tenderness. 

Without  expressly  naming  his  wife  in  his  pre- 
fatory remarks,  he  alludes  to  her  very  beau- 
tifully, and  exults,  with  a  modest  triumph,  in  the 
value  of  his  rich  possession. 

"  How  unhappy  soever  I  may  be  in  the  elo- 
cution, I  am  sure  the  theme  is  worthy  enough. 
*  *  *  Nor  was  my  invention  ever  sinister  from 
the  straight  way  of  chastity ;  and  when  love 
builds  upon  that  rock,  it  may  safely  contemn  the 
battery  of  the  waves,  and  the  threatenings  of  the 
VOL.  II.  I 


114  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

wind.  Since  time,  that  makes  a  mockery  of  the 
finest  structures,  shall  itself  be  ruined  before  that 
be  demolished.  Thus  was  the  foundation  laid  ; 
and  though  my  eye,  in  its  survey,  was  satisfied 
even  to  curiosity,  yet  did  not  my  search  rest 
there.  The  alabaster,  ivory,  porphyry,  jet,  that 
lent  an  admirable  beauty  to  the  outward  building, 
entertained  me  with  but  half  pleasure,  since  they 
stood  there  only  to  make  sport  for  ruin.  But 
when  my  soul  grew  acquainted  with  the  owner 
of  that  mansion,  I  found  that  oratory  was  dumb 
when,  it  began  to  speake  her.11 

He  then  describes  her  wisdom;  her  wit;  her 
innocence, — "  so  unvitiated  by  conversation  with 
the  world,  that  the  subtle-witted  of  her  sex  would 
have  termed  it  ignorance ;"  her  modesty  "  so  ti- 
morous, it  represented  a  besieged  city  standing 
watchfully  on  her  guard :  in  a  word,  all  those 
virtues  which  should  restore  woman  to  her  primi- 
tive state  of  virtue,  fully  adorned  her.11  He  then 
prettily  apologises  for  this  indiscreet  rhetoric  on 
such  a  subject.  "  Such,11  he  says,  "  I  fancied 
her ;  for  to  say  she  is,  or  was  such,  were  to  play 


HABINGTOTsTs   CASTARA.  115 

the  merchant,  and  boast  too  much  of  the  value  of 
the  jewel  I  possess,  but  have  no  mind  to  part 
with." 

He  concludes  with  this  just,  yet  modest  appre- 
ciation of  himself : — "  If  not  too  indulgent  to  what 
is  mine  own,  I  think  even  these  verses  will  have 
that  proportion  in  the  world's  opinion,  that  heaven 
hath  allotted  me  in  fortune, — not  so  high  as  to  be 
wondered  at,  nor  so  low  as  to  be  contemned." 

In  the  description  of  "  the  MISTRESS,"  are 
some  little  touches  inimitably  graceful  and  com- 
plimentary Though  couched  in  general  terms, 
it  is  of  course  a  portrait  of  Lucy  Herbert,  such  as 
she  appeared  to  him  in  the  days  of  their  courtship, 
and  fondly  recalled  and  dwelt  upon,  when  she  had 
been  many  years  a  wife  and  a  mother.  He  re- 
presents her  "  as  fair  as  Nature  intended  her, 
helpt,  perhaps,  to  a  more  pleasing  grace  by  the 
sweetness  of  education,  not  by  the  sleight  of  art." 
This  discrimination  is  delicately  drawn. — He  con- 
tinues, "  she  is  young;  for  a  woman,  past  the 
delicacy  of  her  spring,  may  well  move  to  virtue 
by  respect,  never  by  beauty  to  affection.  In  her 
I  2 


116  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

carriage,  sober,  thinking  her  youth  expresseth  life 
enough,  without  the  giddy  motion  fashion  of  late 
hath  taken  up." — (This  was  early  in  the  reign  of 
the  grave  and  correct  Charles  the  First.  What 
would  Habington  have  said  of  the  flaunting,  flut- 
tering, voluble  beauties  of  Charles  the  Second's 
time  ?) 

He  extols  the  melody  of  her  voice,  her  know- 
ledge of  music,  and  her  grace  in  the  dance : 
above  all,  he  dwells  on  her  retiring  modesty,  the 
favourite  theme  of  his  praise  in  prose  and  verse, 
which  seems  to  have  been  the  most  striking  part 
of  her  character,  and  her  greatest  charm  in  the 
eyes  of  her  lover.  He  concludes,  with  the  beau- 
tiful sentiment  I  have  chosen  as  a  motto  to  this 
little  book. — "  Only  she,  who  hath  as  great  a 
share  in  virtue  as  in  beauty,  deserves  a  noble 
love  to  serve  her,  and  a  free  poesie  to  speak 
her !" 

The  poems  are  all  short,  generally  in  the  form 
of  sonnets^  if  that  name  can  be  properly  applied 
to  all  poems  of  fourteen  lines,  whatever  the  rhyth- 


HABINGTON'S  CASTARA.  117 

inical  arrangement.  The  subjects  of  these,  and 
their  quaint  expressive  titles,  form  a  kind  of 
chronicle  of  their  loves,  in  which  every  little  in- 
cident is  commemorated.  Thus  we  have,  "  to 
Castara,  inquiring  why  I  loved  her.11 — "  To  Cas- 
tara,  softly  singing  to  herself."  "  To  Castara, 
leaving  him  on  the  approach  of  night.11 — 

What  should  we  fear,  Castara  ?  the  cool  air 
That's  fallen  in  love,  and  wantons  in  thy  hair, 
Will  not  betray  our  whispers  : — should  I  steal 
A  nectar 'd  kiss,  the  wind  dares  not  reveal 
The  treasure  I  possess  ! 

"  To  Castara,  on  being  debarred  her  presence," 
(probably  by  her  father,  Lord  Powis.) — 

Banish'd  from  you,  I  charged  the  nimble  wind, 
My  unseen  messenger,  to  speak  my  mind 
In  amorous  whispers  to  you ! 

*'  Upon  her  intended  journey  into  the  country.11 
— "  Upon  Seymors,11  (a  house  near  Marlow, 
where  Castara  resided  with  her  parents,  and  where, 
it  appears,  he  was  not  allowed  to  visit  her.) — "  On 


118  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

a  trembling  kiss  she  had  granted  him  on  her 
departure."  The  commencement  of  this  is  beau- 
tiful: 

The  Arabian  wind,  whose  breathing  gently  blows 
Purple  to  the  violet,  blushes  to  the  rose, 
Did  never  yield  an  odour  such  as  this  ! 
Why  are  you  then  so  thrifty  of  a  kiss, 
Authorized  even  by  custom?     Why  doth  fear 
So  tremble  on  your  lip,  my  lip  being  near  ? 

Then  we  have,  "  to  Castara,  on  visiting  her  in 
the  night."" — This  alludes  to  a  meeting  of  the 
lovers,  at  a  time  they  were  debarred  from  each 
other's  society. 

The  following  are  more  exquisitely  graceful 
than  any  thing  in  Waller,  yet  much  in  his 
style. 

TO    ROSES    IN    THE    BOSOM    OF    CASTARA. 

Ye  blushing  virgins  happy  are 

In  the  chaste  nunnery  of  her  breast ; 

For  he  'd  profane  so  chaste  a  fair 

Who  e'er  should  call  it  Cupid's  nest. 


HABINGTON'S  CASTARA.  119 

Transplanted  thus,  how  bright  ye  grow ! 

How  rich  a  perfume  do  ye  yield ! 
In  some  close  garden,  cowslips  so 

Are  sweeter  than  i'  the  open  field. 

In  those  white  cloisters  live  secure, 
From  the  rude  blasts  of  wanton  breath  ; 

Each  hour  more  innocent  and  pure, 
Till  ye  shall  wither  into  death.  • 

Then  that  which  living  gave  ye  room, 
Your  glorious  sepulchre  shall  be  ; 

There  needs  no  marble  for  a  tomb,— 
That  breast  hath  marble  been  to  me  ! 

The  epistle  to  Castara^s  mother,  Lady  Eleanor 
Powis,  who  appears  to  have  looked  kindly  on 
their  love,  contains  some  very  beautiful  lines,  in 
which  he  asserts  the  disinterestedness  of  his  affec- 
tion for  Castara,  rich  as  she  is  in  fortune,  and 
derived  from  the  blood  of  Charlemagne. 

My  love  is  envious  '.  would  Castara  were 
The  daughter  of  some  mountain  cottager, 
NYho,  with  his  toil  worn  out,  could  dying  leave 
Her  no  more  dower  than  what  she  did  receive 


1'20  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

From  bounteous  Nature  ;  her  would  I  then  lead 
To  the  temple,  rich  in  her  own  wealth ;  her  head 
Crowned  with  her  hair's  fair  treasure ;  diamonds  in 
Her  brighter  eyes ;  soft  ermines  in  her  skin, 
Each  India  in  her  cheek,  &c. 

This  first  part  closes  with  "  the  description  of 
Castara,"  which  is  extended  to  several  stanzas,  of 
unequal  merit.  The  following  compose  in  them- 
selves a  sweet  picture  : 

Like  the  violet,  which  alone 
Prospers  in  some  happy  shade, 

My  Castara  lives  unknown, 
To  no  looser  eye  betray'd. 

For  she 's  to  herself  untrue 

Who  delights  i'the  public  view. 
***** 

Such  her  beauty,  as  no  arts 

Have  enrich 'd  with  borrow'd  grace 
Her  high  birth  no  pride  imparts, 

For  she  blushes  in  her  place. 
Folly  boasts  a  glorious  blood — 
She  is  noblest,  being  good  ! 
#  *  *  *  # 


HABINGTON'S  CASTARA.  121 

She  her  throne  makes  reason  climb, 
While  wild  passions  captive  lie; 

And  each  article  of  time 

Her  pure  thoughts  to  heaven  fly. 

All  her  vows  religious  be — 

And  her  love  she  vows  to  me ! 

The  second  part  of  these  poems,  dedicated  to 
Castara  as  "  the  WIFE,"  have  not  less  variety 
and  beauty,  though  there  were,  of  course,  fewer  in- 
cidents to  record.  The  first  Sonnet,  "  to  Castara, 
now  possest  of  her  in  marriage,11  beginning  "  This 
day  is  ours,"  &c.  has  more  fancy  and  poetry  than 
tenderness.  The  lines  to  Lord  Powis,  the  father 
of  Castara,  on  the  same  occasion,  are  more  beau- 
tiful and  earnest,  yet  rich  in  fanciful  imagery. 
Lord  Powis,  it  must  be  remembered,  had  opposed 
their  union,  and  had"  been,  with  difficulty,  induced 
to  give  his  consent.  The  following  lines  refer  to 
this ;  and  Habington  asserts  the  purity  and  un- 
selfishness of  his  attachment. 

Nor  grieve,  my  Lord,  'tis  perfected.     Before 

Afflicted  seas  sought  refuge  on  the  shore, 

From  the  angry  north  wind  ;  ere  the  astonish'd  spring 


122  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

Heard  in  the  air  the  feathered  people  sing  ; 

Ere  time  had  motion,  or  the  sun  obtained 

His  province  o'er  the  day — this  was  ordained. 

Nor  think  in  her  I  courted  wealth  or  blood, 

Or  more  uncertain  hopes  ;  for  had  I  stood 

On  the  highest  ground  of  fortune, — the  world  known, 

No  greatness  but  what  waited  on  my  throne — 

And  she  had  only  had  that  face  and  mind, 

I  with  myself,  had  th'  earth  to  her  resigned. 

In  virtue  there 's  an  empire ! 

Here  I  rest, 

As  all  things  to  my  power  subdued  ;  to  me 
There's  nought  beyond  this,  the  whole  world  is  SHE  ! 

On  the  anniversary   of  their   wedding-day,  he 
thus  addresses  her  : — 

LOVE'S    ANNIVERSARY. 

Thou  art  returned  (great  light)  to  that  blest  hour 
In  which  I  first  by  marriage,  (sacred  power !) 
Joined  with  Castara  hearts  ;  and  as  the  same 
Thy  lustre  is,  as  then, — so  is  our  flame ; 
Which  had  increased,  but  that  by  Love's  decree, 
'Twas  such  at  first,  it  ne'er  could  greater  be. 
But  tell  me,  (glorious  lamp,)  in  thy  survey 
Of  things  below  thee,  what  did  not  decay 


HABINGTON'S  CASTARA.  123 

By  age  to  weakness  ?     I  since  that  have  seen 
The  rose  bud  forth  and  fade,  the  tree  grow  green, 
And  wither  wrinkled.     Even  thyself  dost  yield 

Something  to  time,  and  to  thy  grave  fall  nigher  ; 

But  virtuous  love  is  one  sweet  endless  fire. 

"  To  Castara,  on  the  knowledge  of  love,"  is 
peculiarly  elegant ;  it  was,  probably,  suggested 
by  some  speculative  topics  of  conversation,  dis- 
cussed in  the  literary  circle  he  had  drawn  round 
him  at  Hindlip.* 

Where  sleeps  the  north  wind  when  the  south  inspires 

Life  in  the  Spring,  and  gathers  into  quires 

The  scatter'd  nightingales  ;  whose  subtle  ears 

Heard  first  the  harmonious  language  of  the  spheres  ; 

Whence  hath  the  stone  magnetic  force  t' allure 

Th'enamour'd  iron;  from  a  seed  impure, 

Or  natural,  did  first  the  mandrake  grow  ; 

What  power  in  the  ocean  makes  it  flow  ; 

What  strange  materials  is  the  azure  sky 

Compacted  of;  of  what  its  brightest  eye 

The  ever  flaming  sun  ;  what  people  are 

In  th'  unknown  world  ;  what  worlds  in  every  star  : — 

*  The  family  seat  of  the  Habingtons,  in  Worcestershire. 


124  CONJUGAL  POETRY. 

Let  curious  fancies  at  these  secrets  rove  ; 
Castara,  what  we  know  we'll  practise — lov 

The  "  Lines  on  her  fainting ;"  those  on  "  The 
fear  of  death," — 

Why  should  we  fear  to  melt  away  in  death  ? 
May  we  but  die  together  !  &c. 

On  her  sigh, — 

Were  but  that  sigh  a  penitential  breath 
That  thou  art  mine,  it  would  blow  with  it  death, 
T'  inclose  me  in  my  marble,  where  I  'd  be 
Slave  to  the  tyrant  worms  to  set  thee  free  ! 

His  self-congratulation  on  his  own  happiness,  in 
his  epistle  to  his  uncle,  Lord  Morley ;  are  all  in 
the  same  strain  of  gentle  and  elegant  feeling. 
The  following  are  among  the  last  addressed  to 
his  wife. 

Give  me  a  heart,  where  no  impure 

Disorder'd  passions  rage ; 

Which  jealousie  doth  not  obscure, 

Nor  vanity  t'  expense  engage ; 

Not  wooed  to  madness  by  quaint  oathes, 

Or  the  fine  rhetorick  of  cloathes ; 


HABINGTON'S  CASTARA.  125 

VVhicli  not  the  softness  of  the  age 

To  vice  or  folly  doth  decline ; 

Give  me  that  heart,  Castara,  for  'tis  thine, 

Take  tliou  a  heart,  where  no  new  look 

Provokes  new  appetite ; 

With  no  fresh  charm  of  beauty  took, 

Or  wanton  stratagem  of  wit; 

Not  idly  wandering  here  and  there, 

Led  by  an  am'rous  eye  or  ear ; 

Aiming  each  beauteous  mark  to  hit ; 

Which  virtue  doth  to  one  confine : 

Take  thou  that  heart,  Castara,  for  'tis  mine. 

It  was  owing  to  his  affection  for  his  wife,  as 
well  as  his  own  retired  and  studious  habits,  that 
Habington  lived  through  the  civil  wars  without 
taking  any  active  part  on  either  side.  It  should 
seem  that,  at  such  a  period,  no  man  of  a  lofty 
and  generous  spirit  could  have  avoided  joining 
the  party  or  principles,  either  of  Falkland  and 
Grandison,  or  of  Hampden  and  Hutchinson.  But 
Habington's  family  had  already  suffered,  in  for- 
tune and  in  fame,  by  their  interference  with  State 
matters ;  and  without,  in  any  degree,  implicating 


126  CONJUGAL   POETRY. 

himself  with  either  party,  he  passed  through 
those  stormy  and  eventful  times, 

As  one  who  dreams 
Of  idleness,  in  groves  Elysian  ; 

and  died  in  the  first  year  of  the  Protectorate, 
1654.  I  cannot  discover  the  date  of  Castara^s 
death  ;  but  she  died  some  years  before  her  hus- 
band, leaving  only  one  son. 

There  is  one  among  the  poems  of  the  second 
part  of  Castara,  which  I  cannot  pass  without 
remark;  it  is  the  Elegy  which  Habington  ad- 
dressed to  his  wife,  on  the  death  of  her  friend, 
Venetia  Digby,  the  consort  of  the  famous  Sir 
Kenelm  Digby.  She  was  the  most  beautiful 
woman  of  her  time  :  even  Lord  Clarendon  steps 
aside  from  the  gravity  of  history,  to  mention 
"  her  extraordinary  beauty,  and  as  extraordinary 
fame."  Her  picture  at  Windsor  is,  indeed,  more 
like  a  vision  of  ideal  loveliness,  than  any  form 
that  ever  trod  the  earth.  *  She  was  descended 

*  There  are  also  four  pictures  of  her  at  Strawberry  Hill,  and 
one  of  her  mother,  Lady  Lucy  Percy,  exquisitely  beautiful.  At 


HABINGTON'S  CASTARA.  127 

from  the  Perries  and  the  Stanleys,  and  was  first 
cousin  to  HabingtoiVs  Castara,  their  mothers  being 
sisters.  The  magnificent  spirit  of  her  enamoured 
husband,  surrounded  her  with  the  most  gorgeous 
adornments  that  ever  were  invented  by  vanity  or 
luxury :  and  thus  she  was,  one  day,  found  dead 
on  her  couch,  her  hand  supporting  her  head,  in 
the  attitude  of  one  asleep.  Habington's  descrip- 
tion exactly  agrees  with  the  picture  at  Althorpe, 
painted  after  her  death  by  Vandyke. 

What's  honour  but  a  hatchment?  what  is  here 

Of  Percy  left,  or  Stanley,  names  most  dear 

To  virtue  ? 

Or  what  avails  her  that  she  once  was  led 

A  glorious  bride  to  valiant  Digby's  bed  ? 
She,  when  whatever  rare 

The  cither  Indies  boast,  lay  richly  spread 

For  her  to  wear,  lay  on  her  pillow  dead  ! 

There  is  no  piercing  the  mystery  which  hangs 
round   the  story  of  this  beautiful  creature  :  that 

( Jothurst,  there  is  a  picture  of  her,  and  a  bust,  which,  after 
her  death,  her  husband  placed  in  his  chamber,  with  this 
tender  and  beautiful  inscription 

Uxorem  aniare  vivam,  voluptas  ;  defunctam,  religio. 


128  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

a  stigma  rested  on  her  character,  and  that  she 
was  exculpated  from  it,  whatever  it  might  be, 
seems  proved,  by  the  doves  and  serpents  intro- 
duced into  several  portraits  of  her ;  the  first, 
emblematical  of  her  innocence,  and  the  latter,  of 
her  triumph  over  slander :  and  not  less,  by  these 
lines  of  Habington.  If  Venetia  Digby  had  been, 
as  Aubrey  and  others  insinuate,  abandoned  to 
profligacy,  and  a  victim  to  her  husband's  jealousy, 
Habington  would  scarce  have  considered  her 
noble  descent  and  relationship  to  his  Castara  as 
a  matter  of  pride ;  or  her  death  as  a  subject  of 
tender  condolence ;  or  the  awful  manner  of  it  a 
peculiar  blessing  of  heaven,  and  the  reward  of 
her  virtues. 

Come  likewise,  my  Castara,  and  behold 
What  blessings  aiicient  prophecy  foretold, 
Bestow'd  on  her  in  death ;  she  past  away 
So  sweetly  from  the  world  as  if  her  clay 
Lay  only  down  to  slumber.     Then  forbear 
To  let  on  her  blest  ashes  fall  a  tear ; 
Or  if  thou'rt  too  much  woman,  softly  weep, 
Lest  grief  disturb  the  silence  of  her  sleep  1 


HABINGTON'S  CASTARA.  129 

The  author  of  the  introduction  to  the  curious 
Memoirs  of  Sir  Kenelm    Digby,  has  proved  the 
absolute  falsehood  of  some  of  Aubrey's  assertions, 
and  infers  the  improbability  of  others.     But  these 
beautiful  lines  by  Habington,  seem  to  have   es- 
caped   his  notice;    and    they   are  not  slight    evi- 
dence in    Venetians   favour.      On   the  whole,  the 
mystery  remains    unexplained;   a  cloud  has    set- 
tled  for   ever   on    the   true    story    of  this  extra- 
ordinary   creature.      Neither    the    pen    nor    the 
sword   of  her    husband  could    entirely  clear  her 
fame   in    her    own    age :    he   could    only    terrify 
slander  into    silence,  and  it    died   away    into   an 
indistinct  murmur,  of  which   the  echo  alone  has 
reached    our    time. — But    this    is    enough  : — the 
echo  of  an    echo   could    whisper   into   naught    a 
woman's  fair  name.     The  idea  of  a  creature  so 
formed  in  the    prodigality    of  nature;     so   com- 
pletely and   faultlessly   beautiful;    so  nobly  born 
and  allied ;  so  capable  (as  she  showed  herself  on 
various  occasions,)  of  high  generous  feeling,*  of 

*  Memoirs  of   Sir  Kenelm  Digby,  pp.   211,  224.     Intro- 
duction, p.  27. 

VOL.    II.  K 


130  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

delicacy,  *  of  fortitude,  f  of  tenderness  ;J  de- 
praved by  her  own  vices,  or  "  done  to  death  by 
slanderous  tongues,"  is  equally  painful  and  heart- 
sickening.  The  image  of  the  aspic  trailing  its 
slime  and  its  venom  over  the  bosom  of  Cleopatra, 
is  not  more  abhorrent. 

*  Memoirs,  pp.  205,  213.      Introduction,  p.  28. 
f  Memoirs,  p.  254.  J  Memoirs,  p.  305. 


131 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CONJUGAL    POETRY    CONTINUED. 
THE   TWO    ZAPPI. 

WE  find  among  the  minor  poets  of  Italy,  a 
charming,  and  I  believe  a  singular  instance  of  a 
husband  and  a  wife,  both  highly  gifted,  devoting 
their  talents  to  celebrate  each  other.  These  were 
Giambattista  Zappi,*  the  famous  Roman  advocate, 
and  his  wife  Faustina,  the  daughter  of  Carlo 
Maratti,  the  painter. 

Zappi,  after  completing  his  legal  studies  at 
Bologna,  came  to  reside  at  Rome,  where  he  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  his  profession,  and  was  one 

*  fiorn  at  Imola,  1668;  died  at  Rome,  1719. 
K   2 


132  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

of  the  founders  of  the  academy  of  the  Arcadii. 
Faustina  Maratti  was  many  years  younger  than 
her  husband,  and  extremely  beautiful :  she  was 
her  father's  favourite  model  for  his  Madonnas, 
Muses,  and  Vestal  Virgins.  From  a  description 
of  her,  in  an  Epithalamium*  on  her  marriage,  it 
appears  that  her  eyes  and  hair  were  jet  black,  her 
features  regular,  and  her  complexion  pale  and 
delicate  ;  a  style  of  beauty  which,  in  its  perfection, 
is  almost  peculiar  to  Italy.  To  the  mutual  tender- 
ness of  these  married  lovers,  we  owe  some  of  the 
most  elegant  among  the  lighter  Italian  lyrics. 
Zappi,  in  a  Sonnet  addressed  to  his  wife  some 
time  after  their  union,  reminds  her,  with  a  tender 
exultation,  of  the  moment  they  first  met ;  when 
she  swept  by  him  in  all  the  pride  of  beauty, 
careless  or  unconscious  of  his  admiration, — and  he 
bowed  low  before  her,  scarcely  daring  to  lift  his 
eyes  on  the  charms  that  were  destined  to  bless 

*  See  the  Epithalamium  on  her  marriage  with  Zappi,   pre- 
fixed to  their  works. 


THE    TWO    ZAPPI.  133 

him;  "Who,"  he  says,  "would  then  have  whis- 
pered me,  the  day  will  come  when  you  will  smile 
to  remember  her  disdain,  for  all  this  blaze  of 
beauty  was  created  for  you  alone !"  or  would 
have  said  to  her,  "  Know  you  who  is  destined  to 
touch  that  virgin  heart  ?  Even  he,  whom  you 
now  pass  by  without  even  a  look  !  Such  are  the 
miracles  of  love!" 

La  prima  volta  ch'  io  m'  avenni  in  quella 
Ninfa,  che  il  cor  m'  accese,  e  ancor  I'  accende, 
Io  dissi,  e  donna  o  dea,  ninfa  si  bella  ? 
Giunse  dal  prato,  o  pur  dal  ciel  discende  ? 

La  fronte  inchino  in  umil  atto,  ed  ella 
La  mere*-  pur  d'un  sguardo  a  me  nOn  rende  ; 
Qual  vagheggiata  in  cielo,  o  luna,  o  Stella, 
Che  segue  altera  il  s"uo  viaggio,  e  splende. 

Chi  detto  avesse  a  me,  "  costei  ti  sprezza, 
Ma  un  di  ti  riderai  del  suo  rigore  ! 
Che  nacque  sol  per  te  tanta  bellezza." 

Chi  detto  avesse  ad  ella:  "  II  tuo  bel  core 
Sai  chi  I'avra  ?  Costui  ch'  or  non  t'  apprezza" 
Or  negate  i  miracoli  d'Amore ! 


134  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

The  first  Sonnet  in  Faustina's  Canzoniere, 

Dolce  sollievo  delle  umane  cure, 

is  an  eulogium  on  her  husband,  and  describes  her 
own  confiding  tenderness.  It  is  full  of  grace  and 
sweetness,  and  feminine  feeling : 

Soave  cortesia,  vezzosi  accenti, 
Virtu,  senno,  valor  d'alma  gentile, 
Spogliato  hanno  '1  mio  cor  d'ogni  timore; 

Or  tu  gli  affetti  miei  puri  innocenti 
Pasci  cortese,  e  non  cangiar  tuo  stile 
Dolce  sollievo  de'  miei  mali,  amore  ! 

Others  are  of  a  melancholy  character;  and  one 
or  two  allude  to  the  death  of  an  infant  son,  whom 
she  tenderly  laments.  But  the  most  finished  of 
all  her  poems  is  a  Sonnet  addressed  to  a  lady 
whom  her  husband  had  formerly  loved  ;*  the 
sentiment  of  which  is  truly  beautiful  and  feminine : 
never  was  jealousy  so  amiably,  or  so  delicately 

*  Probably  the  same  he  had  celebrated  under  the  name  of 
Filli,  and  who  married  another.  Zappi's  Sonnet  to  this  lady, 
"  Ardo  per  Filli,"  is  elaborately  elegant ;  sparkling  and  pointed 
as  a  pyramid  of  gems. 


THE   TWO    ZAPFI.  135 

expressed.  There  is  something  very  dramatic 
and  picturesque  in  the  apostrophe  which  Faustina 
addresses  to  her  rival,  and  in  the  image  of  the 
lady  "  casting  down  her  large  bright  eyes :"  as 
well  as  affecting  in  the  abrupt  recoil  of  feeling  in 
the  last  lines. 


Donna !  che  tanto  al  mio  bel  sol  piacesti ! 
Che  ancor  de'  pregi  tuoi  parla  sovente, 
Lodando,  ora  il  bel  crine,  ora  il  ridente 
Tuo  labbro,  ed  ora  i  saggi  detti  onesti. 

Dimrai,  quando  le  voci  a  lui  volgesti 
Tacque  egli  mai,  qual  uom  che  nullasente? 
O  le  turbate  luci  alteramente, 
(Come  a  me  volge)  a  te  volger  vedesti  ? 

De  tuoi  bei  lumi,  a  le  due  chiare  faci 
lo  so  ch'  egli  arse  un  tempo,  e  so  che  allora — 
Ma  tu  declini  al  suol  gli  occhi  vivaci ! 

Veggo  il  rossor  che  le  tue  guance  infiora ; 
Parla,  rispondi !     Ah  non  rispondi !  taci 
Taci !  se  mi  vuoi  dir  ch'  ei  t'  ama  ancora  ! 


136  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 


TllAiNSLATION. 


Lady,  that  once  so  charm'd  my  life's  fair  Sun,* 
That  of  thy  beauties  still  he  talketh  oft,— 
Thy  mouth,  fair  hair,  and  words  discreet  and  soft. 
Speak  !  when  thou  look'dst,  was  he  from  silence  won  ? 
Or,  did  he  turn  those  sweet  and  troubled  eyes 
On  thee,  and  gaze  as  now  on  me  he  gazeth  ? 
(For  ah  !  I  know  thy  love  was  then  the  prize, 
And  thenhey^/i  the  grace  that  still  he  praiseth.) 
But  why  dost  thou  those  beaming  glances  turn 
Thus  downwards  ?     Ha  !  I  see  (against  thy  will) 
All  o'er  thy  cheek  the  crimsoning  blushes  burn. 
Speak  out!  oh  answer  me! — yet,  no,  no, — stay! 
Be  dumb,  be  silent,  if  thou  need'st  must  say 
That  he  who  once  adored  thee,  loves  thee  still.f 

Neither  Zappi  nor  his  wife  were  authors  by  pro- 
fession :  her  poems  are  few ;  and  all  seem  to  flow 
from  some  incident  or  feeling,  which  awakened  her 
genius,  and  caused  that  "  craving  of  the  heart  and 
the  fancy  to  break  out  into  voluntary  song,  which 
men  call  inspiration."  She  became  a  member  of 

*  "  II  mio  bel  sol"  is  a  poetical  term  of  endearment,  which 
it  is  not  easy  to  reduce  gracefully  into  English, 
f  Translated  by  a  friend. 


THE    TWO    ZAl'PI.  137 

the  Arcadia,  under  the  pastoral  name  of  Aglaura 
Cidonia;  and  it  is  remarkable,  that  though  she 
survived  her  husband  many  years,  I  cannot  find 
any  poem  referring  to  her  loss,  nor  of  a  subse- 
quent date:  neither  did  she  marry  again,  though 
in  the  prime  of  her  life  and  beauty. 

Zappi  was  a  great  and  celebrated  lawyer,  and 
his  legal  skill  raised  him  to  an  office  of  trust, 
under  the  Pontificate  of  Clement  XL  In  one  of 
his  Sonnets,  which  has  great  sweetness  and  pic- 
turesque effect,  he  compares  himself  to  the  Ve- 
netian Gondolier,  who  in  the  calm  or  the  storm 
pours  forth  his  songs  on  the  Lagune,  careless  of 
blame  or  praise,  asking  no  auditors  but  the  silent 
seas  and  the  quiet  moon,  and  seeking  only  to 
"  unburthen  his  full  soul"  in  lays  of  love  and 

j°y— 

11  Gondolier,  sebben  la  uotte  imbruna, 
Kemo  non  posa,  e  feude  il  mar  spumante ; 
Lieto  cantando  a  un  bel  raggio  di  Luna — 
"  Intanto  Erminia  infra  1'  ombrose  piante." 

That  Zappi  could  be  sublime,  is  proved  by  his 
well-known  Sonnet  on  the  Moses  of  Michel 
Angelo  ;  but  his  forte  is  the  graceful  and  the  gay. 


138  CONJUGAL   POETRY. 

His  Anacreontics,  and  particularly  his  little  drink- 
ing song, 

Come  faro  ?     Faro  cosi ! 

are  very  elegant,  and  almost  equal  to  Chiabrera. 
It  is  difficult  to  sympathize  with  English  drink- 
ing songs,  and  all  the  vulgar  associations  of 
flowing  bowls,  taverns,  three  times  three,  and 
the  table  in  a  roar.  An  Italian  Brindisi  trans- 
ports us  at  once  among  flasks  and  vineyards, 
guitars  and  dances,  a  dinner  at  fresco,  a  group 
a  la  S  tot  hard.  It  is  all  the  difference  between  the 
ivy-crowned  Bacchus,  and  the  bloated  Silenus. 
"  Bumper,  Squire  Jones,"  or,  "  Waiter,  bring 
clean  glasses,"  do  not  sound  so  well  as 

Damigella 
Tutta  bella 
Versa,  versa,  il  bel  vino  !  &c. 


139 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CONJUGAL    POETRY    CONTINUED. 
LORD    LYTTELTON. 

LORD  Lyttelton   has  told  us  in  a  very  sweet 
line, 

How  much  the  wife  is  dearer  than  the  bride. 

But  his  Lucy  Fortescue  deserves  more  than  a 
mere  allusion,  en  passant.  That  Lord  Lyttelton 
is  still  remembered  and  read  as  a  poet,  is  solely 
for  her  sake  :  it  is  she  who  has  made  the  shades  of 
Hagley  classic  ground,  and  hallowed  its  precincts 
by  the  remembrance  of  the  fair  and  gentle  being, 
the  tender  woman,  wife,  and  mother,  who  in  the 
prime  of  youth  and  loveliness,  melted  like  a 


140  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

creature    of   air    and    light    from    her    husband's 
arms, 

"  And  left  him  on  this  earth  disconsolate !" 
That  the  verses  she  inspired  are  still  popular,  is 
owing  to  the  power  of  truth,  which  has  here  given 
lasting  interest  to  what  were  otherwise  mediocre. 
Lord  Lyttelton  was  not  much  of  a  poet ;  but  his 
love  was  real ;  its  object  was  real,  beautiful,  and 
good :  thus  buoyed  up,  in  spite  of  his  own  faults 
and  the  change  of  taste,  he  has  survived  the  rest 
of  the  rhyming  gentry  of  his  time,  who  wrote 
epigrams  on  fans  and  shoe-buckles, — songs  to 
the  Duchess  of  this  and  the  Countess  of  that — 
and  elegies  to  Miras,  Delias,  and  Chloes. 

Lucy  Fortescue,  daughter  of  Hugh  Fortescue, 
Esq.  of  Devonshire,  and  grand-daughter  of  Lord 
Aylmer,  was  born  in  1718.  She  was  about  two- 
and-twenty  when  Lord  Lyttelton  first  became 
attached  to  her,  and  he  was  in  his  thirty-first 
year :  in  person  and  character  she  realized  all  he 
had  imagined  in  his  "  Advice  to  Belinda.1'* 

*  See  his  Poems. 


LORD    LYTTELTON.  141 

Without,  all  beauty— and  all  peace  within. 

#  *  *  #  # 

Blest  is  the  maid,  and  worthy  to  be  blest, 
Whose  soul,  entire  by  him  she  loves  possest, 
Feels  every  vanity  in  fondness  lost, 
And  asks  no  power,  but  that  of  pleasing  most : 
Her's  is  the  bliss,  in  just  return  to  prove 
The  honest  warmth  of  undissembled  love ; 
For  her,  inconstant  man  might  cease  to  range, 
And  gratitude  forbid  desire  to  change. 

To  the  more  peculiar  attributes  of  her  sex — 
beauty  and  tenderness, —  she  united  all  the  advan- 
tages of  manner, — 

Polite  as  she  in  courts  had  ever  been  ; 
and  wit — the  only  wit  that  becomes  a  woman, — 

That  temperately  bright 
Witli  inoffensive  light 
All  pleasing  shone,  nor  ever  past 
The  decent  bounds  that  wisdom's  sober  hand 
And  sweet  benevolence's  mild  command, 
And  bashful  modesty  before  it  cast. 

Her  education  was  uncommon  for  the  time;  for 
then,  a  woman,  who  to  youth  and  elegance  and 
beauty  united  a  familiar  acquaintance  with  the 


142  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

literature  of  her  own  country,  French,  Italian, 
and  the  classics,  was  distinguished  among  her 
sex.  She  had  many  suitors,  and  her  choice  was 
equally  to  her  own  honour  and  that  of  her  lover. 
Lord  Lyttelton  was  not  rich ;  his  father,  Sir 
Thomas  Lyttelton,  being  still  alive.  He  had  per- 
haps never  dreamed  of  the  coronet  which  late 
in  life  descended  on  his  brow :  and  far  from  pos- 
sessing a  captivating  exterior,  he  was  extremely 
plain  in  person,  "  of  a  feeble,  ill-compacted  figure, 
and  a  meagre  sallow  countenance.""*  But  talents, 
elegance  of  mind,  and  devoted  affection,  had  the 
influence  they  ought  to  have,  and  generally  do 
possess,  in  the  mind  of  a  woman.  We  are 
told  that  our  sex's  "  earliest,  latest  care, — our 
heart's  supreme  ambition,""  is  "  to  be  fair."  Even 
Madame  de  Stael  would  have  given  half  her 
talents  for  half  Madame  Recamier's  beauty  !  and 
why  ?  because  the  passion  of  our  sex  is  to  please 
and  to  be  loved  ;  and  men  have  taught  us,  that 
in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  we  are  valued  merely  for 

*  Johnson's  Life  of  Lord  Lyttelton. 


LORD    LYTTELTON.  143 

our  personal  advantages :  they  can  scarce  believe 
that  women,  generally  speaking,  are  so  indifferent 
to  the  mere  exterior  of  a  man, — that  it  has  so  little 
power  to  interest  their  vanity  or  affections.  Let 
there  be  something  for  their  hearts  to  honour, 
and  their  weakness  to  repose  on,  and  feeling  and 
imagination  supply  the  rest.  In  this  respect,  the 
"  gentle  lady  married  to  the  Moor,"  who  saw  her 
lover's  visage  in  his  mind,  is  the  type  of  our  sex  ; — 
the  instances  are  without  number.  The  Frenchman 
triumphs  a  little  too  much  en  petit  maitre,  who  sings, 

Grands  Dieux,  combien  elle  est  jolie ! 

Et  moi,  je  suis,  je  suis  si  laid  ! 

He  might  have  spared  his  exultation :  if  he  had 
sense,  and  spirit,  and  tenderness,  he  had  all  that 
is  necessary  to  please  a  woman,  who  is  worthy  to 
be  pleased. 

Personal  vanity  in  a  woman,  however  misdi- 
rected, arises  from  the  idea,  that  our  power  with 
those  we  wish  to  charm,  is  founded  on  beauty  as  a 
female  attribute;  it  is  never  indulged  but  with 
a  reference  to  another — it  is  a  means,  not  an  end. 
Personal  vanity  in  a  man  is  sheer  unmingled 


144  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

egotism,  and  an  unfailing  subject  of  ridicule  and 
contempt  with  all  women — be  they  wise  or  foolish. 
To  return  from  this  long  tirade  to  Lucy  For- 
tescue. — After  the  usual  fears  and  hopes,  the 
impatience  and  anxious  suspense  of  a  long  court- 
ship,* Lord  Lyttelton  won  his  Lucy,  and  thought 
himself  blest — and  was  so.  Five  revolving  years 
of  happiness  seemed  pledges  of  its  continuance, 
and  "  the  wheels  of  pleasure  moved  without  the 
aid  of  hope :" — it  was  at  the  conclusion  of  the  fifth 
year,  he  wrote  the  lines  on  the  anniversary  of  his 
marriage,  in  which  he  exults  in  his  felicity,  and 
in  the  possession  of  a  treasure,  which  even  then, 
though  he  knew  it  not,  was  fading  in  his  arms. 

Whence  then  this  strange  increase  of  joy? 
lie,  only  he  can  tell,  who  matched  like  me, 
(If  such  another  happy  man  there  be,) 


*  See  in  his  Poems, — the  lines  beginning 

On  Thames's  banks  a  gentle  youth 
For  Lucy  sighed  with  matchless  truth, 
And 

Your  shape,  your  lips,  your  eyes  are  still  the  same. 


LORD    LYTTELTON.  145 

Has  by  his  own  experience  tried 

How  much  the  wife  is  dearer  than  the  bride  ! 

Six  months  afterwards,  his  Lucy  was  seized  with 
the  illness  of  which  she  died  in  her  twenty-ninth 
year,  leaving  three  infants,  the  eldest  not  four 
years  old.*  As  there  are  people  who  strangely 
unite,  as  inseparable,  the  ideas  of  fiction  and  rhyme, 
and  doubt  the  sincerity  of  her  husband's  grief, 
because  he  wrote  a  monody  on  her  memory,  he 
shall  speak  for  himself  in  prose.  The  following  is 
an  extract  from  his  letter  to  his  father,  written 
two  days  before  her  death. 

"  I  believe  God  supports  me  above  my  own 
strength,  for  the  sake  of  my  friends  who  are  con- 
cerned for  me,  and  in  return  for  the  resignation 
with  which  I  endeavour  to  submit  to  his  will.  If 

•  Her  son  was  that  eccentric  and  profligate  Lord  Lyttelton, 
whose  supernatural  death-bed  horrors  have  been  the  subject  of 
so  much  speculation.  He  left  no  children. 

The  present  Earl  of  Mountnorris,  (so  distinguished  for  his 
Oriental  travels  when  Lord  Valentia,)  is  the  grandson  of  Lucy 
Fortescue. 

VOL.    II.  L 


146  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

it  please  Him,  in  his  infinite  mercy,  to  restore  my 
dear  wife  to  me,  I  shall  most  thankfully  acknow- 
ledge his  goodness;  if  not,  I  shall  most  humbly 
endure  his  chastisement,  which  I  have  too  much 
deserved.  These  are  the  sentiments  with  which 
my  mind  is  replete;  but  as  it  is  still  a  most 
bitter  cup,  how  my  body  will  bear  it,  if  it  must 
not  pass  from  me,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  fore- 
tell ;  but  I  hope  the  best. — Jan.  17th,  1747." 

I  imagine  Dr.  Johnson  meant  a  sneer  at  Lord 
Lyttelton,  when  he  says  laconically, — "  his  wife 
died,  and  he  solaced  himself  by  writing  a  long 
monody  on  her  memory.'1'' — In  these  days  we  might 
naturally  exclaim  against  a  widowed  husband  who 
should  solace  himself  by  apostrophes  to  the  Muses 
and  Graces,  and  bring  in  the  whole  Aonian  choir, 
—  Pindus  and  Castalia,  Aganippe's  fount,  and 
Thespian  vales ;  the  Clitumnus  and  the  Illis- 
sus,  and  such  Pagan  and  classical  embroidery. — 
What  should  we  have  thought  of  Lord  Byron's 
famous  "  Fare  thee  well,""  if  conceived  in  this 
style  ? — but  such  was  the  poetical  vocabulary  of 


LORD    LYTTKLTON.  147 

Lord  Lyttel ton's  day :  and  that  he  had  not  suf- 
ficient genius  and  originality  to  rise  above  it,  is  no 
argument  against  the  sincerity  of  his  grief.  Pe- 
trarch and  his  Laura  (apropos  to  all  that  has  ever 
been  sung  or  said  of  love  for  five  hundred  years) 
are  called,  in  a  very  common-place  strain,  from 
their  "  Elysian  bowers ;"  and  then  follow  some 
lines  of  real  and  touching  beauty,  because  they 
owe  nothing  to  art  or  effort,  but  are  the  immedi- 
ate result  of  truth  and  feeling.  He  is  still  apostro- 
phising Petrarch. 

What  were,  alas !  thy  woes  compar'd  to  mine  ? 
To  thee  thy  mistress  in  the  blissful  band 
Of  Hymen  never  gave  her  hand ; 
The  joys  of  wedded  love  were  never  thine  ! 

In  thy  domestic  care 

She  never  bore  a  share ; 

Nor  with  endearing  art 

Would  heal  thy  wounded  heart 
Of  every  secret  grief  that  fester'd  there  : 
Nor  did  her  fond  affection  on  the  bed 
Of  sickness  watch  thee,  and  thy  languid  head 
L2 


148  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

Whole  nights  on  her  unwearied  arm  sustain, 
And  charm  away  the  sense  of  pain : 
Nor  did  she  crown  your  mutual  flame 

With  pledges  dear,  and  with  a  father's  tender  name. 

***** 
How  in  the  world,  to  me  a  desert  grown, 
Abandon'd  and  alone, 

Without  my  sweet  companion  can  I  live  ? 
Without  her  lovely  smile, 
The  dear  reward  of  every  virtuous  toil, 

What  pleasures  now  can  pall'd  Ambition  give  ? 

One  would  wish  to  think  that  Lord  Lyttelton 
was  faithful  to  the  memory  of  his  Lucy :  but  he 
was  neither  more  nor  less  than  man ;  and  in  the 
impatience  of  grief,  or  unable  to  live  without  that 
domestic  happiness  to  which  his  charming  wife 
had  accustomed  him,  he  married  again,  about 
two  years  after  her  death,  and  too  precipitately. 
His  second  choice  was  Elizabeth  Rich,  eldest 
daughter  of  Sir  Robert  Rich.  Perhaps  he  ex- 
pected too  much;  and  how  few  women  could 
have  replaced  Lucy  Fortescue  !  The  experiment 


PRINCE    FREDERICK.  149 

proved  a  most  unfortunate  one,  and  added  bit- 
terness to  his  regrets.  He  devoted  the  rest  of 
his  life  to  politics  and  literature. 

About  ten  years  after  his  second  marriage, 
Lord  Lyttelton  made  a  tour  into  Wales  with  a 
gay  party.  On  some  occasion,  while  they  stood 
contemplating  a  scene  of  uncommon  picturesque 
beauty,  he  turned  to  a  friend,  and  asked 
him,  with  enthusiasm,  whether  it  was  possible 
to  behold  a  more  pleasing  sight  ?  Yes,  answered 
the  other — the  countenance  of  the  woman  one 
loves !  Lord  Lyttelton  shrunk,  as  if  probed  to 
the  quick ;  and  after  a  moment's  silence,  replied 
pensively — "  once,  I  thought  so  !""  * 

Lord  Lyttelton  brings  to  mind  his  friend  and 
patron,  Frederick  Prince  of  Wales  (grandfather 
of  the  present  King).  From  the  impression  which 
history  has  given  of  his  character,  no  one,  I  be- 
lieve, would  suspect  him  of  being  a  poet,  though 
he  was  known  as  the  patron  of  poets.  He  some- 
times amused  himself  with  writing  French  and 
English  songs,  &c.  in  imitation  of  the  Regent 
*  Lord  Lyttelton's  Works,  4to. 


150  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

Due  cTOrleans.  But,  assuredly,  it  was  not  in 
imitation  of  the  Regent  he  chose  his  own  wife  for 
the  principal  subject  of  his  ditties.  In  the  same 
manner,  and  in  the  same  worthy  spirit  of  imita- 
tion of  the  same  worthy  person,  he  tried  hard 
to  be  a  libertine,  and  laid  siege  to  the  virtue  of 
sundry  maids  of  honour ;  preferring  all  the  time, 
in  his  inmost  soul,  his  own  wife  to  the  handsomest 
among  her  attendants.  His  flirtations  with  Lady 
Archibald  Hamilton  and  Miss  Vane  had  not  half 
the  grace  or  sincerity  of  some  of  his  effusions  to 
the  Princess,  whom  he  tenderly  loved,  and  used 
to  call,  with  a  sort  of  pastoral  gallantry,  "ma 
Sylvie."  One  of  his  songs  has  been  preserved 
by  that  delicious  retailer  of  court-gossip,  Horace 
Walpole ;  and  I  copy  it  from  the  Appendix  to 
his  Memoirs,  without  agreeing  in  his  flippant 
censure. 


'Tis  not  the  languid  brightness  of  thine  eyes, 
That  swim  with  pleasure  and  delight, 
Nor  those  fair  heavenly  arches  which  arise 
O'er  each  of  them,  to  shade  their  light :— 


DR.    PARNELL.  151 

Tis  not  that  hair  which  plays  with  every  wind, 
And  loves  to  wanton  o'er  thy  face, 
Now  straying  o'er  thy  forehead,  now  behind 
Retiring  with  insidious  grace : — 

*  *  * 

Tis  not  the  living  colours  over  each, 

By  Nature's  finest  pencil  wrought, 

To  shame  the  fresh-blown  rose  and  blooming  peach, 

And  mock  the  happiest  painter's  thought ; 

But  'tis  that  gentle  mind,  that  ardent  love 

So  kindly  answering  my  desire, — 

That  grace  with  which  you  look,  and  speak,  and  move ! 

That  thus  have  set  my  soul  on  fire. 

To  Dr.  ParnelFs*  love  for  his  wife  (Anne  Min- 
chin),  we  owe  two  of  the  most  charming  songs  in 
our  language ;  "  My  life  hath  been  so  wondrous 
free,'"  and  that  most  beautiful  lyric,  "  When  your 
beauty  appears,"  which,  as  it  is  less  known,  I  give 
entire, 

When  your  beauty  appears 

In  its  graces  and  airs, 

All  bright  as  an  angel  new  dropt  from  the  skies, 

At  distance  I  gaze,  and  am  aw'd  by  my  fears, 

So  strangely  you  dazzle  my  eyes. 

Born  in  Dublin,  1679  ;  died  1717. 


152  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

But  when  without  art, 
Your  kind  thoughts  you  impart, 
When  your  love  runs  in  blushes  through  every  vein ; 
When  it  darts  from  your  eyes,  when  it  pants  at  your 
heart, 

Then  I  know  that  you're  woman  again. 

"  There's  a  passion  and  pride, 

In  our  sex,"  she  replied ; 

"  And  thus,  might  I  gratify  both,  I  would  do, — 

Still  an  angel  appear  to  each  lover  beside, 

But  still  be  a  woman  for  you  !" 

This  amiable  and  beloved  wife  died  after  a 
union  of  five  or  six  years,  and  left  her  husband 
broken-hearted.  Her  sweetness  and  loveliness,  and 
the  general  sympathy  caused  by  her  death,  drew 
a  touch  of  deep  feeling  from  the  pen  of  Swift, 
who  mentions  the  event  in  his  journal  to  Stella : 
every  one,  he  says,  grieved  for  her  husband, 
"  they  were  so  happy  together."  Poor  Parnell 
did  not,  in  his  bereavement,  try  Lord  Lyttelton's 
specifics  :  he  did  not  write  an  elegy,  nor  a  mo- 
nody, nor  did  he  marry  again  ; — and,  unfortu- 
nately for  himself,  he  could  not  subdue  his  mind 


DR.    PARNELL.  153 

to  religious  resignation.  His  grief  and  his  ner- 
vous irritability  proved  too  much  for  his  rea- 
son :  he  felt  what  all  have  felt  under  the  in- 
fluence of  piercing  anguish, — a  dread,  a  horror  of 
being  left  alone  :  he  flew  to  society ;  when  that 
was  not  at  hand,  he  sought  relief  from  excesses 
which  his  constitution  would  not  bear,  and  died, 
unhappy  man  !  in  the  prime  of  life ;  "  a  martyr," 
as  Goldsmith  tells  us,  "  to  conjugal  fidelity." 


154 


CHAPTER  X. 

CONJUGAL    POETRY    CONTINUED. 
KLOPSTOCK   AND    META. 

THEN  is  there  not  the  German  Klopstock  and 
his  Meta, — his  lovely,  devoted,  angelic  Meta  ?  As 
the  subject  of  some  of  her  husband's  most  delight- 
ful and  popular  poems,  both  before  and  after  her 
marriage, — when  living,  she  formed  his  happiness 
on  earth  ;  and  when,  as  he  tenderly  imagined,  she 
watched  over  his  happiness  from  heaven — how  pass 
her  lightly  over  in  a  work  like  this  ?  Yet  how  do 
her  justice,  but  by  borrowing  her  own  sweet 
words  ?  or  referring  the  reader  at  once  to  the  me- 
moirs and  fragments  of  her  letters,  which  never  saw 
the  light  till  sixty  years  after  her  death  ? — for  in 
her  there  was  no  vain-glory,  no  effort,  no  display. 
A  feeling  so  hallowed  lingers  round  the  memory  of 


KLOPSTOCK    AND    META-  -155 

this  angelic  creature,  that  it  is  rather  a  subject  to 
blend  with  our  most  sacred  and  most  serious 
thoughts, — to  muse  over  in  hours  when  the  heart 
communes  with  itself  and  is  still,  than  to  dress 
out  in  words,  and  mingle  with  the  ideas  of  earthly 
fame  and  happiness.  Other  loves  might  be 
poetical,  but  the  love  of  Klopstock  and  his  Meta 
was  in  itself  poetry.  They  were  mutually  pos- 
sessed with  the  idea,  that  they  had  been  pre- 
destined to  each  other  from  the  beginning  of 
time,  and  tliat  their  meeting  on  earth  was  merely 
a  kind  of  incidental  prelude  to  an  eternal  and  in- 
divisible union  in  heaven  :  and  shall  we  blame  their 
fond  faith  ? 

It  is  a  gentle  and  affectionate  thought, 
That  in  immeasurable  heights  above  us, 
Even  at  our  birth,  the  wreath  of  love  was  woven 
With  sparkling  stars  for  flowers  !* 

All  the  sweetest  images  that  ever  were  grouped 
together  by  fancy,  dreaming  over  the  golden  age ; 
beauty,  innocence,  and  happiness ;  the  fervour 

*  Coleridge's  Wallenstein. 


156  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

of  youthful  love,  the  rapture  of  corresponding 
affection;  undoubting  faith  and  undissembled 
truth ; — these  were  so  bound  together,  so  exalted 
by  the  highest  and  holiest  associations,  so  con- 
firmed in  the  serenity  of  conscious  virtue,  so 
sanctified  by  religious  enthusiasm ;  and  in  the 
midst  of  all  human  blessedness,  so  wrapt  up  in 
futurity, — that  the  grave  was  not  the  close,  but 
the  completion  and  the  consummation  of  their 
happiness.  The  garland  which  poesy  has  sus- 
pended on  the  grave  of  Meta,  was  wreathed  by 
no  fabled  muse  ;  it  is  not  of  laurel,  "  meed  of  con- 
queror and  sage;11  nor  of  roses  blooming  and  wither- 
ing among  their  thorns ;  nor  of  myrtle  shrinking 
and  dying  away  before  the  blast :  but  of  flowers 
gathered  in  Paradise,  pure  and  bright,  and 
breathing  of  their  native  Eden ;  which  never 
caught  one  blighting  stain  of  earth,  and  though 

dewed  with  tears, — "  tears  such  as  angels  shed  I"" 

***** 

The  name  of  Klopstock  forms  an  epoch  in  the 
history  of  poetry.  Goethe,  Schiller,  Wieland, 
have  since  adorned  German  literature ;  but  Klop- 


KLOPSTOCK    AND    META.  157 

stock  was  the  first  to  impress  on  the  poetry  of  his 
country  the  stamp  of  nationality.  He  was  a 
man  of  great  and  original  genius, — gifted  with  an 
extraordinary  degree  of  sensibility  and  imagina- 
tion ;  but  these  being  united  to  the  most  enthusi- 
astic religious  feeling,  elevated  and  never  misled 
him.  His  life  was  devoted  to  the  three  noblest 
sentiments  that  can  fill  and  animate  the  human 
soul, — religion,  patriotism  and  love.  To  these, 
from  early  youth,  he  devoted  his  faculties  and 
consecrated  his  talents.  He  had,  even  in  his  boy- 
hood, resolved  to  write  a  poem,  "  which  should  do 
honour  to  God,  his  country,  and  himself;"  and 
he  produced  the  Messiah.  It  would  be  difficult 
to  describe  the  enthusiasm  this  work  excited  when 
the  first  three  cantos  appeared  in  1746.  "  If 
poetry  had  its  saints,11  says  Madame  de  Stael, 
"  then  Klopstock  would  be  at  the  head  of  the 
calendar  ;11  and  she  adds,  with  a  burst  of  her  own 
eloquence,  "  Ah,  qu'il  est  beau  le  talent,  quand 
on  ne  Fa  jamais  profane!  quand  il  n'a  servi  qifa 
reveler  aux  hommes,  sous  la  forme  attrayante  des 
beaux  arts,  les  sentiments  genereux,  et  les  espe- 


158  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

ranees    religieuses    obscurcies    au    fond    de    leur 
coeur  r 

Such  was  Klopstock  as  a  poet.  As  a  man,  he 
is  described  as  one  of  the  most  amiable  and  affec- 
tionate of  human  beings; — "  good  in  all  the  fold- 
ings of  his  heart,"  as  his  sweet  wife  expressed  it  ; 
free  from  all  petty  vanity,  egotism,  and  worldly 
ambition.  He  was  pleasing,  though  not  hand- 
some in  person,  with  fine  blue  animated  eyes.* 
The  tone  of  his  voice  was  at  6rst  low  and  hesi- 
tating, but  soft  and  persuasive ;  and  he  always 
ended  by  captivating  the  entire  attention  of  those 
he  addressed.  He  was,  to  his  latest  moments, 
fond  of  the  society  of  women,  and  an  object  of 
their  peculiar  tenderness  and  veneration. 

*  Bodmer,  after  the  publication  of  the  Messiah,  invited  the 
author  to  his  house  in  Switzerland.  He  had  imaged  to  himself 
a  most  sublime  idea  of  the  man  who  could  write  such  a  poem, 
and  had  fancied  him  like  one  of  the  sages  and  prophets  of  the 
Old  Testament.  His  astonishment,  when  he  saw  a  slight- 
made,  elegant-looking  young  man  leap  gaily  from  his  carriage, 
with  sparkling  eyes  and  a  smiling  countenance,  has  been 
pleasantly  described. 


KLOPSTOCK    AND    META.  159 

Klopstock's  first  serious  attachment  was  to  his 
cousin,  the  beautiful  Fanny  Schmidt,  the  sister 
of  his  intimate  friend  and  brother  poet,  Schmidt. 
He  loved  her  constantly  for  several  years.  His 
correspondence  with  Bodmer  gives  us  an  interest- 
ing picture  of  a  fine  mind  struggling  with  native 
timidity,  and  of  the  absolute  terror  with  which 
this  gentle  and  beautiful  girl  could  inspire  him, 
till  his  heart  seemed  to  wither  and  sicken  within 
him  from  her  supposed  indifference.  The  un- 
certainty of  his  future  prospects,  and  his  sublime 
idea  of  the  merits  and  beauties  of  her  he  loved, 
kept  him  silent;  nor  did  he  ever  venture  to  de- 
clare his  passion,  except  in  the  beautiful  odes  and 
songs  which  she  inspired.  Speaking  of  one  of 
those  to  his  friend  Bodmer,  he  says,  "She  who 
could  best  reward  it,  has  not  seen  it ;  so  timid 
does  her  apparent  insensibility  make  me."" 

Whether  this  insensibility  was  more  than  appa- 
rent is  not  perfectly  clear :  the  memoirs  of  Klop- 
stock  are  not  quite  accurate  or  satisfactory  in  this 
part  of  his  history.  It  should  seem  from  the  pub- 
lished correspondence,  that  his  love  was  distinctly 


160  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

avowed,  though  he  never  had  courage  to  make  a 
direct  offer  of  himself.     Fanny  Schmidt  appears 
to  have  been  a  superior  woman  in  point  of  mind, 
and  full  of  admiration  for  his  genius.     She  writes 
to  him  in  terms  of  friendship  and  kindness,  but 
she  leaves  him,  after  three  years'1  attachment  on  his 
part,  still  in  doubt  whether  her  heart  remain  un- 
touched,— and  even  whether  she  had  a  heart  to  be 
touched.     He   intimates,  but  with  a    tender  and 
guarded  delicacy,  that  he  had  reason  to  complain  of 
her  coquetry  ;*  and,  with  the  sensibility  of  a  proud 
but  wounded  heart,  he  was  anxious  to  prove  to 
himself  that  his  romantic  tenderness  had  not  been 
unworthily  bestowed.     "  All  the  peace  and  con- 
solation   of  my    after   life  depends    on   knowing 
whether  Fanny  really  has  a  heart? — a  heart  that 
could  have  sympathised  with   mine  ?"-f     He  had 
commissioned  his  friend  Gleim  to  plead  his  cause, 
to  sound  her  heart  in  its  inmost  depths;  and  in 
return,  received  the  intelligence  of  her  approach- 
ing union  with  another.     "  When  (as  he  expresses 
*  Klopstock's  letters,  p.  145. 
|  Klopstock's  Letters. 


KLOPSTOCK    AND    MET  A.  161 

it)  not  a  hope  was  left  to  be  destroyed,"  he  became 
calm  ;  but  he  suffered  at  first  acutely  ;  and  this 
ill-fated  attachment  tinged  with  a  deep  gloom  nearly 
four  years  of  his  life.  While  in  suspense,  he  con- 
tinually repeats  his  conviction  that  he  can  never 
love  again.  "  Had  I  never  seen  her,  I  might 
have  attached  myself  to  another  object,  and  per- 
haps have  known  the  felicity  of  mutual  love ! 
But  now  it  is  impossible ;  my  heart  is  steeled  to 
every  tender  impression."  The  sentiment  was 
natural ;  but,  fortunately  for  himself,  he  was 
deceived. 

In  passing  through  Hamburgh,  in  April  1751, 
and  while  he  was  still  under  the  influence  of  this 
heart-wearing  attachment  to  Fanny,  he  was  in- 
troduced to  Meta  Mb'ller.  The  impression  she 
made  on  him  is  thus  described,  in  a  letter  to  his 
friend  and  confidant,  Gleim. 

"  You  may  perhaps  have  heard  Gisecke  men- 
tion Margaret  Mb'ller  of  Hamburgh.  I  was 
lately  introduced  to  this  girl,  and  passed  in  her 
society  most  of  the  time  I  lately  spent  at  Ham- 
burgh. I  found  her,  in  every  sense  of  the  word, 

VOL.  II.  M 


162  CONJUGAL   POETRY. 

so  lovely,  so  amiable,  so  full  of  attractions,  that  I 
could  at  times  scarcely  forbear  to   give  her   the 
name  which  is  to  me  the  dearest  in  existence.     I 
was  often  with  her  alone ;  and  in  those  moments 
of  unreserved  intercourse,  was  insensibly  led  to 
communicate   my   melancholy  story.     Could  you 
have  seen  her  in  those  moments,  my  Gleim!    how 
she  looked  and  listened, — and  how  often  she  in- 
terrupted me,  and  how  tenderly  she  wept !  and  if 
you  knew  how  much  she  is  my  friend ;  and  yet 
it  was  not  for  her  that  I  had  so  long  suffered. 
What  a  heart  must  she  possess  to  be  thus  touched 
for  a  stranger !     At   this   thought   I  am   almost 
tempted  to  make  a  comparison ;  but  then  does  a 
mist  gather  before  mine  eyes,  and  if  I  probe  my 
heart,  I  feel  that  I  am  more  unhappy  than  ever." 
Again  he  writes  from  Copenhagen,  "  I  have  re- 
read  the    little   Holler's   letters ;    sweet    artless 
creature  she  is !     She  has  already  written  to  me 
four  times,  and  writes  in  a   style  so   exquisitely 
natural !  Were  you  to  see  this  lovely  girl,  and  read 
her  letters,  you  would  scarce  conceive  it  possible 
that  she  should  be  mistress  of  the  French,  Eng- 


KLOPSTOCK    AND    META.  163 

lish,  and  Italian  languages,  and  even  conversant 
with  Greek  and  Italian  literature."  But  it  were 
wronging  both,  to  give  the  history  and  result 
of  this  attachment  to  Meta  in  any  language 
but  her  own.  Since  the  publication  of  Richard- 
son's correspondence,  the  letters  addressed  to 
him,  in  English,  by  Meta  Klopstock,  have  be- 
come generally  known  ;  but  this  account  would 
be  incomplete  were  they  wholly  omitted ;  and 
those  who  have  read  them  before,  will  not  be 
displeased  at  the  opportunity  of  re-perusing 
them :  her  sweet  lisping  English  is  worth  vo- 
lumes of  eloquence. 

"  You  will  know  all  what  concerns  me.  Love, 
dear  Sir,  is  all  what  me  concerns,  and  love  shall 
be  all  what  I  will  tell  you  in  this  letter.  In  one 
happy  night  I  read  my  husband's  poem — the 
Messiah.  I  was  extremely  touched  with  it.  The 
next  day  I  asked  one  of  his  friends  who  was  the 
author  of  this  poem  ?  and  this  was  the  first  time  I 
heard  Klopstock's  name.  I  believe  I  fell  imme- 
diately in  love  with  him;  at  the  least,  my 
thoughts  were  ever  with  him  filled,  especially  be- 
in  2 


164  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

cause  his  friend  told  me  very  much  of  his  cha- 
racter. But  I  had  no  hopes  ever  to  see  him, 
when  quite  unexpectedly  I  heard  that  he  should 
pass  through  Hamburgh.  I  wrote  immediately 
to  the  same  friend,  for  procuring  by  his  means 
that  I  might  see  the  author  of  the  Messiah,  when 
in  Hamburg.  He  told  him  that  a  certain  girl 
in  Hamburg  wished  to  see  him,  and,  for  all 
recommendation,  showed  him  some  letters  in 
which  I  made  bold  to  criticize  Klopstock's  verses. 
Klopstock  came,  and  came  to  me.  I  must  con- 
fess, that,  though  greatly  prepossessed  of  his 
qualities,  I  never  thought  him  the  amiable  youth 
that  I  found  him.  This  made  its  effect.  After 
having  seen  him  two  hours,  I  was  obliged  to  pass 
the  evening  in  company,  which  never  had  been 
so  wearisome  to  me.  I  could  not  speak  ;  I  could 
not  play  ;  I  thought  I  saw  nothing  but  Klopstock. 
I  saw  him  the  next  day,  and  the  following,  and 
we  were  very  seriously  friends  ;  on  the  fourth  day 
he  departed.  It  was  a  strong  hour,  the  hour 
of  his  departure.  He  wrote  soon  after,  and  from 
that  time  our  correspondence  began  to  be  a  very 


KLOPSTOCK    AND    META.  165 

diligent  one.  I  sincerely  believed  my  love  to  be 
friendship.  I  spoke  with  my  friends  of  nothing 
but  Klopstock,  and  showed  his  letters.  They 
rallied  me,  and  said  I  was  in  love.  I  rallied  them 
again,  and  said  they  must  have  a  very  friendship- 
less  heart,  if  they  had  no  idea  of  friendship  to  a 
man  as  well  as  a  woman.  Thus  it  continued 
eight  months,  in  which  time  my  friends  found  as 
much  love  in  Klopstock's  letters  as  in  me.  I 
perceived  it  likewise,  but  I  would  not  believe  it. 
At  the  last,  Klopstock  said  plainly  that  he  loved  ; 
and  I  startled  as  for  a  wrong  thing.  I  answered 
that  it  was  no  love,  but  friendship,  as  it  was 
what  I  felt  for  him  ;  we  had  not  seen  one  another 
enough  to  love  ;  as  if  love  must  have  more  time 
than  friendship  !  This  was  sincerely  my  meaning ; 
and  I  had  this  meaning  till  Klopstock  came  again 
to  Hamburg.  This  he  did  a  year  after  we  had 
seen  one  another  the  first  time.  We  saw,  we 
were  friends  ;  we  loved,  and  we  believed  that  we 
loved;  and  a  short  time  after  I  could  even  tell 
Klopstock  that  I  loved.  But  we  were  obliged  to 
part  again,  and  wait  two  years  for  our  wedding. 


166  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

My  mother  would  not  let  me  marry  a  stranger.  1 
could  marry  without  her  consentment,  as  by  the 
death  of  my  father  my  fortune  depended  not  on 
her ;  but  this  was  an  horrible  idea  for  me  ;  and 
thank  Heaven  that  I  have  prevailed  by  prayers  1 
At  this  time,  knowing  Klopstock,  she  loves  him 
as  her  son,  and  thanks  God  that  she  has  not  per- 
sisted. We  married,  and  I  am  the  happiest  wife 
in  the  world.  In  some  few  months  it  will  be  four 
years  that  I  am  so  happy ;  and  still  I  dote  upon 
Klopstock  as  if  he  was  my  bridegroom.  If  you 
knew  my  husband,  you  would  not  wonder.  If 
you  knew  his  poem,  I  could  describe  him  very 
briefly,  in  saying  he  is  in  all  respects  what  he  is 
as  a  poet.  This  I  can  say  with  all  wifely  mo- 
desty ;  I  am  all  raptures  when  I  do  it.  And  as 
happy  as  I  am  in  love,  so  happy  am  I  in  friend- 
ship ; — in  my  mother,  two  elder  sisters,  and  five 
other  women.  How  rich  I  am !  Sir,  you  have 
willed  that  I  should  speak  of  myself,  but  I  fear 
that  I  have  done  it  too  much.  Yet  you  see  how 
it  interests  me/' 


KLOPSTOCK   AND   META.  167 

I  have  somewhere  seen  or  heard  it  observed, 
that  there  is  nothing  in  the  Romeo  and  Juliet 
more  finely  imagined  or  more  true  to  nature  than 
Romeo's  previous  love  for  another.  It  is  while 
writhing  under  the  coldness  and  scorn  of  his 
proud,  inaccessible  Rosaline,  she  who  had  "for- 
sworn to  love,"  that  he  meets  the  soft  glances 
of  Juliet,  whose  eyes  "  do  comfort,  and  not  burn  ;" 
and  he  takes  refuge  in  her  bosom,  for  she 

Doth  grace  for  grace,  and  love  for  love  allow ; 
The  other  did  not  so. 

With  such  a  grateful  and  gratified  feeling  must 
Klopstock  have  gathered  to  his  arms  the  devoted 
Meta,  who  came,  with  healing  on  her  lips,  to  suck 
forth  the  venom  of  a  recent  wound.  He  has  him- 
self beautifully  expressed  this  in  one  of  the  poems 
addressed  to  her,  and  which  he  has  entitled  the 
Recantation.  He  describes  the  anguish  he  had 
suffered  from  an  unrequited  affection,  and  the 
day-spring  of  renovated  hope  and  rapture  which 
now  dawned  in  his  heart. 


168  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

At  length,  beyond  my  hope  the  night  retires, 
'Tis  past,  and  all  my  long  lost  joys  awake, 
Smiling  they  wake,  my  long  forgotten  joys, 
O,  how  I  wonder  at  my  altered  fate !  &c. 

and  exults  in  the  charms  and  tenderness  of  her 
who  had  wiped  away  his  tears,  and  whom  he  had 
first  "  taught  to  love." 

I  taught  thee  first  to  love,  and  seeking  thee, 
I  learned  what  true  love  was ;  it  raised  my  heart 
From  earth  to  heaven,  and  now,  through  Eden's  groves, 
With  thee  it  leads  me  on  in  endless  joy. 

This  little  poem  has  been  translated  by  Eliza- 
beth Smith,  with  one  or  two  of  the  graceful  little 
songs  addressed  to  Meta,  under  the  name  of 
Cidli.  This  is  the  appellation  given  to  Jairus1 
daughter  in  the  "  Messiah ;"  and  Meta,  who  was 
fond  of  the  character,  probably  chose  it  for  her- 
self. The  first  cantos  of  this  poem  had  been  pub- 
lished long  before  his  marriage,  and  it  was  con- 
tinued after  his  union  with  Meta,  and  at  her  side. 
Nothing  can  be  more  charming  than  the  picture 
of  domestic  affection  and  happiness  contained  in 
the  following  passage  of  one  of  her  letters  to 


KLOPSTOCK    AND    MET  A.  169 

Richardson  : — apparently,  she  had  improved  in 
English,  since  the  last  was  written. — "  It  will 
be  a  delightful  occupation  for  me  to  make  you 
more  acquainted  with  my  husband's  poem.  No- 
body can  do  it  better  than  I,  being  the  per- 
son "who  knows  the  most  of  that  which  is  not 
published ;  being  always  present  at  the  birth 
of  the  young  verses,  which  begin  by  fragments 
here  and  there,  of  a  subject  of  which  his  soul 
is  just  then  filled.  He  has  many  great  frag- 
ments of  the  whole  work  ready.  You  may 
think  that  persons  who  love  as  we  do,  have  no 
need  of  two  chambers ;  we  are  always  in  the 
same:  I,  with  my  little  work, — still — still — only 
regarding  sometimes  my  husband's  sweet  face, 
which  is  so  venerable  at  that  time,  with  tears 
of  devotion,  and  all  the  sublimity  of  the  subject. 
My  husband  reading  me  his  young  verses,  and 
suffering  my  criticisms." 

And  for  the  task  of  criticism,  Meta  was  pe- 
culiarly fitted,  not  less  by  her  fine  cultivated 
mind  and  feminine  delicacy  of  taste,  than  by  her 
affectionate  enthusiasm  for  her  husband's  glory. 


170  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

"  How  much,"  says  Klopstock,  writing  after 
her  death,  "  how  much  do  I  lose  in  her  even 
in  this  respect !  How  perfect  was  her  taste, 
how  exquisitely  fine  her  feelings !  she  observed 
every  thing,  even  to  the  slightest  turn  of  the 
thought.  I  had  only  to  look  at  her,  and  could 
see  in  her  face  when  a  syllable  pleased  or  dis- 
pleased her :  and  when  I  led  her  to  explain  the 
reason  of  her  remarks,  no  demonstration  could 
be  more  true,  more  accurate,  or  more  appropriate 
to  the  subject.  But  in  general  this  gave  us  very 
little  trouble,  for  we  understood  each  other  when 
we  had  scarcely  begun  to  explain  our  ideas." 

And  that  not  a  stain  of  the  selfish  or  earthly 
should  rest  on  the  bright  purity  of  her  mind 
and  heart,  it  must  be  remarked  that  we  cannot 
trace  in  all  her  letters,  whether  before  or  after 
marriage,  the  slightest  feeling  of  jealousy  or 
doubt,  though  the  woman  lived  whom  Klopstock 
had  once  exalted  into  a  divinity,  and  though  she 
loved  her  husband  with  the  most  impassioned 
enthusiasm.  She  expresses  frankly  her  admira- 
tion of  the  odes  and  songs  addressed  to  Fanny  : 


KLOPSTOCK    AND    META.  171 

and  her  only  sentiment  seems  to  be  a  mixture 
of  grief  and  astonishment,  that  any  woman  could 
be  so  insensible  as  not  to  love  Klopstock,  or  so 
cruel  as  to  give  him  pain. 

Though  in  her  letters  to  Richardson  she  speaks 
with  rapture  of  her  hopes  of  becoming  a  mother, 
as  all  that  was  wanting  to  complete  her  happi- 
ness,* she  had  long  prepared  herself  for  a  fatal 
termination  to  those  hopes.  Her  constant  pre- 
sentiment of  approaching  death,  she  concealed, 
in  tenderness  to  her  husband.  When  we  consider 
the  fond  and  entire  confidence  which  existed 
between  them,  this  must  have  cost  no  small  effort 
of  fortitude :  "  she  was  formed,"  said  Klopstock, 

*  "  I  not  being  able  to  travel  yet,  my  husband  has  been 
obliged  to  make  a  voyage  to  Copenhagen.  He  is  yet  absent ; 
a  cloud  over  my  happiness  !  He  will  soon  return  ;  but  what 
does  that  help  ?  he  is  yet  equally  absent.  We  write  to  each 
other  every  post ;  but  what  are  letters  to  presence  ?  But  I  will 
speak  no  more  of  this  little  cloud,  I  will  only  tell  my  happi- 
ness. But  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  rejoice ! — A  son  of  my 
dear  Klopstock's !  O,  when  shall  I  have  him  ?" — Memoirs, 
p.  99. 


172  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

"  to  say,  like  Arria,  '  My  Paetus,"  'tis  not  pain- 
ful :"  but  her  husband  pressed  her  not  to  allow 
any  secret  feeling  to  prey  on  her  mind  ;  and  then, 
with  gratitude  for  his  "  permission  to  speak,"  she 
avowed  her  apprehensions,  and  at  the  same  time 
her  strong  and  animated  trust  in  religion.     This 
whole  letter,  to  which  I  must  refer  the  reader,  (for 
any  attempt  I  should  make  to  copy  it  entire,  would 
certainly  be  illegible,)  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
pieces  of  tender  eloquence  that  ever  fell  from  a 
woman's  pen  :  and  that  is  saying  much.     She  is 
writing  to  her  husband  during  a  short   absence. 
"  I  well  know,"  she  says,  "  that  all  hours  are  not 
alike,  and  particularly  the  last,  since  death,  in  my 
situation,  must  be  far  from  an  easy  death  ;  but  let 
the  last  hour  make  no  impression  on  you.     You 
know   too  well  how  much  the  body  then  presses 
down   the  soul.     Let    God  give   what  he   will,  I 
shall  still  be  happy.     A  longer  life  with  you,  or 
eternal  life   with  Him  !     But  can  you  as  easily 
part  from  me  as  I  from  you  ?     You  are  to  remain 
in    this  world,    in   a  world    without    me  !     You 
know  I  have  always  wished  to  be  the  survivor, 


K.LOPSTOCK    AND    META.  173 

because  I  well  know  it  is  the  hardest  to  endure; 
hut  perhaps  it  is  the  will  of  God  that  you  should 
be  left ;  and  perhaps  you  have  most  strength." 

This  last  letter  is  dated  September  10th,  1754. 
Her  confinement  took  place  in  November  follow- 
ing; and  after  the  most  cruel  and  protracted 
sufferings,  it  became  too  certain  that  both  must 
perish, — mother  and  child. 

Klopstock  stood  beside  her,  and  endeavoured, 
as  well  as  the  agony  of  his  feelings  would  permit, 
to  pray  with  her  and  to  support  her.  He  praised 
her  fortitude : — "  You  have  endured  like  an  angel ! 
God  has  been  with  you  !  he  will  be  with  you  ! 
were  I  so  wretched  as  not  to  be  a  Christian,  I 
should  now  become  one."  Jle  added  with  strong 
emotion,  "  Be  my  guardian  angel,  if  God  permit  P 
She  replied  tenderly,  "  You  have  ever  been 
mine  !"  He  repeated  his  request  more  fervently  : 
she  answered  with  a  look  of  undying  love,  '"  Who 
would  not  be  so !"  He  hastened  from  the  nxmi, 
unable  to  endure  more.  After  he  was  gone,  her 
sister,*  who  attended  her  through  her  sufferings, 
*  Elizabeth  Schmidt,  married  to  the  brother  of  Fanny  Schmidt. 


174  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

said  to  her,  "God  will  help  you!" — "Yes,  to 
heaven  !"  replied  the  saint.  After  a  faint  struggle, 
she  added,  "  It  is  over !"  her  head  sunk  on  the 
pillow,  and  while  her  eyes,  until  glazed  by  death, 
were  fixed  tenderly  on  her  sister, — thus  with  the 
faith  of  a  Christian,  and  the  courage  of  a  martyr, 
she  resigned  into  the  hands  of  her  Creator,  a  life 
which  had  been  so  blameless  and  so  blessed,  so 
intimate  with  love  and  joy,  that  only  such-  a  death 
could  crown  it,  by  proving  what  an  angel  a 

woman  can  be,  in  doing,  feeling,  and  suffering.* 

***** 

It  was  by  many  expected  that  Klopstock  would 
have  made  the  loss  of  his  Meta  the  subject  of  a 
poem  ;  but  he  early  declared  his  resolution  not  to 
do  this,  nor  to  add  to  the  collection  of  odes  and 
songs  formerly  addressed  to  her.  He  gives  his 

*  Meta  was  buried  with  her  infant  in  her  arms,  at  Ottenson, 
near  Altona.  She  had  expressed  a  wish  to  have  two  passages 
from  the  Messiah,  descriptive  of  the  resurrection,  inscribed  on 
her  coffin,  but  one  only  was  engraved  : — 

"  Seed  sown  b^  God  to  ripen  for  the  harvest." 

See  Memoirs,  p.  197. 


KLOPSTOCK    AND    MET  A.  175 

reasons  for  this  silence.  "  I  think  that  before  the 
public  a  man  should  speak  of  his  wife  with  the 
same  modesty  as  of  himself;  and  this  principle 
would  destroy  the  enthusiasm  required  in  poetry. 
The  reader  too,  not  without  reason,  would  feel 
himself  justified  in  refusing  implicit  credit  to  the 
fond  eulogium  written  on  one  beloved ;  and  my 
love  for  her  who  made  me  the  happiest  among 
men,  is  too  sincere  to  let  me  allow  my  readers 
to  call  it  in  question."  Yet  in  a  little  poem* 
addressed  afterwards  to  his  friend  Schmidt,  and 
probably  not  intended  for  publication,  he  alludes 
to  his  loss,  in  a  tone  of  deep  feeling,  and  com- 
plains of  the  recollections  which  distract  his  sleep- 
less nights. 

Again  the  form  of  my  lost  wife  I  see, 
She  lies  before  me,  and  she  dies  again ; 
Again  she  smiles  on  me,  again  she  dies, 
Her  eyes  now  close,  and  comfort  me  no  more. 

*  Translated  by  Elizabeth  Smith,  of  whom  it  has  been 
truly  said,  that  she  resembled  Meta,  and  to  whom  we  are  in- 
debted for  her  first  introduction  to  English  readers. 


176  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

He  indulged  the  fond  thought  that  she  hovered, 
a  guardian  spirit,  near  him  still, — 

O  if  thou  love  me  yet,  by  heavenly  laws 
Condemn  me  not !  I  am  a  man  and  mourn, — 
Support  me  though  unseen  ! 

And  he  foretells  that,  even  in  distant  ages, — "  in 
times  perhaps  more  virtuous  than  ours,"  his 
grief  would  be  remembered,  and  the  name  of 
his  Meta  revered.  And  shall  it  not  be  so? — it 
must — it  will : — as  long  as  truth,  virtue,  tender- 
ness, dwell  in  woman's  breast — so  long  shall  Meta 
be  dear  to  her  sex ;  for  she  has  honoured  us 
among  men  on  earth,  and  among  saints  in 
Heaven ! 

And  now,  how  shall  I  fill  up  this  sketch  ?  Let 
us  pause  for  a  moment,  and  suppose  the  fate 
of  Meta  and  Klopstock  reversed,  and  that  she 
had  been  called,  according  to  her  own  tender 
and  unselfish  wish,  to  be  the  survivor.  Under 
such  a  terrible  dispensation,  her  angelic  meek- 
ness and  sublime  faith  would  at  first  have  sup- 
ported her ;  she  would  have  rejoiced  in  the  cer- 


KLOPSTOCK    AND    META.  177 

tainty  of  her  husband's  blessedness,  and  in  the 
yearning  of  her  heart  she  would  have  tried  to 
fancy  him  ever  present  with  her  in  spirit ;  she 
would  have  collected  together  his  works,  and  have 
occupied  herself  in  transmitting  his  glory  as  a 
poet,  without  a  blemish,  to  the  admiration  of  pos- 
terity ;  she  would  have  gone  about  all  her  femi- 
nine duties  with  a  quiet  patience — for  it  would 
have  been  his  will ;  and  would  have  smiled— and 
her  smile  would  have  been  like  the  moonlight  on 
a  winter  lake  :  and  with  all  her  thoughts  loosened 
from  the  earth,  to  her  there  would  never  more 
have  been  good  or  evil,  or  grief,  or  fear,  or  joy  : 
space  and  time  would  only  have  existed  to  her, 
as  they  separated  her  from  him.  Thus  she  would 
have  lived  on  dyingly  from  day  to  day,  and  then 
have  perished,  less  through  regret,  than  through 
the  intense  longing  to  realize  the  vision  of  her 
heart,  and  rejoin  him,  without  whom  all  concerns 
of  life  were  vain,  and  less  than  nothing.  And 
this,  I  am  well  convinced, — as  far  as  one  human 
being  may  dare  to  reason  on  the  probable  result 
of  certain  feelings  and  impulses  in  another, — would 
VOL.  II.  N 


178  CONJUGAL   POETRY. 

have  been  the  lot  of  Meta,  if  left  on  the  earth 
alone,  and  desolate. 

If  Klopstock  acted  differently,  let  him  not  be 
too  severely  arraigned ;  he  was  but  a  man,  and 
differently  constituted.  With  great  sensibility,  he 
possessed,  by  nature,  an  elasticity  of  spirit  which 
could  rebound,  as  it  were,  from  the  very  depths  of 
grief :  his  sorrow,  intense  at  first,  found  many  out- 
ward resources  : — he  could  speak,  he  could  write ; 
his  vivacity  of  imagination  pictured  to  him  Meta 
happy ;  and  his  habitual  religious  feeling  made 
him  acquiesce  in  his  own  privation ;  he  could  please 
himself  with  visiting  her  grave,  and  every  year  he 
planted  it  with  white  lilies,  "  because  the  lily  was 
the  most  exalted  among  flowers,  and  she  was  the 
most  exalted  among  women."*  He  had  many 
friends,  to  whom  the  confiding  simplicity  of  his 
character  had  endeared  him  :  all  his  life  he  seems 
to  have  clung  to  friendship  as  a  child  clings  to  the 
breast  of  the  mother  ;  he  was  accustomed  to  seek 
and  find  relief  in  sympathy ;  and  sympathy,  deeply 

*  Memoirs. 


KLOPSTOCK    A.ND    META.  179 

felt  and  strongly  expressed,  was  all  around  him. 
With  his  high  intellect  and  profound  feeling, 
there  was  ever  a  child-like  buoyancy  in  the  mind 
of  Klopstock,  which  gained  him  the  title  of  der 
eivigenjungling — "  The  ever  young,  or  the  youth 
for  ever.1'*  His  mind  never  fell  into  "  the  sear  and 
yellow  leaf,"  it  was  a  perpetual  spring  :  the  flowers 
grew  and  withered,  and  blossomed  again, — a  never- 
failing  succession  of  fragrance  and  beauty ;  when 
the  rose  wounded  him,  he  gathered  the  lily ;  when 
the  lily  died  on  his  bosom,  he  cherished  the  myrtle. 
And  he  was  most  happy  in  such  a  character,  for  in 
him  it  was  allied  to  the  highest  virtue  and  genius, 
and  equally  remote  from  weakness  and  selfishness. 
About  four  years  after  the  death  of  M eta,  he  be- 
came extremely  attached  to  a  young  girl  of  Black- 
enburg,  whose  name  was  Dona;  she  loved  and 
admired  him  in  return,  but  naturally  felt  some 


» 


'  Klopstock  says  of  himself,  "  it  is  not  my  nature  to  be 
happy  or  miserable  by  halves :  having  once  discarded  melan- 
choly, I  am  ready  to  welcome  happiness." — Klopslock  and 
his  Friends,  p.  164. 

N  2 


180  CONJUGAL   POETRY. 

distrust  in  the  warmth  of  his  attachment ;  and  he 
addressed  to  her  a  little  poem,  in  which,  tenderly 
alluding  to  Meta,  he  assures  Dona  that  she  is  not 
less  dear  to  him  or  less  necessary  to  his  happi- 
ness*— 

And  such  is  man's  fidelity  ! 

This  intended  marriage  never  took  place. 

Twenty-five  years  afterwards,  when  Klopstock 
was  in  his  sixtieth  year,  he  married  Johanna  von 
Wentham,  a  near  relation  of  his  Meta ;  an  excel- 
lent and  amiable  woman,  whose  affectionate  atten- 
tion cheered  the  remaining  years  of  his  life. 

Klopstock  died  at  Hamburg  in  1813,  at  the  age 
of  eighty  :  his  remains  were  attended  to  the  grave 
by  all  the  magistrates,  the  diplomatic  corps,  the 
clergy,  foreign  generals,  and  a  concourse  of  about 
fifty  thousand  persons.  His  sacred  poems  were 


*  Du  zweifelst  dass  ich  dich  wie  Meta  liebe  ? 
Wie  Meta  lieb'  Ich  Done  dich  ! 
Dies,  saget  dir  mein  hertz  liebe  vol 
Meiu  ganzes  hertz  !  &c. 


KLOPSTOCK    AND    META.  181 

placed  on  his  coffin,  and  in  the  intervals  of  the 
chanting,  the  ministering  clergyman  took  up 
the  book,  and  read  aloud  the  fine  passage  in  the 
Messiah,  describing  the  death  of  the  righteous. — 
Happy  are  they  who  have  so  consecrated  their 
genius  to  the  honour  of  Him  who  bestowed  it, 
that  the  productions  of  their  early  youth  may  be 
placed  without  profanation  on  their  tomb ! 

He  was  buried  under  a  lime-tree  in  the  church- 
yard of  Ottensen,  by  the  side  of  his  Meta  and  her 
infant, — 

Seed  sown  by  God,  to  ripen  for  the  harvest. 


182 


CHAPTER  XI. 

CONJUGAL   POETRY    CONTINUED. 
BONNIE  JEAN. 

IT  was  as  Burns's  wife  as  well  as  his  early  love, 
that  Bonnie  Jean  lives  immortalized  in  her  poet's 
songs,  and  that  her  name  is  destined  to  float  in 
music  from  pole  to  pole.  When  they  first  met, 
Burns  was  about  six-and-twenty,  and  Jean  Ar- 
mour "  but  a  young  thing," 

Wi'  tempting  lips  and  roguish  e'en, 

the  pride,  the  beauty,  and  the  favourite  toast  of 
the  village  of  Mauchline,  where  her  father  lived. 
To  an  early  period  of  their  attachment,  or  to 
the  fond  recollection  of  it  in  after  times,  we  owe 
some  of  Burns1  s  most  beautiful  and  impassioned 
songs,— as 

Come,  let  me  take  thee  to  this  breast, 
And  pledge  we  ne'er  shall  sunder ! 

And  I'll  spurn  as  vilest  dust, 
The  world's  wealth  and  grandeur,  &c. 


BONNIE  JEAN.  183 

"  O  poortith  cold  and  restless  love ;"  "  the  kind 
love  that 's  in  her  e'e ;"  "  Lewis,  what  reck  I 
by  thee ;"  and  many  others.  I  conjecture,  from  a 
passage  in  one  of  Burns's  letters,  that  Bonnie 
Jean  also  furnished  the  heroine  and  the  subject 
of  that  admirable  song,  "  O  whistle,  and  Til  come 
to  thee,  my  lad,1'  so  full  of  buoyant  spirits  and 
artless  affection :  it  appears  that  she  wished  to  have 
her  name  introduced  into  it,  and  that  he  after- 
wards altered  the  fourth  line  of  the  first  verse  to 
please  her : — thus, 

Thy  Jeanie  will  venture  wi'  ye,  my  lad ; 
but  this  amendment  has  been  rejected  by  singers 
and  editors,  as  injuring  the  musical  accentuation  : 
the  anecdote,  however,  and  the  introduction  of 
the  name,  give  an  additional  interest  and  a  truth 
to  the  sentiment,  for  which  I  could  be  content  to 
sacrifice  the  beauty  of  a  single  line ;  and  methinks 
Jeanie  had  a  right  to  dictate  in  this  instance.* 

*  "A  Dame  whom  the  graces  have  attired  in  witchcraft, 
and  whom  the  loves  have  armed  with  lightning — a  fair  one — 
herself  the  heroine  of  the  song,  insists  on  the  amendment — 
and  dispute  her  commands  if  you  dare  !" — Buna's  Letters. 


184  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

With  regard  to  her  personal  attractions,  Jean 
was  at  this  time  a  blooming  girl,  animated  with 
health,  affection,  and  gaiety  :  the  perfect  symmetry 
of  her  slender  figure ;  her  light  step  in  the  dance ; 
the  "  waist  sae  jimp,"  "  the  foot  sae  sma',1'  were 
no  fancied  beauties : — she  had  a  delightful  voice, 
and  sung  with  much  taste  and  enthusiasm  the 
ballads  of  her  native  country ;  among  which  we 
may  imagine  that  the  songs  of  her  lover  were  not 
forgotten.  The  consequences,  however,  of  all  this 
dancing,  singing,  and  loving,  were  not  quite  so 
poetical  as  they  were  embarrassing. 

O  wha  could  prudence  think  upon, 

And  sic  a  lassie  by  him  ? 
O  wha  could  prudence  think  upon, 

And  sae  in  love  as  I  am  ? 

Burns  had  long  been  distinguished  in  his  rustic 
neighbourhood  for  his  talents,  for  his  social  qualities 
and  his  conquests  among  the  maidens  of  his  own 
rank.  His  personal  appearance  is  thus  described 
from  memory  by  Sir  Walter  Scott : — "  His  form 
was  strong  and  robust,  his  manner  rustic,  not 
clownish  ;  with  a  sort  of  dignified  simplicity,  which 


BONNIE   JEAN.  185 

received  part  of  its  effect,  perhaps,  from  one's 
knowledge  of  his  extraordinary  talents  ;  *  *  * 
his  eye  alone,  I  think,  indicated  the  poetical  cha- 
racter and  temperament  ;  it  was  large,  and  of  a 
dark  cast,  which  glowed,  (I  say,  literally,  glowed) 
when  he  spoke  with  feeling  and  interest ;"" — "  his 
address  to  females  was  extremely  deferential,  and 
always  with  a  turn  either  to  the  pathetic  or  hu- 
morous, which  engaged  their  attention  particu- 
larly. I  have  heard  the  late  Duchess  of  Gordon 
remark  this  ;"* — and  Allan  Cunninghtoj,  speaking 
also  from  recollection,  says,  "  he  had  a  very  man- 
ly countenance,  and  a  very  dark  complexion; 
his  habitual  expression  was  intensely  melancholy, 
but  at  the  presence  of  those  he  loved  or  esteemed, 
his  whole  face  beamed  with  affection  and  genius;"^ 
— "  his  voice  was  very  musical ;  and  he  excelled 
in  dancing,  and  all  athletic  sports  which  required 
strength  and  agility." 

Is  it  surprising  that  powers  of  fascination,  which 
carried  a  Duchess  "  off  her  feet,"  should  conquer 

•  Lockhart's  Life  of  Burns,  p.  153.       f  Life  °f  Bums,  p.  268. 


186  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

the  heart  of  a  country  lass  of  low  degree  ?  Bonnie 
Jean  was  too  soft-hearted,  or  her  lover  too  irresis- 
tible ;  and  though  Burns  stepped  forward  to  repair 
their  transgression  by  a  written  acknowledgment 
of  marriage,  which,  in  Scotland,  is  sufficient  to 
constitute  a  legal  union,  still  his  circumstances, 
and  his  character  as  a  "  wild  lad,"  were  such,  that 
nothing  could  appease  her  father's  indignation; 
and  poor  Jean,  when  humbled  and  weakened  by 
the  consequences  of  her  fault  and  her  sense  of 
shame,  was  prevailed  on  to  destroy  the  docu- 
ment of  her  lover's  fidelity  to  his  vows,  and  to 
reject  him. 

Burns  was  nearly  heart-broken  by  this  derelic- 
tion, and  between  grief  and  rage  was  driven  to  the 
verge  of  insanity.  His  first  thought  was  to  fly  the 
country ;  the  only  alternative  which  presented 
itself,  "  was  America  or  a  jail ;"  and  such  were  the 
circumstances  under  which  he  wrote  his  "  Lament," 
which,  though  not  composed  in  his  native  dialect, 
is  poured  forth  with  all  that  energy  and  pathos 
which  only  truth  could  impart. 


BONNIE   JEAN.  187 

No  idly  feigned  poetic  pains, 

My  sad,  love-lorn  lamentings  claim ; 
No  shepherd's  pipe — Arcadian  strains, 

No  fabled  tortures,  quaint  and  tame  : 
The  plighted  faith — the  mutual  flame — 

The  oft-attested  powers  above — 
The  promised  father's  tender  name — 

These  were  the  pledges  of  my  love  !  &c. 

This  was  about  17^6 :  two  years  afterwards, 
when  the  publication  of  his  poems  had  given  him 
name  and  fame,  Burns  revisited  the  scenes  which 
his  Jeanie  had  endeared  to  him  :  thus  he  sings 
exultingly, — 

I'll  aye  ca'  in  by  yon  town, 
And  by  yon  garden-green,  again  ; 

I'll  aye  ca'  in  by  yon  town, 
And  see  my  bonnie  Jean  again  ! 

They  met  in  secret ;  a  reconciliation  took  place ; 
and  the  consequences  were,  that  bonnie  Jean,  being 
again  exposed  to  the  indignation  of  her  family, 
was  literally  turned  out  of  her  father's  house. 
When  the  news  reached  Burns  he  was  lying  ill ; 
he  was  lame  from  the  consequences  of  an  accident, 


188  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

—  the  moment  he  could  stir,  he  flew  to  her,  went 
through  the  ceremony  of  marriage  with  her  in 
presence  of  competent  witnesses,  and  a  few  months 
afterwards  he  brought  her  to  his  new  farm  at 
Elliesland,  and  established  her  under  his  roof  as 
his  wife,  and  the  honoured  mother  of  his  chil- 
dren. 

It  was  during  this  second-hand  honeymoon, 
happier  and  more  endeared  than  many  have 
proved  in  their  first  gloss,  that  Burns  wrote 
several  of  the  sweetest  effusions  ever  inspired  by 
his  Jean  ;  even  in  the  days  of  their  early  wooing, 
and  when  their  intercourse  had  all  the  difficulty, 
all  the  romance,  all  the  mystery,  a  poetical  lover 
could  desire.  Thus  practically  controverting  his 
own  opinion,  "  that  conjugal  love  does  not  make 
such  a  figure  in  poesy  as  that  other  love,'1  &c — 
for  instance,  we  have  that  most  beautiful  song,  com- 
posed when  he  left  his  Jean  at  Ayr  (in  the  west  of 
Scotland,)  and  had  gone  to  prepare  for  her  at 
Elliesland,  near  Dumfries.* 

*  Life  of  Burns,  p.  247. 


BONNIE   JEAN.  189 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  win'  can  blaw,  I  dearly  love  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives,  the  lass  that  I  love  best ! 

There  wild  woods  grow  and  rivers  row,  and  mony  a  hill  between ; 
But  day  and  night,  my  fancy's  flight  is  ever  wi'  iny  Jean ! 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers,  I  see  her  sweet  and  fair — 
I  hear  her  in  the  tuneful  birds,  wi'  music  charm  the  air. 

There's  not  a  bonnie  flower  that  springs  by  fountain,  shaw,  or 

green— 
There's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings,  but  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 

O  blaw  ye  westlin  winds,  blaw  soft  among  the  leafy  trees ! 

Wi'  gentle  gale,  fra'  muir  and  dale,  bring  hame  the  laden 

bees! 
And  bring  the  lassie  back  to  me,  that's  aye  sae  sweet  and  clean, 

Ae  blink  o'  her  wad  banish  care,  sae  lovely  is  my  Jean ! 

What  sighs  and  vows,  amang  the  knowes,  hae  past  between  us 
twa! 

How  fain  to  meet !  how  wae  to  part ! — that  day  she  gaed  awa ! 
The  powers  above  can  only  ken,  to  whom  the  heart  is  seen, 

That  none  can  be  sae  dear  to  me,  as  my  sweet  lovely  Jean  ! 

Nothing  can  be  more  lovely  than  the  luxuriant, 
though  rural  imagery,  the  tone  of  placid  but  deep 
tenderness,  which  pervades  this  sweet  song ;  and 
to  feel  all  its  harmony,  it  is  not  necessary  to  sing 
it — it  is  music  in  itself. 


190  CONJUGAL   POETRY. 

In  November  1788,  Mrs.  Burns  took  up  her 
residence  at  Elliesland,  and  entered  on  her  duties 
as  a  wife  and  mistress  of  a  family,  and  her  hus- 
band welcomed  her  to  her  home  ("  her  ain  roof- 
tree,")  with  the  lively,  energetic,  but  rather  un- 
quotable song,  "  I  hae  a  wife  o1  my  ain ;"  and 
subsequently  he  wrote  for  her,  "  O  were  I  on 
Parnassus  Hill,"  and  that  delightful  little  bit 
of  simple  feeling  — 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  handsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  bonnie  wee  thing, 
This  sweet  wee  wife  of  mine. 

I  never  saw  a  fairer, 
I  never  lo'ed  a  dearer, — 
And  next  my  heart  I'll  wear  her, 
For  fear  my  jewel  tine ! 

and  one  of  the  finest  of  all  his  ballads,  "  Their 
groves  o1  green  myrtle,"  which  not  only  presents 
a  most  exquisite  rural  picture  to  the  fancy,  but 
breathes  the  very  soul  of  chastened  and  conjugal 
tenderness. 


BONNIE    JEAN.  191 

I  remember,  as  a  particular  instance — I  sup- 
pose there  are  thousands— of  the  tenacity  with 
which  Burns  seizes  on  the  memory,  and  twines 
round  the  very  fibres  of  one's  heart,  that  when 
I  was  travelling  in  Italy,  along  that  beautiful 
declivity  above  the  river  Clitumnus,  languidly 
enjoying  the  balmy  air,  and  gazing  with  no  care- 
less eye  on  those  scenes  of  rich  and  classical 
beauty,  over  which  memory  and  fancy  had  shed 

A  light,  a  glory,  a  fair  luminous  cloud 
Enveloping  the  earth  ; 

even  then,  by  some  strange  association,  a  feel- 
ing of  my  childish  years  came  over  me,  and  all 
the  livelong  day  I  was  singing,  sotto  voce — 

Their  groves  o'  sweet  myrtle  let  foreign  lands  reckon, 
Where  bright-beaming  summers  exalt  the  perfume ; 

Far  dearer  to  me  yon  lone  glen  o'  green  bracken, 
Wi'  the  burn  stealing  under  the  long  yellow  broom! 

Far  dearer  to  me  are  yon  humble  broom  bowers, 
Where  the  blue-bell  and  gowan  lurk  lowly  unseen, 

For  there,  lightly  tripping  among  the  wild  flowers, 
A'  listening  the  linnet,  oft  wanders  my  Jean. 


192  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

Thus  the  heath,  and  the  blue-bell,  and  the  gowan, 
had  superseded  the  orange  and  the  myrtle  on 
those  Elysian  plains, 

Where  the  crush'd  weed  sends  forth  a  rich  perfume. 

And  Burns  and  Bonnie  Jean  were  in  my  heart 
and  on  my  lips,  on  the  spot  where  Virgil  had 
sung,  and  Fabius  and  Hannibal  met. 

Besides  celebrating  her  in  verse,  Burns  has 
left  us  a  description  of  his  Bonnie  Jean  in  prose. 
He  writes  (some  months  after  his  marriage) 
to  his  friend  Miss  Chalmers,  —  "If  I  have  not 
got  polite  tattle,  modish  manners,  and  fashion- 
able dress,  I  am  not  sickened  and  disgusted 
with  the  multiform  curse  of  boarding-school 
affectation ;  and  I  have  got  the  handsomest 
figure,  the  sweetest  temper,  the  soundest  consti- 
tution, and  the  kindest  heart  in  the  country.  Mrs. 
Burns  believes,  as  firmly  as  her  creed,  that  I  am 
h  plus  bel  esprit,  et  le  plus  honnete  homme  in  the 
universe ;  although  she  scarcely  ever,  in  her  life, 
(except  reading  the  Scriptures  and  the  Psalms 
of  David  in  metre)  spent  five  minutes  together 


BONNIE   JEAN.  193 

on  either  prose  or  verse.  I  must  except  also  a 
certain  late  publication  of  Scots  Poems,  which 
she  has  perused  very  devoutly,  and  all  the  bal- 
lads in  the  country,  as  she  has  (O,  the  partial 
lover !  you  will  say)  the  finest  woodnote-wild  I 
ever  heard." 

After  this,  what  becomes  of  the  insinuation 
that  Burns  made  an  unhappy  marriage, — that  he 
was  "  compelled  to  invest  her  with  the  control  of 
his  life,  whom  he  seems  at  first  to  have  selected 
only  for  the  gratification  of  a  temporary  incli- 
nation ;"  and,  "  that  to  this  circumstance  much  of 
his  misconduct  is  to  be  attributed  ?"  Yet  this,  I 
believe,  is  a  prevalent  impression.  Those  whose 
hearts  have  glowed,  and  whose  eyes  have  filled 
with  delicious  tears  over  the  songs  of  Burns,  have 
reason  to  be  grateful  to  Mr.  Lockhart,  and  to  a 
kindred  spirit,  Allan  Cunningham,  for  the  gene- 
rous feeling  with  which  they  have  vindicated 
Burns  and  his  Jean.  Such  aspersions  are  not 
only  injurious  to  the  dead  and  cruel  to  the  living, 
but  they  do  incalculable  mischief: — they  are 
food  for  the  flippant  scoffer  at  all  that  makes  the 

VOL.    II.  O 


194  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

'  poetry  of  life.1  They  unsettle  in  gentler  bosoms 
all  faith  in  loves  in  truth,  in  goodness —  (alas,  such 
disbelief  comes  soon  enough  !)  they  chill  and 
revolt  the  heart,  and  "take  the  rose  from  the 
fair  forehead  of  an  innocent  love  to  set  a  blister 
there." 

"  That  Burns,"  says  Lockhart,  "  ever  sank 
into  a  toper,  that  his  social  propensities  ever  in- 
terfered with  the  discharge  of  the  duties  of  his 
office,  or  that,  in  spite  of  some  transitory  follies, 
he  ever  ceased  to  be  a  most  affectionate  husband — 
all  these  charges  have  been  insinuated,  and  they 
are  all  false.  His  aberrations  of  all  kinds  were 
occasional,  not  systematic ;  they  were  the  aber- 
rations of  a  man  whose  moral  sense  was  never 
deadened — of  one  who  encountered  more  tempta- 
tions from  without  and  from  within,  than  the  im- 
mense majority  of  mankind,  far  from  having  to 
contend  against,  are  even  able  to  imagine,"  and 
who  died  in  his  thirty-sixth  year,  "  ere  he  had 
reached  that  term  of  life  up  to  which  the  passions 
of  many  have  proved  too  strong  for  the  control 
of  reason,  though  their  mortal  career  being  re- 


BONNIE   JEAN.  195 

garded  as  a  whole,  they  are  honoured  as  among 
the  most  virtuous  of  mankind. ' 

We  are  told  also  of  "  the  conji  gal  and  maternal 
tenderness,  the  prudence,  and  the  unwearied  for- 
bearance of  his  Jean," — and  that  she  had  much 
need  of  forbearance  is  not  denied  ;  but  he  ever 
found  in  her  affectionate  arms,  pardon  and  peace, 
and  a  sweetness  that  only  made  the  sense  of  his 
occasional  delinquencies  sting  the  deeper. 

She  still  survives  to  hear  her  name,  her  early 
love,  and  her  youthful  charms,  warbled  in  the 
songs  of  her  native  land.  He,  on  whom  she  be- 
stowed her  beauty  and  her  maiden  truth,  dying, 
has  left  to  her  the  mantle  of  his  fame.  What 
though  she  be  now  a  grandmother  ?  to  the  fancy, 
she  can  never  grow  old,  or  die.  We  can  never  bring 
her  before  our  thoughts  but  as  the  lovely,  graceful 
country  girl,  "  lightly  tripping  among  the  wild 
flowers,"  and  warbling,  "  Of  a'  the  airs  the  win"1  can 
blaw," — and  this,  O  women,  is  what  genius  can 
do  for  you  !  Wherever  the  adventurous  spirit  of 
her  countrymen  transport  them,  from  the  spicy 
groves  of  India  to  the  wild  banks  of  the  Missis- 
o  2 


196  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

sippi,  the  name  of  Bonnie  Jean  is  heard,  bringing 
back  to  the  wanderer  sweet  visions  of  home,  and 
of  days  of  "  Auld  lang  Syne.11  The  peasant-girl 
sings  it  "at  the  ewe  milking,""  and  the  high-born 
fair  breathes  it  to  her  harp  and  her  piano.  As 
long  as  love  and  song  shall  survive,  even  those 
who  have  learned  to  appreciate  the  splendid  dra- 
matic music  of  Germany  and  Italy,  who  can  thrill 
with  rapture  when  Pasta 

Queen  and  enchantress  of  the  world  of  sound, 
Pours  forth  her  soul  in  song ; 

or  when  Sontag 

Carves  out  her  dainty  voice  as  readily 
Into  a  thousand  sweet  distinguished  tones, 

even  they  shall  still  have  a  soul  for  the  "  Banks 
and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon,"  still  keep  a  corner  of 
their  hearts  for  truth  and  nature — and  Burns's 
Bonnie  Jean. 

***** 

While  my  thoughts  are  yet  with  Burns, — his 
name  before  me, — my  heart  and  my  memory  still 
under  that  spell  of  power  which  his  genius  flings 


HIGHLAND    MARY.  197 

around  him,  I  will  add  a  few  words  on  the  subject 
of  his  supernumerary  loves  ;  for  he  has  celebrated 
few  imaginary  heroines.  Of  these  rustic  divini- 
ties, one  of  the  earliest,  and  by  far  the  most  in- 
teresting, was  Mary  Campbell,  (his  "  Highland 
Mary,")  the  object  of  the  deepest  passion  Burns 
ever  felt;  the  subject  of  some  of  his  loveliest  songs, 
and  of  the  elegy  "  to  Mary  in  Heaven." 

Whatever  this  young  girl  may  have  been  in 
person  or  condition,  she  must  have  possessed  some 
striking  qualities  and  charms  to  have  inspired  a 
passion  -so  ardent,  and  regrets  so  lasting,  in  a  man 
of  Burns' s  character.  She  was  not  his  first  love, 
nor  his  second,  nor  his  third ;  for  from  the  age 
of  sixteen  there  seems  to  have  been  no  interregnum 
in  his  fancy.  His  heart,  he  says,  was  "  com- 
pletely tinder,  and  eternally  lighted  up  by  some 
goddess  or  other."  His  acquaintance  with  Mary 
Campbell  began  when  he  was  about  two  or  three 
and  twenty  :  he  was  then  residing  at  Mossgiel, 
with  his  brother,  and  she  was  a  servant  on  a 
neighbouring  farm.  Their  affection  was  reci- 
procal, and  they  were  solemnly  plighted  to  each 


198  HIGHLAND    MARY. 

other.  "  We  met,"  says  Burns,  "by  appoint- 
ment, on  the  second  Sunday  in  May,  in  a  seques- 
tered spot  by  the  banks  of  the  Ayr,  where  we 
spent  a  day  in  taking  a  farewell,  before  she  should 
embark  for  the  West  Highlands,  to  arrange 
matters  among  her  friends  for  our  projected 
change  of  life."  "  This  adieu,"  say  Mr.  Cromek, 
"  was  performed  with  all  those  simple  and  striking 
ceremonials  which  rustic  sentiment  has  devised  to 
prolong  tender  emotions  and  to  impose  awe.  The 
lovers  stood  on  each  side  of  a  small  purling  brook; 
they  laved  their  hands  in  the  stream,  and  holding 
a  Bible  between  them,  pronounced  their  vows  to 
be  faithful  to  each  other."  This  very  Bible  has 
recently  been  discovered  in  the  possession  of  Mary 
Campbell's  sister.  On  the  boards  of  the  Old 
Testament  is  inscribed,  in  Burns^s  handwriting, 
"  And  ye  shall  not  swear  by  my  name  falsely,  I 
am  the  Lord." — Levit.  chap.  xix.  v.  12.  On  the 
boards  of  the  New  Testament,  "  Thou  shalt  not 
forswear  thyself,  but  shalt  perform  unto  the  Lord 
thine  oaths." — St.  Matth.  chap.  v.  v  33.,  and  his 


HIGHLAND    MARY.  199 

own  name  in  both.  Soon  afterwards,  disasters 
came  upon  him,  and  he  thought  of  going  to  try 
his  fortune  in  Jamaica.  Then  it  was,  that  he 
wrote  the  simple,  wild,  but  powerful  lyric,  "  Will 
ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary  ?" 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 

And  leave  old  Scotia's  shore  ? 
Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 

Across  the  Atlantic's  roar  ? 

0  sweet  grows  the  lime  and  the  orange, 
And  the  apple  on  the  pine  ; 

But  all  the  charms  o'  the  Indies 
Can  never  equal  thine. 

1  hae  sworn  by  the  heavens  to  my  Mary, 
I  hae  sworn  by  the  heavens  to  be  true ; 

And  sae  may  the  heavens  forget  me 
When  I  forget  my  vow ! 

O  plight  me  your  faith,  my  Mary  ! 

And  plight  me  your  lily-white  hand  ; 
O  plight  me  your  faith,  my  Mary, 

Before  I  leave  Scotia's  strand. 


200  HIGHLAND    MARY. 

We  hae  plighted  our  faith,  my  Mary, 

In  mutual  affection  to  join ; 
And  curst  be  the  cause  that  shall  part  us — 

The  hour,  and  the  moment  of  time  ! 

As  I  have  seen  among  the  Alps  the  living 
stream  rise,  swelling  and  bubbling,  from  some 
cleft  in  the  mountain's  breast,  then,  with  a  broken 
and  troubled  impetuosity,  rushing  amain  over  all 
impediments, — then  leaping,  at  a  bound,  into  the 
abyss  below  ;  so  this  song  seems  poured  forth  out 
of  the  full  heart,  as  if  a  gush  of  passion  had 
broken  forth,  that  could  not  be  restrained ;  and 
so  the  feeling  seems  to  swell  and  hurry  through  the 
lines,  till  it  ends  in  one  wild  burst  of  energy  and 
pathos — 

And  curst  be  the  cause  that  shall  part  us — 
The  hour,  and  the  moment  of  time  ! 

A  few  months  after  this  "  day  of  parting  love," 
on  the  banks  of  the  Ayr,  Mary  Campbell  set  off 
from  Inverary  to  meet  her  lover,  as  I  suppose, 
to  take  leave  of  him  ;  for  it  should  seem  that 
no  thoughts  of  a  union  could  then  be  indulged. 


HIGHLAND    MARY.  201 

Having  reached  Greenock,  she  was  seized  with  a 
malignant  fever,  which  hurried  her  to  the  grave  in 
a  few  days ;  so  that  the  tidings  of  her  death  reach- 
ed her  lover,  before  he  could  even  hear  of  her 
illness.  How  deep  and  terrible  was  the  shock  to  his 
strong  and  ardent  mind, — how  lasting  the  memory 
of  this  early  love,  is  well  known.  Years  after  her 
death,  he  wrote  the  song  of  "  Highland  Mary.""* 

O  pale,  pale  now  those  rosy  lips 

I  oft  hae  kiss'd  so  fondly! 
And  clos'd  for  aye  the  sparkling  glance 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly  ! 

And  mouldering  now  in  silent  dust, 

The  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly ; 
But  aye  within  my  bosom's  core 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 

*  Beginning, — 

"  Ye  banks  and  braes  and  streams  around 

The  castle  o'  Montgomerie." 

As  the  works  of  Burns  are  probably  in  the  hands  of  all  who 
will  read  this  little  book,  those  who  have  not  his  finest  passages 
by  heart,  can  easily  refer  to  them.  I  felt  it  therefore  super- 
fluous to  give  at  length  the  songs  alluded  to. 


202  HIGHLAND    MARY. 

The  elegy  to  Mary  in  Heaven,  was  written 
about  a  year  after  his  marriage,  on  the  anniversary 
of  the  day  on  which  he  heard  of  the  death  of  Mary 
Campbell.  The  account  of  the  feelings  and  the 
circumstances  under  which  it  was  composed,  was 
taken  from  the  recital  of  Bonnie  Jean  herself,  and 
cannot  be  read  without  a  thrill  of  emotion.  "  Ac- 
cording to  her,  Burns  had  spent  that  day,  though 
labouring  under  a  cold,  in  the  usual  work  of  his 
harvest,  and  apparently  in  excellent  spirits.  But 
as  the  twilight  deepened,  he  appeared  to  grow 
'  very  sad  about  something,'  and  at  length  wan- 
dered out  into  the  barn-yard,  to  which  his  wife,  in 
her  anxiety  for  his  health,  followed  him,  entreating 
him,  in  vain,  to  observe  that  frost  had  set  in,  and 
to  return  to  his  fire-side.  On  being  again  and 
again  requested  to  do  so,  he  always  promised 
compliance,  but  still  remained  where  he  was, 
striding  up  and  down  slowly,  and  contemplating 
the  sky,  which  was  singularly  clear  and  starry. 
At  last,  Mrs.  Burns  found  him  stretched  on  a  heap 
of  straw,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  beautiful  planet, 
'  that  shone  like  another  moon/  and  prevailed  on 


HIGHLAND    MARY.  203 

him  to  come  in."*  He  complied  ;  and  immediately 
on  entering  the  house  wrote  down,  as  they  now 
stand,  the  stanzas  "  To  Mary  in  Heaven."" 

Mary  Campbell  was  a  poor  peasant-girl,  whose 
life  had  been  spent  in  servile  offices,  who  could 
just  spell  a  verse  in  her  Bible,  and  could  not 
write  at  all, — who  walked  barefoot  to  that  meeting 
on  the  banks  of  the  Ayr,  which  her  lover  has  re- 
corded. But  Mary  Campbell  will  live  to  memory 
while  the  music  and  the  language  of  her  country 
endure.  Helen  of  Greece  and  the  Carthage  Queen 
are  not  more  surely  immortalised  than  this  ple- 
beian girl. — The  scene  of  parting  love,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Ayr,  that  spot  where  "  the  golden 
hours,  on  angel-wings,"  hovered  over  Burns  and  his 
Mary,  is  classic  ground  ;  Vaucluse  and  Penshurst 
are  not  more  lastingly  consecrated  :  and  like  the 
copy  of  Virgil,  in  which  Petrarch  noted  down  the 
death  of  Laura,  which  many  have  made  a  pil- 
grimage but  to  look  on,  even  such  a  relic  shall 
be  the  Bible  of  Highland  Mary.  Some  far-famed 

*  Lockhart's  Life  of  Burns. 


204  LOVES    OF    BURNS. 

collection  shall  be  proud  to  possess  it ;  and  many 
hereafter  shall  gaze,  with  glistening  eyes,  on  the 
handwriting  of  him, — who  by  the  mere  power  of 
truth  and  passion,  shall  live  in  all  hearts  to  the 

end  of  time. 

***** 

Some  other  loves  commemorated  by  Brarns  are 
not  very  interesting  or  reputable.  "  The  lassie 
wi1  the  lint  white  locks,"  the  heroine  of  many 
beautiful  songs,  was  an  erring  sister,  who,  as  she 
was  the  object  of  a  poet's  admiration,  shall  be 
suffered  to  fade  into  a  shadow.  The  subject  of 
the  song, 

Had  we  never  lov'd  sae  kindly — 

Had  we  never  lov'd  sae  blindly — 

Never  met — or  never  parted — 

We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted, 

was  also  real,  and  I  am  afraid,  a  person  of  the 
same  description.  Of  these  four  lines,  Sir  Walter 
Scott  has  said,  "  that  they  were  worth  a  thousand 
romances ;"  and  not  only  so,  but  they  are  in 
themselves  a  complete  romance.  They  are  the  alpha 
and  omega  of  feeling ;  and  contain  the  essence  of 


LOVES    OF    BURNS.  205 

an  existence  of  pain  and  pleasure,  distilled  into 
one  burning  drop.  Of  almost  all  his  songs,  the 
heroines  are  real,  though  we  must  not  suppose  he 
was  in  love  with  them  all, — that  were  too  uncon- 
scionable ;  but  he  sometimes  sought  inspiration, 
and  found  it,  where  he  could  not  have  hoped 
any  farther  boon.  In  one- of  his  letters  to  Mr. 
Thompson,  for  whose  collection  of  Scottish  airs 
he  was  then  adapting  words,  he  says,  "  When- 
ever I  want  to  be  more  than  ordinary  in  song,  to 
be  in  some  degree  equal  to  your  divine  airs,  do 
you  imagine  I  fast  and  pray  for  the  celestial 
emanation  ? — tout  an  contraire.  I  have  a  glorious 
recipe,  the  very  one  that,  for  his  own  use,  was 
invented  by  the  divinity  of  healing  and  poetry, 
when  erst  he  piped  to  the  flocks  of  Admetus, — I 
put  myself  on  a  regimen  of  admiring  a  fine 
woman." 

Thus,  the  original  blue  eyes  which  inspired 
that  sweet  song,  "  Her  ee'n  sae  bonnie  blue," 
belonged  to  a  Miss  Jeffrevs,  now  married,  and 
b'ving  at  New  York.  We  owe  k*  She's  fair  and 
she's  false,"  to  the  fickleness  of  a  Miss  Jane  Stuart, 


206  LOVES    OF    BURNS. 

who,  it  is  said,  jilted  the  poet's  friend,  Alexander 
Cunningham. — "  The  bonnie  wee  thing,"  was  a 
very  little,  very  lovely  creature,  a  Miss  Davies  ; 
and  the  song,  it  has  been  well  said,  is  as  brief  and 
as  beautiful  as  the  lady  herself.  The  heroine  of 
"  O  saw  ye  bonnie  Leslie,"  is  now  Mrs.  Gumming 
of  Logie :  Mrs.  Dugald  Stewart,  herself  a  de- 
lightful poetess,  inspired  the  pastoral  song  of 
Afton  Water ;  and  every  woman  has  an  interest  in 
"  Green  grow  the  Rushes."  All  the  compliments 
that  were  ever  paid  us  by  the  other  sex,  in  prose 
and  verse,  may  be  summed  up  in  Burns's  line, 

What  signifies  the  life  o'  man,  an'  't  were  na  for  the  lasses  O  ? 

It  were,  however,  an  endless  task  to  give  a  list  of 
his  heroines  ;  and  those  who  are  curious  about  the 
personal  history  of  the  poet,  of  which  his  songs 
are  "  part  and  parcel,"  must  be  referred  to  higher 
and  more  general  sources  of  information.* 

Burns   used  to   say,  after  he  had  been   intro- 

*  To  the  "  Reliques  of  Burns,  by  Cromek ;"  to  the  Edi- 
tion of  the  Scottish  Songs,  with  notes,  by  Allan  Cunningham  ; 
and  to  Lockhart's  Life  of  Burns. 


LOVES    OP    BURNS.  207 

duced  into  society  above  his  own  rank  in  life,  that 
he  saw  nothing  in  the  gentlemen  much  superior 
to  what  he  had  been  accustomed  to ;  but  that  a 
refined  and  elegant  woman  was  a  being  of  whom 
he  could  have  formed  no  previous  idea.     This,  I 
think,  will  explain,  if  it  does  not  excuse,  the  cha- 
racteristic freedom  of  some  of  his   songs.      His 
love  is  ardent  and  sincere,  and  it  is  expressed  with 
great  poetic  power,  and  often  with  the  most  ex- 
quisite pathos ;  but  still  it  is  the  love  of  a  peasant 
for  a  peasant,  and  he  wooes  his  rustic  beauties  in 
a  style  of  the  most  entire  equality  and  familiarity. 
It  is  not  the  homage  of  one  who  waited,  a  sup- 
pliant, on  the  throne  of  triumphant  beauty.    "  He. 
drew   no    magic    circle    of  lofty    and    romantic 
thought  around   those  he  loved,  which  could  not 
be   passed  without  lowering    them  from  stations 
little   lower    than  the  angels."*     Still,   his  faults 
against    taste    and    propriety  are  far  fewer   and 
lighter  than  might  have  been  expected  from   his 
habits ;  and  as  he  acknowledged   that   he   could 
have  formed  no  idea  of  a  woman  refined  by  high 
*  Allan  Cunningham. 


208  LOVES    OF   BURNS. 

breeding  and  education,  we  cannot  be  surprised 
if  he  sometimes  committed  solecisms  of  which  he 
was  scarcely  aware.  For  instance,  he  met  a  young 
lady  (Miss  Alexander,  of  Ballochmyle,)  walking 
in  her  father's  grounds,  and  struck  by  her  charms 
and  elegance,  he  wrote  in  her  honour  his  well 
known  song,  "  The  lovely  lass  of  Ballochmyle," 
and  sent  it  to  her.  He  was  astonished  and  offend- 
ed that  no  notice  was  taken  of  it ;  but  really,  a 
young  lady,  educated  in  a  due  regard  for  the  con- 
venances and  the  bienseances  of  society,  may  be  ex- 
cused, if  she  was  more  embarrassed  than  flattered 
by  the  homage  of  a  poet,  who  talked,  at  the  first 
glance,  of  "  clasping  her  to  his  bosom.""  It  was 
rather  precipitating  things. 


209 


CHAPTER  XII. 

CONJUGAL  POETRY  CONTINUED. 
MONTI  AND  HIS  WIPE. 

MONTI,  who  is  lately  dead,  will  at  length  be 
allowed  to  take  the  place  which  belongs  to  him 
among  the  great  names  of  his  country.  A  poet  is 
ill  calculated  to  play  the  part  of  a  politician ;  and 
the  praise  and  blame  which  have  been  so  pro- 
fusely and  indiscriminately  heaped  on  Monti  while 
living,  must  be  removed  by  time  and  dispassionate 
criticism,  before  justice  can  be  done  to  him,  either 
as  a  man  or  a  poet.  The  mingled  grace  and  energy 
of  his  style  obtained  him  the  name  of  il  Dante 
grazioso,  and  he  has  left  behind  him  something 

VOL.  II.  P 


210  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

striking  in  every  possible  form  of  composition, — 
lyric,  dramatic,  epic,  and  satirical. 

Amid  all  the  changes  of  his  various  life,  and  all 
the  trying  vicissitudes  of  spirits — the  wear  and 
tear  of  mind  which  attend  a  poet  by  profession, 
tasked  to  almost  constant  exertion,  Monti  possess- 
ed two  enviable  treasures ; — a  lovely  and  devoted 
wife,  with  a  soul  which  could  appreciate  his  powers 
and  talents,  and  exult  in  his  fame  ;  and  a  daughter 
equally  amiable,  and  yet  more  beautiful  and  high- 
ly gifted.  He  has  immortalised  both  ;  and  has  left 
us  delightful  proofs  of  the  charm  and  the  glory 
which  poetry  can  throw  round  the  purest  and  most 
hallowed  relations  of  domestic  life. 

When  Monti  was  a  young  man  at  Rome,  ca- 
ressed by  popes  and  nephews  of  popes,  and  with 
the  most  brilliant  ecclesiastical  preferment  open- 
ing before  him,  all  his  views  in  life  were  at  once 
bouleversc  by  a  passion,  which  does  sometimes  in 
real  life  play  the  part  assigned  to  it  in  romance — 
trampling  on  interest  and  ambition,  and  mocking 
at  Cardinals1  hats  and  tiaras.  Monti  fell  into  love, 
and  fell  out  of  the  good  graces  of  his  patrons :  he 


MONTI    AND    HIS    WIFE.  211 

threw  off  the  habit  of  an  abbate,*  married  his 
Teresa,  in  spite  of  the  world  and  fortune  ;  and  in- 
stead of  an  aspiring  priest,  became  a  great  poet. 

Teresa  Pichler  was  the  daughter  of  Pichler,  the 
celebrated  gem  engraver.  I  have  heard  her  de- 
scribed, by  those  who  knew  her  in  her  younger 
years,  as  one  of  the  most  beautiful  creatures  in  the 
world.  Brought  up  in  the  studio  of  her  father,  in 
whom  the  spirit  of  ancient  art  seemed  to  have  re- 
vived for  modern  times,  Teresa's  mind  as  well  as 
person  had  caught  a  certain  impress  of  antique 
grace,  from  the  constant  presence  of  beautiful  and 
majestic  forms:  but  her  favourite  study  was  mu- 
sic, in  which  she  was  a  proficient ;  her  voice  and 
her  harp  made  as  many  conquests  as  her  faultless 
figure  and  her  bright  eyes.  After  her  marriage 
she  did  not  neglect  her  favourite  art ;  and  she, 
whose  talent  had  charmed  Zingarelli  and  Gu- 
glielmi,  was  accustomed,  in  their  hours  of  do- 
mestic privacy,  to  soothe,  to  enchant,  to  inspire, 
her  husband.  Monti,  in  one  of  his  poems,  has 
tenderly  commemorated  her  musical  powers.  He 

*  Worn  by  the  young  men  who  are  intended  for  the  Churcli. 
p  2 


212  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

calls  on  his  wife  during  a  period  of  persecution, 
poverty  and  despondency,  to  touch  her  harp,  and, 
as  she  was  wont,  rouse  his  sinking  spirit,  and  un- 
lock the  source  of  nobler  thoughts. 

Stendi,  dolce  amor  mio !  sposa  diletta ! 
A  quell'  arpa  la  man  ;  che  la  soave, 

Dolce  fatica  di  tue  dite  aspetta. 
Svegliami  1'armonia,  ch'  entro  le  cave 

Latebre  alberga  del  sonoro  legno, 
E  de'  forti  pensier  volgi  la  chiave  ! 

There  is  a  resemblance  in  the  sentiment  of  these 
verses,  to  some  stanzas  addressed  by  a  living  Eng- 
lish poet  to  his  wife ; — she  who,  like  Monti's  Teresa, 
can  strike  her  harp,  till,  as  a  spirit  caught  in  some 
spell  of  his  own  teaching,  music  itself  seems  to 
flutter,  imprisoned  among  the  chords, — to  come 
at  her  will  and  breathe  her  thought,  rather  than 
obey  her  touch  !  — 

Once  more,  among  those  rich  and  golden  strings, 
Wander  with  thy  white  arm,  dear  Lady  pale  ! 
And  when  at  last  from  thy  sweet  discord  springs  • 

The  aerial  music, — like  the  dreams  that  veil 
Earth's  shadows  with  diviner  thoughts  and  things, 
O  let  the  passion  and  the  time  prevail ! — 


MONTI    AND    HIS    WIPE.  213 

O  bid  thy  spirit  through  the  mazes  run  ! 

For  music  is  like  love,  and  must  be  won  !  &c.* 

The  Italian  verses  have  great  power  and  beauty; 
but  the  English  lines  have  the  superiority,  not  in 
poetry  only,  but  in  rhythmical  melody.  They  fall 
on  the  ear  like  a  strain  from  the  harp  which  in- 
spired them — full,  and  rich,  and  thrilling  sweet, — 
and  not  to  be  forgotten ! 

To  return  to  Monti : — no  man  had  more  com- 
pletely that  temperament  which  is  supposed  to  ac- 
company genius.  He  was  fond,  and  devoted  in  his 
domestic  relations ;  but  he  was  variable  in  spirits, 
ardent,  restless,  and  subject  to  fits  of  gloom.  And 
how  often  must  the  literary  disputes  and  political 
tracasseries  in  which  he  was  engaged,  have  em- 
bittered and  irritated  so  susceptible  a  mind  and 
temper  !  If  his  wife  were  at  his  side  to  soothe  him 
with  her  music,  and  her  smiles,  and  her  tender- 
ness,— it  was  well, — the  cloud  passed  away.  If  she 
were  absent,  every  suffering  seemed  aggravated,  and 
we  find  him — like  one  spoiled  and  pampered,  with 

*  Barry  Cornwall. 


214  CONJUGAL    POETRY. 

attention  and  love, — yielding  to  an  irritable  de- 
spondency, which  even  the  presence  of  his  children 
could  not  alleviate. 

Che  piu  ti  resta  a  far  per  mio  dispettp, 
Sorte  crudel  ?  mia  donna  e  lungi,  e  io  privo, 
De'  suoi  conforti  in  miserando  aspetto 
Egro  qui  giaccio,  al'  sofferir  sol  vivo  !* 

But  the  most  remaikable  of  all  Monti's  conjugal 
effusions,  is  a  canzone  written  a  short  time  before 
his  death,  and  when  he  was  more  than  seventy 
years  of  age.  Nothing  can  be  more  affecting  than 
the  subdued  tone  of  melancholy  tenderness,  with 
which  the  grey-haired  poet  apostrophises  her  who 
had  been  the  love,  the  pride,  the  joy  of  his  life  for 
forty  years.  In  power  and  in  poetry,  this  canzone 
will  bear  a  comparison  with  many  of  the  more 
rapturous  effusions  of  his  youth.  The  occasion  on 
which  it  was  composed  is  thus  related  in  a  note 
prefixed  to  it  by  the  editor.-f-  When  Monti  was 

*  Opere  Varie  v.  iii.  This  sonnet  to  his  wife  was  written 
when  Monti  was  ill  at  the  house  of  his  son-in-law,  Count 
Perticari. 

+  Edit.  1326,  vol.  vi. 


MONTI    AND    HIS    WIFE.  215 

recovering  from  a  long  and  dangerous  illness,' 
through  which  he  had  been  tenderly  nursed  by 
his  wife  and  daughter,  he  accompanied  them  "  in 
villeggiatura,"  to  a  villa  near  Brianza,  the  resi- 
dence of  a  friend,  where  they  were  accustomed  to 
celebrate  the  birth-day  of  Madame  Monti ;  and  it 
was  here  that  her  husband,  now  declining  in  years, 
weak  from  recent  illness  and  accumulated  infir- 
mities, addressed  to  her  the  poem  which  may 
be  found  in  the  recent  edition  of  his  works  ;  it  be- 
gins thus  tenderly  and  sweetly — 

Donna '.  dell'  alma  mia  parte  piu  cara  ! 
Perche  muta  in  pensosa  atto  mi  guati  ? 
E  di  segrete  stille, 
Rugiadose  si  fan  le  tue  pupille  ?  &c. 

• 

"  Why,  O  thou  dearer  half  of  my  soul,  dost 
thou  watch  over  me  thus  mute  and  pensive  ?  Why 
are  thine  eyes  heavy  with  suppressed  tears  ?"  &c. 

And  when  he  reminds  her  touchingly,  that  his 
long  and  troubled  life  is  drawing  to  its  natural 
close,  and  that  she  cannot  hope  to  retain  him 
much  longer,  even  by  all  her  love  and  care, — he 


216  CONJUGAL   POETRY. 

adds  with  a  noble  spirit, — "  Remember,  that  Monti 
cannot  wholly  die !  think,  O  think !  I  leave  thee 
dowered  with  no  obscure,  no  vulgar  name !  for 
the  day  shall  come,  when,  among  the  matrons  of 
Italy,  it  shall  be  thy  boast  to  say, — "  I  was  the 
love  of  Monti."* 

The  tender  transition  to  his  daughter — 
E  tu  del  pari  sventurata  e  cara  mia  figlia ! 
as  alike  unhappy  and  beloved,  alludes  to  her  re- 
cent widowhood.  Costanza  Monti,  who  inherited 
no  small  portion  of  her  father's  genius,  and  all  her 
mother's  grace  and  beauty,  married  the  Count  Giu- 
lio  Perticari  of  Pesaro,  a  man  of  uncommon  taste 
and  talents,  and  an  admired  poet.  He  died  in  the 
same  year  with  Canova,  to  whom  he  had  been  a 
favourite  friend  and  companion :  while  his  lovely 
wife  furnished  the  sculptor  with  a  model  for  his 
ideal  heads  of  vestals  and  poetesses.  Those  who 
saw  the  Countess  Perticari  at  Rome,  such  as  she 
appeared  seven  or  eight  years  ago,  will  not  easily 

*  In  the  original,  Monti  designates  himself  by  an  allusion 
to  his  chef-d'oeuvre — "  Del  Cantor  di  Basville." 


MONTI    AND    HIS    WIFE.  217 

forget  her  brilliant  eyes,  and  yet  more  brilliant 
talents.  She,  too,  is  a  poetess.  In  her  father's 
works  may  be  found  a  little  canzone  written  by  her 
about  a  year  after  the  death  of  her  husband,  and 
with  equal  tenderness  and  simplicity,  alluding  to 
her  lonely  state,  deprived  of  him  who  once  en- 
couraged and  cultivated  her  talents,  and  deserved 
her  love.* 

Vincenzo  Monti  died  in  October  1828: — his  wi- 
dow and  his  daughter  reside,  I  believe,  at  Milan. 

*  Monti,  Opere,  vol.  iii.  p.  75. 


218 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

POETS   AND    BEAUTIES, 
FROM    CHARLES    II.    TO    QUEEN    ANNE. 

THUS,  then,  it  appears,  that  love,  even  the 
most  ethereal  and  poetical,  does  not  always  take 
flight  "  at  sight  of  human  ties  ;"  and  Pope  wrong- 
ed the  real  delicacy  of  Heloi'se  when  he  put  this 
borrowed  sentiment  into  her  epistle,  making  that 
conduct  the  result  of  perverted  principle,  which, 
in  her,  was  a  sacrifice  to  extreme  love  and  pride 
in  its  object.  It  is  not  the  mere  idea  of  bondage 
which  frightens  away  the  light-winged  god  ; 
The  gentle  bird  feels  no  captivity 
Within  his  cage,  but  sings  and  feeds  his  fill.* 

*  Spenser. 


POETS    AND    BEAUTIES.  219 

It  is  when  those  bonds,  which  were  first  decreed 
in  heaven 

To  keep  two  hearts  together,  which  began 
Their  spring-time  with  one  love, 

are  abused  to  vilest  purposes : — to  link  together 
indissolubly,  unworthiness  with  desert,  truth  with 
falsehood,  brutality  with  gentleness ;  then  indeed 
love  is  scared ;  his  cage  becomes  a  dungeon ; — and 
either  he  breaks  away,  with  plumage  all  impair- 
ed,— or  folds  up  his  many-coloured  wings,  and 
droops  and  dies. 

But  then  it  will  be  said,  perhaps,  that  the 
splendour  and  the  charm  which  poetry  has  thrown 
over  some  of  these  pictures  of  conjugal  affection 
and  wedded  truth,  are  exterior  and  adventitious, 
or,  at  best,  short-lived  : — the  bands  were  at  first 
graceful  and  flowery ; — but  sorrow  dewed  them 
with  tears,  or  selfish  passions  sullied  them,  or 
death  tore  them  asunder,  or  trampled  them  down. 
It  may  be  so ;  but  still  I  will  aver  that  what  has 
been,  is  : — that  there  is  a  power  in  the  human  heart 
which  survives  sorrow,  passion,  age,  death  itself. 


220  POETS    AND    BEAUTIES, 

Love  I  esteem  more  strong  than  age, 
And  truth  more  permanent  than  time. 

For  happiness,  c'est  different !  and  for  that  bright 
and  pure  and  intoxicating  happiness  which  we  weave 
into  our  youthful  visions,  which  is  of  such  stuff 
as  dreams  are  made  of, — to  complain  that  this 
does  not  last  and  wait  upon  us  through  life,  is  to 
complain  that  earth  is  earth.,  not  heaven.  It  is  to 
repine  that  the  violet  does  not  outlive  the  spring ; 
that  the  rose  dies  upon  the  breast  of  June ;  that 
the  grey  evening  shuts  up  the  eye  of  day,  and  that 
old  age  quenches  the  glow  of  youth :  for  is  not 
such  the  condition  under  which  we  exist?  All  I 
wished  to  prove  was,  that  the  sacred  tie  which 
binds  the  sexes  together,  which  gives  to  man  his 
natural  refuge  in  the  tenderness  of  woman,  and  to 
woman  her  natural  protecting  stay  in  the  right 
reason  and  stronger  powers  of  man,  so  far  from 
being  a  chill  to  the  imagination,  as  wicked  wits 
would  tell  us,  has  its  poetical  side.  Let  us  look 
back  for  a  moment  on  the  array  of  bright  names 
and  beautiful  verse,  quoted  or  alluded  to  in  the 


POETS    AND    BEAUTIES.  221 

preceding  chapters:  what  is  there  among  the 
mercurial  poets  of  Charleses  days,  those  notorious 
scoffers  at  decency  and  constancy,  to  compare 
with  them  ? — Dorset  and  Denham,  and  Sedley 
and  Suckling,  and  Rochester, — "the  mob  of  gentle- 
men who  wrote  with  ease," — with  their  smooth 
emptiness,  and  sparkling  common-places  of  arti- 
ficial courtship,  and  total  want  of  moral  sentiment, 
have  degraded,  not  elevated  the  loves  they  sang. 
Could  these  gallant  fops  rise  up  from  their  graves, 
and  see  themselves  exiled  with  contempt  from 
every  woman's  toilet,  every  woman's  library, 
every  woman's  memory,  they  would  choak  them- 
selves with  their  own  periwigs,  eat  their  laced 
cravats,  hang  themselves  in  their  own  sword-knots  ! 
— "  to  be  discarded  thence  P 

Turn  thy  complexion  there, 

Thou  simpering,  smooth-lipp'd  cherub,  Coxcombry, 
Ay,  there,  look  grim  as  hell ! 

And  such  be  the  fate  of  all  who  dare  profane  the 
altar  of  beauty  with  adulterate  incense ! 


222  POETS    AND    BEAUTIES. 

For  wit  is  like  the  frail  luxuriant  vine, 

Unless  to  virtue's  prop  it  join  ; 

Though  it  with  beauteous  leaves  and  pleasant  fruit 

be  crown'd, 
It  lies  deform'd  and  rotting  on  the  ground  ! 

These  lines  are  from  Cowley, — a  great  name 
among  the  poets  of  those  days ;  but  he  has  sunk 
into  a  name.  We  may  repeat  with  Pope,  "  Who 
now  reads  Cowley?1"  and  this,  not  because  he  was 
licentious,  but  because,  with  all  his  elaborate  wit, 
and  brilliant  and  uncommon  thoughts,  he  is  as 
frigid  as  ice  itself.  "  A  little  ingenuity  and 
artifice,"  as  Mrs.  Malaprop  would  say,  is  well 
enough  j  but  Cowley,  in  his  amatory  poetry,  is  all 
artifice.  He  coolly  sat  down  to  write  a  volume  of 
love  verses,  that  he  might,  to  use  his  own  ex- 
pression, "  be  free  of  his  craft,  as  a  poet ;"  and  in 
his  preface,  he  protests  "  that  his  testimony 
should  not  be  taken  against  himself."  Here  was 
a  poet,  and  a  lover  !  who  sets  out  by  begging  his 
readers,  in  the  first  place,  not  to  believe  him. 
This  was  like  the  weaver,  in  the  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream,  who  was  so  anxious  to  assure  his 


ELEONORA.  223 

audience  "  that  Pyramus  was  not  killed  indeed, 
and  that  he,  Fyramus,  was  not  Pyramus,  but 
Bottom  the  weaver.'1''  But  Cowley1  s  amatory 
verse  disproves  itself,  without  the  help  of  a  pro- 
logue. It  is,  in  his  own  phrase,  "  all  sophisticate." 
Even  his 'sparkling  chronicle  of  beauties, 

Margaretta  first  possest, 

If  I  remember  well,  my  breast,  &c. 

is  mere  fancy,  and  in  truth  it  is  a  pity.  Cowley 
was  once  in  love,  after  his  querulous  melancholy 
fashion ;  but  he  never  had  the  courage  to  avow  it. 
The  lady  alluded  to  in  the  last  verse  of  the  Chro- 
nicle, as 

Eleonora,  first  of  the  name, 

Whom  God  grant  long  to  reign, 

was  the  object  of  this  luckless  attachment.  She 
afterwards  married  a  brother  of  Dr.  Spratt,  Bis- 
hop of  Rochester,*  who  had  not  probably  half 
the  poet's  wit  or  fame,  but  who  could  love  as 
well,  and  speak  better;  and  the  gentle,  amiable 
Cowley  died  an  old  batchelor. 

*  Spence's  Anecdotes,  Sing.  edit. 


224  POETS    AND    BEAUTIES. 

These  writers  may  have  merit  of  a  different 
kind ;  they  may  be  read  by  wits  for  the  sake  of 
their  wit ;  but  they  have  failed  in  the  great  object 
of  lyric  poetry :  they  neither  create  sympathy 
for  themselves ;  nor  interest,  nor  respect  for  their 
mistresses  :  they  were  not  in  earnest ;  — and  what 
woman  of  sense  and  feeling  was  ever  touched  by 
a  compliment  which  no  woman  ever  inspired?  or 
pleased,  by  being  addressed  with  the  swaggering 
licence  of  a  libertine  ?  Who  cares  to  inquire  after 
the  originals  of  their  Belindas  and  Clorindas — 
their  Chloes,  Delias,  and  Phillises,  with  their 
pastoral  names,  and  loves — that  were  any  thing 
but  pastoral  ?  There  is  not  one  among  the  flaunt- 
ing coquettes,  or  profligate  women  of  fashion, 
sung  by  these  gay  coxcomb  poets — 

Those  goddesses,  so  blithe,  so  smooth,  so  gay, 
Yet  empty  of  all  good  wherein  consists 
Woman's  domestic  honour  and  chief  praise, 

who  has  obtained  an  interest  in  our  memory,  or  a 
permanent  place  in  the  history  of  our  literature ; 
not  one,  who  would  not  be  eclipsed  by  Bonnie 


MARIA  D'ESTE.  225 

Jean,  or  Highland  Mary  !  It  is  true,  that  the 
age  produced  several  remarkable  women  ;  a  Lady 
Russell,  that  heroine  of  heroines !  a  Lady  Fan- 
shawe  ;*  a  Mrs.  Hutchinson ;  who  needed  no  poet 
to  trumpet  forth  their  praise  :  and  others, — some 
celebrated  for  the  possession  of  beauty  and  talents, 
and  too  many  notorious  for  the  abuse  of  both. 
But  there  were  no  poetical  heroines,  properly  so 
called, — no  Laura,  no  Geraldine,  no  Saccharissa- 
Among  the  temporary  idols  of  the  day,  (by  which 
name  we  shall  distinguish  those  women  whose 
beauty,  rank,  and  patronage,  procured  them  a  sort 
of  poetical  celebrity,  very  different  from  the  halo 
of  splendour  which  love  and  genius  cast  round  a 
chosen  divinity,)  there  are  one  or  two  who  deserve 
to  be  particularised. 

The  first  of  these  was  Maria  Beatrice  d^Este,  the 
daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Modena,  second  wife  of 
James  Duke  of  York,  and  afterwards  his  queen. 
She  was  married,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  to  a  profli- 
gate prince,  as  ugly  as  his  brother  Charles,  (with- 
out any  of  his  captivating  graces  of  figure  and 

*  See  her  beautiful  Memoirs,  recently  published. 
VOL.    II.  Q 


226  POETS    AND    BEAUTIES. 

manner,)  and  old  enough  to  be  her  grandfather. 
She  made  the  best  of  wives  to  one  of  the  most 
unamiable  of  men.  All  writers  of  all  parties 
are  agreed,  that  slander  itself,  was  disarmed  by 
the  unoffending  gentleness  of  her  character;  all 
are  agreed  too,  on  the  subject  of  her  uncom- 
mon loveliness:  she  was  quite  an  Italian  beau- 
ty, with  a  tall,  dignified,  graceful  figure,  regu- 
lar features,  and  dark  eyes,  a  complexion  rather 
pale  and  fair,  and  hair  and  eyebrows  black 
as  the  raven's  wing :  so  that  in  personal  graces, 
as  in  virtues,  she  fairly  justified  the  rapturous 
eulogies  of  all  the  poets  of  her  time.  Thus 
Dryden  : — 

What  awful  charms  on  her  fair  forehead  sit, 
Dispensing  what  she  never  will  admit; 
Pleasing  yet  cold — like  Cynthia's  silver  beam, 
The  people's  wonder,  and  the  poet's  theme ! 

She  captivated  hearts  almost  as  fast  as    James 
the  Second  lost  them ; 

And  Envy  did  but  look  on  her  and  died  !* 
*   Dryden's  Works,  by  Scott,  vol.  xi,  p.  32. 


ANNE    KILLEGREW.  227 

Her  fall  from  the  throne  she  so  adorned  ;  her 
escape  with  her  infant  son,  under  the  care  of  the 
Due  de  Lauzun  ;*  her  conduct  during  her  retire- 
ment at  St.  Germains,  with  a  dull  court,  and  a 
stupid  bigoted  husband  ;  are  all  matters  of  his- 
tory, and  might  have  inspired,  one  would  think, 
better  verses  than  were  ever  written  upon  her. 
Lord  Lansdown  exclaims,  with  an  enthusiasm 
which  was  at  least  disinterested — 

O  happy  James  !  content  thy  mighty  mind  ! 
Grudge  not  the  world,  for  still  thy  Queen  is  kind, — 
To  lie  but  at  whose  feet,  more  glory  brings, 
Than  'tis  to  tread  on  sceptres  and  on  kings  !f 

Anne  Killegrew,  who  has  been  immortalised  by 
Dryden,  in  the  ode,| 

Thou  youngest  virgin-daughter  of  the  skies  ! 

does    not  seem  to  have  possessed  any  talents  or 

*  The  Due  de  Lauzun  of  Mademoiselle  de  Montpensier. 

f  Granville's  Works, — "  Progress  of  Beauty  " 

I'  "  To  the  pious  memory  of  the  accomplished  young  lady, 

Mrs.  Anne  Killigrew,  excellent  in  the  two  sister  arts  of  poesy 

and  painting." 

Q   2 


22H  POETS    AND    BEAUTIES. 

acquirements  which  would  render  her  very  re- 
markable in  these  days ;  though  in  her  own  time 
she  was  styled  "  a  grace  for  beauty  and  a  muse 
for  wit.""  Her  youth,  her  accomplishments,  her 
captivating  person,  her  station  at  court,  (as  maid 
of  honour  to  Maria  d'Este,  then  Duchess  of 
York,)  and  her  premature  death  at  the  age  of 
twenty-four,  all  conspired  to  render  her  interest- 
ing to  her  contemporaries ;  and  Dryden  has  given 
her  a  fame  which  cannot  die.  The  stanza  in  this 
ode,  in  which  the  poet,  for  himself  and  others, 
pleads  guilty  of  having  "•  made  prostitute  and 
profligate  the  muse," 

Whose  harmony  was  first  ordain'd  above 
For  tongues  of  angels  and  for  hymns  of  love  ! 

— the  sudden  turn  in  praise  of  the  young  poetess, 
Avhose  verse  flowed  pure  as  her  own  mind  and 
heart ;  and  the  burst  of  enthusiasm — 

Let  this  thy  vestal,  heaven  !  atone  for  all ! 

are  exceedingly  beautiful.  His  description  of  her 
skill  in  painting  both  landscape  and  portraits, 
would  answer  for  a  Claude,  or  a  Titian.  We  are 


LADY    HYDE.  229 

a  little  disappointed  to  find,  after  all  this  pomp 
and  prodigality  of  praise,  that  Anne  Killegrew's 
paintings  were  mediocre ;  and  that  her  poetry  has 
sunk,  not  undeservedly,  into  oblivion.  She  died 
of  the  small-pox  in  1685. 

The  famous  Tom  Killegrew,  jester  (by  courtesy) 
to  Charles  the  Second,  was  her  uncle. 

There  was  also  the  young  Duchess  of  Ormond, 
(Lady  Mary  Somerset,  daughter  of  the  Duke  of 
Beaufort.)  She  married  into  a  family  which  had 
been,  for  three  generations,  the  patrons  and  bene- 
factors of  Dryden ;  and  never  was  patronage  so 
richly  repaid.  To  this  Duchess  of  Ormond, 
Dryden  has  dedicated  the  Tale  of  Palemon  and 
Arcite,  in  an  opening  address  full  of  poetry  and 
compliment ; — happily,  both  justified  and  merited 
by  the  object. 

Lady  Hyde,  afterwards  Countess  of  Clarendon 
and  Rochester,  was  in  her  time  a  favourite  theme 
of  gay  and  gallant  verse ;  but  she  maintained 
with  her  extreme  beauty  and  gentleness  of  de- 
portment, a  dignity  of  conduct  which  disarmed 
scandal,  and  kept  presumptuous  wits  as  well  as 


230  POETS    AND    BEAUTIES. 

presumptuous  fops  at  a  distance.  Lord  Lansdown 
has  crowned  her  with  praise,  very  pointed  and 
elegant,  and  seems  to  have  contrasted  her  at  the 
moment,  with  his  coquettish  Mira,  Lady  New- 
burgh. 

Others,  by  guilty  artifice  and  arts, 

And  promised  kindness,  practise  on  our  hearts  ; 

With  expectation  blow  the  passion  up ; 

She  fans  the  fire  without  one  gale  of  hope.* 

Lady  Hyde  was  the  daughter  of  Sir  William 
Leveson  Gower,  (ancestor  to  the  Marquis  of 
Stafford,)  and  mother  of  that  Lord  Cornbury,  who 
has  been  celebrated  by  Pope  and  Thomson. 

The  second  daughter  of  this  lovely  and  amiable 
woman,  lady  Catherine  Hyde,  was  Prior's  famous 
Kitty, 

Beautiful  and  young, 
And  wild  as  colt  untam'd, 

the  "female    Phaeton,"    who  obtained  mamma's 
chariot  for  a  day,  to  set  the  world  on  fire. 

•  See  the  lines  on  Lady  Hyde's  picture  in  Granville's 
poems. 


LADY    HYDE.  231 

Shall  I  thumb  holy  books,  confin'd 

With  Abigails  forsaken  ? 
Kitty  's  for  other  things  design 'd, 

Or  I  am  much  mistaken. 

Must  Lady  Jenny  frisk  about, 

And  visit  with  her  cousins? 
At  balls  must  she  make  all  this  rout, 

And  bring  home  hearts  by  dozens  ? 

What  has  she  better,  pray,  than  I  ? 

What  hidden  charms  to  boast, 
That  all  mankind  for  her  must  die, 

Whilst  I  am  scarce  a  toast  ? 

T3earest  Mamma !  for  once,  let  me 

Unchain'd  my  fortune  try : 
I  '11  have  my  Earl  as  well  as  she, 

Or  know  the  reason  why. 

Fondness  prevail'd,  Mamma  gave  way  : 

Kitty,  at  heart's  desire, 
Obtain'd  the  chariot  for  a  day, 

And  set  the  world  on  fire  ! 

Kitty  not  only  set  the  world  on  fire,  but  more 
than  accomplished  her  magnanimous  resolution  to 


232  POETS    AND    BEAUTIES. 

have  an  Earl  as  well  as  her  sister,  Lady  Jenny.* 
She  married  the  Duke  of  Queensbury  ;  and  as 
that  Duchess  of  Queensbury,  who  was  the  friend 
and  patroness  of  Gay,  is  still  farther  connected 
with  the  history  of  our  poetical  literature.  Pope 
paid  a  compliment  to  her  beauty,  in  a  well-known 
couplet,  which  is  more  refined  in  the  application 
than  in  the  expression  : — 

If  Queensbury  to  strip  there  's  no  compelling, 
'Tis  from  a  handmaid  we  must  take  a  Helen. 

She  was  an  amiable,  exemplary  woman,  and 
possessed  that  best  and  only  preservative  of  youth 
and  beauty, — a  kind,  cheerful  disposition  and 
buoyant  spirits.  When  she  walked  at  the  coro- 
nation of  George  the  Third,  she  was  still  so  strik- 
ingly attractive,  that  Horace  Walpole  handed  to 
her  the  following  impromptu,  written  on  a  leaf  of 
his  pocket-book, 

To  many  a  Kitty,  Love,  his  car, 

Would  for  a  day  engage ; 

But  Prior's  Kitty,  ever  fair, 

Obtained  it  for  an  age  ! 

*  Lady  Jane  Hyde  married  the  Earl  of  Essex 


GRANVILLE'S  MIRA.  233 

She  is  also  alluded  to  in  Thomson's  Seasons. 

And  stooping  thence  to  Ham's  embowering  walks, 
Beneath  whose  shades,  in  spotless  peace  retir'd, 
With  her  the  pleasing  partner  of  his  heart, 
The  worthy  Queensb'ry  yet  laments  his  Gay. — Summer. 

The  Duchess  of  Queensbury  died  in  1J77-* 
Two  other  women,  who  lived  about  the  same 
time,  possess  a  degree  of  celebrity  which,  though 
but  a  sound — a  name — rather  than  a  feeling  or 
an  interest,  must  not  pass  unnoticed;  more  par- 
ticularly as  they  will  farther  illustrate  the  theory 
we  have  hitherto  kept  in  view.  I  allude  to 
"  Granville's  Mira,"  and  "  Prior's  Chloe." 

*  On  the  death  of  Gay,  Swift  had  addressed  to  the  Duchess 
a  letter  of  condolence  in  his  usual  cynical  style.  The  Duchess 
replied  with  feeling — "  I  differ  from  you,  that  it  is  possible 
to  comfort  one's  self  for  the  loss  of  friends,  as  one  does  for  the 
loss  of  money.  I  think  I  could  live  on  very  little,  nor  think 
myself  poor,  nor  be  thought  so ;  but  a  little  friendship  could 
never  satisfy  one.  In  almost  every  thing  but  friends,  another 
of  the  same  name  may  do  as  well ;  butjriend  is  more  than  a 
name,  if  it  be  any  thing." — This  is  true ;  but,  as  Touchstone 
says — "  much  virtue  in  if!" 


234  POETS    AND    BEAUTIES. 

For  the  fame  of  the  first,  a  single  line  of  Pope 
has  done  more  than  all  the  verses  of  Lord  Lans- 
down  :  it  is  in  the  Epistle  to  Jervas  the  painter — 

With  Zeuxis'  Helen,  thy  Bridge-water  vie, 
And  these  be  sung,  till  Granville's  Mira  die  ! 

Now,  "  Granville's  Mira"  would  have  been  dead 
long  ago,  had  she  not  been  preserved  in  some  ma- 
terial more  precious  and  lasting  than  the  poetry 
of  her  noble  admirer :  she  shines,  however,  "  em- 
balmed in  the  lucid  amber"  of  Pope's  lines  ;  and 
we  not  only  wonder  how  she  got  there,  but  are 
tempted  to  inquire  who  she  was,  or,  if  ever  she 
was  at  all. 

* 

Granville's  Mira  was  Lady  Frances  Brudenel, 
third  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Cardigan.  She  was 
married  very  young  to  Livingstone,  Earl  of  New- 
burgh  ;  and  Granville's  first  introduction  to  her 
must  have  taken  place  soon  after  her  marriage,  in 
1690:  he  was  then  about  twenty,  already  distin- 
guished for  that  elegance  of  mind  and  manner, 
which  has  handed  him  down  to  us  as  "  Granville 
the  polite."  He  joined  the  crowd  of  Lady  New- 


GRANVILLE'S  MIRA.  235 

burgh's  adorers;  and  as  some  praise,  and  some 
lucky  lines  had  persuaded  him  that  he  was  a  poet, 
he  chose  to  consecrate  his  verse  to  this  fashionable 
beauty. 

In  all  the  mass  of  poetry,  or  rather  rhyme,  ad- 
dressed to  Lady  Newburgh,  there  is  not  a  passage, 
— not  a  single  line  which  can  throw  an  interest 
round  her  character ;  all  we  can  make  out  is,  that 
she  was  extremely  beautiful ;  that  she  sang  well ; 
and  that  she  was  a  most  finished,  heartless  co- 
quette. Thus  her  lover  has  pictured  her: 

Lost  in  a  labyrinth  of  doubts  and  joys, 

Whom  now  her  smiles  revived, her  scorn  destroys; 

She  will,  and  she  will  not,  she  grants,  denies, 

Consents,  retracts  ;  advances,  and  then  flies. 

Approving  and  rejecting  in  a  breath, 

Now  proffering  mercy,  now  presenting  death  ! 

She  led  Granville  on  from  year  to  year,  till 
the  death  of  her  first  husband,  Lord  New- 
burgh.  He  then  presented  himself  among  the 
suitors  for  her  hand,  confiding,  it  seems,  in 
former  encouragement  or  promises ;  but  Lady 
Newburgh  had  played  the  same  despicable 


236  POETS    AND    BEAUTIES. 

game  with  others :  she  had  no  objection  to 
the  poetical  admiration  of  an  accomplished 
young  man  of  fashion,  who  had  rendered  her  an 
object  of  universal  attention,  by  his  determined 
pursuit  and  tuneful  homage,  and  who  was  then 
the  admired  of  all  women.  She  thought,  like  the 
coquette,  in  one  of  Congreve^s  comedies, 

If  there  's  delight  in  love,  'tis  when  I  see 
The  heart  that  others  bleed  for — bleed  for  me ! 

But  when  free  to  choose,  she  rejected  him  and 
married  Lord  Bellew.  Her  coquetry  with  Gran- 
ville  had  been  so  notorious,  that  this  marriage 
caused  a  great  sensation  at  the  time  and  no  little 
scandal. 

Rumour  is  loud,  and  every  voice  proclaims 
Her  violated  faith  and  conscious  flames. 

The  only  catastrophe,  however,  which  her  false- 
hood occassioned,  was  the  production  of  a  long 
elegy,  in  imitation  of  Theocritus,  which  concludes 
Lord  Lansdown's  amatory  effusions.  He  after- 
wards married  Lady  Anne  Villiers,  with  whom  he 


PRIOR'S  CHLOE.  237 

lived  happily  :  after  a  union  of  more  than  twenty 
years,  they  died  within  a  few  days  of  each  other, 
and  they  were  buried  together. 

Lady  Newburgh  left  a  daughter  by  her  first 
husband,*  and  a  son  and  daughter  by  Lord  Bellew  : 
she  lived  to  survive  her  beauty,  to  lose  her  ad- 
mirers, and  to  be  the  object  in  her  old  age  of  the 
most  gross  and  unmeasured  satire ;  the  flattery  of 
a  lover  elevated  her  to  a  divinity,  and  the  malice  of 
a  wit,  whom  she  had  ill-treated,  degraded  her  into 
a  fury  and  a  hag — with  about  as  much  reason. 

Prior's  Chloe,  the  "  nut-brown  maid,"  was  taken 
from  the  opposite  extremity  of  society,  but  could 
scarce  have  been  more  worthless.  She  was  a  com- 
mon woman  of  the  lowest  description,  whose  real 
name  was,  I  believe,  Nancy  Derham, — but  it  is  not 
a  matter  of  much  importance. 

Prior's  attachment  to  this  woman,  however  un- 
merited, was  very  sincere.  For  her  sake  he  quitted 

*  Charlotte,  Countess  of  Newburgh  in  her  own  right,  from 
whom  the  present  Earl  of  Newburgh  is  descended. 


238  POETS    AND    BEAUTIES. 

the  high  society  into  which  his  talents  and  his 
political  connexions  had  introduced  him ;  and  for 
her,  he  neglected,  as  he  tells  us — 

Whate'er  the  world  thinks  wise  and  grave, 
Ambition,  business,  friendship,  news, 
My  useful  books  arid  serious  muse, 

to  bury  himself  with  her  in  some  low  tavern  for 
weeks  together.  Once  when  they  quarrelled,  she 
ran  away  and  carried  off  his  plate ;  but  even  this 
could  not  shake  his  constancy :  at  his  death  he  left 
her  all  he  possessed,  and  she — his  Chloe — at  whose 
command  and  in  whose  honour  he  wrote  his 
"  Henry  and  Emma," — married  a  cobler  !*  Such 
was  Prior's  Chloe. 

Is  it  surprising  that  the  works  of  a  poet  once  so 
popular,  should  now  be  banished  from  a  Lady's 
library? — a  banishment  from  which  all  his  spright- 
ly wit  cannot  redeem  him. — But  because  Prior's 
love  for  this  woman  was  real,  and  that  he  was  really 
a  man  of  feeling  and  genius,  though  debased  by 
low  and  irregular  habits,  there  are  some  sweet 

*  Spence's  Anecdotes. 


PRIOR'S  CHLOE.  239 

touches  scattered  through  his  poetry,  which  show 
how  strong  was  the  illusion  in  his  fancy : — as  in 
"  Chloe  Jealous." 

Reading  thy  verse,  "  who  cares,"  said  I, 

"  If  here  or  there  his  glances  flew  ? 
O  free  for  ever  be  his  eye, 

Whose  heart  to  me  is  always  true !" 

And  in  his  "  Answer  to  Chloe  Jealous." 

O  when  I  am  wearied  with  wandering  all  day, 
To  thee,  my  delight,  in  the  evening  I  come. 

No  matter  what  beauties  I  saw  in  my  way, 

They  were  but  my  visits,  but  thou  art  my  home ! 

The  address  to  Chloe,  with   which  the   "  Nut- 
brown  Maid"  commences, 

Thou,  to  whose  eyes  I  bend,  &c. 

will  ever  be  admired,  and  the  poem  will  always 
find  readers  among  the  young  and  gentle-hearted, 
who  have  not  yet  learned  to  be  critics  or  to  tremble 
at  the  fiat  of  Dr.  Johnson.  It  is  perhaps  one  of 
the  most  popular  poems  in  the  language. 


240 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

STELLA    AND    VANESSA. 

IT  is  difficult  to  consider  Swift  as  a  poet.  So 
many  unamiable,  disagreeable,  unpoetical  ideas 
are  connected  with  his  name,  that,  great  as  he 
was  in  fame  and  intellectual  vigour,  he  seems  as 
misplaced  in  the  temple  of  the  muses  as  one  of  his 
own  yahoos.  But  who  has  not  heard  of  "  Swift's 
Stella  ?"  and  of  Cadenus  and  Vanessa  ?  Though 
all  will  confess  that  the  two  devoted  women,  who 
fell  victims  to  his  barbarous  selfishness,  and 
whose  names  are  eternally  linked  with  the  history 
of  our  literature,  are  far  more  interesting,  from 
their  ill-bestowed,  ill-requited  and  passionate  at- 
tachment to  him,  than  by  any  thing  he  ever  sung 


STKLLA    AND    VANESSA.  241 

or  said  of  them*  Nay,  his  longest,  his  most 
elaborate,  and  his  most  admired  poem — the  avowed 
history  of  one  of  his  attachments — with  its  insipid 
tawdry  fable,  its  conclusion,  in  which  nothing  is 
concluded,  and  the  inferences  we  are  left  to  draw 
from  it,  would  have  given  but  an  ignominious 
celebrity  to  poor  Vanessa,  if  truth  and  time,  and 
her  own  sweet  nature,  had  not  redeemed  her. 

I  pass  over  Swift's  early  attachment  to  Jane 
Waryng,  whom  he  deserted  after  a  seven  years' 
engagement :  she  is  not  in  any  way  connected 
with  his  literary  history, — and  what  became  of  her 
afterwards  is  not  known.  He  excused  himself  by 

*  As  Swift  said  truly  and  wittily  of  himself: 

As  when  a  lofty  pile  is  raised, 

We  never  hear  the  workmen  praised, 

Who  bring  the  lime  or  place  the  stones, 

But  all  admire  Inigo  Jones ; 

So  if  this  pile  of  scattered  rhymes 

Should  be  approved  in  after-times, 

If  it  both  pleases  and  endures, 

The  merit  and  the  praise  are  yours  ! 

Verses  to  Stella. 
VOL.    II.  R 


242  SWIFT. 

some  pitiful  subterfuges  about  fortune;  but  it 
appears,  from  a  comparison  of  dates,  tbat  the  oc- 
casion of  his  breaking  off  with  her,  was  his  rising 
partiality  for  another. 

When  Swift  was  an  inmate  of  Sir  William 
Temple's  family  at  Moor  Park,  he  met  with 
Esther  Johnson,  who  appears  to  have  been  a  kind 
of  humble  companion  to  Sir  William's  niece,  Miss 
Gifford.  She  is  said  by  some  to  have  been  the 
daughter  of  Sir  William's  steward ;  by  others  we 
are  told  that  her  father  was  a  London  merchant, 
who  had  failed  in  business.  This  was  the  in- 
teresting and  ill-fated  woman,  since  renowned  as 
"  Swift's  Stella." 

She  was  then  a  blooming  girl  of  fifteen,  with 
silky  black  hair,  brilliant  eyes,  and  delicate  fea- 
tures. Her  disposition  was  gentle  and  affection- 
ate; and  she  had  a  mind  of  no  common  order. 
Swift  sometimes  employed  his  leisure  in  instruct- 
ing Sir  William's  niece,  and  Stella  was  the  com- 
panion of  her  studies.  Her  beauty,  talents,  and 
docility,  interested  her  preceptor,  who,  though 
considerably  older  than  herself,  was  in  the  vigour 


STELLA    AND    VANESSA.  243 

of  his  life  and  intellectual  powers ;  and  she  repaid 
this  interest  with  all  the  idolatry  of  a  young 
unpractised  heart,  mingled  with  a  gratitude  and 
reverence  almost  filial.  When  he  took  possession 
of  his  living  in  Ireland,  he  might  have  married 
her;  for  she  loved  him,  and  he  knew  it.  She 
was  perfectly  independent  of  any  family  ties, 
and  had  a  small  property  of  her  own  :  but  what 
were  really  his  views  or  his  intentions,  it  is  im- 
possible to  guess ;  nor  at  the  reasons  of  that  most 
extraordinary  arrangement,  by  which  he  contrived 
to  bind  this  devoted  creature  to  him  for  life,  and 
to  enslave  her  heart  and  soul  to  him  for  ever, 
without  assuming  the  character  either  of  a  hus- 
band or  a  lover.  He  persuaded  her  to  leave  Eng- 
land ;  and,  under  the  sanction  and  protection  of  a 
respectable  elderly  woman  named  Dingley,  often 
alluded  to  in  his  humorous  poems,  to  take  up 
her  residence  near  him  at  Laracor.  Subsequently, 
when  he  became  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  she  had  a 
lodging  in  Dublin.  He  was  accustomed  to  spend 
part  of  every  day  in  her  society,  but  never  with- 
out the  presence  of  a  third  person  ;  and  when  he 
R  2 


244  SWIFT. 

was  absent,  the  two  ladies  took  possession  of  his 
residence,  and  occupied  it  till  his  return. 

Two  years  after  her  removal  to  Ireland,  and 
when  she  was  in  her  twentieth  year,  Stella  was 
addressed  by  a  young  clergyman,  whose  name 
was  Tisdal ;  and  sensible  of  the  humiliating  and 
equivocal  situation  in  which  she  was  placed,  and 
unable  to  bring  Swift  to  any  explanation  of  his 
views  or  sentiments,  she  appears  to  have  been  in- 
clined to  favour  the  addresses  of  her  new  admirer. 
He  proposed  in  form ;  but  Swift,  without  in  any 
way  committing  himself,  contrived  to  prevent  the 
marriage.  Stella  found  herself  precisely  in  the 
same  situation  as  before,  and  every  year  increased 
his  influence  over  her  young  and  gentle  spirit,  as 
habit  confirmed  and  strengthened  the  bonds  of  a 
first  affection.  She  lived  on  in  the  hope  that  he 
would  at  length  marry  her;  bearing  his  sullen 
outbreakings  of  temper,  soothing  his  morbid  mis- 
anthropy, cheering  and  adorning  his  life;  and 
giving  herself  every  day  fresh  claims  to  his  love, 
compassion,  and  gratitude,  by  her  sufferings,  her 
virtues,  her  patient  gentleness,  and  her  exclusive 


STELLA    AND    VANESSA.  245 

devotion  ; — and  all  availed  not !  During  this 
extraordinary  connection,  Swift  was  accustomed 
to  address  her  in  verse.  Some  of  these  poems, 
though  worthless  as  poetry,  derive  interest  from 
the  beauty  of  her  character,  and  from  that  con- 
centrated vigour  of  expression  which  was  the  cha- 
racteristic of  all  he  wrote ;  as  in  this  descriptive 
passage : — 

Her  hearers  are  amazed  from  whence 
Proceeds  that  fund  of  wit  and  sense, 
Which,  though  her  modesty  would  shroud, 
Breaks  like  the  sun  behind  a  cloud  ; 
While  gracefulness  its  art  conceals, 
And  yet  through  every  motion  steals. 
Say,  Stella,  was  Prometheus  blind, 
And  forming  you,  mistook  your  kind  ? 
No ;  'twas  for  you  alone  he  stole 
The  fire  that  forms  a  manly  soul  ; 
Then,  to  complete  it  every  way, 
He  moulded  it  with  female  clay  : 
To  that  you  owe  the  nobler  flame, 
To  this  the  beauty  of  your  frame. 

He  compliments  her  sincerity  and  firmness  of 
principle  in  four  nervous  lines  : 


246  SWIFT. 

Ten  thousand  oaths  upon  record 
Are  not  so  sacred  as  her  word  ! 
The  world  shall  in  its  atoms  end, 
Ere  Stella  can  deceive  a  friend  ! 

Her  tender  attention  to  him  in  sickness  and 
suffering,  is  thus  described,  with  a  tolerable  in- 
sight into  his  own  character. 

To  her  I  owe 

That  I  these  pains  can  undergo  ; 
She  tends  me  like  an  humble  slave, 
And,  when  indecently  I  rave, 
When  out  my  brutish  passions  break, 
With  gall  in  every  word  I  speak, 
She,  with  soft  speech,  my  anguish  cheers, 
Or  melts  my  passions  down  with  tears  : 
Although  'tis  easy  to  descry 
She  wants  assistance  more  than  I, 
She  seems  to  feel  my  pains  alone, 
And  is  a  Stoic  to  her  own. 
Where,  among  scholars,  can  you  find 
So  soft,  and  yet  so  firm  a  mind  ? 

These  lines,  dated  March,  1724,  are  the  more 
remarkable,  because  they  refer  to  a  period  when 


STELLA    AND    VANESSA.  247 

Stella  had  much  to  forgive ; — when  she  had  just 
been  injured,  in  the  tenderest  point,  by  the  man 
who  owed  to  her  tenderness  and  forbearance  all 
the  happiness  that  his  savage  temper  allowed  him 
to  taste  on  earth. 

As  Stella  passed  much  of  her  time  in  soli- 
tude, she  read  a  great  deal.  She  received  Swift's 
friends,  many  of  whom  were  clever  and  dis- 
tinguished men,  particularly  Sheridan  and  De- 
lany  ;  and  on  his  public  days  she  dined  as  a  guest 
at  his  table,  where,  says  his  biographer,*  "  the 
modesty  of  her  manners,  the  sweetness  of  her 
disposition,  and  the  brilliance  of  her  wit,  render- 
ed her  the  general  object  of  admiration  to  all  who 
were  so  happy  as  to  have  a  place  in  that  enviable 
society."" 

Johnson  says  that,  "  if  Swift's  ideas  of  women 
were  such  as  he  generally  exhibits,  a  very  little 
sense  in  a  lady  would  enrapture,  and  a  very  little 
virtue  astonish  him ;"  and  thinks,  therefore,  that 
Stella's  supremacy  might  be  "  only  local  and  com- 

*  Sheridan's  Lite  of  Swift. 


248  SWIFT. 

parative  ;"  but  it  is  not  the  less  true,  that  she  was 
beheld  with  tenderness  and  admiration  by  all  who 
approached  her  ;  and  whether  she  could  spell  or 
not,*  she  could  certainly  write  very  pretty  verses, 
considering  whom  she  had  chosen  for  her  model : 
— for  instance,  the  folloAving  little  effusion,  in  re- 
ply to  a  compliment  addressed  to  her: 

If  it  be  true,  celestial  powers, 

That  you  have  formed  me  fair, 
And  yet,  in  all  my  vainest  hours, 

My  mind  has  been  my  care ; 
Then,  in  return,  I  beg  this  grace, 

As  you  were  ever  kind, 
What  envious  time  takes  from  my  face, 

Bestow  upon  my  mind  ! 

She  had  continued  to  live  on  in  this  strange 
undefinable  state  of  dependance  for  fourteen 
years,  "  in  pale  contented  sort  of  discontent,"" 
though  her  spirit  was  so  borne  down  by  the  ha- 

*  Dr.  Johnson,  who  allows  Stella  to  have  been  "  virtuous, 
beautiful,  and  elegant,"  says  she  could  not  spell  her  own  lan- 
guage :  in  those  days  few  women  cvuld  spell  accurately. 


STELLA    AND    VANESSA.  249 

bitual  awe  in  which  he  held  her,  that  she  never 
complained — when  the  suspicion  that  a  younger 
and  fairer  rival  had  usurped  the  heart  she  pos- 
sessed, if  not  the  rights  she  coveted,  added  the 
tortures  of  jealousy  to  those  of  lingering  suspense 
and  mortified  affection. 

A  new  attachment  had,  in  fact,  almost  entirely 
estranged  Swift  from  her,  and  from  his  home. 
While  in  London,  from  1710  to  1712,  he  was 
accustomed  to  visit  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Van- 
homrigh,  and  became  so  intimate,  that  during 
his  attendance  on  the  ministry  at  that  time,  he 
was  accustomed  to  change  his  wig  and  gown, 
and  drink  his  coffee  there  almost  daily.  Mrs. 
Vanhomrigh  had  two  daughters :  the  eldest, 
Esther,  was  destined  to  be  the  second  victim  of 
Swift's  detestable  selfishness,  and  become  cele- 
brated under  the  name  of  Vanessa. 

She  was  of  a  character  altogether  different  from 
that  of  Stella.  Not  quite  so  beautiful  in  person, 
but  with  all  the  freshness  and  vivacity  of  youth — 
(she  was  not  twenty,)  and  adding  to  the  ad- 
vantages of  polished  manners  rand  lively  talents, 


250  SWIFT. 

a  frank  confiding  temper,  and  a  capacity  for 
strong  affections.  She  was  rich,  admired,  happy, 
and  diffusing  happiness.  Swift,  as  I  have  said, 
visited  at  the  house  of  her  mother.  His  age,  his 
celebrity,  his  character  as  a  clergyman,  gave  him 
privileges  of  which  he  availed  himself.  He 
was  pleased  with  Miss  Vanhomrigh's  talents,  and 
undertook  to  direct  her  studies.  She  was  igno- 
rant of  the  ties  which  bound  him  to  the  unhappy 
Stella ;  and  charmed  by  his  powers  of  conversa- 
tion, dazzled  by  his  fame,  won  and  flattered  by 
his  attentions,  surrendered  her  heart  and  soul  to 
him  before  she  was  aware ;  and  her  love  partaking 
of  the  vivacity  of  her  character,  not  only  absorbed 
every  other  feeling,  but,  as  she  expressed  it  her- 
self, "became  blended  with  every  atom  of  her 
frame.1'* 

Swift,  among  his  other  lessons,  took  pains  to 
impress  her  with  his  own  favourite  maxims  (it  had 
been  well  for  both  had  he  acted  up  to  them  him- 
self)— "  to  speak  the  truth  on  all  occasions,  and  at 

*,    ee  her  Letters. 


STELLA    AND    VANESSA.  251 

every  hazard  :  and  to  do  what  seemed  right  in 
itself,  without  regard  to  the  opinions  or  customs 
of  the  world."  He  appears  also  to  have  insinu- 
ated the  idea,  that  the  disparity  of  their  age  and 
fortune  rendered  him  distrustful  of  his  own  powers 
of  pleasing.*  She  was  thus  led  on,  by  his  open 
admiration,  and  her  own  frank  temper,  to  betray 
the  state  of  her  affections,  and  proffered  to  him  her 
hand  and  fortune.  He  had  not  sufficient  huma- 
nity, honour,  or  courage,  to  disclose  the  truth  of 
his  situation,  but  replied  to  the  avowal  of  this 
innocent  and  warm-hearted  girl,  first  in  a  tone  of 
raillery,  and  then  by  an  equivocal  offer  of  ever- 
lasting friendship. 

The    scene    is    thus    given    in    Cadenus    and 
Vanessa. 

Vanessa,  though  by  Pallas  taught, 
By  Love  invulnerable  thought, 
Searching  in  books  for  wisdom's  aid, 
Was  in  the  very  search  betrayed. 

*  *  *  * 

*  See  some  very  poor  verses  found  in  Miss  Vanhomrigh's 
desk,  and  inserted  in  his  poems,  vol.  x,  p.  14. 


252  SWIFT. 

Cadeims  many  things  had  writ ; 

Vanessa  much  esteemed  his  wit, 

And  call'd  for  his  poetic  works. 

Mean  time  the  boy  in  secret  lurks ; 

And,  while  the  book  was  in  her  hand 

The  urchin  from  his  private  stand 

Took  aim,  and  shot  with  all  his  strength 

A  dart  of  such  prodigious  length, 

It  pierced  the  feeble  volume  through, 

And  deep  transfix'd  her  bosom  too. 

Some  lines,  more  moving  than  the  rest, 

Stuck  to  the  point  that  pierced  her  breast, 

And  borne  directly  to  the  heart, 

With  pains  unknown,  increas'd  her  smart. 

Vanessa,  not  in  years  a  score, 

Dreams  of  a  gown  of  forty-four  ; 

Imaginary  charms  can  find, 

In  eyes  with  reading  almost  blind. 

Cadenus  now  no  more  appears 

Declin'd  in  health,  advanc'd  in  years ; 

She  fancies  music  in  his  tongue, 

Nor  farther  looks,  but  thinks  him  young. 

Vanessa  is  then  made  to  disclose  her  tenderness. 
The  expressions  and  the  sentiments  are  probably  as 
true  to  the  facts  as  was  consistent  with  the  rhyme  : 


STELLA    AND    \ANbSSA.  253 

but  how  cold,  how  flat,  how  prosaic  !  no  emotion 
falters  in  the  lines — not  a  feeling  blushes  through 
them  ! — as  if  an  ardent  but  delicate  and  gentle 

Cj 

girl  would  ever  have  made  a  first  avowal  of  pas- 
sion in  this  chop-logic  style — 

"  Now,"  said  the  Nymph,  "  to  let  you  see 
My  actions  with  your  rules  agree ; 
That  I  can  vulgar  forms  despise, 
And  have  no  secrets  to  disguise ; 
I  knew,  by  what  you  said  and  writ, 
How  dangerous  things  were  men  of  wit ; 
You  caution'd  me  against  their  charms, 
But  never  gave  me  equal  arms ; 
Your  lessons  found  the  weakest  part, 
Aimed  at  the  head,  but  reach'd  the  heart!" 
Cadenus  felt  within  him  rise 
Shame,  disappointment,  guilt,  surprise,  &c. 


It  is  possible  he  might  have  felt  thus;  and  yet  the 
excess  of  his  surprise  and  disappointment  on  the 
occasion,  may  be  doubted.  He  makes,  however, 
a  very  candid  confession  of  his  own  vanity. 


254  SWIFT. 

Cadenus,  to  his  grief  and  shame, 
Could  scarce  oppose  Vanessa's  flame ; 
And,  though  her  arguments  were  strong, 
At  least  could  hardly  wish  them  wrong : 
Howe'er  it  came,  he  could  not  tell, 
But  sure  she  never  talked  so  well. 
His  pride  began  to  interpose ; 
Preferred  before  a  crowd  of  beaux ! 
So  bright  a  nymph  to  come  unsought ! 
Such  wonder  by  his  merit  wrought '. 
'Tis  merit  must  with  her  prevail ! 
He  never  knew  her  judgment  fail. 
She  noted  all  she  ever  read, 
And  had  a  most  discerning  head  ! 

The  scene  continues — he  rallies  her,  and  affects  to 
think  it  all 

Just  what  coxcombs  call  a  bite. 

(such  is  his  elegant  phrase.)  He  then  offers  her 
friendship  instead  of  love :  the  lady  replies  with 
very  pertinent  arguments ;  and  finally,  the  tale  is 
concluded  in  this  ambiguous  passage,  in  which  we 

must  allow  that  great  room  is  left  for  scandal,  for 

* 
doubt,  and  for  curiosity. 


STELLA    AND    VANESSA.  255 

But  what  success  Vanessa  met 

Is  to  the  world  a  secret  yet ; — 

Whether  the  nymph,  to  please  her  swain, 

Talks  in  a  high  romantic  strain, 

Or  whether  he  at  last  descends 

To  act  with  less  seraphic  ends  ; 

Or  to  compound  the  business,  whether 

They  temper  love  and  books  together  ; 

Must  never  to  mankind  be  told, 

Nor  shall  the  conscious  Muse  unfold. 

Such  is  the  story  of  this  celebrated  poem.  The 
passion,  the  circumstances,  the  feelings  are  real, 
and  it  contains  lines  of  great  power ;  and  yet, 
assuredly,  the  perusal  of  it  never  conveyed  one 
emotion  to  the  reader's  heart,  except  of  indigna- 
tion against  the  writer;  not  a  spark  of  poetry, 
fancy,  or  pathos,  breathes  throughout.  We  have 
a  dull  mythological  fable  in  which  Venus  and  the 
Graces  descend  to  clothe  Vanessa  in  all  the  attrac- 
tions of  her  sex  : — 

The  Graces  next  would  act  their  part, 
And  showed  but  little  of  their  art ; 
Their  work  was  half  already  done, 
The  child  with  native  beauty  shone ; 


256  SWIFT. 

The  outward  form  no  help  required ; — 
Each,  breathing  on  her  thrice,  inspired 
That  gentle,  soft,  engaging  air, 
Which  in  old  times  advanced  the  fair. 

And    Pallas   is    tricked    by  the    wiles    of  Venus 
into  doing  her  part. — The  Queen  of  Learning 

Mistakes  Vanessa  for  a  boy; 
Then  sows  within  her  tender  mind 
Seeds  long  unknown  to  womankind, 
For  manly  bosoms  chiefly  fit, — 
The  seeds  of  knowledge,  judgment,  wit. 
Her  soul  was  suddenly  endued 
With  justice,  truth,  and  fortitude, — 
With  honour,  which  no  breath  can  stain, 
Which  malice  must  attack  in  vain ; 
With  open  heart  and  bounteous  hand,  &c. 

The  nymph  thus  accomplished  is  feared  by  the 
men  and  hated  by  the  women ;  and  Swift  has 
shown  his  utter  want  of  heart  and  good  taste,  by 
making  his  homage  to  the  woman  he  loved,  a 
vehicle  for  the  bitterest  satire  on  the  rest  of  her 
sex.  What  right  had  he  to  accuse  us  of  a  uni- 
versal preference  for  mere  coxcombs, — he  who, 


STELLA    AND    VANESSA.  257 

through  the  sole  power  of  his  wit  and  intellect, 
had  inspired  with  the  most  passionate  attachment 
two  lovely  women  not  half  his  own  age?  Be  it 
remembered,  that  while  Swift  was  playing  the 
Abelard  with  such  effect,  he  was  in  his  forty-fifth 
year,  and  though 

He  moved  and  bowed,  ;uid  talked  with  so  much  grace, 
Nor  showed  the  parson  in  his  gait  or  face,* 
he  was  one  of  the  ugliest  men   in  existence,  — of 
a  bilious,  saturnine  complexion,  and  a  most  for- 
bidding countenance. 

The  poem  of  Cadenus  and  Vanessa  was  written 
immediately  on  his  return  to  Ireland  and  to  Stella, 
(where  he  describes  himself  devoured  by  melan- 
choly and  regret,)  and  sent  to  Vanessa.  Her 
passion  and  her  inexperience  seem  to  have  blinded 
her  to  what  was  humiliating  to  herself  in  this 
poem,  and  left  her  sensible  only  to  the  admira- 
tion it  expressed,  and  the  hopes  it  conveyed. 
She  wrote  him  the  most  impassioned  letters; 
and  he  replied  in  a  style  which,  without  com- 
mitting himself,  kept  alive  all  her  tenderness, 
and  rivetted  his  influence  over  her. 

*  "  The  Author  on  himself,"  (Swift's  poems.) 
VOL.    II.  S 


258  SWIFT. 

Meanwhile,  what  became  of  Stella  ?  Too  quick- 
sighted  not  to  perceive  the  difference  in  Swift's 
manner,  pining  under  his  neglect,  and  struck  to 
the  heart  by  jealousy,  grief,  and  resentment,  her 
health  gave  way.  His  pitiful  resolve  never  to  see 
her  alone,  precluded  all  complaint  or  explana- 
tion. The  Mrs.  Dingley  who  had  been  chosen 
for  her  companion,  was  merely  calculated  to  save 
appearances; — respectable,  indeed,  in  point  of 
reputation,  but  selfish,  narrow-minded  and  weak. 
Thus  abandoned  to  sullen,  silent  sorrow,  the  un- 
happy Stella  fell  into  an  alarming  state  ;  and  her 
destroyer  was  at  length  roused  to  some  remorse,  by 
the  daily  spectacle  of  the  miserable  wreck  he  had 
caused.  He  commissioned  his  friend  Dr.  Ashe, 
"  to  learn  the  secret  cause  of  that  dejection  of 
spirits  which  had  so  visibly  preyed  on  her  health ; 
and  to  know  whether  it  was  by  any  means  in  his 
power  to  remove  it  ?"  She  replied,  "  that  the  pe- 
culiarity of  her  circumstances,  and  her  singular 
connexion  with  Swift  for  so  many  years,  had  given 
great  occasion  for  scandal ;  that  she  had  learned 
to  bear  this  patiently,  hoping  that  all  such  reports 


STKLLA    AND    VANESSA.  259 

would  be  effaced  by  marriage ;  but  she  now  saw, 
with  deep  grief,  that  his  behaviour  was  totally 
changed,  and  that  a  cold  indifference  had  succeed- 
ed to  the  warmest  professions  of  eternal  affection. 
That  the  necessary  consequences  would  be,  ail 
indelible  stain  fixed  on  her  character,  and  the  loss 
of  her  good  name,  which  was  dearer  to  her  than 
life."* 

Swift  answered,  that  in  order  to  satisfy  Mrs. 
Johnson's  scruples,  and  relieve  her  mind,  he  was 
ready  to  go  through  the  mere  ceremony  of  mar- 
riage with  her,  on  two  conditions ;  —  first,  that 
they  should  live  separately  exactly  as  they  did  be- 
fore ; — secondly,  that  it  should  be  kept  a  profound 
secret  from  all  the  world. -f-  To  these  conditions, 

*  Sheridan's  Life  of  Swift,  p.  316. 

f  How  pertinaciously  Swift  adhered  to  these  conditions,,  is 
proved  by  the  fact,  that  after  the  ceremony,  he  never  saw  her 
alone ;  and  that  several  years  after,  when  she  was  in  a  dangerous 
state  of  health,  and  he  was  writing  to  a  friend  about  providing 
for  her  comforts,  he  desires  "  that  she  might  not  be  brought 
to  the  Deanery-house  on  any  account,  as  it  was  a  very  im- 
proper place  for  her  to  breathe  her  last  in." — Sheridan 't  Life, 
p.  356. 

s  2 


260  SWIFT. 

however  hard  and  humiliating,  she  was  obliged  to 
submit:  and  the  ceremony  was  performed  pri- 
vately by  Dr.  Ashe,  in  1716.  This  nominal  mar- 
riage spared  her  at  least  some  of  the  torments  of 
jealousy,  by  rendering  a  union  with  her  rival 
impossible. 

Yet,  within  a  year  afterwards,  we  find  this 
ill-fated  rival,  the  yet  more  unhappy  Vanessa, 
— more  unhappy  because  endued  by  nature  with 
quicker  passions,  and  far  less  fortitude  and  pa- 
tience,— following  Swift  to  Ireland.  She  had  a 
plausible  pretext  for  this  journey,  being  heiress  to 
a  considerable  property  at  Celbridge,  about  twelve 
miles  from  Dublin,  on  which  she  came  to  reside 
with  her  sister;*  but  her  real  inducement  was 

*  "  Marley  Abbey,  near  Celbridge,  where  Miss  Vanhomrigh 
resided,  is  built  much  in  the  form  of  a  real  cloister,  especially 
in  its  external  appearance.  An  aged  man  (upwards  of  ninety, 
by  his  own  account,)  showed  the  grounds  to  my  correspondent, 
He  was  the  son  of  Mrs.  Vanhomrigh's  gardener,  and  used  to 
work  with  his  father  in  the  garden  when  a  boy.  He  remem- 
bered the  unfortunate  Vanessa  well ;  and  his  account  of  her  cor- 
responded with  the  usual  description  of  her  person,  especially 


STELLA    AND    VANESSA.  261 

her  unconquerable  love  for  him.  Nothing  could 
be  more  mal  apropos  to  Swift  than  her  arrival  in 
Dublin  :  placed  between  two  women,  thus  devoted 

as  to  her  embonpoint.  He  said  she  went  seldom  abroad,  and 
saw  little  company ;  her  constant  amusement  was  reading,  or 
walking  in  the  garden.  Yet,  according  to  this  authority,  her 
society  was  courted  by  several  families  in  the  neighbourhood, 
who  visited  her,  notwithstanding  her  seldom  returning  that  at- 
tention ;  and  he  added,  that  her  manners  interested  every  one 
who  knew  her, — bxit  she  avoided  company,  and  was  always 
melancholy  save  when  Dean  Swift  was  there,  and  then  she 
seemed  happy.  The  garden  was  to  an  uncommon  degree 
crowded  with  laurels.  The  old  man  said,  that  when  Miss 
Vanhomrigh  expected  the  Dean,  she  always  planted  with  her 
own  hand  a  laurel  or  two  against  his  arrival.  He  showed  her 
favourite  seat,  still  called  Vranessa's  Bower.  Three  or  four  trees, 
and  some  laurels,  indicate  the  spot.  They  had  formerly,  ac- 
cording to  the  old  man's  information,  been  trained  into  a  close 
arbour.  There  were  two  seats  and  a  rude  table  within  the 
bower,  the  opening  of  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  Liffey, 
which  had  a  romantic  effect ;  and  there  was  a  small  cascade 
that  murmured  at  some  distance.  In  this  sequestered  spot, 
according  to  the  old  gardener's  account,  the  Dean  and  Vanessa 
used  often  to  sit,  witli  books  and  writing  materials  on  the 
table  before  them." — Scoffs  Life  of  Swift. 


262  SWIFT. 

to  him,  his  perplexity  was  not  greater  than  his 
heartless  duplicity  deserved  :  nothing  could  extri- 
cate him  but  the  simple,  but  desperate  expedient 
of  disclosing  the  truth,  and  this  he  could  not 
or  would  not  do :  regardless  of  the  sacred  ties 
which  now  bound  him  to  Stella,  he  continued 
to  correspond  with  Vanessa  and  to  visit  her  ;  but 
"  the  whole  course  of  this  correspondence  pre- 
cludes the  idea  of  a  guilty  intimacy."*  She, 
whose  passion  was  as  pure  as  it  was  violent  and 
exclusive,  asked  but  to  be  his  wife.  She  would 
have  flung  down  her  fortune  and  herself  at  his 
feet,  and  bathed  them  with  tears  of  gratitude,  if 
he  would  have  deigned  to  lift  her  to  his  arms.  In 
the  midst  of  all  the  mortification,  anguish,  and 
heart-wearing  suspense  to  which  his  stern  temper 
and  inexplicable  conduct  exposed  her,  still  she 
clung  to  the  hopes  he  had  awakened,  and  which, 
either  in  cowardice,  or  compassion,  or  selfish 
egotism,  he  still  kept  alive.  He  concludes  one  of 
his  letters  with  the  following  sentence  in  French, 

*  Scott's  Life  of  Swift. 


STELLA    AND    VANESSA.  263 

"  mais  soyez  assuree,  que  jamais  personne  au 
raonde  n'a  etc  aimee,  honoree,  estimee,  adoree, 
par  votre  amie,  que  vous  :""*  and  there  are  other 
passages  to  the  same  effect,  little  agreeing  with  his 
professions  to  poor  Stella  : — one  or  the  other,  or 
both,  must  have  been  grossly  deceived. 

After  declarations  so  explicit,  Vanessa  naturally 
wondered  that  he  proceeded  no  farther ;  it  appears 
that  he  sometimes  endeavoured  to  repress  her  over- 
flowing tenderness,  by  treating  her  with  a  harsh- 
ness which  drove  her  almost  to  frenzy.  There  is 
really  nothing  in  the  effusions  of  Heloise  or 
Mdlle.  de  TEspinasse,  that  can  exceed,  in  pathos 
and  burning  eloquence,  some  of  her  letters  to  him 
during  this  period  of  their  connection. -f-  When  he 

*  Correspondence,  (as  quoted  in  Sheridan's  Life  of  Swift.) 
f  I  give  one  specimen,  not  as  the  most  eloquent  that  could 
be  extracted,  but  as  most  illustrative  of  the  story. 

"  You  bid  me  be  easy,  and  you  would  see  me  as  often  as  you 
could  ;  you  had  better  have  said  as  often  as  you  could  get  the 
better  of  your  inclination  so  much  ;  or,  as  often  as  you  re- 
membered there  was  such  a  person  in  the  world.  If  you  con- 


264  SWIFT. 

had  reduced  her  to  the  most  shocking  and  pitiable 
state,  so  that  her  life  or  her  reason  were  threaten- 
ed, he  would  endeavour  to  soothe  her  in  language 
which  again  revived  her  hopes — 

tinue  to  treat  me  as  you  do,  you  will  not  be  made  uneasy  by 
me  long.  'Tis  impossible  to  describe  what  I  have  suffered 
since  I  saw  you  last ;  I  am  sure  I  could  have  borne  the  rack 
much  better  than  those  killing,  killing  words  of  yours.  Some- 
times I  have  resolved  to  die  without  seeing  you  more  ;  but  those 
resolves,  to  your  misfortune,  did  not  last  long,  for  there  is 
something  in  human  nature  that  prompts  us  to  seek  relief  in 
this  world.  I  must  give  way  to  it,  and  beg  you  would  see  me, 
and  speak  kindly  to  me ;  for  I  am  sure  you  would  not  con- 
demn any  one  to  suffer  what  I  have  done,  could  you  but  know 
it.  The  reason  I  write  to  you  is  this,  because  I  cannot  tell  it 
you,  should  I  see  you ;  for  when  I  begin  to  complain,  then 
you  are  angry,  and  there  is  something  in  your  look  so  awful 
that  it  strikes  me  dumb.  Oh  !  that  you  may  but  have  so  much 
regard  for  me  left,  that  this  complaint  may  touch  your  soul 
with  pity  !  I  say  as  little  as  ever  I  can.  Did  you  but  know 
what  I  thought,  I  am  sure  it  would  move  you.  Forgive  me, 
and  believe,  I  cannot  help  telling  you  this,  and  live." — LETTERS, 
Vol.xix.  page  421. 


STELLA    AND    VANESSA.  265 

Give  the  reed 

From  storms  a  shelter, — give  the  drooping  vine 
Something  round  which  its  tendrils  may  entwine, — 
Give  the  parch'd  flower  the  rain-drop, — and  the  meed 
Of  Love's  kind  words  to  woman'!* 

It  will  be  said,  where  was  her  sex's  delicacy, 
where  her  woman's  pride  ?     Alas  ! — 

La  Vergogna  ritien  debile  amore, 
Ma  debil  freno  e  di  potente  amore. 

In  this  agonizing  suspense  she  lived  through 
eight  long  years  ;  till,  unable  to  endure  it  longer, 
and  being  aware  of  the  existence  of  Stella,  she 
took  the  decisive  step  of  writing  to  her  rival,  and 
desired  to  know  whether  she  was,  or  was  not, 
married  to  Swift  ?  Stella  answered  her  immediate- 
ly in  the  affirmative ;  and  then,  justly  indignant 
that  he  should  have  given  any  other  woman  such 
a  right  in  him  as  was  implied  by  the  question,  she 
enclosed  Vanessa's  letter  to  Swift ;  and  instantly, 
with  a  spirit  she  had  never  before  exerted,  quitted 
her  lodgings,  withdrew  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Ford, 

*  Mrs.  Hemans. 


266  SWIFT. 

of  Wood  Park,  and  threw  herself  on  the  friend- 
ship and  protection  of  his  family. 

This  lamentable  tragedy  was  now  brought  to  a 
crisis.  Swift,  on  receiving  the  letter,  was  seized 
with  one  of  those  insane  paroxysms  of  rage  to 
which  he  was  subject.  He  mounted  his  horse, 
rode  down  to  Celbridge,  and  suddenly  entered 
the  room  in  which  Vanessa  was  sitting.  His 
countenance,  fitted  by  nature  to  express  the  dark 
and  fierce  passions,  so  terrified  her,  that  she 
could  scarce  ask  him  whether  he  would  sit  down  ? 
He  replied  savagely,  "  No  !"  and  throwing  down 
before  her,  her  own  letter  to  Stella,  with  a  look  of 
inexpressible  scorn  and  anger,  flung  out  of  the 
room,  and  returned  to  Dublin. 

This  cruel  scene  was  her  death  warrant.* 
Hitherto  she  had  venerated  Swift ;  and  in  the 
midst  of  her  sufferings,  confided  in  him,  idolized 
him  as  the  first  of  human  beings.  What  must  he 
now  have  appeared  in  her  eyes  ? — They  say,  "  Hell 
has  no  fury  like  a  woman  scorned  ;" — it  is  not  so : 

*  Johnson's  Life  of  Swift. 


STELLA   AND    VANESSA.  267 

the  recoil  of  the  heart,  when  forced  to  abhor  and 
contemn,  where  it  has  once  loved,  is  far, — far 
worse ;  and  Vanessa,  who  had  endured  her  lover's 
scorn,  could  not  scorn  him,  and  live.  She  was 
seized  with  a  delirious  fever,  and  died  "  in  re- 
sentment and  in  despair.""*  She  desired,  in  her 
last  will,  that  the  poem  of  Cadenus  and  Vanessa, 
which  she  considered  as  a  monument  of  Swift's 
love  for  her,  should  be  published,  with  some  of  his 
letters,  which  would  have  explained  what  was  left 
obscure,  and  have  cleared  her  fame.  The  poem 
was  published  ;  but  the  letters,  by  the  interference 
of  Swift's  friends,  were,  at  the  time,  suppressed. 

On  her  death,  and  Stella's  flight,  Swift  absent- 
ed himself  from  home  for  two  months,  nor  did 
any  one  know  whither  he  was  gone.  During 
that  time,  what  must  have  been  his  feelings — if 
he  felt  at  all?  what  agonies  of  remorse,  grief, 
shame,  and  horror,  must  have  wrung  his  bosom  ! 
he  had,  in  effect,  murdered  the  woman  who  loved 
him,  as  absolutely  as  if  he  had  plunged  a  poniard 

*  Johnson,  Sheridan,  Scott. 


268  SWIFT. 

into  her  heart :  and  yet  it  is  not  clear  that  Swift 
was  a  prey  to  any  such  feelings ;  at  least  his 
subsequent  conduct  gave  no  assurance  of  it.  On 
his  return  to  Dublin,  mutual  friends  interfered  to 
reconcile  him  with  Stella.  About  this  time,  she 
happened  to  meet,  at  a  dinner-party,  a  gentleman 
who  was  a  stranger  to  the  real  circumstances  of 
her  situation,  and  who  began  to  speak  of  the 
poem  of  Cadenus  and  Vanessa,  then  just  pub- 
blished.  He  observed,  that  Vanessa  must  have 
been  an  admirable  creature  to  have  inspired  the 
Dean  to  write  so  finely.  "  That  does  not  follow," 
replied  Mrs.  Johnson,  with  bitterness ;  "  it  is  well 
known  that  the  Dean  could  write  finely  on  a 
broomstick.'1'1  Ah  !  how  must  jealousy  and  irri- 
tation, and  long  habits  of  intimacy  with  Swift, 
have  poisoned  the  mind  and  temper  of  this  un- 
happy woman,  before  she  could  have  uttered  this 
cruel  sarcasm  ! — And  yet  she  was  true  to  the  soft- 
ness of  her  sex ;  for  after  the  lapse  of  several 
months,  during  which  it  required  all  the  atten- 
tion of  Mr.  Ford  and  his  family  to  sustain  and 
console  her,  she  .consented  to  return  to  Dublin, 


STELLA    AND    VANESSA.  269 

and    live    with   the   Dean  on    the    same  terms  as 
before.     Well  does  old  Chaucer  sav, 

There  can  no  man  in  humblesse  him  acquite 
As  woman  can,  ne  can  be  half  so  true 
As  woman  be ! 

"  Swift  welcomed  her  to  town,"  says  Sheridan, 
"  with  that  beautiful  poem  entitled  '  Stella  at 
Wood  Park  ;"" "  that  is  to  say,  he  welcomed  back 
to  the  home  from  which  he  had  driven  her,  the 
woman  whose  heart  he  had  well  nigh  broken,  the 
wife  he  had  every  way  injured  and  abused, — with 
a  tissue  of  coarse  sarcasms,  on  the  taste  for  mag- 
nificence she  must  have  acquired  in  her  visit  to 
Wood  Park,  and  the  difficulty  of  descending 

From  every  day  a  lordly  banquet 
To  half  a  joint — and  God  be  thanket ! 

From  partridges  and  venison  with  the  right  fu- 
mette, — to 

Small  beer,  a  herring,  and  the  Dean. 

And   this   was   all    the  sentiment,  all   the  poetry 
with  which  the  occasion  inspired  him  ! 


270  SWIFT. 

Stella  naturally  hoped,  that  when  her  rival 
was  no  more,  and  Swift  no  longer  exposed  to  her 
torturing  reproaches,  that  he  would  do  her  tardy 
justice,  and  at  length  acknowledge  her  as  his  wife. 
But  no ; — it  would  have  cost  him  some  little 
mortification  and  inconvenience;  and  on  such  a 
paltry  pretext  he  suffered  this  amiable  and  ad- 
mirable woman,  of  whom  he  had  said,  that  "  her 
merits  towards  him  were  greater  than  ever  was  in 
any  human  being  towards  another ;"  and  "  that 
she  excelled  in  every  good  quality  that  could  pos- 
sibly accomplish  a  human  creature," — this  woman 
did  he  suffer  to  languish  into  the  grave,  broken 
in  heart  and  blighted  in  name.  When  Stella  was 
on  her  death-bed,  some  conversation  passed  be- 
tween them  upon  this  sad  subject.  Only  Swiffs 
reply  was  audible :  he  said,  "  Well,  my  dear,  it 
shall  be  acknowledged,  if  you  wish  it."  To  which 
she  answered  with  a  sigh,  "  It  is  now  too  late  !"* 
It  was  too  late  ! — 

*  Scott's  Life  of  Swift. — Sheridan  has  recorded  another 
interview  between  Stella  and  her  destroyer,  in  which  she 


STELLA    AND    VANKSSA.  271 

What  now  to  her  was  womanhood  or  fame  ? 

She  died  of  a  lingering  decline,  in  January, 
1728,  four  years  after  the  death  of  Miss  Van- 
horn  righ. 

Thus  perished  these  two  innocent,  warm-hearted 
and  accomplished  women ; — so  rich  in  all  the 
graces  of  their  sex — so  formed  to  love  and  to  be 
loved,  to  bless,  and  to  be  blessed, — sacrifices  to 
the  demoniac  pride  of  the  man  they  had  loved  and 
trusted.  But  it  will  be  said,  "  si  elles  n'avaient 
point  aime,  elles  seraient  moins  connues:"  they 
have  become  immortal  by  their  connection  with 
genius ;  they  are  celebrated,  merely  through  their 
attachment  to  a  celebrated  man.  But,  good  God  ! 
what  an  immortality  !  won  by  what  martyrdom 
of  the  heart ! — And  what  a  celebrity  !  not  that  with 
which  the  poet\s  love,  and  his  diviner  verse,  crown 

besought  him  to  acknowledge  her  before  her  death,  that  she 
might  have  the  satisfaction  of  dying  his  wife  ;  and  he  refused. 

Dated  Feb.  7,  1728,  I  find  a  letter  from  Swift  to  Martha 
Blount,  written  in  a  style  of  gay  badinage,  and  her  answer ; 
and  in  neither  is  there  the  slightest  allusion  to  his  recent  loss.— 
Roscoe's  Pope,  vol.  viii.  p.  460. 


SWIFT. 

the  deified  object  of  his  homage,  but  a  celebrity, 
purchased  with  their  life-blood  and  their  tears  ! 
I  quit  the  subject  with  a  sense  of  relief: — yet 
one  word  more. 

It  was  after  the  death  of  these  two  amiable 
women,  who  had  deserved  so  much  from  him,  and 
whose  enduring  tenderness  had  flung  round  his 
odious  life  and  character  their  only  redeeming 
charm  of  sentiment  and  interest,  that  the  native 
grossness  and  rancour  of  this  incarnate  spirit  of 
libel  burst  forth  with  tenfold  virulence.*  He 
showed  how  true  had  been  his  love  and  his  re- 
spect for  them,  by  insulting  and  reviling,  in  terms 
a  scavenger  would  disavow,  the  sex  they  belonged 
to.  Swift's  master-passion  was  pride, — an  uncon- 
querable, all-engrossing,  self-revolving  pride :  he 
was  proud  of  his  vigorous  intellect,  proud  of  being 
the  "  dread  and  hate  of  half  mankind," — proud  of 
his  contempt  for  women, — proud  of  his  tremendous 

*  It  was  after  the  death  of  Stella,  that  all  Swift's  coarsest 
satires  were  written.  He  was  in  the  act  of  writing  the  last  and 
most  terrible  of  these,  when  he  was  seized  with  insanity  ;  and  it 
remains  unfinished. 


STELLA    AND.  VANESSA.  '2^3 

powers  of  invective.  It  was  his  boast,  that  he 
never  forgave  an  injury ;  it  was  his  boast,  that 
the  ferocious  and  unsparing  personal  satire  with 
which  he  avenged  himself  on  those  who  offended 
him,  had  never  been  softened  by  the  repentance, 
or  averted  by  the  concessions  of  the  offender. 
Look  at  him  in  his  last  years,  when  the  cold  earth 
was  heaped  over  those  who  would  have  cheered 
and  soothed  his  dark  and  stormy  spirit;  without 
a  friend — deprived  of  the  mighty  powers  he  had 
abused — alternately  a  drivelling  idiot  and  a  fu- 
rious maniac,  and  sinking  from  both  into  a  help- 
less, hopeless,  prostrate  lethargy  of  body  and 
mind-! — Draw, — draw  the  curtain,  in  reverence  to 
the  human  ruin,  lest  our  woman's  hearts  be 
tempted  to  unwomanly  exultation  ! 


VOL.  n. 


274 


CHAPTER   XV. 

POPE    AND    MARTHA    BLOUNT. 

IF  the  soul  of  sensibility,  which  I  believe 
Pope  really  possessed,  had  been  enclosed  in  a 
healthful  frame  and  an  agreeable  person,  we 
might  have  reckoned  him  among  our  preux  cheva- 
liers, and  have  had  sonnets  instead  of  satires. 
But  he  seems  to  have  been  ever  divided  between 
two  contending  feelings.  He  was  peculiarly  sensi- 
ble to  the  charms  of  women,  and  his  habits  as  a 
valetudinarian,  rendered  their  society  and  atten- 
tion not  only  soothing  and  delightful,  but  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  him :  while,  unhappily,  there 
mingled  with  this  real  love  for  them,  and  de- 


LOVKS    OF    POPE.  275 

pendance  on  them  as  a  sex,  the  most  irascible 
self-love ;  and  a  torturing  consciousness  of  that 
feebleness  and  deformity  of  person,  which  em- 
bittered all  his  intercourse  with  them.  He  felt 
that,  in  his  character  of  poet,  he  could,  by  his 
homage,  flatter  their  vanity,  and  excite  their  ad- 
miration and  their  fear ;  but,  at  the  same  time, 
he  was  shivering  under  the  apprehension  that,  as 
a  man,  they  regarded  him  with  contempt ;  and 
that  he  could  never  hope  to  awaken  in  a  female 
bosom  any  feelings  corresponding  with  his  own. 
So  far  he  was  unjust  to  us  and  to  himself:  his 
friend  Lord  Lyttelton,  and  his  enemy  Lord 
Hervey,*  might  have  taught  him  better. 

On    reviewing  Pope's  life,  his   works,  and  his 
correspondence,  it  seems  to  me  that  these  two  op- 

*  Lord  Hervey,  with  an  exterior  the  most  forbidding,  and 
almost  ghastly,  contrived  to  supersede  Pope  in  the  good  graces 
of  Lady  M.  W.  Montagu ;  carried  off  Mary  Lepell,  the  beau- 
tiful maid  of  honour,  from  a  host  of  rivals,  and  made  her  Lady 
Hervey  :  and  won  the  whole  heart  of  the  poor  Princess  Caro- 
line, who  is  said  to  have  died  of  grief  for  his  loss. — See 
IValpole1*  Memoirs  nf  George  II. 
T  2 


276  LOVKS    OF    POPE. 

posite  feelings  contending  in  his  bosom  from  youth 
to  age,  will  account  for  the  general  character  of 
his  poems  with  a  reference  to  our  sex  :  — will  ex- 
plain why  women  bear  so  prominent  a  part  in  all 
his  works,  whether  as  objects  of  poetical  gal- 
lantry, honest  admiration,  or  poignant  satire: 
why  there  is  not  among  all  his  productions  more 
than  one  poem  decidedly  amatory,  (and  that  one 
partly  suppressed  in  the  ordinary  editions  of  his 
works,)  while  women  only  have  furnished  him 
with  the  materials  of  all  his  chef-cTauvres :  his 
Elegy,  his  '  Rape  of  the  Lock,"1  the  '  Epistle  of 
Heloise,1  and  the  second  of  his  Moral  Essays.  He 
may  call  us,  and  prove  us,  in  his  antithetical 
style,  "  a  contradiction  :  "  *  but  we  may  retort ; 
for,  as  far  as  women  are  concerned,  Pope  was 

himself  one  miserable  antithesis. 

***** 

The  "  Elegy  to  the  memory  of  an  unfortunate 
Lady,"  refers  to  a  tragedy  which  occurred  in  Pope^s 
early  life,  and  over  which  he  has  studiously 

*  u  Woman's  at  best  a  contradiction  still." 


UNFORTUNATE    LADY.  277 

drawn  an  impenetrable  veil.  When  his  friend 
Mr.  Caryl  wrote  to  him  on  the  subject,  many 
years  after  the  Elegy  was  published,  Pope,  in  his 
reply,  left  this  part  of  the  letter  unnoticed  ;  and  a 
second  application  was  equally  unsuccessful.  His 
biographers  are  not  better  informed.  Johnson 
remarks  upon  the  Elegy,  that  it  commemorates 
the  "  amorous  fury  of  a  raving  girl,  who  liked 
self-murder  better  than  suspense  ;*  and  having 
given  this  deadly  stroke  with  his  critical  fang,  the 
grim  old  lion  of  literature  stalks  on,  and  "  stays  no 
farther  question.""  But  is  this  merciful,  or  is  it  just  ? 
by  what  right  does  he  sit  in  judgment  on  the  un- 
happy dead,  of  whom  he  knew  nothing  ?  or  how 
could  he  tell  by  what  course  of  suffering,  disease, 
or  tyranny,  a  gentle  spirit  may  have  been  goaded 
to  frenzy  ?  It  was  said,  on  the  authority  of  some 
French  author,  that  she  was  secretly  attached  to 
one  of  the  French  princes :  that,  in  consequence, 
her  uncle  and  guardian  ("  the  mean  deserter  of 
a  brother's  blood,"")  forced  her  into  a  convent, 
where,  in  despair  and  madness,  she  put  an  end  to 
her  existence  ;  and  that  the  lines 


278  LOVES    OF    POPE. 

Why  bade  ye  else,-  ye  powers !  her  soul  aspire 
Above  the  vulgar  flight  of  low  desire  ? 
Ambition  first  sprung  from  your  blest  abodes  ; 
The  glorious  fault  of  angels  and  of  gods, — 

refer  to  this  ambitious  passion.  But  then,  again, 
this  has  been  contradicted.  Warton's  story  is  im- 
probable and  inconsistent  with  the  poem  ;  *  and  the 
assertion  of  another  author,  -f-  that  she  was  in  love  . 
with  Pope,  and  as  deformed  as  himself,  is  most 
unlikely.  "  O  ever  beauteous,  ever  friendly  !"  is 
rather  a  strange  style  of  apostrophising  one  de- 
formed in  person;  and  exposed  to  misery,  and 
driven  to  suicide,  by  a  passion  for  himself.  In 
short,  it  is  all  mystery,  wonder,  and  conjecture. 

Other  women  who  have  been  loved,  celebrated, 
or  satirized  by  Pope,  are  at  least  more  notorious,  if 
not  so  interesting.  His  most  lasting  and  real  attach- 
ment, was  that  which  he  entertained  for  Theresa 
and  Martha  Blount,  who  alternately,  or  with  di- 
vided empire,  reigned  in  his  heart  or  fancy  for  five- 

*  See  Roscoe's  Life  of  Pope,  p.  87.     Warton  says  her  name 
was  Wainsbury,  and  that  she  hung  herself, 
t  Warburton. 


MARTHA    BLOUNT.  279 

and-thirty  years.  They  were  of  an  old  Roman  Ca- 
tholic family  of  Oxfordshire;  and  his  acquaintance 
with  them  appears  to  have  begun  as  early  as  17^7* 
when  he  was  only  nineteen.  Theresa,  the  hand- 
somest and  most  intelligent  of  the  two  sisters,  was 
a  brunette,  with  black  sparkling  eyes.  Martha 
was  short  in  stature,  fair,  with  blue  eyes,  and  a 
softer  expression.  They  appear  to  have  been 
tolerably  amiable,  and  much  attached  to  each 
other :  au  reste,  in  no  way  distinguished,  but  by 
the  flattering  admiration  of  a  celebrated  man,  who  . 
has  immortalised  both. 

The  verses  addressed  to  them,  convey  in  gene- 
ral, either  counsel  or  compliment,  or  at  the  most 
playful  gallantry.  His  letters  express  something 
beyond  these.  He  began  by  admiring  Theresa ; 
then  he  wavered :  there  were  misunderstandings, 
and  petulance,  and  mutual  bickerings.  His  suscep- 
tibility exposed  him  to  be  continually  wounded ;  he 
felt  deeply  and  acutely ;  he  was  conscious  that  he 
could  inspire  no  sentiment  corresponding  with  that 
which  throbbed  at  his  own  heart :  and  some  passages 
in  the  correspondence  cannot  be  read  without  a  pain- 


280  .LOVES    OF    POPE. 

ful  pity.  At  length,  upon  some  mutual  offence,  his 
partiality  for  Theresa  was  transferred  to  Martha. 
In  one  of  his  last  letters  to  Theresa,  he  says, 
beautifully  and  feelingly,  "  We  are  too  apt  to 
resent  things  too  highly,  till  we  come  to  know,  by 
some  great  misfortune  or  other,  how  much  we  are 
born  to  endure;  and  as  for  me,  you  need  not 
suspect  of  resentment  a  soul  which  can  feel  no- 
thing but  grief. " 

His  attachment  to  Martha  increased  after  his 
quarrel  with  Lady  Mary  W.  Montagu,  and 
ended  only  with  his  life. 

"  He  was  never,"  says  Mr.  Bowles,  "  indifferent 
to  female  society  ;  and  though  his  good  sense  pre- 
vented him,  conscious  of  so  many  personal  in- 
firmities, from  marrying,  yet  he  felt  the  want  of 
that  sort  of  reciprocal  tenderness  and  confidence  in 
a  female,  to  whom  he  might  freely  communicate 
his  thoughts,  and  on  whom,  in  sickness  and  in- 
firmity, he  could  rely.  All  this  Martha  Blount 
became  to  him ;  by  degrees,  she  became  identi- 
fied with  his  existence.  She  partook  of  his  dis- 
appointments, his  vexations,  and  his  comforts. 


MARTHA    BLOUNT.  2131 

Wherever  lie  went,  his  correspondence  with  her 
was  never  remitted ;  and  when  the  warmth  of 
gallantry  was  over,  the  cherished  idea  of  kind- 
ness and  regard  remained.1''* 

To  Martha  Blount  is  addressed  the  compliment 
on  her  birth-day— 

O  be  thou  blest  with  all  that  heaven  can  send, — 
Long  health,  long  youth,  long  pleasure,  and  a  friend ! 

And  an  epistle  sent  to  her,  with  the  works  of 
Voiture,  in  which  he  advises  her  against  marriage, 
in  this  elegant  and  well-known  passage, — 

Too  much  your  sex  are  by  their  forms  confin'd, 

Severe  to  all,  but  most  to  womankind  ; 

Custom,  grown  blind  with  age,  must  be  your  guide ; 

Your  pleasure  is  a  vice,  but  not  your  pride. 

By  nature  yielding,  stubborn  but  for  fame, 

Made  slaves  by  honour,  and  made  fools  by  shame. 

Marriage  may  all  those  petty  tyrants  chase, 

But  sets  up  one,  a  greater,  in  their  place  : 

Well  might  you  wish  for  change,  by  those  accurst, 

But  the  last  tyrant  ever  proves  the  worst. 

Still  in  constraint  your  suffering  sex  remains, 

( )r  bound  in  formal  or  in  real  chains  : 

*  Bowles's  edition  of  Pope,  vol.  i.  page  69. 


282  LOVES    OF    POPE. 

Whole  years  neglected,  for  some  months  adored, 

The  fawning  servant  turns  a  haughty  lord. 

Ah,  quit  not  the  free  innocence  of  life 

For  the  dull  glory  of  a  virtuous  wife  ! 

Nor  let  false  shows,  nor  empty  titles  please, — 

Aim  not  at  joy,  but  rest  content  with  ease. 

Very  excellent  advice,  and  very  disinterested, 
considering  whence  it  came,  and  to  whom  it  was 
addressed !  ! 

The  poem  generally  placed  after  this  in  his 
works,  and  entitled  "  Epistle  to  the  same  Lady, 
on  leaving  town  after  the  Coronation,""  was  cer- 
tainly not  addressed  to  Martha,  but  to  Theresa. 
It  appears  from  the  correspondence,  that  Martha 
was  not  at  the  Coronation  in  171^,  ana"  that 
Theresa  was.  The  whole  tenour  of  this  poem 
is  agreeable  to  the  sprightly  person  and  character 
of  Theresa,  while  "  Parthenia's  softer  blush,"  evi- 
dently alludes  to  Martha.  From  an  examination 
of  the  letters  which  were  written  at  this  time,  I 
should  imagine,  that  though  Pope  had  previously 
assured  the  latter  that  she  had  gained  the  con- 
quest over  her  fair  sister,  yet  the  public  appear- 
ance of  Theresa  at  the  Coronation,  and  her 


MARTHA    BLOUNT.  283 

superior  charms,  revived  all  his  tenderness  and 
admiration,  and  suggested  this  gay  and  pleasing 
effusion. 

In  some  fair  evening,  on  your  elbow  laid, 

You  dream  of  triumphs  in  the  rural  shade ; 

In  pensive  thought  recall  the  fancy'd  scene, 

See  coronations  rise  on  every  green. 

Before  you  pass  th'  imaginary  sights 

Of  lords,  and  earls,  and  dukes,  and  garter'd  knights, 

While  the  spread  fan  o'ershades  your  closing  eyes, — 

Then  give  one  flirt,  and  all  the  vision  flies. 

Thus  vanish  sceptres,  coronets,  and  balls, 

And  leave  you  in  lone  woods  or  empty  walls ! 

To  Martha  Blount  is  dedicated  the  "  Epistle 
on  the  Characters  of  Women ;""  which  concludes 
with  this  elegant  and  flattering  address  to  her. 

O  !  blest  with  temper,  whose  unclouded  ray 
Can  make  to-morrow  cheerful  as  to-day ; 
She  who  can  love  a  sister's  charms,  or  hear 
Sighs  for  a  daughter  with  unwounded  ear ; 
She  who  ne'er  answers  till  a  husband  cools, 
Or  if  she  rules  him,  never  shows  she  rules  : 
Charms  by  accepting,  by  submitting  sways, 
Yet  has  her  humour  most  when  she  obeys; 


284  LOVES    OF    POPE. 

Let  fops  or  fortune  fly  which  w;iy  they  will, 
Disdains  all  loss  of  tickets  or  codille  ; 
Spleen,  vapours,  or  small-pox,  above  them  all, 
And  mistress  of  herself  though  China  fall. 

The  allusion  to  her  affection  for  her  sister, 
is  just  and  beautiful;  but  the  compliment  to 
her  temper  is  understood  not  to  have  been 
quite  merited  —  perhaps,  was  rather  adminis- 
tered as  a  corrective;  for  Martha  was  weak  and 
captious ;  and  Pope,  who  had  suffered  what  tor- 
ments a  female  wit  could  inflict,  possibly  found 
that  peevishness  and  folly  have  also  their  desa- 
grcmens.  He  complains  frequently,  in  his  letters 
to  Martha,  of  the  difficulty  of  pleasing  her,  or 
understanding  her  wishes.  Methinks,  had  I  been 
a  poet,  or  Pope,  I  would  rather  have  been  led 
about  in  triumph  by  the  spirited,  accomplished 
Lady  Mary,  than  "  chained  to  the  footstool  of 
two  paltry  girla." 

They  used  to  employ  him  constantly  in  the 
most  trifling  and  troublesome  commissions,  in 
which  he  had  seldom  even  the  satisfaction  of 
contenting  them.  He  was  accustomed  to  send 


MARTHA    BLOUNT.  285 

them  little  presents  almost  daily,  as  concert- 
tickets,  ribbons,  fruit,  &c.  He  once  sent  them 
a  basket  of  peaches,  which,  with  an  affectation 
of  careless  gallantry,  Avere  separately  wrapped  in 
part  of  the  manuscript  translation  of  the  Iliad  : 
and  he  humbly  requests  them  to  return  the  wrap- 
pers, as  he  had  no  other  copy.  On  another 
occasion  he  sent  them  fans,  on  which  were  in- 
scribed his  famous  lines, 

"  Come,  gentle  air,"  th'  Eolian  shepherd  said,  &c. 

Martha  Blount  was  not  so  kind  or  so  attentive 
to  Pope  in  his  last  illness  as  she  ought  to  have 
been.  His  love  for  her  seemed  blended  with  his 
frail  existence  ;  and  when  he  was  scarcely  sensible 
to  any  thing  else  in  the  world,  he  wa»  still  con- 
scious of  the  charm  of  her  presence.  "  When 
she  came  into  the  room,"  says  Spence,  "  it  was 
enough  to  give  a  new  turn  to  his  spirits,  and  a 
temporary  strength  to  him." 

She  survived  him  eighteen  years,  and  died  un- 
married at  her  house  in  Berkeley  Square,  in  1762. 
She  is  described,  about  that  time,  as  a  little,  fair, 


286  LOVES    OF   POPE. 

prim  old  woman,  very  lively,  and  inclined  to 
gossip.  Her  undefined  connexion  with  Pope, 
though  it  afforded  matter  for  mirth  and  wonder, 
never  affected  her  reputation  while  living ;  and 
has  rendered  her  name  as  immortal  as  our  lan- 
guage and  our  literature.  One  cannot  help  wish- 
ing that  she  had  been  more  interesting,  and  more 
worthy  of  her  fame. 


287 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

POPE    AND    LADY    M.    W.    MONTAGU. 

IN  the  same  year  with  Martha  Blount,  and 
about  the  same  age,  died  Lady  Mary  W.  Mon- 
tagu. Every  body  knows  that  she  was  one  of 
Pope's  early  loves.  She  had,  for  several  years, 
suspended  his  attachment  to  his  first  favourites, 
the  Blounts;  and  she  really  deserved  the  pre- 
ference. But  the  issue  of  this  romantic  attach- 
ment was  the  most  bitter,  the  most  irreconcilable 
enmity.  The  cause  did  not  proceed  so  much  from 
any  one  particular  offence  on  either  side,  but  ra- 
ther from  a  multitude  of  trifling  causes,  arising 
naturally  out  of  the  characters  of  both. 


288  LOVES    OF    POPE.  « 

When  they  first  met,  Pope  was  about  six- 
and-twenty ;  and  from  the  recent  publication  of 
the  '  Rape  of  the  Lock,1  and  '  The  Temple  of 
Fame,1  &c.  had  reached  the  pinnacle  of  fashion 
and  reputation.  Lady  Mary  was  in  her  twenty- 
third  year,  lately  married  to  a  man  she  loved, 
and  had  just  burst  upon  the  world  in  all  the 
blaze  of  her  wit  and  beauty.  Her  masculine  ac- 
quirements and  powers  of  mind — her  strong  good 
sense — her  extensive  views — her  frankness,  deci- 
sion, and  generosity — her  vivacity,  and  her  bright 
eyes,  must  altogether  have  rendered  her  one  of 
the  most  fascinating,  as  she  really  was  one  of  the 
most  extraordinary,  women  that  ever  lived. 

There  stands,  in  a  conspicuous  part  of  this  great 
city,  a  certain  monument,  erected,  it  is  said,  at  the 
cost  of  the  ladies  of  Britain ;  but  in  a  spirit  and 
taste  which,  I  trust,  are  not  those  of  my  country- 
women at  large.  Is  this  our  patriotism  ?  We 
may  applaud  the  brave,  who  go  forth  to  battle 
to  defend  us,  and  preserve  inviolate  the  sanctity 
of  our  hearths  and  homes ;  but  does  it  become 
us  to  lend  our  voice  to  exult  in  victory,  always 


LADY    M.  W.    MONTAGU.  289 

bought  at  the  expense  of  suffering,  and  aggravate 
the  din  and  the  clamour  of  war — we,  who  ought 
to  be  the  peace-makers  of  the  world,  and  plead 
for  man  against  his  own  fierce  passions  ?  A  huge 
brazen  image  stands  up,  an  impudent  (false)  wit- 
ness of  our  martial  enthusiasm ;  but  who  amongst 
us  has  thought  of  raising  a  public  statue  to  Lady 
Wortley  Montagu  !  to  her  who  has  almost  ba- 
nished from  tne  world  that  pest  which  once  ex- 
tinguished families  and  desolated  provinces  ?  To 
her  true  patriotic  spirit, — to  her  magnanimity, 
her  generous  perseverance,  in  surmounting  all 
obstacles  raised  by  the  outcry  of  ignorance,  and 
the  obstinacy  of  prejudice,  we  owe  the  introduc- 
tion of  inoculation  ; — she  ought  to  stand  in  mar- 
ble beside  Howard  the  good.* 

*  In  Litchfield  Cathedral  stands  the  only  memorial  ever 
raised,  by  public  or  private  gratitude,  to  Lady  Mary;  it  is 
a  cenotaph,  with  Beauty  weeping  the  loss  of  her  preserver, 
and  an  inscription,  of  which  the  following  words  form  the  con- 
clusion : — "  To  perpetuate  the  memory  of  such  benevolence, 
and  to  express  her  gratitude  for  the  benefit  she  herself  received 

VOL.    II.  U 


290  LOVES    OF    POPE. 

I  should  imagine  that  a  strong  impression  must 
have  been  made  on  Lady  Mary's  mind,  by  an 
incident  which  occurred  just  at  the  time  she  left 
England  for  Constantinople.  Lord  Petre, — he 
who  is  consecrated  to  fame  in  the  Rape  of  the 
Lock,  as  the  ravisher  of  Arabella  Fermour's  hair, 
— died  of  the  small-pox  at  the  age  of  three-and- 
twenty,  just  after  his  marriage  with  a  young  and 
beautiful  heiress;  his  death  caused  a  general 
sympathy,  and  added  to  the  dread  and  horror 
which  was  inspired  by  this  terrible  disease : 
eighteen  persons  of  his  family  had  died  of  it 
within  twenty-seven  years.  In  those  days  it  was 
not  even  allowable  to  mention,  or  allude  to  it  in 
company. 

Mr.  Wortley  was  appointed  to  the  Turkish 
embassy  in  1716,  and  his  wife  accompanied  him. 

from  this  alleviating  art,  this  monument  is  erected  by  Henrietta 
Inge,  relict  of  Theodore  William  Inge,  and  daughter  of  Sir 
John  Wrottesley,  Bart,  in  1789."  One  would  like  to  have 
known  the  woman  who  raised  this  monument. 


LADY    M.  W.    MONTAGU.  291 

The  letters  which  passed  between  her  and  Pope, 
during  her  absence,  are  well  known.  In  point  of 
style  and  liveliness,  the  superiority  is  on  the  lady's 
side ;  but  the  tone  of  feeling  in  Pope  is  better, 
more  earnest;  his  language  is  not  always  within 
the  bounds  of  that  sprightly  gallantry  with  which 
a  man  naturally  addresses  a  young,  beautiful,  and 
virtuous  woman,  who  had  condescended  to  allow 
his  homage.  * 

In  one  of  his  letters,  written  immediately  after 
her  departure,  he  asks  her  how  he  had  looked  ? 
how  he  had  behaved  at  the  last  moment  ?  whe- 
ther he  had  betrayed  any  deeper  feeling  than 
propriety  might  warrant  ?  "  For  if,"  he  says, 
"  my  parting  looked  like  that  of  a  common  ac- 
quaintance, I  am  the  greatest  of  all  hypocrites 
that  ever  decency  made."  And  in  a  subsequent 

*  "  You  shall  see  (said  Lady  Mary  referring  to  these 
letters)  what  a  goddess  he  made  of  me  in  some  of  them,  thougli 
he  makes  such  a  devil  of  me  in  his  writings  afterwards,  withouf 
any  reason  that  I  know  of." — Spencf. 

u  2 


292  LOVES    OF    POPE.        - 

letter  he  says,  very  feelingly  and  significantly, 
"  May  that  person  (her  husband)  for  whom  you 
have  left  the  world,  be  so  just  as  to  prefer  you 
to  all  the  world.  I  believe  his  good  sense  leads 
him  to  do  so  now,  as  gratitude  will  hereafter. 
May  you  continue  to  think  him  worthy  of  what- 
ever you  have  done !  may  you  ever  look  upon 
him  with  the  eyes  of  a  first  lover,  nay,  if  possible, 
with  all  the  unreasonable  happy  fondness  of  an 
unexperienced  one,  surrounded  with  all  the  en- 
chantments and  ideas  of  romance  and  poetry  !  I 
wish  this  from  my  heart ;  and  while  I  examine 
what  passes  there  in  regard  to  you,  I  cannot  but 
glory  in  my  own  heart,  that  it  is  capable  of  so 
much  generosity." 

This  was  sufficiently  clear.  I  need  scarcely  re- 
mark en  passant,  that  Pope's  generosity  and  wishes 
were  all  en  pure  perte;  his  spitefulness  must  have 
been  gratified  by  the  sequel  of  Lady  Mary's  do- 
mestic bliss;  her  marriage  ended  in  disgust  and 
aversion ;  which,  on  her  separation  from  Mr. 


LADY     M.    W.    MONTAGU.  293 

Wortley,   subsided  into  a  good-humoured  indif- 
ference. * 

After  a  union  of  twenty-seven  years,  she 
parted  from  him  and  went  to  reside  abroad. 
There  were  errors  on  both  sides;  but  I  am  obliged 
to  admit  that  Lady  Mary,  with  all  her  fine  qua- 
lities, had  two  faults, — intolerable  and  unpardon- 
able faults  in  the  eyes  of  a  husband  or  a  lover. 
She  wanted  softness  of  mind,  and  refinement  of 
feeling,  in  the  first  place :  and  she  wanted — how 
shall  I  express  it  ? — she  wanted  neatness  and 
personal  delicacy ;  and  was,  in  short,  that  odious 
thing,  a  female  sloven,  as  well  as  that  dangerous 
thing,  a  female  wit. 

In  those  days  the  style  of  dress  was  the  most 
hideous  imaginable.  The  women  wore  a  large 
quantity  of  artificial  hair,  in  emulation  of  the 
tremendous  periwigs  of  the  men  ;  and  Pope,  in 

*  I  remember  seeing,  I  think,  in  one  of  D'Israeli's  works  a 
fragment  of  some  lines  which  Lady  Mary  wrote  on  her  hus- 
band, and  which  expressed  the  utmost  bitterness  of  female 
scorn. 


294  LOVES  OF  POPE. 

one  of  his  letters  to  Lady  Mary,  mentions  her 
"  full  bottomed  wig,"  which,  he  says,  I  did  but 
assert  to  be  a  bob"  and  was  answered,  "  Love 
is  blind  !"  On  her  return  from  Turkey,  she  some- 
times allowed  her  own  fine  dark  hair  to  flow  loose, 
and  was  fond  of  dressing  in  her  Turkish  costume. 
In  this  she  was  imitated  by  several  beautiful 
women  of  the  day,  and  particularly  by  her  lovely 
contemporary,  Lady  Fanny  Shirley,  (Chesterfield's 
"  Fanny,  blooming  fair :"  he  seems  to  have  ad- 
mired her  as  much  as  he  could  possibly  admire 
any  thing,  next  to  himself  and  the  Graces.)  In 
her  picture  at  Clarendon  Park,  she  too  appears 
in  the  habit  of  Fatima.  Apropos*  to  the  loves 
of  the  poets,  Lady  Fanny  deserves  to  be  men- 
tioned as  the  theme  of  all  the  rhymesters,  .and 
"  the  joy,  the  wish,  the  wonder,  the  despair,"  of 
all  the  beaux  of  her  day.  * 

*  See,  in  Pope's  Miscellanies,  the  sprightly  stanzas,  beginning 
"  Yes,  I'  beheld  th'  Athenian  Queen."  They  are  addressecUo 
Lady  Fanny,  who  had  presented  the  poet  with  a  standish,  and 
two  pens,  one  of  steel  and  one  of  gold.  She  was  the  fourth 


LADY    M.  W.    MONTAGU. 

But  it  is  time  to  return  to  Pope.  The  epistle  of 
Heloise  to  Abelard  was  published  during  Lady 
Mary's  absence,  and  sent  to  her :  and  it  is  clear 
from  a  passage  in  one  of  his  letters,  that  he  wished 
her  to  consider  the  last  lines, — from 

And  sure,  if  fate  some  future  bard  shall  join, 
down  to 

He  best  can  paint  them,  who  can  feel  them  most, 

as  applicable  to  himself  and  to  his  feelings  towards 
her. 

And  yet,  whatever  might  have  been  his  devo- 
tion to  Lady  Mary  before  she  went  abroad,  it  was 
increased  tenfold  after  her  memorable  travels.  At 
present,  when  ladies  of  fashion  make  excursions 
of  pleasure  to  the  pyramids  of  Egypt  and  the 
ruins  of  Babylon,  a  journey  to  Constantinople  is 
little  more  than  a  trip  to  Rome  or  Vienna ;  but 
in  the  last  age  it  was  a  prodigious  and  marvellous 

daughter  of  Earl  Ferrers.  After  numbering  more  adorers  in 
her  train  than  any  beauty  of  her  time,  ?he  died  unmarried, 
in  1778. — Collins'  Peerage,  ly  Brydges. 


296  LOVES    OF    POPE. 

undertaking ;  and  Lady  Mary,  on  her  return,  was 
gazed  upon  as  an  object  of  wonder  and  curiosity, 
and  sought  as  the  most  entertaining  person  in  the 
world :  her  sprightliness  and  her  beauty,  her 
oriental  stories  and  her  Turkish  costume,  were  the 
rage  of  the  day.  With  Pope,  she  was  on  the  most 
friendly  terms : — by  his  interference  and  nego- 
ciation,  a  house  was  procured  for  her  and  Mr. 
Wortley,  at  Twickenham,  so  that  their  intercourse 
was  almost  constant.  When  he  finished  his  transla- 
tion of  the  Iliad,  in  1720,  Gay  wrote  him  a  com- 
plimentary poem,  in  which  he  enumerates  the 
host  of  friends  who  welcomed  the  poet  home  from 
Greece ;  and  among  them,  Lady  Mary  stands 
conspicuous. 

What  lady's  that  to  whom  he  gently  bends  ? 

Who  knows  not  her !  Ah,  those  are  Wortley's  eyes  ; 
How  art  thou  honoured,  numbered  with  her  friends, — 

For  she  distinguishes  the  good  and  wise  ! 

To  this  period  we  may  also  refer  the  composition 
of  the  Stanzas  to  Lady  Mary,  which  begin,  "  In 


LADY    M.    W-    MONTAGU.  297 

beauty  and  wit."*  The  measure  is  trivial  and  dis- 
agreeable, but  the  compliments  are  very  sprightly 
and  pointed. 

She  sat  to  Kneller  for  him  in  her  Turkish  dress ; 
and  we  have  the  following  note  from  him  on  the 
subject,  which  shows  how  much  he  felt  rhe  con- 
descension. 

"  The  picture  dwells  really  at  my  heart,  and  I 
have  made  a  perfect  passion  of  preferring  your 
present  face  to  your  past.  I  know  and  thoroughly 
esteem  yourself  of  this  year.  I  know  no  more 
of  Lady  Mary  Pierrepoint  than  to  admire  at 
what  I  have  heard  of  her,  or  be  pleased  with 
some  fragments  of  hers,  as  I  am  with  Sappho's. 
But  now — I  cannot  say  what  I  would  say  of 
you  now.  Only  still  give  me  cause  to  say  you 

*  In  beauty  and  wit, 
No  mortal  as  yet, 

To  question  your  empire  has  dared ; 
But  men  of  discerning 
Have  thought  that,  in  learning, 

To  yield  to  a  lady  was  hard. 


298  LOVES  OF  POPE. 

are  good  to  me,  and  allow  me  as  much  of  your 
person   as   Sir  Godfrey  can  help  me  to.     Upon 
conferring  with  him   yesterday,   I  find  he  thinks 
it    absolutely  necessary  to   draw  your  face  first, 
which,  he  says,  can  never  be  set  right  on  your 
figure,   if  the   drapery   and   posture  be   finished 
before.     To  give  you  as  little  trouble  as  possible, 
he  purposes  to  draw  your  face  with  crayons,  and 
finish   it  up  at  your  own  house  of  a  morning ; 
from  whence  he  will  transfer  it  to  canvass,  so  that 
you  need  not  go  to   sit   at    his    house.     This,   I 
must  observe,  is  a  manner  they  seldom  draw  any 
but  crowned  heads,  and  I  observe  it  with  a  secret 
pride  and  pleasure.     Be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  if 
you  care,  he  should  do  this  to-morrow  at  twelve. 
Though,  if  I  am  but  assured   from  you  of  the 
thing,    let    the   manner    and    time  be   what   you 
best  like ;   let  every   decorum  you  please  be  ob- 
served.    I    should  be  very   unworthy  of  any  fa- 
vour from    your  hands,   if  I  desired   any  at  the 
expense   of    your    quiet   or    conveniency    in    any 
degree." 


LADY    M.    W.    MONTAGU.  299 

He   was  charmed   with   the  picture,  and  com- 
posed an  extemporary  compliment,  beginning 

The  playful  smiles  around  the  dimpled  mouth, 
That  happy  air  of  majesty  and  truth  ;  &c. 

which,  considering  that  they  are  PopeX  are 
strangely  defective  in  rhyme,  in  sense,  and  in 
grammar.  In  a  far  different  strain  are  the  beau- 
tiful lines  addressed  to  Gay,  during  Lady  Mary's 
absence  from  Twickenham,  and  which  he  after- 
wards endeavoured  to  suppress.  They  are  cu- 
rious on  this  account,  as  well  as  for  being  the 
solitary  example  of  amatory  verse  contained  in  his 
works. 

Ah  friend  !  'tis  true, — this  truth  you  lovers  know, 
In  vain  my  structures  rise,  my  gardens  grow  ; 
In  vain  fair  Thames  reflects  the  double  scenes, 
Of  hanging  mountains,  and  of  sloping  greens  ; 
Joy  lives  not  here,  to  happier  seats  it  flies, 
And  only  dwells  where  Wortley  casts  her  eyes. 

What  are  the  gay  parterre,  the  chequer'd  shade, 
The  morning  bower,  the  evening  colonnade, 


300  LOVES    OF   POPE. 

But  soft  recesses  of  uneasy  minds, 
To  sigh  unheard  in  to  the  passing  winds  ? 
So  the  struck  deer,  in  some  sequester'd  part, 
Lies  down  to  die,  the  arrow  at  his  heart; 
There,  stretch'd  unseen  in  coverts  hid  from  day, 
Bleeds  drop  by  drop,  and  pants  his  life  away. 

These  sweet  and  musical  lines,  which  fall  on 
the  ear  with  such  a  lulling  harmony,  are  dashed 
with  discord  when  we  remember  that  the  same 
woman  who  inspired  them,  was  afterwards  malig- 
nantly and  coarsely  designated  as  the  Sappho  of 
his  satires.  The  generous  heart  never  coolly 
degraded  and  insulted  what  it  has  once  loved; 
but  Pope  could  not  be  magnanimous, — it  was  not 
in  his  spiteful  nature  to  forgive.  He  says  of 
himself, 

Whoe'er  offends,  at  some  unlucky  time 
Slides  into  verse,  and  hitches  in  a  rhyme.* 

*  "  I  have  often  wondered,''  says  the  gentle-spirited  Cowper, 
"  that  the  same  poet  who  wrote  the  Dunciad  should  have 
written  these  lines, — 


LADY    M.    W.    MONTAGU.  301 

One  of  Pope's  biographers*  seems  to  insinuate, 
that  he  had  been  led  on,  by  the  lady^s  coquetry, 
to  presume  too  far,  and  in  consequence  received  a 
repulse,  which  he  never  forgave.  This  is  not 
probable :  Pope  was  not  likely  to  be  so  desperate 
or  dangerous  an  admirer ;  nor  was  Lady  Mary, 
who  had  written  with  her  diamond  ring  on  a 
window, 

Let  this  great  maxim  be  my  virtue's  guide  : 
In  part,  she  is  to  blame  that  has  been  tried, — 
He  comes  too  near,  that  comes  to  be  denied  ! — 

at  all  likely  to  expose  herself  to  such  ridiculous 
audacity.  The  truth  is,  I  rather  imagine,  that 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  vanity  on  both  sides ; 
that  the  lady  was  amused  and  flattered,  and  the 
poet  bewitched  and  in  earnest:  that  she  gave  the 
first  offence  by  some  pointed  sarcasm  or  personal 

That  mercy  I  to  others  show, 
That  mercy  show  to  me ! 

Alas !  for  1'ope,  if  the  mercy  he  showed  to  others,  was  the 
measure  of  the  mercy  he  received  !" — Cowper's  Letters,  vol.  iii. 
p.  195. 

•  Mr.  Bowles. 


302  LOVES    OF    POPE. 

ridicule,  in  which  she  was  an  adept,  and  that 
Pope,  gradually  awakened  from  his  dream  of 
adoration,  was  stung  to  the  quick  by  her  laugh- 
ing scorn,  and  mortified  and  irritated  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  wasted  attachment.  He  makes 
this  confession  with  extreme  bitterness, — 

Yet  soft  by  nature,  more  a  dupe  than  wit, 
Sappho  can  tell  you  how  this  man  was  bit. 

Prologue  io  the  Satires. 

The  lines  as  they  stand  in  a  first  edition  are 
even  more  pointed  and  significant,  and  have  much 
more  asperity. 

Once,  and  but  once,  his  heedless  youth  was  bit, 

And  liked  that  dangerous  thing,  a  female  wit. 

Safe  as  he  thought,  though  all  the  prudent  chid, 

He  wrote  no  libels,  but  my  lady  did  ; 

Great  odds  in  amorous  or  poetic  game, 

Where  woman's  is  the  sin,  and  man's  the  shame  ! 

The  result  was  a  deadly  and  interminable  feud. 
Lady  Mary  might  possibly  have  inflicted  the  first 
private  offence,  but  Pope  gave  the  first  public 
affront.  A  man  who,  under  such  circumstances, 


LADY    M.    W.    MONTAGU.  303 

could  grossly  satiri/e  a  female,  would,  in  a  less 
civilized  state  of  society,  have  revenged  himself 
with  a  blow.  The  brutality  and  cowardice  were 
the  same. 

The  war  of  words  did  not,  however,  proceed  at 
once  to  such  extremity;  the  first  indication  of 
Pope's  revolt  from  his  sworn  allegiance,  and  a 
conscious  hint  of  the  secret  cause,  may  be  found  in 
some  lines  addressed  to  a  lady  poetess,*  to  whom 
he  pays  a  compliment  at  Lady  Mary's  expense. 

Though  sprightly  Sappho  force  our  love  and  praise, 

A  softer  wonder  my  pleased  soul  surveys, — 

The  mild  Eriuna  blushing  in  her  bays  ; 

So  while  the  sun's  broad  beam  yet  strikes  the  sight, 

All  mild  appears  the  moon's  more  sober  light. 

Serene  in  virgin  majesty  she  shines, 

And  unobserved,  the  glaring  orb  declines. 

Soon  after  appeared  that  ribald  and  ruffian- 
like  attack  on  her  in  the  satires.  She  sent  Lord 
Peterborough  to  remonstrate  with  Pope,  to  whom 
he  denied  the  intended  application;  and  his 

•  Erinna  :  her  real  name  is  not  known.  But  she  was  a  friend 
of  Lady  Suffolk,  who  wrote  bad  verses,  and  submitted  them 
to  Pope  for  correction. 


304  LOVKS    OF    POPE. 

disavowal  is  a  proved  falsehood.  Lady  Mary, 
exasperated,  forgot  her  good  sense  and  her  fe- 
minine dignity,  and  made  common  cause  with 
Lord  Hervey  (the  Lord  Fanny  and  the  Sporus 
of  the  Satires.)  They  concocted  an  attack  in 
verse,  addressed  to  the  imitator  of  Horace ;  but 
nothing  could  be  more  unequal  than  such  a 
warfare.  Pope,  in  return,  grasped  the  blasting 
and  vollied  lightnings  of  his  wit,  and  would 
have  annihilated  both  his  adversaries,  if  more  than 
half  a  grain  of  truth  had  been  on  his  side.  But 
posterity  has  been  just :  in  his  anger,  he  over- 
charged his  weapon,  it  recoiled,  and  the  engineer 
has  been  "  hoisted  by  his  own  petard." 

Lady  Mary's  personal  negligence  afforded 
grounds  for  Pope's  coarse  and  severe  allusions  to 
the  "  colour  of  her  linen,  Sec.""  His  asperity,  how- 
ever, did  not  reform  her  in  this  respect :  it  was  a 
fault  which  increased  with  age  and  foreign  habits. 
Horace  Walpole,  who  met  her  at  Florence  twenty 
years  afterwards,  draws  a  hateful  and  disgusting 
picture  of  her,  as  "  old,  dirty,  tawdry,  painted," 
and  flirting  and  gambling  with  all  the  young  men 


LADY    M.    W.    MONTAGU.  305 

in  the  place.  But  Walpole  is  terribly  satirical ; 
he  had  a  personal  dislike  to  Lady  Mary  Wortley, 
whom  he  coarsely  designates  as  Moll  Worthless, — 
arid  his  description  is  certainly  overcharged.  How 
differently  the  same  characters  will  strike  diffe- 
rent people  !  Spence,  who  also  met  Lady  Mary 
abroad,  about  that  time,  thus  writes  to  his  mo- 
ther :  "  I  always  desired  to  be  acquainted  with 
Lady  Mary,  and  could  never  bring  it  about, 
though  we  were  so  often  together  in  London. 
Soon  after  we  came  to  this  place,  her  ladyship 
came  here,  and  in  five  days  I  was  well  acquainted 
with  her.  She  is  one  of  the  most  shining  charac- 
ters in  the  world, — but  shines  like  a  comet :  she  is 
all  irregularity,  and  always  wandering:  the  most 
wise,  most  imprudent,  loveliest,  most  disagree- 
able, best-natured,  cruellest  woman  in  the  world  !" 
Walpole  could  see  nothing  but  her  dirt  and  her 
paint.  Those  who  recollect  his  coarse  description, 
and  do  not  remember  her  letters  to  her  daughter, 
written  from  Italy  about  the  same  time,  would 
do  well  to  refer  to  them  as  a  corrective:  it  is 

VOL.    II.  X 


306  LOVES   OF    POPE. 

always  so  easy  to  be  satirical  and  ill-natured, 
and  sometimes  so  difficult  to  be  just  and  merciful ! 
The  cold  scornful  levity  with  which  she  treated 
certain  topics,  is  mingled  with  touches  of  ten- 
derness and  profound  thought,  which  show  her  to 
have  been  a  disappointed,  not  a  heartless  woman. 
The  extreme  care  with  which  she  cultivated  plea- 
surable feelings  and  ideas,  and  shrunk  from  all 
disagreeable  impressions ;  her  determination  never 
to  view  her  own  face  in  a  glass,  after  the  approach 
of  age,  or  to  pronounce  the  name  of  her  mad,  pro- 
fligate son,  may  be  referred  to  a  cause  very  differ- 
ent from  either  selfishness  or  vanity :  but  I  think 
the  principle  was  mistaken.  While  she  was  amus- 
ing herself  with  her  silk-worms  and  her  orangerie 
at  Como,  her  husband  Wortley,  with  whom  she 
kept  up  a  constant  correspondence,  was  hoarding 
money  and  drinking  tokay  to  keep  himself  alive. 
He  died,  however,  in  1761  ;  and  that  he  was  con- 
nected with  the  motives,  whatever  those  were, 
which  induced  Lady  Mary  to  reside  abroad,  is 
proved  by  the  fact,  that  the  moment  she  heard  of 
his  death  she  prepared  to  return  to  England,  and 


LADY    M.    VV.    MONTAGU.  307 

she  reached  London  in  January  1762.  "  Lady 
Mary  is  arrived,"  says  Walpole,  writing  to  George 
Montagu.  "  I  have  seen  her.  I  think  her  ava- 
rice, her  dirt,  and  her  vivacity,  are  all  increased. 
Her  dress,  like  her  language,  is  a  galimatias  of 
several  countries.  She  needs  no  cap,  no  handker- 
chief, no  gown,  no  petticoat,  no  shoes ;  an  old 
black-laced  hood  represents  the  first ;  the  fur  of  a 
horseman's  coat,  which  replaces  the  third,  serves 
for  the  second ;  a  dimity  petticoat  is  deputy,  and 
officiates  for  the  fourth;  and  slippers  act  the  part 
of  the  last."  About  six  months  after  her  arrival 
she  died  in  the  arms  of  her  daughter,  the  Countess 
of  Bute,  of  a  cruel  and  shocking  disease,  the  ago- 
nies of  which  she  had  borne  with  heroism  rather 
than  resignation  The  present  Marquess  of  Bute, 
and  the  present  Lord  Wharncliffe,  are  the  great- 
grandsons  of  this  distinguished  woman :  the  lat- 
ter is  the  representative  of  the  Wortley  family. 


x  2 


308 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

POETICAL    OLD    BACHELORS. 

THERE  is  a  certain  class  of  poets,  not  a  very 
numerous  one,  whom  I  would  call  poetical  old 
bachelors.  They  are  such  as  enjoy  a  certain 
degree  of  fame  and  popularity  themselves,  without 
sharing  their  celebrity  with  any  fair  piece  of 
excellence ;  but  walk  each  on  his  solitary  path  to 
glory,  wearing  their  lonely  honours  with  more 
dignity  than  grace :  for  instance,  Corneille,  Ra- 
cine, Boileau,  the  classical  names  of  French  poetry, 
were  all  poetical  old  bachelors.  Racine — le  tendre 
Racine — as  he  is  called  par  excellence,  is  said  never 
to  have  been  in  love  in  his  life  ;  nor  has  he  left  us 


GRAY.  309 

a  single  verse  in  which  any  of  his  personal  feelings 
can  be  traced.  He  was,  however,  the  kind  and 
faithful  husband  of  a  cold,  bigoted  woman,  who 
was  persuaded,  and  at  length  persuaded  him,  that 
he  would  be  grille  in  the  other  world,  for  writing 
heathen  tragedies  in  this ;  and  made  it  her  boast 
that  she  had  never  read  a  single  line  of  her  hus- 
band's works  !  Peace  be  with  her  ! 

And  O,  let  her  by  whom  the  muse  was  scorn'd, 
Alive  nor  dead,  be  of  the  muse  adorn 'd  ! 

Our  own  Gray  was  in  every  sense,  real  and 
poetical,  a  cold  fastidious  old  bachelor,  who 
buried  himself  in  the  recesses  of  his  college ;  at 
once  shy  and  proud,  sensitive  and  selfish.  I  can- 
not, on  looking  through  his  memoirs,  letters,  and 
poems,  discover  the  slightest  trace  of  passion,  or 
one  proof  or  even  indication  that  he  was  ever 
under  the  influence  of  woman.  He  loved  his 
mother,  and  was  dutiful  to  two  tiresome  old 
aunts,  who  thought  poetry  one  of  the  seven  dead- 
ly sins — et  voild  tout.  He  spent  his  life  in  amass- 
ing an  inconceivable  quantity  of  knowledge, 


310  POETICAL    OLD    BACHELORS. 

which  lay  as  buried  and  useless  as  a  miser's 
treasure ;  but  with  this  difference,  that  when  the 
miser  dies,  his  wealth  flows  forth  into  its  natural 
channels,  and  enriches  others ;  Gray's  learning  was 
entombed  with  him:  his  genius  survives  in  his 
elegy  and  his  odes ; — what  became  of  his  heart 
I  know  not.  He  is  generally  supposed  to  have 
possessed  one,  though  none  can  guess  what  he  did 
with  it : — he  might  well  moralise  on  his  bachelor- 
ship, and  call  himself  "  a  solitary  fly,"- 

Thy  joys  no  glittering  female  meets, 
No  hive  hast  thou  of  hoarded  sweets, 
No  painted  plumage  to  display  ! 

Collins  was  never  a  lover,  and  never  married. 
His  odes,  with  all  their  exquisite  fancy  and  splen- 
did imagery,  have  not  much  interest  in  their 
subjects,  and  no  pathos  derived  from  feeling  or 
passion.  He  is  reported  to  have  been  once  in 
love ;  and  as  the  lady  was  a  day  older  than  him- 
self, he  used  to  say  jestingly,  that  "  he  came 
into  the  world  a  day  after  the  fair?  He  was  not 


GOLDSMITH — SHENSTONK.  311 

deeply  smitten ;  and  though  he  led  in  his  early 
years  a  dissipated  life,  his  heart  never  seems  to 
have  been  really  touched.  He  wrote  an  Ode  on 
the  Passions,  in  which,  after  dwelling  on  Hope, 
Fear,  Anger,  Despair,  Pity,  and  describing  them 
with  many  picturesque  circumstances,  he  dismisses 
Love  with  a  couple  of  lines,  as  dancing  to  the 
sound  of  the  sprightly  viol,  and  forming  with 
joy  the  light  fantastic  round.  Such  was  Collinses 
idea  of  love ! 

To  these  we  may  add  Goldsmith.  Of  his  loves 
we  know  nothing  ;  they  were  probably  the  reverse 
of  poetical,  and  may  have  had  some  influence  on 
his  purse  and  respectability,  but  none  on  his 
literary  character  and  productions.  He  also  died 
unmarried. 

Shenstone,  if  he  was  not  a  poetical  old  bachelor, 
was  little  better  than  a  poetical  dangler.  He  was 
not  formed  to  captivate :  his  person  was  clumsy, 
his  manners  disagreeable,  and  his  temper  feeble 
and  vacillating.  The  Delia  who  is  introduced 
into  his  elegies,  and  the  Phillis  of  his  pastoral 


312  POETICAL    OLD    BACHELORS. 

ballad,  was  Charlotte  Graves,  sister  to  the  Graves 
who  wrote  the  Spiritual  Quixotte.  There  was 
nothing  warm  or  earnest  in  his  admiration,  and 
all  his  gallantry  is  as  vapid  as  his  character.  He 
never  gave  the  lady  who  was  supposed,  and 
supposed  herself,  to  be  the  object  of  his  serious 
pursuit,  an  opportunity  of  accepting  or  rejecting 
him  ;  and  his  conduct  has  been  blamed  as  ambi- 
guous and  unmanly.  His  querulous  declamations 
against  women  in  general,  had  neither  cause  nor 
excuse ;  and  his  complaints  of  infidelity  and 
coldness  are  equally  without  foundation.  He  died 
unmarried. 

When  we  look  at  a  picture  of  Thomson,  we 
wonder  how  a  man  with  that  heavy,  pampered 
countenance,  and  awkward  mien,  could  ever  have 
written  the  "  Seasons,"  or  have  been  in  love.  I 
think  it  is  Barry  Cornwall,  who  says  strikingly, 
that  Thomson's  figure  "  was  a  personification  of 
the  Castle  of  Indolence,  without  its  romance."" 
Yet  Thomson,  though  he  has  not  given  any  po- 
pularity or  interest  to  the  name  of  a  woman,  is 


THOMSON.  313 

said  to  have  been  twice  in  love,  after  his  own  lack- 
a-daisical  fashion.  He  was  first  attached  to  Miss 
Stanley,  who  died  young,  and  upon  whom  he 
wrote  the  little  elegy,— 

Tell  me,  thou  soul  of  her  I  love  !  &c. 

He  alludes  to  her  also  in  Summer,  in  the  passage 
beginning, — 

And  art  thou,  Stanley,  of  the  sacred  band,  &c. 

His  second  love  was  long,  quiet,  and  constant ; 
but  whether  the  lady's  coldness,  or  want  of  for- 
tune, prevented  a  union,  is  not  clear  :  probably  the 
latter.  The  object  of  this  attachment  was  a  Miss 
Young,  who  resided  at  Richmond  ;  and  his  at- 
tentions to  her  were  continued  through  a  long 
series  of  years,  and  even  till  within  a  short  time 
before  his  death,  in  his  forty-eighth  year.  She 
was  his  Amanda ;  and  if  she  at  all  answered  the 
description  of  her  in  his  Spring,  she  must  have 
been  a  lovely  and  amiable  woman. 

And  thou,  Amanda,  come,  pride  of  my  song  ! 
Form'd  by  the  Graces,  loveliness  itself! 


314  POETICAL   OLD    BACHELORS. 

Come  with  those  downcast  eyes,  sedate  and  sweet, 
Those  looks  demure,  that  deeply  pierce  the  soul, 
Where,  with  the  light  of  thoughtful  reason  mix'd, 
Shines  lively  fancy  and  the  feeling  heart : 
Oh,  come !  and  while  the  rosy-footed  May 
Steals  blushing  on,  together  let  us  tread 
The  morning  dews,  and  gather  in  their  prime 
Fresh-blooming  flowers,  to  grace  thy  braided  hair. 

And  if  his  attachment  to  her  suggested  that  beau- 
tiful description  of  domestic  happiness  with  which 
his  Spring  concludes, — 

But  happy  they,  the  happiest  of  their  kind, 
Whom  gentler  stars  unite,  &c. 

who  would  not  grieve  at  the  destiny  which  denied 
to  Thomson  pleasures  he  could  so  eloquently  de- 
scribe, and  so  feelingly  appreciate  ? 

Truth,  however,  obliges  me  to  add  one  little 
trait.  A  lady  who  did  not  know  Thomson  per- 
sonally, but  was  enchanted  with  his  "  Seasons," 
said  she  could  gather  from  his  works  three  parts  of 
his  character, — that  he  was  an  amiable  lover,  an 


HAMMOND.  315 

excellent  swimmer,  and  extremely  abstemious. 
Savage,  who  knew  the  poet,  could  not  help 
laughing  at  this  picture  of  a  man  who  scarcely 
knew  what  love  was ;  who  shrunk  from  cold  water 
like  a  cat;  and  whose  habits  were  those  of  a 
good-natured  bon  vivant,  who  indulged  himself 
in  every  possible  luxury,  which  could  be  attained 
without  trouble  !  He  also  died  unmarried. 

Hammond,  the  favourite  of  our  sentimental 
great-grandmothers,  whose  "  Love  Elegies"  lay  on 
the  toilettes  of  the  Harriet  Byrons  and  Sophia 
Westerns  of  the  last  century,  was  an  amiable 
youth,  "  very  melancholy  and  gentlemanlike,1'' 
who  being  appointed  equerry  to  Prince  Frederic, 
cast  his  eyes  on  Miss  Dashwood,  bed-chamber 
woman  to  the  Princess,  and  she  became  his  Delia. 
The  lady  was  deaf  to  his  pastoral  strains ;  and 
though  it  has  been  said  that  she  rejected  him  on 
account  of  the  smallness  of  his  fortune,  I  do  not 
see  the  necessity  of  believing  this  assertion,  or  of 
sympathising  in  the  dull  invectives  and  monotonous 
lamentations  of  the  slighted  lover.  Miss  Dash- 


316  POETICAL    OLD    BACHELORS. 

wood  never   married,  and  was,  I  believe,  one  of 
the  maids  of  honour  to  the  late  Queen. 

Thus  the  six  poets,  who,  in  the  history  of  our 
literature,  fill  up  the  period  which  intervened  be- 
tween the  death  of  Pope  and  the  first  publications 
of  Burns  and  Cowper — all  died  old  bachelors  ! 


317 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

FRENCH    POETS. 
VOLTAIRE    AND    MADAME    DU    CHATELET. 

IF  we  take  a  rapid  view  of  French  litera- 
ture, from  the  reign  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth, 
down  to  the  Revolution,  we  are  dazzled  by  the 
record  of  brilliant  and  celebrated  women,  who 
protected  or  cultivated  letters,  and  obtained  the 
homage  of  men  of  talent.  There  was  Ninon  ;  and 
there  was  Madame  de  Rambouillet ;  the  one 
galante,  the  other  precieuse.  One  had  her  St. 
Evremond  ;  the  other  her  Voiture.  Madame  de 
Sabliere  protected  La  Fontaine ;  Madame  de 
Montespan  protected  Moliere;  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon  protected  Racine.  It  was  all  patronage 


318  FRENCH    POETS. 

and  protection  on  one  side,  and  dependance  and 
servility  on  the  other.  Then  we  have  the  intri- 
gante Madame  de  Tencin  ;*  the  good-natured,  but 
rather  bornte  Madame  de  Geoffrin  ;  the  Duchesse 
de  Maine,  who  held  a  little  court  of  bel  esprits 
and  small  poets  at  S§eaux,  and  is  best  known  as  the 
patroness  of  Mademoiselle  de  Launay.  Madame 
d'Epinay,  the  amie  of  Grimm,  and  the  patro- 
ness of  Rousseau ;  the  clever,  selfish,  witty,  ever 
ennuyee,  never  ennuyeuse  Madame  du  Deffand ; 
the  ardent,  talented  Mademoiselle  de  PEspinasse, 
who  would  certainly  have  been  a  poetess,  if  she 
had  not  been  a  philosopheress  and  a  French- 
woman :  Madame  Neckar,  the  patroness  of  Mar- 
montel  and  Thomas : — e  tutte  quante.  If  we  look 
over  the  light  French  literature  of  those  times, 
we  find  an  inconceivable  heap  of  vers  galans, 
and  jolis  couplets,  licentious  songs,  pretty,  well- 

*  Madame  de  Tencin  used  to  call  the  men  of  letters  she 
assembled  at  her  house  "  mes  betes,"  and  her  society  went  by 
the  name  of  Madame  de  Tencin's  menagerie.  Her  advice  to 
Marmontel,  when  a  young  man,  was  excellent.  See  his  Me- 
moirs, vol.  i. 


MADAME    DU    CHATKLKT.  319 

turned  compliments,  and  most  graceful  badinage ; 
but  we  can  discover  the  names  of  only  two  dis- 
tinguished women,  who  have  the  slightest  pre- 
tensions to  a  poetical  celebrity,  derived  from  the 
genius,  the  attachment,  and  the  fame  of  their 
lovers.  These  were  Madame  du  Chatelet,  Vol- 
taire's "  Immortelle  Emilie :"  and  Madame 
d'Houdetot,  the  Doris  of  Saint-Lambert. 

Gabrielle-Emilie  le  Tonnelier  de  Breteuil,  was 
the  daughter  of  the  Baron  de  Breteuil,  and  born 
in  1706.  At  an  early  age  she  was  taken  from  her 
convent,  and  married  to  the  Marquis  du  Chatelet ; 
and  her  life  seems  thenceforward  to  have  been 
divided  between  two  passions,  or  rather  two  pur- 
suits rarely  combined, — love,  and  geometry.  Her 
tutor  in  both  is  said  to  have  been  the  famous 
mathematician  Clairaut ;  and  between  them  they 
rendered  geometry  so  much  the  fashion  at  one 
time,  that  all  the  women,  who  were  distinguished 
either  for  rank  or  beauty,  thought  it  indispen- 
sable to  have  a  geometrician  in  their  train.  The 
"  Poe'tes  de  Societe"  hid  for  a  while  their  di- 


320  FRENCH    POETS. 

minished  heads,  or  were  obliged  to  study  geo- 
metry pour  se  mettre  a  la  mode.*  Her  friendship 
with  Voltaire  began  to  take  a  serious  aspect,  when 
she  was  about  eight-and-twenty,  and  he  was 
about  forty ;  he  is  said  to  have  succeeded  that 
roue  par  excellence,  the  Due  de  Richelieu,  in  her 
favour. 

This  woman  might  have  dealt  in  mathematics, — 
might  have  inked  her  fingers  with  writing  treatises 
on  the  Newtonian  philosophy ;  she  might  have 
sat  up  till  five  in  the  morning,  solving  problems 
and  calculating  eclipses ; — and  yet  have  possessed 
amiable,  elevated,  generous,  and  attractive  qua- 
lities, which  would  have  thrown  a  poetical  in- 
terest round  her  character ;  moreover,  considering 
the  horribly  corrupt  state  of  French  society  at  that 
time,  she  might  have  been  pardoned  "  une  vertu 
de  moms,"  if  her  power  over  a  great  genius  had 
been  exercised  to  some  good  purpose  ; — to  restrain 
his  licentiousness,  to  soften  his  pungent  and  mer- 
ciless satire,  and  prevent  the  frequent  prostitu- 

*  Correspondence  de  Grimm,  vol.  ii.421. 


MADAME    DU    CHATELET.  321 

tion  of  his  admirable  and  versatile  talents.  But 
a  female  sceptic,  profligate  from  temperament  and 
principle ;  a  termagant,  "  qui  voulait  furieuse- 
ment  tout  ce  qu'elle  voulait ; "  a  woman  with  all 
the  sujfisance  of  a  pedant,  and  all  the  exigeance, 
caprices,  and  frivolity  of  a  fine  lady, — grands 
dieux  !  what  a  heroine  for  poetry  ! 

To  a  taste  for  Newton  and  the  stars,  and 
geometry  and  algebra,  Madame  du  Chatelet  add- 
ed some  other  tastes,  not  quite  so  sublime  ; — a 
great  taste  for  bijoux — and  pretty  gimcracks — 
and  old  china — and  watches — and  rings — and 
diamonds — and  snuff-boxes — and — puppet-shows!* 
and,  now  and  then,  une  petite  ajfaire  du  c&ur,  by 
way  of  variety. 

Tout  lui  plait,  tout  convient  a  son  vaste  genie  : 
Les  livres,  les  bijoux,  les  compas,  les  pompons, 
Les  vers,  les  diamants,  le  biribi,f  1'optique, 

*  Je  ris  plus  que  personne  aux  marionettes;  et  j'avoue 
qu'une  boite,  une  porcelaine,  un  meuble  nouveau,  sont  pour 
moi  une  vrai  jouissance.— CEuvres  dc  Madame  du  Chdlclet — • 
Trailede  Bonheur. 

f  The  then  fashionable  game  at  cards. 

VOL.    II.  Y 


322  FRENCH    POETS. 

L/algebre,  les  soupers,  le  latin,  les  jupons, 
L'opera,  les  proces,  le  bal,  etla  physique  ! 

This  "  Minerve  de  la  France,  la  respectable 
Emilie,"  did  not  resemble  Minerva  in  all  her 
attributes  ;  nor  was  she  satisfied  with  a  succession 
of  lovers.  The  whole  history  of  her  liaison  with 
Voltaire,  is  enough  to  put  en  deroute  all  poetry, 
and  all  sentiment.  With  her  imperious  temper 
and  bitter  tongue,  and  his  extreme  irritability,  no 
wonder  they  should  have  des  scenes  terribles.* 
Marmontel  says  they  were  often  a  couteanx  tires ; 
and  this,  not  metaphorically  but  literally.  On 
one  occasion,  Voltaire  happened  to  criticise  some 
couplets  she  had  written  for  Madame  de  Luxem- 
bourg. "  L'Amante  de  Newton"-f-  could  calculate 
eclipses,  but  she  could  not  make  verses ;  and,  pro- 
bably, for  that  reason,  she  was  most  particularly 

*  Voltaire  once  said  of  her,  "  C'est  une  femme  terrible, 
qui  n'a  point  de  flexibility  dans  le  coeur,  quoiqu'elle  1'ait  bon." 
This  hardness  of  temper,  this  volontl  tyrannigue,  this  cold 
determination  never  to  yield  a  point,  were  worse  than  all  her 
violence. 

f  The  title  which  Voltaire  gave  her. 


MADAME    DU    CHATELET.  323 

jealous  of  all  censure,  while  she  criticised  Voltaire 
without  manners  or  mercy;  and  he  endured  it, 
sometimes  with  marvellous  patience. 

A  dispute  was  now  the  consequence ;  both  be- 
came furious ;  and  at  length  Voltaire  snatched  up 
a  knife,  and  brandishing  it  exclaimed,  "  ne  me  re- 
garde  done  pas  avec  tes  yeux  hagards  et  louches !"" 
After  such  a  scene  as  this  one  would  imagine  that 
Love  must  have  spread  his  light  wings  and  fled 
for  ever.  Could  Emilie  ever  have  forgiven  those 
words,  or  Voltaire  have  forgotten  the  look  that 
provoked  them  ? 

But  the  mobilite  of  his  mind  was  one  of  the  most 
extraordinary  parts  of  his  character,  and  he  was 
not  more  irascible  than  he  was  easily  appeased. 
Madame  du  Chatelet  maintained  her  power  over 
him  for  twenty  years ;  during  five  of  which  they 
resided  in  her  chateau  at  Cirey,  under  the  counte- 
nance of  her  husband ;  he  was  a  good  sort  of  man, 
but  seems  to  have  been  considered  by  these  two 
geniuses  and  their  guests  as  a  complete  nonentity. 
He  was  "  Le  bon-komme,  le  vilain  petit  Tri- 
chateau"  whom  it  was  a  task  to  speak  to,  and  a 
Y  2 


324  FRENCH    POETS. 

penance  to  amuse.  Every  day,  after  coffee,  Mon- 
sieur rose  from  the  table  with  all  the  docility 
imaginable,  leaving  Voltaire  and  Madame  to  recite 
verses,  translate  Newton,  philosophise,  dispute, 
and  do  the  honours  of  Cirey  to  the  brilliant  so- 
ciety who  had  assembled  under  his  roof. 

While  the  boudoir,  the  laboratory,  and  the 
sleeping-room  of  the  lady,  and  the  study  and  gal- 
lery appropriated  to  Voltaire,  were  furnished  with 
Oriental  luxury  and  splendour,  and  shone  with 
gilding,  drapery,  pictures,  and  baubles,  the  lord 
of  the  mansion  and  the  guests  were  destined  to 
starve  in  half-furnished  apartments,  from  which 
the  wind  and  the  rain  were  scarcely  excluded.* 

In  1748,  Voltaire  and  Madame  du  Chatelet 
paid  a  visit  to  the  Court  of  Stanislas,  the  ex-king 
of  Poland,  at  Luneville,  and  took  M.  du  Chatelet 
in  their  train.  There  Madame  du  Chatelet  was 

*  "  Vie  privee  de  Voltaire  et  de  Madame  du  Chatelet,"  in 
a  series  of  letters,  written  by  Madame  de  Graffigny  during  her 
stay  at  Cirey.  The  details  in  these  letters  are  exceedingly 
amusing,  but  the  style  so  diffuse,  that  it  is  scarcely  possible  to 
make  extracts. 


MADAME    DU    CHATELET.  325 

seized  with  a  passion  for  Saint-Lambert,  the 
author  of  the  "  Saisons,"  who  was  at  least  ten 
or  twelve  years  younger  than  herself,  and  then  a 
jeune  militaire,  only  admired  for  his  fine  figure 
and  pretty  vers  de  socitte.  Voltaire,  it  is  said, 
was  extremely  jealous ;  but  his  jealousy  did  not 
pfevent  him  from  addressing  some  very  elegant 
verses  to  his  handsome  rival,  in  which  he  com- 
pliments him  gaily  on  the  good  graces  of  the  lady. 

Saint-Lambert,  ce  n'est  que  pour  toi 
Que  ces  belles  fleurs  sont  ocloses, 
C'est  ta  main  qui  cueille  les  roses, 
Et  les  Opines  sont  pour  moi  !* 

Some  months  afterwards,  Madame  du  Chatelet 
died  in  child-birth,  in  her  forty-fourth  year. 

Voltaire  was  so  overwhelmed  by  this  loss,  that 
he  set  off'  for  Paris  immediately  pour  se  dissipei. 
Marmontel  has  given  us  a  most  ludicrous  account 
of  a  visit  of  condolence  he  paid  him  on  this  occa- 
sion. He  found  Voltaire  absolutely  drowned  in 
tears,  and  at  every  fresh  burst  of  sorrow,  he  called 

*  Epitre  a  Sairt-Lambert. 


326  FRENCH    POETS. 

on  Marmontel  to  sympathise  with  him.  "  Helas! 
j'ai  perdu  mon  illustre  amie !  Ah !  ah !  je  suis 
au  desespoir  !"  —  Then  exclaiming  against  Saint- 
Lambert,  whom  he  accused  as  the  cause  of  the 
catastrophe — "  Ah  !  mon  ami !  il  me  Ta  tuee,  le 
brutal !"  while  Marmontel,  who  had  often  heard 
him  abuse  his  "  sublime  Emilie""  in  no  measured 
terms,  as  "  une  furie,  attached  a  ses  pas,"  hid  his 
face  with  his  handkerchief  in  pretended  sympathy, 
but  in  reality  to  conceal  his  irrepressible  smiles. 
In  the  midst  of  this  scene  of  despair,  some  ridi- 
culous idea  or  story  striking  Voltaire1  s  vivid  fancy, 
threw  him  into  fits  of  laughter,  and  some  time 
elapsed  before  he  recollected  that  he  was  incon- 
solable. 

The  death  of  Madame  du  Chatelet,  the  cir- 
cumstances which  attended  it,  and  the  celebrity 
of  herself  and  her  lover,  combined  to  cause  a 
great  sensation.  No  elegies  indeed  appeared  on 
the  occasion, — "  no  tears  eternal  that  embalm  the 
dead ;"  but  a  shower  of  epigrams  and  bon  mots — 
some  exquisitely  witty  and  malicious.  The  story 
of  her  ring,  in  which  Voltaire  and  her  husband 


MADAME    DU    CHATKLJJT.  327 

each  expected  to  find  his  own  portrait,  and  which 
on  being  opened,  was  found,  to  the  utter  discom- 
fiture of  both,  to  contain  that  of  Saint-Lambert, 
is  well  known. 

If  we  may  judge  from  her  picture,  Madame  du 
Chatelet  must  have  been  extremely  pretty.  Her 
eyes  were  fine  and  piercing ;  her  features  delicate, 
with  a  good  deal  ofjinesse  and  intelligence  in  their 
expression.  But  her  countenance,  like  her  charac- 
ter, was  devoid  of  interest.  She  had  great  power 
of  mental  abstraction ;  and  on  one  occasion  she 
went  through  a  most  complicated  calculation  of 
figures  in  her  head,  while  she  played  and  won  a 
game  at  piquet.  She  could  be  graceful  and  fascina- 
ting, but  her  manners  were,  in  general,  extremely 
disagreeable;  and  her  parade  of  learning,  her 
affectation,  her  egotism,  her  utter  disregard  of  the 
comforts,  feelings,  and  opinions  of  others,  are  well 
pourtrayed  in  two  or  three  brilliant  strokes  of 
sarcasm  from  the  pen  of  Madame  de  Staal.*  She 

*  Madlle.  de  Launay  :  it  has  become  necessary  to  distin- 
guish between  two  celebrated  women  bearing  the  same  name, 
at  least  in  sound. 


328  FRENCH    POETS. 

even  turns  her  philosophy  into  ridicule.  "  Elle 
fait  actuellement  la  revue  de  ses  Principes  ;*  c'est 
un  exercise  qu'elle  reit^re  chaque  annee,  sans 
quoi  ils  pourroient  s'echapper;  et  peut-etre  s'en 
aller  si  loin  qu'elle  n'en  retrouverait  pas  un  seul. 
Je  crois  bien  que  sa  tete  est  pour  eux  une  maison 
de  force,  et  non  pas  le  lieu  de  leur  naissance."*!* 

*  "  Les  principes  de  la  philosophic  de  Newton." 
f  V.  Correspondence  de  Madame  de  Deffand.     In  another 
letter    from    Sceaux,    Madame    de   Staal   adds  the  following 
clever,  satirical, — but  most  characteristic  picture : — 

"  En  tout  cas  on  vous  garde  un  bon  appartement :  c'est 
celui  dont  Madame  du  Chatelet,  apres  une  revue  exacte  de 
toute  la  maison,  s'etait  emparee.  II  y  aura  un  peu  moins  de 
meubles  qu'elle  n'y  en  avail  mis ;  car  elle  avait  devaste  tous 
ceux  par  ou  elle  avait  passe  pour  garnir  celui-la.  On  y  a 
trouve  six  ou  sept  tables  ;  il  lui  en  faut  de  toutes  les  grandeurs ; 
d'immenses  pour  etaler  ses  papiers,  de  solides  pour  soutenir 
son  necessaire,  de  plus  legeres  pour  ses  pompons,  pour  ses 
bijoux;  et  cette  belle  ordonnance  ne  1'a  pas  garantie  d'une 
accident  pareil  a  celui  qui  arrive  a  Philippe  II.  quand,  apres 
avoir  passe  la  nuit  a  ecrire,  on  repandit  une  bouteille  d'encre 
sur  ses  depeches.  La  dame  ne  s'est  pas  pique"e  d'imiter  la 
moderation  de  ce  prince;  aussi  n'avait-il  e"crit  que  sur  des 
affaires  d'etat;  et  ce  qu'on  lui  a  barbouille,  c'etait  de  1'algebre, 
bien  plus  difficile  a  remettre  au  net." 


MADAMK    DU    CHATELET.  329 

That  Madame  du  Chatelet  was  a  woman  of  ex- 
traordinary talent,  and  that  her  progress  in  ab- 
stract sciences  was  uncommon,  and  even  unique  at 
that  time,  at  least  among  her  own  sex,  is  beyond 
a  doubt ;  but  her  learned  treatises  on  Newton, 
and  the  nature  of  fire,  are  now  utterly  forgotten. 
We  have  since  had  a  Mrs.  Marcet ;  and  we  have 
read  of  Gaetana  Agnesi,  who  was  professor  of 
mathematics  in  the  University  of  Padua;  two 
women  who,  uniting  to  the  rarest  philosophical 
acquirements,  gentleness  and  virtue,  have  needed 
no  poet  to  immortalize  them. 

Of  the  numerous  poems  which  Voltaire  ad- 
dressed to  Madame  du  Chatelet,  the  Epistle 
beginning 

Tu  m'appelles  a  toi,  vaste  et  puissant  genie, 
Minerve  de  la  France,  immortelle  Kmilie, 

is  a  chej  cTauvre,  and  contains  some  of  the  finest 
lines  he  ever  wrote.  The  Epistle  to  her  on  ca- 
lumny, written  to  console  her  for  the  abuse  and 
ridicule  which  her  abstractions  and  indiscretions 
had  provoked,  begins  with  these  beautiful  lines — • 

Ecoutez-moi,  respectable  Kmilie : 
Vous  fetes  belle  ;  ainsi  done  la  moitic 


330  FRENCH    POETS. 

Du  genre  humain  sera  votre  ennemie : 
Vous  possedez  un  sublime  genie ; 
On  vous  craindra ;  votre  tendre  amitie" 
Est  confiante ;  et  vous  serez  trahie : 
Votre  vertu  dans  sa  demarche  unie, 
Simple  et  sans  fard,  n'a  point  sacrifie 
A  nos  devots ;  craignez  la  calomnie. 

With  that  famous  ring,  from  which  he  had 
afterwards  the  mortification  to  discover  that  his 
own  portrait  had  been  banished  to  make  room  for 
that  of  Saint-Lambert,  he  sent  her  this  elegant 
quatrain. 

Barier  grava  ces  traits  destines  pour  vos  yeux ; 

Avec  quelque  plaisir  daignez  les  reconnoitre : 

Les  votres  dans  mon  cceur  furent  graves  bien  mieux, 

Mais  ce  fut  par  un  plus  grand  maitre. 

***** 

The  heroine  of  the  famous  Epistle,  known  as 
"  Les  TU  et  les  vous,"  (Madame  de  Gouverne,) 
was  one  of  Voltaire's  earliest  loves ;  and  he  was 
passionately  attached  to  her.  They  were  separated 
in  the  world : — she  went  through  the  usual  rou- 
tine of  a  French  woman's  existence, — I  mean,  of 
a  French  woman  sous  Vancien  regime. 


MADAME    DE    GOU VERNE.  331 

Quelques  plaisirs  dans  la  jeunesse, 

Des  soins  daiis  la  maternite", 
Tous  les  malheurs  dans  la  vieillesse, 

Puis  la  peur  de  I'eternitd. 

She  was  first  dissipated ;  then  an  esprit  fort ; 
then  trh  devote.  In  obedience  to  her  confessor, 
she  discarded,  one  after  the  other,  her  rouge,  her 
ribbons,  and  the  presents  and  billets-doux  of  her 
lovers ;  but  no  remonstrances  could  induce  her 
to  give  up  Voltaire's  picture.  When  he  returned 
from  exile  in  177&>  he  went  to  pay  a  visit  to  his 
old  love ;  they  had  not  met  for  fifty  years,  and 
they  now  gazed  on  each  other  in  silent  dismay.  He 
looked,  I  suppose,  like  the  dried  mummy  of  an  ape: 
she,  like  a  withered  sorcidre.  The  same  evening  she 
sent  him  back  his  portrait,  which  she  had  hitherto 
refused  to  part  with.  Nothing  remained  to  shed 
illusion  over  the  past ;  she  had  beheld,  even  before 
the  last  terrible  proof — 

What  dust  we  doat  on,  when  'tis  man  we  love. 
And  Voltaire,  on  his  side,  was  not  less  dismayed 
by  his  visit.    On  returning  from  her,  he  exclaimed, 
with  a  shrug  of  mingled  disgust  and  horror,  "  Ah, 


33'2  FRENCH    POETS. 

mes  amis !  je  viens  de  passer  a  Tautre  bord  du 
Cocyte  !"  It  was  not  thus  that  Cowper  felt  for 
his  Mary,  when  "  her  auburn  locks  were  changed 
to  grey :"  but  it  is  almost  an  insult  to  the  memory 
of  true  tenderness  to  mention  them  both  in  the 
same  page. 

To  enumerate  other  women  who  have  been 
celebrated  by  Voltaire,  would  be  to  give  a  list 
of  all  the  beautiful  and  distinguished  women  of 
France  for  half  a  century ;  from  the  Duchess  de 
Richelieu  and  Madame  de  Luxembourg,  down  to 
Camargo  the  dancer,  and  Clairon  and  le  Couvreur 
the  actresses :  but  I  can  find  no  name  of  any 
poetical  fame  or  interest  among  them :  nor  can  I 
conceive  any  thing  more  revolting  than  the  history 
of  French  society  and  manners  during  the  Re- 
gency and  the  whole  of  the  reign  of  Louis  the 
Fifteenth. 


333 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

FRENCH    POETRY    CONTINUED. 
MADAME    D1  HOUDETOT. 

SAINT-LAMBERT,  who  seemed  destined  to  rival 
greater  men  than  himself,  after  carrying  off 
Madame  du  Chatelet  from  Voltaire,  became  the 
favoured  lover  of  the  Comtesse  d'Houdetot, 
Rousseau's  Sophie;  she  for  whom  the  philoso- 
pher first  felt  love,  "  dans  toute  son  energie, 
toutes  sesfureurs^ — but  in  vain. 

Saint-Lambert  is  allowed  to  be  an  elegant  poet: 
his  Saisons  were  once  as  popular  in  France,  as 
Thomson's  Seasons  are  here;  but  they  have  not 
retained  their  popularity.  The  French  poem, 
though  in  many  parts  imitated  from  the  English, 


334  FRENCH    POETS. 

is  as  unlike  it  as  possible  :  correct,  polished,  ele- 
gant, full  of  beautiful  lines, — of  what  the  French 
call  de  beaux  vers, — and  yet  excessively  dull.  It  is 
equally  impossible  to  find  fault  with  it  in  parts,  or 
endure  it  as  a  whole.  Une  petite  pointe  de  verve 
would  have  rendered  it  delightful ;  but  the  total 
want  of  enthusiasm  in  the  writer  freezes  the  reader. 
As  Madame  du  Deffand  said,  in  humorous  mock- 
ery of  his  monotonous  harmony,  "  Sans  les  oiseaux, 
les  ruisseaux,  les  hameaux,  les  ormeaux,  et  leur 
rameaux,  il  aurait  bien  peu  de  choses  a  dire  !" 

Madame  d'Houdetot  was  the  Doris  to  whom 
the  Seasons  are  dedicated  ;  and  the  opening  passage 
addressed  to  her,  is  extremely  admired  by  French 
critics. 

Et  toi,  qui  m'as  choisi  pour  embellir  ma  vie, 
Doux  repos  de  mon  coeur,  aimable  et  tendre  amie ! 
Toi,  qui  sais  de  nos  champs  admirer  les  beauty's  : 
Derobe  toi,  Doris  !  au  luxe  des  rite's, 
Aux  arts  dont  tu  jouis,  au  monde  ou  tu  sgais  plaire ; 
Le  printemps  te  rappelle  au  vallon  solitaire ; 
Heureux  si  pres  de  toi  je  chante  a  son  retour, 
Ses  dons  et  ses  plaisirs,  la  campagne  et  1'amour  ! 

Sophie     de     la    Briche,    afterwards    Madame 


MADAME    l/HOUDKTOT.  335 

cTHoudetot,  was  the  daughter  of  a  rich  fermier 
general;  and  destined,  of  course,  to  a  marriage 
de  convenance,  she  was  united  very  young  to  the 
Comte  d'Houtetot,  an  officer  of  rank  in  the  army  ; 
a  man  who  was  allowed  by  his  friends  to  be  tres 
pen  amiable,  and  whom  Madame  d'Epinay,  who 
hated  him,  called  vilain,  and  insupportable.  He 
was  too  good-natured  to  make  his  wife  absolutely 
miserable,  but  un  bonheur  afaire  mourir  (Tennui, 
was  not  exactly  adapted  to  the  disposition  of 
Sophie ;  and  there  was  no  principle  within,  no 
restraint  without,  no  support,  no  counsel,  no  ex- 
ample, to  guide  her  conduct  or  guard  her  against 
temptation. 

The  power  by  which  Madame  d'Houdetot 
captivated  the  gay,  handsome,  dissipated  Saint- 
Lambert,  and  kindled  into  a  blaze  the  passions 
or  the  imagination  of  Rousseau,  was  not  that  of 
beauty.  Her  face  was  plain  and  slightly  marked 
with  the  small-pox  ;  her  eyes  were  not  good ;  she 
was  extremely  short-sighted,  which  gave  to  her 
countenance  and  address  an  appearance  of  un- 
certainty and  timidity  ;  her  figure  was  rnignonne, 


336  FRENCH    POETS. 

and  in  all  her  movements  there  was  an  indescrib- 
able mixture  of  grace  and  awkwardness.  The 
charm  by  which  this  woman  seized  and  kept  the 
hearts,  not  of  lovers  only,  but  of  friends,  was  a 
character  the  very  reverse  of  that  of  Madame  da 
Chatelet,  who  would  have  deemed  it  an  insult  to  be 
compared  to  her  either  in  mind  or  beauty  :  — the 
absence  of  all  pretension,  all  coquetry ;  the  total 
surrender  of  her  own  feelings,  thoughts,  interests, 
where  another  was  concerned ;  the  frankness  which 
verged  on  giddiness  and  imprudence  ;  the  temper 
which  nothing  could  ruffle;  the  warm  kindness 
which  nothing  could  chill ;  the  bounding  spirit  of 
gaiety,  which  nothing  could  subdue, — these  quali- 
ties rendered  Madame  d^Houdetot  an  attaching 
and  interesting  creature,  to  the  latest  moment 
of  her  long  life.  "  Mon  Dieu  !  que  j'ai  d'impa- 
tience  de  voir  dix  ans  de  plus  sur  la  te'te  de  cette 
femme  P  exclaimed  her  sister-in-law,  Madame 
d'Epinay,  when  she  saw  her  at  the  age  of  twenty. 
But  at  the  age  of  eighty,  Madame  d'Houdetot 
was  just  as  much  a  child  as  ever, — "  aussi  vive, 
aussi  enfant,  aussi  gaie,  aussi  distraite,  aussi  bonne 


MADAME  D'HOUDETOT.  33J 

ct  tres  Ixnine  ;""*  in  spite  of  wrinkles,  sorrows, 
and  frailties,  she  retained,  in  extreme  old  age,  the 
gaiety,  the  tenderness,  the  confiding  simplicity, 
though  not  the  innocence  of  early  youth. 

Her  liaison  with  Saint-Lambert  continued  fifty 
years,  nor  was  she  ever  suspected  of  any  other 
indiscretion.  During  this  time  he  contrived  to 
make  her  as  wretched  as  a  woman  of  her  disposi- 
tion could  be  made;  and  the  elasticity  of  her  spirits 
did  not  prevent  her  from  being  acutely  sensible 
to  pain,  and  alive  to  unkindness.  Saint-Lambert, 
from  being  her  lover,  became  her  tyrant.  He  be- 
haved with  a  peevish  jealousy,  a  petulance,  a  bit- 
terness, which  sometimes  drove  her  beyond  the 
bounds  of  a  woman's  patience ;  and  when  ever  this 
happened,  the  accommodating  husband,  M.  d'Hou- 
detot  would  interfere  to  reconcile  the  lovers,  and 
plead  for  the  recall  of  the  offender. 

When  Saint-Lambert's  health  became  utterly 
broken,  she  watched  over  him  with  a  patient 
tenderness,  unwearied  bv  all  his  erigennce,  and 
unprovoked  by  his  detestable  temper;  he  had  a 

*  M£moires  et  f^ettres  de  Madamo  d'F.pinay,  torn.  i.  p.  95. 
VOL.   II.  Z 


338  FRENCH    POETS. 

house  near  her's  in  the  valley  of  Montmorenci, 
and  lived  on  perfectly  good  terms  with  her  hus- 
band. I  must  add  one  trait,  which,  however  ab- 
surd, and  scarcely  credible,  it  may  sound  in  our 
sober,  English  ears,  is  yet  true.  M.  and  Madame 
d'Houdetot  gave  a  fete  at  Eaubonne,  to  celebrate 
the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  their  marriage.  Sophie 
was  then  nearly  seventy,  but  played  her  part,  as 
the  heroine  of  the  day,  with  all  the  grace  and 
vivacity  of  seventeen.  On  this  occasion,  the  lover 
and  the  husband  chose,  for  the  first  time  in  their 
lives,  to  be  jealous  of  each  other,  and  exhibited,  to 
the  amusement  and  astonishment  of  the  guests,  a 
scene,  which  was  for  some  time  the  talk  of  all  Paris. 

Saint-Lambert  died  in  1805.  After  his  death, 
Madame  d'Houdetot  was  seized  with  a  sentimental 
tendresse  for  M.  Somariva,  *  and  continued  to 
send  him  bouquets  and  billets-doux  to  the  end  of 
her  life.  She  died  about  1815. 

To  her  singular  power  of  charming,  Madame 
dTloudetot  added  talents  of  no  common  order, 

*  M.  Somariva  is  well  known  to  all  who  have  visited  Paris, 
for  his  fine  collection  of  pictures,  and  particularly  as  the  pos- 
sessor of  Canova's  famous  Magdalen. 


MADAME  D'HOUDETOT.  339 

which,  though  never  cultivated  with  any  perse- 
verance, now  and  then  displayed,  or  rather  dis- 
closed themselves  unexpectedly,  adding  surprise 
to  pleasure.  She  was  a  musician,  a  poetess,  a  wit ; 
— but  every  thing,  "  par  la  grace  de  Dieu,11 — and 
as  if  unconsciously  and  involuntarily.  All  Saint- 
Lambert's  poetry  together  is  not  worth  the  little 
song  she  composed  for  him  on  his  departure  for 
the  army :  — 

L'Amant  que  j'adore, 

Pret  a  me  quitter, 
D'un  instant  encore 

Voudrait  profiler : 
Felicit^  vaine  ! 

Qu'on  ne  peut  saisir, 
Trop  pres  de  la  peine 

Pour  etre  un  plaisir!* 

It  is  to  Madame  d'Houdetot  that  Lord  Byron 
alludes  in  a  striking  passage  of  the  third  canto  of 
Childe  Harold,  beginning 

Here  the  self-torturing  sophist,  wild  Rousseau,f  &c. 

*  See  Lady  Morgan's  France,  and  the  Biographie  Universelle. 
f  Stanza  77,  and  more  particularly  stanza  79. 

z   2 


340  FRENCH    POETS. 

And  apropos  to  Rousseau,  I  shall  merely  ob- 
serve, that  there  is,  and  can  be  but  one  opinion  with 
regard  to  his  conduct  in  the  affair  of  Madame 
d'Houdetot :  it  was  abominable.  She  thought,  as 
every  one  who  ever  was  connected  with  that  man, 
found  sooner  or  later,  that  he  was  all  made  up  of 
genius  and  imagination,  and  as  destitute  of  heart 
as  of  moral  principle.  I  can  never  think  of  his 
character,  but  as  of  something  at  once  admirable, 
portentous  and  shocking ;  the  most  great,  most 
gifted,  most  wretched ;  —  worst,  meanest,  maddest 
of  mankind  ! 

***** 

Madame  du  Chatelet  and  Madame  d'Houdetot 
must  for  the  present  be  deemed  sufficient  speci- 
mens of  French  poetical  heroines; — it  were  easy  to 
pursue  the  subject  further,  but  it  would  lead  to 
a  field  of  discussion  and  illustration,  which  I  would 
rather  decline.* 

*  In  one  of  Madame  de  Genlis'  prettiest  Tales — "  Les  pre- 
ventions d'une  femme,"  there  is  the  following  observation,  as 
full  of  truth  as  of  feminine  propriety.  I  trust  that  the  princi- 


MADAME  D'HOUDETOT.  341 

Is  it  not  singular  that  in  a  country  which  was 
the  cradle,  if  not  the  birth-place  of  modern  poetry 
and  romance,  the  language,  the  literature,  and 
the  women,  should  be  so  essentially  and  incurably 
prosaic  ?  The  muse  of  French  poetry  never  swept 
a  lyre ;  she  grinds  a  barrel-organ  in  her  serious 
moods,  and  she  scrapes  a  fiddle  in  her  lively  ones ; 
and  as  for  the  distinguished  French  women,  whose 
memory  and  whose  characters  are  blended  with  the 
literature,  and  connected  with  the  great  names  of 
their  country, — they  are  often  admirable,  and  some- 
times interesting ;  but  with  all  their  fascinations, 
their  charms,  their  esprit,  their  graces,  their  ama- 
bilite,  and  their  sensibilite,  it  was  not  in  the  power 
of  the  gods  or  their  lovers  to  make  them  poetical. 

pie  it  inculcates  has  been  kept  in  view  through  the  whole  of 
this  little  work. 

"  II  y  a  plus  de  pudeur  et  de  dignite  dans  la  douce  indul- 
gence qui  semble  ignorer  les  anecdotes  scandaleuses  ou  du 
moins,  les  revoquer  en  doute,  que  dans  le  dedain  qui  en  retrace 
le  souvenir,  et  qui  s'drige  publiquement  en  juge  inflexible." 


342 


CONCLUSION. 

HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY. 

Heureuse  la  Beaute  que  le  poete  adore  ! 
Heureux  le  nom  qu'il  a  chante ! 

DE    LAMARTINE. 

IT  will  be  allowed,  I  think,  that  women  have 
reason  to  be  satisfied  with  the  rank  they  hold  in 
modern  poetry  ;  and  that  the  homage  which  has 
been  addressed  to  them,  either  directly  and  indi- 
vidually, or  paid  indirectly  and  generally,  in  the 
beautiful  characters  and  portraits  drawn  of  them, 
ought  to  satisfy  equally  female  sentiment  and  fe- 
male vanity.  From  the  half  ethereal  forms  which 
float  amid  moonbeams  and  gems,  and  odours  and 
flowers,  along  the  dazzling  pages  of  Lalla  Rookh, 


HEROINES   OP    MODERN    POETRY.         343 

down  to  Phoebe  Dawson,  in  the  Parish  Register  :* 
from  that  loveliest  gem  of  polished  life,  the  young 
Aurora  of  Lord  Byron,  down  to  Wordsworth's 
poor  Margaret  weeping  in  her  deserted  cottage  ;-f- 
— all  the  various  aspects  between  these  wide  ex- 
tremes of  character  and  situation,  under  which 
we  have  been  exhibited,  have  been,  with  few  ex- 
ceptions, just  and  favourable  to  our  sex. 

In  the  literature  of  the  classical  ages,  we  were 
debased  into  mere  servants  of  pleasure,  alternately 
the  objects  of  loose  incense  or  coarse  invective. 
In  the  poetry  of  the  Gothic  ages,  we  all  rank  as 
queens.  In  the  succeeding  period,  when  the  pla- 
tonic  philosophy  was  oddly  mixed  up  with  the 
institutions  of  chivalry,  we  were  exalted  into  di- 
vinities ; — "  angels  called,  and  angel-like  adored." 
Then  followed  the  age  of  French  gallantry,  tinged 
with  classical  elegance,  and  tainted  with  classical 
licence,  when  we  were  caressed,  complimented, 
wooed  and  satirised  by  coxcomb  poets, 

Who  ever  mix'd  their  song  with  light  licentious  toys. 

*  Crabbe's  Poems.  f  $<*  the  Excursion. 


344         HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY. 

There  was  much  expenditure  of  wit  and  of 
talent,  but  in  an  ill  cause ; — for  the  feeling  was, 
au  fond,  bad  and  false ; — "  et  il  n'est  guere 
plaisant  d^etre  empoisonne,  me  me  par  Tesprit  de 
rose." 

In  the  present  time  a  better  spirit  prevails. 
We  are  not  indeed  sublimated  into  goddesses ; 
but  neither  is  it  the  fashion  to  degrade  us  into  the 
playthings  of  fopling  poets.  We  seem  to  have 
found,  at  length,  our  proper  level  in  poetry,  as  in 
society ;  and  take  the  place  assigned  to  us  as 
women — 

As  creatures  not  too  bright  or  good, 

For  human  nature's  daily  food ; 

For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 

Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears  and  smiles  !* 

We  are  represented  as  ruling  by  our  feminine  at- 
tractions, moral  or  exterior,  the  passions  and  ima- 
ginations of  men ;  as  claiming,  by  our  weakness, 
our  delicacy,  our  devotion, — their  protection, 
their  tenderness,  and  their  gratitude :  and,  since 

*  Wordsworth. 


HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY.  346 

the  minds  of  women  have  been  more  generally 
and  highly  cultivated ;  since  a  Madame  de  Stael, 
a  Joanna  Baillie,  a  Maria  Edgeworth,  and  a 
hundred  other  names,  now  shining  aloft  like  stars, 
have  shed  a  reflected  glory  on  the  whole  sex  they 
belong  to,  we  possess  through  them,  a  claim  to 
admiration  and  respect  for  our  mental  capabilities. 
We  assume  the  right  of  passing  judgment  on  the 
poetical  homage  addressed  to  us,  and  our  smiles 
alone  can  consecrate  what  our  smiles  first  in- 
spired.* 

If  we  look  over  the  mass  of  poetry  produced 
during  the  last  twenty-five  years,  whether  Italian, 
French,  German,  or  English,  we  shall  find  that 
the  predominant  feeling  is  honourable  to  women, 
and  if  not  gallantry,  is  something  better.-f-  It  is 

*  Even  so  the  smile  of  woman  stamps  our  fates. 
And  consecrates  the  love  it  first  creates ! 

Barry  Cornwall. 

t  See  in  particular  Schiller's  ode,  "  Honour  to  Women," 
one  of  the  most  elegant  tributes  ever  paid  to  us  by  a  poet's  en- 
thusiasm. It  may  be  found  translated  in  Lord  K.  (lower's 
beautiful  little  volume  of  Miscellanies. 


346          HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY. 

too  true,  that  the  incense  has  not  been  always  per- 
fectly pure.  "  Many  light  lays, — ah,  woe  is  me 
there-fore  !"*  have  sounded  from  one  gifted  lyre, 
which  has  since  been  strung  to  songs  of  patriotism 
and  tenderness.  Moore,  whom  I  am  proud,  for 
a  thousand  reasons,  to  claim  as  my  country- 
man, began  his  literary  and  amatory  career,  fresh 
from  the  study  of  the  classics,  and  the  poets  of 
Charles  the  Second's  time ;  and  too  often  through 
the  thin  undress  of  superficial  refinement,  we  trace 
the  grossness  of  his  models.  It  is  said,  I  know  not 
how  truly,  that  he  has  since  made  the  amende 
honorable.  He  has  possibly  discovered,  that 
women  of  sense  and  sentiment,  who  have  a  true 
feeling  of  what  is  due  to  them  as  women,  are  not 
fitly  addressed  in  the  style  of  Anacreon  and  Ca- 
tullus; have  no  sympathies  with  his  equivocal 

*  Many  light  lays  (ah  !   woe  is  me  the  more) 
In  praise  of  that  mad  fit  which  fools  call  love> 
I  have  i'  the  heat  of  youth  made  heretofore, 
That  in  light  wits  did  loose  affections  move ; 
But  all  these  follies  do  I  now  reprove,  &c 

Spenser. 


HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY. 

Rosas,  Fanny,  and  Julias,  and  are  not  flatter- 
ed by  being  associated  with  tavern  orgies  and 
bumpers  of  wine,  and  such  "tipsey  revelry." 
Into  themes  like  these  he  has,  it  is  true,  infused 
a  buoyant  spirit  of  gaiety,  a  tone  of  sentiment, 
and  touches  of  tender  and  moral  feeling,  which 
would  reconcile  us  to  them,  if  any  thing  could ; 
as  in  the  beautiful  songs,  "  When  time,  who  steals 
our  years  away," — "  O  think  not  my  spirits  are 
always  as  light," — "  Farewell  !  but  whenever  you 
think  on  the  hour," — "  The  Legacy,"  and  a  hun- 
dred others.  But  how  many  more  are  there,  in 
which  the  purity  and  earnestness  of  the  feeling  vie 
with  the  grace  and  delicacy  of  the  expression  !  and 
in  the  difficult  art  (only  to  be  appreciated  by  a 
singer)  of  marrying  verse  to  sound,  M oore  was  never 
excelled — never  equalled — but  by  Burns.  He 
seems  to  be  gifted,  as  poet  and  musician,  with  a 
double  instinct  of  harmony,  peculiar  to  himself. 

Barry  Cornwall  is  another  living  poet  who  has 
drunk  deep  from  the  classics  and  from  our  elder 
writers ;  but  with  a  finer  taste  and  a  better  feel- 
ing, he  has  borrowed  only  what  was  decorative, 


348          HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY. 

graceful  and   accessory :  the  pure  stream   of  his 
sentiment  flows  unmingled  and  untainted, — 
Yet  musical  as  when  the  waters  run, 
Lapsing  through  sylvan  haunts  delioiously.* 
It  is  not  without  reason  that  Barry  Cornwall  has 
been  styled  the  "  Poet  of  woman,""  par  excellence. 
It  enhances  the  value,   it  adds  to  the  charm  of 
every  tender  and  beautiful  passage  addressed  to 
us,  that  we  know  them  to  be  sincere  and  heartfelt, 

Not  fable  bred, 

But  such  as  truest  poets  love  to  write. 
It  is  for  the  sake  of  one,  beloved  "  beyond  am- 
bition and  the  light  of  song,1' — and  worthy  to  be 
so  loved,  that  he  approaches  all  women  with  the 
most  graceful,  delicate,  and  reverential  homage 
ever  expressed  in  sweet  poetry.  His  fancy  is  in- 
deed so  luxuriant,  that  he  makes  whatever  he 
touches  appear  fanciful :  but  the  beauty  adorned 
by  his  verse,  and  adorning  his  home,  is  not  ima- 
ginary ;  and  though  he  has  almost  hidden  his  di- 
vinity behind  a  cloud  of  incense,  she  is  not  there- 
fore less  real. 

*  Marcian  Colonna. 


HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY.          349 

The  life  Lord  Byron  led  was  not  calculated  to 
give  him  a  good  opinion  of  women,  or  to  place  be- 
fore him  the  best  virtues  of  our  sex.  Of  all  mo- 
dern poets,  he  has  been  the  most  generally  popular 
among  female  readers ;  and  he  owes  this  enthu- 
siasm not  certainly  to  our  obligations  to  him ;  for, 
as  far  as  women  are  concerned,  we  may  designate 
his  works  by  a  line  borrowed  from  himself, — 
With  much  to  excite,  there's  little  to  exalt. 

But  who,  like  him,  could  administer  to  that 
"  besoin  de  sentir"  which  I  am  afraid  is  an  ingre- 
dient in  the  feminine  character  all  over  the  world  ? 

Lord  Byron  is  really  the  Grand  Turk  of  ama- 
tory poetry, — ardent  in  his  love, — mean  and  merci- 
less in  his  resentment :  he  could  trace  passion  in 
characters  of  fire,  but  his  caustic  satire  burns  and 
blisters  where  it  falls.  Lovely  as  are  some  of  his 
female  portraits,  and  inimitably  beautiful  as  are 
some  of  his  lyrical  effusions,  it  must  be  confess- 
ed there  is  something  very  Oriental  in  all  his  feel- 
ings and  ideas  about  women  ;  he  seems  to  require 
nothing  of  us  but  beauty  and  submission.  Please 
him — and  he  will  crown  you  with  the  richest 


850          HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY. 

flowers  of  poetry,  and  heap  the  treasures  of  the 
universe  at  your  feet,  as  trophies  of  his  love ;  but 
once  offend,  and  you  are  lost, — 

There  yawns  the  sack — and  yonder  rolls  the  sea ! 

Campbell,  ever  elegant  and  tender,  has  hymned 
us  all  into  divinities ;  and  through  his  sweet  and 
varied  page 

Where  love  pursues  an  ever  devious  race, 
True  to  the  winding  lineaments  of  grace, 
we  figure  under  every  beautiful  aspect  that  truth 
and  feeling  could  inspire,  or  poetry  depict. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  ought  to  have  lived  in  the  age  of 
chivalry,  (if  we  could  endure  the  thoughts  of  his 
living  in  any  other  age  but  our  own  !)  so  touched 
with  the  true  antique  spirit  of  generous  devotion 
to  our  sex  are  all  his  poetical  portraits  of  women. 
I  do  not  find  that  he  has,  like  most  other  writers 
of  the  present  day,  mixed  up  his  personal  feelings 
and  history  with  his  poetry  ;  or  that  any  fair  and 
distinguished  object  will  be  so  thrice  fortunate  as 
to  share  his  laurelled  immortality.  We  must 
therefore  treat  him  like  Shakspeare,  whom  alone  he 
resembles — and  claim  him  for  us  all. 


HEROINES  OF    MODERN    POETRY.          351 

Then  there  is  Rogers,  whose  compliments  to  us 
are  so  polished,  so  pointed,  and  so  elegantly  turn- 
ed, and  have  such  a  drawing-room  air,  that  they 
seem  as  if  intended  to  be  presented  to  Duchesses, 
by  beaux  in  white  kid  gloves.  And  there  is  Cole- 
ridge who  approaches  women  with  a  sort  of  feel- 
ing half  earthly,  half  heavenly,  like  that  with 
which  an  Italian  devotee  bends  before  his  Ma- 
donna— 

And  comes  unto  his  courtship  as  his  prayer. 

And  there  is  Southey,  in  whose  imagination  we 
are  all  heroines  and  queens ;  and  Wordsworth, 
lost  in  the  depths  of  his  own  tenderness  ! 

***** 
The  time  is  not  yet  arrived,  when  the  loves  of 
the  living  poets,  or  of  those  lately  dead,  can  be 
discussed  individually,  or  exhibited  at  full  length. 
The  subject  is  much  too  hazardous  for  a  contem- 
porary, and  more  particularly  for  a  female  to 
dwell  upon.  Such  details  belong  properly  to  the 
next  age,  and  there  is  no  fear  that  these  gossiping 
times  will  leave  any  thing  a  mystery  for  posterity. 


352          HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY. 

The  next  generation    will  be   infinitely  wiser  on 
these  interesting  subjects  than  their  grandmothers. 
Yet  a  few  years,    and  what   is  scandal  and  per- 
sonality now,   will  then  be  matter  for  biography 
and  history.     Then  many  a  love,  destined  to  rival 
that  of  Petrarch  in  purity  and  celebrity,  and  that 
of  Tasso  in  interest,  shall  be  divulged ;   the  thread 
of  many    a    poetical    romance  now    coiled   up  in 
mystic  verse,  shall   then    be   evolved.     Then    we 
shall  know   the    true   history   of    Lord   Byron's 
"  Fare  thee  well.'"     We   shall   then    know  more 
than  the  mere  name  of  his  Mary,*  who  first  kin- 
dled his  boyish  fancy,  and  left  an  ineffaceable  im- 
pression on  his  young  heart,  and  whose   history 
is  said  to  be  shadowed  forth  in  "  The  Dream." 
We    may    then    know    who  was    the    heroine    of 
"  Remember  him   whom  passion's  power  :"  whose 
moonlight   charms  at  once  so  radiant  and  so  sha- 
dowy,   inspired    "  She    walks     in     beauty ;"    we 
shall   be  told,   perhaps,    who  was  the  Thyrza,  so 

*  Miss  Chaworth,  now  Mrs.  Musters. 


HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY.          353 

loving  and  beloved  in  life,  and  whose  early  death, 
which  appears  to  have  taken  place  during  his 
travels,  is  so  deeply,  so  feelingly  lamented:  and 
who  was  his  Ginevra,*  and  what  spot  of  earth  was 
made  happy  by  her  beautiful  presence — if  any 
thing  so  divinely  beautiful  ever  was  ! 

Then  we  shall  not  ask  in  vain  who  was  Camp- 
bell's Caroline  ?-f  Whether  she  did,  indeed,  walk 
this  earth  in  mortal  beauty,  or  was  not  rather 
invoked  by  the  poet's  spell,  from  the  soft  evening 
star  which  shone  upon  her  bower  ? 

Then  we  shall  know  upon  whose  white  bosom 
perished  that  rose,J  which,  dying,  bequeathed  with 
its  odorous  breath  a  tale  of  truest  love  to  after- 
times,  and  glory  to  her,  whose  breast  was  its 
envied  tomb — to  her,  whose  heart  has  thrilled  to 
the  homage  of  her  poet, — yet  who  would  u  blush 
to  find  it  fame  .r 

*  Lord  Byron's  Works,  vol.  iii.  p.  183,  (small  edit.) 
f  Campbell's  Poems,  vol.  ii.  p.  202. 
J  Barry  Cornwall's  Poems,  "  Lines  on  a  Rose." 
VOL.  II.  2  A 


354          HEROJLNES    OF    MODERN    POETRY. 

Then  we  shall  know  who  was  the  "  Lucy," 

Who  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways, 
Beside  the  springs  of  Dove  !* 

and  who  was  the  heroine  of  that  most  exquisite 
picture  of  feminine  loveliness  in  all  its  aspects, 
"  She  was  a  Phantom  of  delight."-}- — No  phantom, 
it  is  said,  but  a  fair  reality  : 

A  being,  breathing  thoughtful  breath, 
A  traveller  betwixt  life  and  death, 

yet  fated  not  to  die,  while  verse  can  live ! 

Then  we  shall  know  whose  tear  has  been  pre- 
served by  Rogers  with  a  power  beyond  "  the 
Chymisfs  magic  art ;"  who  was  the  lovely  bride 
who  is  destined  to  blush  and  tremble  in  his  Epi- 
thalamium,  for  a  thousand  years  to  come ;  and  to 
what  fair  obdurate  is  addressed  his  "  Farewell." 

We  may  then  learn  who  was  that  sweet  Mary 
who  adorned  the  cottage-home  of  Wilson ;  and 
who  was  the  "  Wild  Louisa,"  of  whom  he 
has  drawn  such  a  captivating  picture ;  first  as 

*  Wordsworth's  Poems,  vol.  i.  p.  181. 
f  Wordsworth,  vol.  ii.  p.  132. 


HEROINES    OF    MODKRN    POKTRV.          355 

the  sprightly  girl  floating  down  the  dance, 

With  footsteps  light  as  falling  snow, 
and  afterwards  as    the   matron  and  the  mother, 
hanging  over  the  cradle  of  her  infant,  and  blessing 
him  in  his  sleep. 

Then  we  may  tell  who  was  the  "  Bonnie  Jean," 
sung  by  Allan  Cunningham,  whose  destructive 
charms  are  so  pleasantly,  so  naturally  touched 
upon. 

Sair  she  slights  the  lads — 

Three  are  like  to  die; 
Four  in  sorrow  listed, — 

And  five  flew  to  sea ! 

This  rural  beauty,  who  caused  such  terrible 
devastation,  and  who,  it  is  said,  first  made  a  poet 
of  her  lover,  became  afterwards  his  wife ;  and  in 
her  matronly  character,  she  inspired  that  beautiful 
little  effusion  of  conjugal  tenderness,  "  The  Poet's 
Bridal  Song."  When  first  published,  it  was 
almost  universally  copied,  and  committed  to  me- 
mory; and  Allan  Cunningham  may  not  only  boast 
that  he  has  woven  a  wreath  "  to  grace  his  Jean,"" 
While  rivers  flow  and  woods  are  green, 
2A2 


356          HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY. 

but  that  he  has  given  the  sweet  wife,  seated 
among  her  children  in  sedate  and  matronly  love- 
liness, an  interest  even  beyond  that  which  belongs 
to  the  young  girl  he  has  described  with  raven 
locks  and  cheeks  of  cream,  driving  rustic  admirers 
to  despair,  or  lingering  with  her  lover  at  eve, 

—  Amid  the  falling  dew, 
When  looks  were  fond,  and  words  were  few ! 

Such  is  the  charm  of  affection,  and  truth,  and 
moral  feeling,  carried  straight  into  the  heart  by 
poetry ! 

What  a  new  interest  and  charm  will  be  given 
to  many  of  Moore's  beautiful  songs,  when  we  are 
allowed  to  trace  the  feeling  that  inspired  them, 
whether  derived  from  some  immediate  and  present 
impression;  or  from  remembered  emotion,  that 
sometimes  swells  in  the  breast,  like  the  heaving  of 
the  waves,  when  the  winds  are  still !  Several  of 
the  most  charming  of  his  lyrics  are  said  to  be 
inspired  by  "  the  heart  so  warm,  and  eyes  so 
bright,""  which  first  taught  him  the  value  of 
domestic  happiness; — taught  him  that  the  true  poet 


HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY.          357 

need  not  rove  abroad  for  themes  of  song,  but  may 
kindle  his  genius  at  the  flame  which  glows  on  his 
own  hearth,  and  make  the  Muses  his  household 
goddesses.* 

Gifford,  the  late  editor  of  the  Quarterly  Review, 
and  the  author  of  the  Baviad  and  Maeviad,  was 
in  early  youth  doomed  to  struggle  with  poverty, 
obscurity,  ill  health,  and  every  hardship  which 
could  check  the  rise  of  genius.  He  has  himself 
described  the  effect  produced  on  his  mind,  under 
these  circumstances,  by  his  attachment  to  an 
amiable  and  gentle  girl.  "  I  crept  on,"  he 
says,  "  in  silent  discontent,  unfriended  and 
unpitied ;  indignant  at  the  present,  careless  of 
the  future, — an  object  at  once  of  apprehension 
and  dislike.  From  this  state  of  abjectness,  I 
was  raised  by  a  young  woman  of  my  own  class. 

*  See  in  Moore's  Lyrics  the  beautiful  song.  "  I'd  mourn  the 
hopes  that  leave  me."     The  concluding  stanza  is  in  point  : 
"  Far  better  hopes  shall  win  me, 

Along  the  path  I've  yet  to  roam, 
The  mind  that  burns  within  me, 

And  pure  smiles  from  thee  at  home.'' 


358         HEROINES   OF   MODERN    POETRY. 

She  was  a  neighbour;  and  whenever  I  took  my 
solitary  walk  with  my  Wolfius  in  my  pocket, 
she  usually  came  to  the  door,  and  by  a  smile,  or  a 
short  question,  put  in  the  friendliest  manner,  en- 
deavoured to  solicit  my  attention.  My  heart  had 
been  long  shut  to  kindness;  but  the  sentiment 
was  not  dead  within  me  ;  it  revived  at  the  first 
encouraging  word ;  and  the  gratitude  I  felt  for 
it,  was  the  first  pleasing  sensation  I  had  ventured 
to  entertain  for  many  dreary  months.1'' 

There  are  two  little  effusions  inserted  in  the 
notes  to  the  Baviad  and  Mseviad,  which  have  since 
been  multiplied  by  copies,  and  have  found  their 
way  into  almost  all  collections  of  lyric  poetry  and 
"  Elegant  Extracts ;"  one  of  these  was  composed 
during  the  life  of  Anna ;  the  other,  written  after 
her  death,  and  beginning, 

I  wish  I  were  where  Anna  lies, 
For  I  am  sick  of  lingering  here, 

is  extremely  striking  from  its  unadorned  simpli- 
city and  profound  pathos. — Such  was  not  the  pre- 
vailing style  of  amatory  verse  at  the  time  it  was 
written,  nearly  fifty  years  ago.  Mr.  Gifford  never 


HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY.          359 

married  ;  and  the  effect  of  this  early  disappoint- 
ment could  be  traced  in  his  mind  and  constitution 
to  the  last  moments  of  his  life. 

The  same  sad  bereavement  which  tended  to 
make  Gifford  a  caustic  critic  and  satirist,  made 
Mr.  Bowles  a  sentimental  poet.  The  subject 
of  his  Sonnets  was  real ;  but  he  who  has  pointed 
out  the  difference  between  natural  and  fabricated 
feeling,  should  not  have  left  a  blank  for  the  name 
of  her  he  laments.  He  gives  us  indeed  a  formal 
permission  to  fill  up  the  blank  with  any  name  we 
choose.  But  it  is  not  the  same  thing ;  the  name 
of  the  woman  who  inspired  a  poet,  is  quite  as 
important  to  posterity,  as  the  name  of  the  poet 
himself. 

Who  was  the  Hannah,  whose  fickleness  occa- 
sioned that  exquisite  little  poem  which  Montgo- 
mery has  inscribed  "  To  the  memory  of  her  who 
is  dead  to  me  ?"  It  tells  a  tale  of  youthful  love, 
of  trusting  affection,  suddenly  and  eternally  blight- 
ed,— and  with  such  a  brevity,  such  a  simplicity, 
such  a  fervent  yet  heart-broken  earnestness,  that 
I  fear  it  must  be  true  ! 


360          HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY. 

At  some  future  time,  we  shall,  perhaps,  be 
told  who  was  the  beautiful  English  girl,  whose 
retiring  charms  won  the  heart  of  Hyppolito 
Pindemonte,  when  he  was  here  some  years  ago. 
His  Canzone  on  her  is,  in  Italy,  considered  as 
his  masterpiece,*  and  even  compared  to  some  of 
Petrarch's.  There  are  indeed  few  things  in  the 
compass  of  Italian  poetry  more  sweet  in  ex- 
pression, more  true  to  feeling,  than  the  lines  in 
which  Pindemonte,  describing  the  blooming  youth, 
the  serene  and  quiet  grace  of  this  fair  girl,  dis- 
claims the  idea  of  even  wishing  to  disturb  the 
heavenly  calm  of  her  pure  heart  by  a  passion  such 
as  agitates  his  own. 

II  men  di  che  puo  Donna  esser  cortese 
Ver  chi  1'  ha  di  se  stesso  assai  piu  cara, 
Da  te,  vergine  pura,  io  non  vorrei. 

This  was  being  very  peculiarly  disinterested. — 
We  may  also  learn,  at  some  future  time,  who  was 
the  sweet  Elvire,  to  whom  Alphonse  de  Lamartine 

*  See  in  the  "  Opere  di  Pindemonte,''  the  Canzone,  "  O 
Giovanetta  che  la  dubbia  via." 


HEROINES   OF    MODERN    POETRY.          361 

has  promised  immortality,  and  not  promised  more 
than  he  has  the  power  to  bestow.  He  is  one  of 
the  few  French  poets,  who  have  created  a  real  and 
a  strong  interest  out  of  their  own  country.  He 
has  vanquished,  by  the  mere  force  of  genius  and 
sentiment,  all  the  difficulties  and  deficiencies  of  the 
language  in  which  he  wrote,  and  has  given  to 
its  limited  poetical  vocabulary  a  charm  unknown 
before.  He  thus  addresses  Elvire  in  one  of  the 
Meditations  Pottiques. 

Vois,  d'un  ceil  de  pitie,  la  vulgaire  jeunesse 
Brillante  de  beaute,  s'enivrant  de  plaisir  ; 
Quand  elle  aura  tari  sa  coupe  enchanteresse, 
Que  restera-t-il  d'elle  ?  a  peine  un  souvenir : 
Le  torabeau  qui  1'attend  1'engloutit  tout  entiere, 
Un  silence  6temel  succede  a  ses  amours  ; 
Mais  les  siecles  auront  passe  sur  ta  poussiere, 
Elvire ! — et  tu  vivras  toujours! 

*  *  #  *  * 

Over  some  of  the  heroines  of  modern  poetry, 
the  tomb  has  recently  closed;  and  the  flowers 
scattered  there,  could  not  be  disturbed  without 
awakening  a  pang  in  the  bosoms  of  those  who  sur- 


362          HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY. 

vive.  They  sleep,  but  only  for  a  while:  they  shall 
rise  again — the  grave  shall  yield  them  up,  "  even 
in  the  loveliest  looks  they  wore,"  for  a  poet's  love 
has  redeemed  them  from  death  and  from  oblivion  ! 
Methinks  I  see  them  even  now  with  the  prophetic  eye 
of  fancy,  go  floating  over  the  ocean  of  time,  in  the 
light  of  their  beauty  and  their  fame,  like  Galatea 
and  her  nymphs  triumphing  upon  the  waters  ! 

Others,  perhaps,  (the  widow  of  Burns,  and  the 
widow  of  Monti,  for  instance,)  are  declining  into 
wintry  age  :  sorrow  and  thought  have  quenched 
the  native  beauty  on  their  cheek,  and  furrowed 
the  once  polished  brow  ;  yet  crowned  by  poetry 
with  eternal  youth  and  unfading  charms,  they 
will  go  down  to  posterity  among  the  Lauras,  the 
Geraldines,  the  Sacharissas  of  other  days ; — 
Nature  herself  shall  feel  decrepitude, 

And,  palsy-smitten,  shake  her  starry  brows, 

ere  these  grow  old  and  die  ! 

And  some,  even  now,  move  gracefully  through 
the  shades  of  domestic  life,  and  the  universe,  of 
whose  beauty  they  will  ere  long  form  a  part,  knows 


HEROINES    OF    MODERN    POETRY.         363 

them  not.  Undistinguished  among  the  epheme- 
ral divinities  around  them,  not  looking  as  though 
they  felt  the  future  glory  round  their  brow,  nor 
swelling  with  anticipated  fame,  they  yet  carry  in 
their  mild  eyes,  that  light  of  love,  which  has  in- 
spired undying  strains, 

And  Queens  hereafter  shall  be  proud  to  live 
Upon  the  alms  of  their  superfluous  praise  ! 


THE    END. 


LONDON : 
PHINTED    BY    S.    AND    11.    BFNTLEV, 

Por»et  Sum, Fleet  Sliert. 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

University  of  California,  San  Diego 

DATE  DUE 


JAN  0  6  «82 

JAN  05  1982 

a  39 

UCSD  Libr.