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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


Imaginary  Conversations. 
By  Walter  Savage  Landor: 
with  an  Introductory  Note 
by  Havelock  Ellis. 


LONDON:   WALTER  SCOTT,   LTD. 
PATERNOSTER    SQUARE 


CONTENTS. 


MARCELLUS   AND   HANNIBAL 

QUEEN   ELIZABETH    AND    CECIL    . 

TIBERIUS  AND  VirSANIA 

EPICTETUS   AND   SENECA  .  .  • 

PETER  THE   GREAT  AND   ALEXIS 

LOUIS   XIV.    AND   FATHER   LA   CHAISE 

HENRY   VIII.    AND   ANNE   BOLEYN 

JOSEPH   SCALIGER  AND   MONTAIGNE 

BOCCACCIO  AND   PETRARCA 

METELLUS   AND   MARIUS       .... 

BOSSUET  AND  THE  DUCHESS  DE   FONTANGES 

JOHN   OF   GAUNT   AND   JOANNA   OF   KENT     . 

LADY  LISLE  AND  ELIZABETH   GAUNT  . 

THE  EMPRESS   CATHARINE   AND   PRINCESS   DASHKOF 

LEOFRIC   AND   GODIVA  .... 

ESSEX   AND    SrENSER  .... 

WILLIAM    WALLACE   AND    KING   EDWARD    I. 

ARCHBISHOP    BOULTER    AND   PHILIP    SAVAGE 

LORD   BACON   AND   RICHARD   HOOKER 

GENERAL    LACY   AND   CURA    MERINO 

OLIVER   CROMWELL   AND    WALTER    NOBLE 

LORD   BROOKE    AND    SIR    PHILIP   SIDNEY       . 

SOUTHEY   AND   PORSON  .... 

THE   ABBE   DELILLE  AND   WALTER   LANDOR 

DIOGENES  AND   PLATO  .... 

BARROW  AND   NEWTON        .... 

SCIPIO,    POLYBIUS,    AND    PAN^ETIUS       . 

PAV1D   HUME    AND   JOHN    HOME 

ALFIERI   AND   SALOMON   THE    FLORENTINE   JEW 

ROUSSEAU   AND    MALESHERBES 
LUCULLUS  AND   CESAR  .... 

EPICURUS,    LEONTION,    AND   TERNISSA 
MARCUS  TULLIUS   AND   QUINCTUS  CICERO    . 


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LANDOR. 


ANDOR  will  always  be  a  great  figure  in  English 
literature.  His  is  an  Olympian  form,  like  Milton's, 
solitary,  it  is  true,  but  he  stands  on  "  the  far 
eastern  uplands,"  fairly  beyond  the  ebb  and  flow 
of  time.  Born  into  the  midst  of  the  second 
flowering-time  of  our  national  literary  energy,*  Landor  was 
isolated  from  the  first  by  the  necessity  of  his  own  proud  and 
imperious  temperament.  During  a  period  of  literary  activity 
extending  over  seventy  years,  he  slowly  built  up  the  life-work 
that  now  finds  a  more  or  less  inaccessible  home  in  the  stately 
volumes  of  Forster's  final  edition.  He  was  a  poet  embodying 
revolutionary  aspirations  in  classic  and  concrete  language  ;  he 
was  a  critic  in  the  largest  sense,  a  critic  of  life  and  of  the  human 
spirit  as  it  is  expressed  in  literature,  a  patient  and  unwearied 
critic  of  language  ;  above  all,  he  was  what  we  may  for  the 
moment,  for  want  of  a  better  term,  consent  to  call  him  with 

*  Wordsworth,  Scott,  Coleridge,  Southey,  Lamb,  Hazlitt,  Leigh  Hunt 
and  De  Quincey  were  all  born  during  the  years  between  1770  and  1785. 
During  the  some  period  Chatterton,  Gray,  Goldsmith  and  Johnson 
died.     Byron,  Shelley,  Carlyle  and  Keats  were  born  a  few  years  later. 


viii  LANDOR. 

Browning,  "  a  great  dramatic  poet."  His  Examination  of 
William  Shakspere  for  deer-steaiing  is  marked  by  its 
individual  power  and  solemn  deliberate  humour  ;  in  the 
Pentamero?i  Boccaccio  and  Petrarch  discourse  together  in 
delightful  old-world  fashion  ;  Pericles  and  Aspasia  is  full  of 
glimpses  of  Greek  life  mingled  with  Landorian  wisdom.  But  it 
is  in  the  Imaginary  Conversations,  elaborated  during  the  thirty 
most  mature  years  of  his  life,  that  Landor  has  given  us  most  of 
himself.  As  was  said  many  years  ago,  a  well-edited  selection  of 
the  Conversations  would  be  "  one  of  the  most  beautiful  books  in 
the  language — that  is  to  say,  in  the  world." 

In  these  Conversations  a  great  procession  of  noble  and 
gracious  forms,  of  olden  times  and  of  a  later  day,  pass  sweetly 
or  sadly  before  us.  Hannibal  supports  the  dying  body  of  his 
enemy  Marcellus,  and  exclaims — "What  else  has  the  world  in 
it?"  Chaucer  and  Boccaccio  dine  together  at  the  house  of 
Messer  Francesco  Petrarca,  and  tell  each  other  stories  in  the 
manner  of  old  time  ;  large  wise  sayings  mixed  with  kisses  fall 
from  the  lips  of  Epicurus  as  he  talks  philosophy  with  his  girl- 
pupils  in  the  garden  outside  Athens  ;  Garibaldi  and  Mazzini 
laugh  sadly  together  over  "  French  honour,  French  veracity;" 
the  dignified  Bossuet  respectfully  advances  to  hear  the  con- 
fession of  his  king's  volatile  young  mistress  ;  Cicero  and  his 
brother  discourse  together  in  lofty  Ciceronian  ways  of  life  and 
death  and  fame  ;  Leonora  di  Este  implores  her  imprisoned 
lover  Tasso  to  forget  her,  and  dies  with  a  happy  smile,  receiving 
the  assurance  that  he  can  never  forget  ;  Montaigne  in  his  wise 
and  genial  way  laughs  quietly  at  the  stiff  and  learned  Scaliger  ; 
Ascham  warns  his  young  pupil  Lady  Jane  Grey  of  the  perils  of 
greatness  ;  Pericles  leads  Sophocles  through  the  Athens  that  he 
has  adorned,  and  delights  more  than  all  in  the  voices  that  praise 
him  for  his  friends'  sake  ;  Leofric  rides  into  Coventry  with  his 
young  bride  Godiva,  so  resolute  to  save  the  city  ;  Joan  of  Arc 
strives  to  stir  Agnes  Sorel's  weak  heart  to  heroism  ;  Washington 
and  Franklin  discourse  of  the  free  spirit  of  New  England  ;  the 
Empress  Catharine  stands  outside  the  door,  hears  the  dogs 
lapping  her  murdered  husband's   blood,   and  seeks  to  justify 


LANDOR.  ix 

herself;  Sir  Philip  Sidney  and  Greville  talk  of  poetry  amid  the 
woods  of  Penshurst  ;  Beatrice  receives  her  lover's  last  kiss  with 
"  Dante  !  Dante  !  they  make  the  heart  sad  after " — such  are 
the  forms — and  how  many  more  ! — that  Landor  with  his  unfail- 
ing instinct  for  what  is  heroic  or  tender  has  brought  before  us  in 
these  Imaginary  Conversations. 

It  is  only  in  the  shorter  dialogues  that  Landor  can  be  called 
"  a  great  dramatic  poet."  In  these  he  sometimes  brings  before 
us  some  group  wrought  of  molten  musical  language  at  its 
highest  tension,  on  some  height  of  passionate  emotion,  which 
has  the  concentrated  energy  of  bronze  cast  in  the  fire.  This  is 
static  drama,  observe,  not  dynamic  ;  that  is  to  say,  there  is 
no  progress,  no  development  ;  to  appreciate  these  dramatic 
dialogues  the  reader  must  be  in  the  same  emotional  attitude  at 
the  beginning  as  at  the  end.  It  has  been  acutely  said  by  an 
American  critic  of  Landor's  short  poems  that  they  are  cameos, 
addressing  themselves  no  less  to  the  eye  than  to  the  ear,  and 
the  same  must  be  said  of  these  dramatic  groups.  It  will  be 
seen  that  there  are  narrow  limits  to  Landor's  dramatic  method, 
and  even  his  dramatic  vision  seems  to  be  of  not  very  wide 
extent.  It  has  often  been  said  that  he  rises  with  the  dignity  of 
his  subject,  and  this  is  certainly  true.  He  is  of  the  gods  and 
dwells  on  the  top  of  Olympus  ;  it  is  only  when  mortals  have 
ascended  far  up  the  slopes,  at  the  rarest  moments  of  tragic 
passion,  that  Landor  appears  to  look  on  them  eye  to  eye.  Of 
ordinary  humanity  he  knows  little.  Mr.  Colvin,  indeed, 
distinctly  his  best  critic,  has  attempted  to  vindicate  for  Landor 
a  large  field  ;  he  considers  that  only  Shakspere,  and  scarcely 
he,  has  surpassed  Landor  in  the  delineation  of  women.  This, 
surely,  is  an  extravagant  judgment.  Tender  and  noble  figures 
they  often  are,  but  even  at  the  best  seldom  more  than  the 
personification  of  boundless  resignation  or  self-sacrifice.  He 
looks  at  them  generally  from  the  outside  and  as  a  painter,  not 
dramatically  from  the  inside.  He  describes  them  as  objects  of 
love,  but  they  possess  scarcely  the  most  elementary  capacity  of 
response  to  love.  Even  Beatrice  says  to  Dante,  whose  head 
rests  against  her  bosom,  "  I  will  never  be  fond  of  you  again,  if 

b 


x  LANDOR. 

you  are  so  violent."  In  ordinary  human  relationships  they 
generally  comport  themselves,  as  Mr.  Colvin  admits,  in  a 
manner  "  giggly,  missish,  and  disconcerting  "—surely  a  terrible 
indictment.  Landor  belongs,  indeed,  as  a  dramatist,  not  to  the 
school  of  Shakspere  (in  his  most  characteristic  aspects),  but 
rather  to  that  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  or  Ford  ;  that  is  to  say, 
the  loveliness  or  pity  of  the  scene  lies  not  so  much  in  the  make 
of  the  character  as  in  the  tragic  height  to  which  the  character 
is  lifted.  In  the  best  works  of  the  greatest  dramatic  artists— 
those  who  have  possessed  what  Mr.  Theodore  Watts  calls 
"  absolute  vision  "  —  Shakspere,  Flaubert,  George  Eliot, 
Beyle,  Charlotte  and  Emily  Bronte— we  are  conscious  of  solid, 
vital,  complex  personalities,  thrilling  with  warm  blood,  recog- 
nisable in  theirTeast  words  and  acts,  and  we  are  conscious  of 
nothing  of  this  in  Landor's  sublime  or  pathetic  images.  Few 
indeed  are  the  real  organic  personalities,  outside  himself,  whom 
Landor  has  revealed  ;  his  Filippo  Lippi  is  a  far  less  vivid  and 
powerful  portrait  than  that  which  Browning  has  produced  under 
more  difficult  conditions  ;  his  Mary  of  Scotland  (in  what  is, 
however,  an  excellent  dialogue),  saying  to  Bothwell  during  the 
memorable  ride,  "  But  you  really  are  a  very,  very  wicked  man 
indeed,"  is  a  colourless  school-girl  beside  that  brilliant  Mary 
whom  Swinburne  has  discovered  or  created.  When  we  turn  to 
the  longer  Conversations,  which  are  of  a  more  reflective  or 
argumentative  character,  the  dramatic  element  becomes  still 
fainter  ;  Landor  has  infused  into  his  heroes  his  own  large 
nature,  and  notwithstanding  all  warning  to  the  contrary,  we  hear 
throughout  these  Conversations,  from  beneath  some  thin  mask, 
Cicero,  Epicurus,  Diogenes,  Lucian— and  the  marvel  is  that  the 
masks  should  suit  the  voice  so  well— the  great  voice,  solemn, 
flexible,  harmonious,  of 

"  That  deep-mouthed  Boeotian  Savage  Landor." 
If  this  is  so,  if  the  inner  individuality  of  the  writer  is  here 
revealed,  if  in  these  sculptured  groups, 

"  Peach-blossom  marble  all,  the  rare,  the  ripe, 
As  fresh-poured  red  wine  of  a  mighty  pulse," 


LAN  DOR.  xi 

the  red  wine  is  of  Landor's  own  heart,  we  cannot  better  prepare 
ourselves  for  reading  the  Conversations  thdn  by  trying  to 
realise  what  manner  of  man  he  was.  Born  in  1775  at  War- 
wick, in  the  heart  of  England,  in  the  county  of  Shakspere  and 
George  Eliot,  he  came  of  two  old  English  families  long  settled  in 
that  land,  and  he  was  always  proud  of  being  an  Englishman- 
very  proud  of  being  an  "  English  gentleman."  *  His  father,  who 
had  at  one  time  practised  as  a  physician,  belonged  to  a  family 
that  could  be  traced  back,  as  Landor  thought,  for  seven 
hundred  years,  and  he  flattered  both  his  republican  and  aristo- 
cratic prejudices  by  thinking  that  on  his  mother's  side  he 
was  descended  from  a  certain  Savage  who  had  resisted  the 
royal  prerogatives  of  Henry  IV.  Landor  entered  life  with  the 
gifts  of  good  fortune,  a  fine  physical  constitution  and  an  ample 
estate.  As  a  boy,  he  was  fond  both  of  books  and  of  games 
(though  now  and  ever  he  was  awkward)  ;  at  an  early  age  he  was 
among  the  best  Latin  scholars.  We  see  in  him  the  legitimate 
but  rare  outcome  of  that  merely  classical  and  literary  education 
which,  until  a  very  recent  period,  when  a  breath  of  new  life 
stirred  it,  ruled  in  England  from  medieval  times. 

"  In  those  pale  olive  grounds  all  voices  cease, 
And  from  afar  dust  fills  the  paths  of  Greece.'" 

But  this  imaginative  Rugby  boy  had  genius  ;  he  himself  brought 
life  which  made  the  old  classic  times  alive  ;  and  he  wandered 
along  the  brook-side  and  dreamed  old  heroic  dreams.  At  the 
same  time  his  audacity,  his  fierce  independence  and  impetuosity 
also  developed.     He  was  skilful   in  fishing  with  a  net,  and  one 

*  The  best  general  account  of  Landor's  life  and  work  is  Mr.  Colvin's 
admirable  little  book  in  the  Men  of  Letters  series.  No  one  who  cares 
for  Landor  can  refer  without  gratitude  to  the  same  writer's  anthology 
from  Landor's  works  in  the  Golden  Treasury  series.  It  is  attempted  in 
the  present  volume  to  approach  Landor  in  another  way,  by  presenting 
a  representative  selection  of  Conversations  (excluding  a  minority  not  yet 
out  of  copyright),  either  in  an  unmutilated  form  or  with  omissions 
which  are  for  the  most  pari  unimportant. 


xll  LANDOR. 

day  caught  and  held  captive  a  farmer  who  dared  to  inter- 
fere with  his  pastime.  In  after  days  he  related  that 
he  had  been  accustomed  as  a  boy  to  walk  in  the  rain 
with  his  hat  off;  but  when  he  read  that  Bacon  had  done 
so  he  immediately  dropped  the  habit.  At  his  father's 
table  once  when  a  bishop  had  remarked,  "  We  do  not  think 
much  of  Porson's  scholarship  at  Cambridge,"  young  Landor 
said  contemptuously,  "  We,  my  Lord  ? "  At  the  age  of  sixteen 
his  Rugby  career  suddenly  ended  in  consequence  of  a  fierce 
quarrel  with  the  head-master  (in  which  Landor  was  originally 
right)  over  a  Latin  quantity.  A  year  or  two  later  he  went  into 
residence  at  Trinity  College,  Oxford,  but  one  day,  by  way  of 
practical  joke,  he  sent  a  charge  of  shot  into  the  shutters  of 
a  Tory  undergraduate,  and  therewith  his  university  career 
terminated. 

In  the  meanwhile  he  was  attaining  a  deeper  insight  into 
Greek  and  Roman  literature,  and  had  also  fallen  under  the 
influence  of  some  of  the  moderns,  especially  Milton,  whom  he 
then  and  ever  after  reverenced  both  as  a  great  poet  and  a  great 
republican.  At  this  time  also  began  the  long  series  of  tender 
friendships  which  he  formed  with  girls — at  this  time  girls  of  his 
own  age.  Ianthe,  as  he  called  her,  was  one  of  the  earliest,  and 
she  conceived  an  ardent  affection  for  this  lovable  untamed  youth. 
Fifty  years  later  it  was  one  of  Lando^s  greatest  consolations 
to  live  near  the  Countess  de  Molande,  as  Ianthe  had  become. 
Many  of  his  finest  song-cameos  are  addressed  to  her  ("And 
much  she  cared  for  them  !  "  he  growled  once  in  the  last  days). 

"  Well  I  remember  how  you  smiled 
To  see  me  write  your  name  upon 
The  soft  sea-sand  .  .   .   O  !  what  a  child! 
You  think  you're  writing  upon  stone  ! 

I  have  since  written  what  no  tide 

Shall  ever  wash  away,  what  men 
Unborn  shall  read  o'er  ocean  wide, 

And  find  Ianthe's  name  again." 

His  best  known  lines,  "  carved  as  it  were  in  ivory  or  in  gems," 


LANDOR.  riii 

were  written  on  another  of    these   girls-friends  who  had  died 
suddenly  in  India  : — 

"  Ah,  what  avails  the  scepted  race? 
Ah,  what  the  form  divine  ? 
What  every  virtue,  every  grace  ? 
Rose  Aylmer,  all  were  thine. 

Rose  Aylmer,  whom  these  wakeful  eyes 

May  weep,  but  never  see, 
A  night  of  memories  and  of  sighs 

I  consecrate  to  thee." 

At  the  age  of  twenty-three  (in  1798)  Landor  published  Gebir, 
his  first  and  most  important  long  poem,  in  which  we  already 
find  in  full  measure  "  Lando^s  peculiar  qualities,"  to  use  Mr. 
Colvin's  accurate  words,  "  of  haughty  splendour  and  massive 
concentration."  But  it  is  sad  to  see  how  the  energy  which 
produced  at  the  centre  creations  so  calm  and  lofty  spent  itself 
wildly  at  the  periphery  against  the  trivial  details  of  daily  life. 
At  Llanthony,  where  he  had  bought  an  estate,  Landor  was 
engaged  in  constant  law-suits  and  quarrels  with  neighbours, 
tenants,  and  labourers.  He  was  for  ever  flaming  out  into  fierce 
indignation  because  his  fellow-men  failed  to  behave  after  the 
ideal  fashion  of  ancient  Romans.  At  last  he  was  provoked  to 
deal  physical  chastisement  to  an  insolent  attorney,  following  it 
up,  as  was  his  fashion,  by  a  discharge  of  Latin  lampoons.  At 
this  point,  and  having  also  sunk  all  his  money  in  the  estate,  he 
had  to  beat  a  retreat  to  the  Continent.  At  Como,  however, 
shortly  afterwards  we  find  him  threatening  to  thrash  a 
magistrate.  At  Leghorn  he  is  said  to  have  challenged  a 
secretary  of  legation  for  whistling  in  the  street  when  Mrs. 
Landor  passed,  and  he  wrote  a  formal  complaint  to  the  Foreign 
Office  concerning  the  character  of  "  the  wretches  they  employed 
abroad."  He  was  on  terms  of  chronic  misunderstanding  with 
the  police.  When  in  1821,  in  the  maturity  of  his  power,  he 
began  to  produce  the  Imaginary  Conversations,  it  is  amid  the 
same   dust   and   heat.     He   hears   nothing  of  his  manuscript, 


jdv  LANDOR. 

concludes,  of  course,  that  it  is  lost  or  rejected.  "  This  dis- 
appointment," he  writes,  "has  brought  back  my  old  bilious 
complaint,  together  with  the  sad  reflection  on  that  fatality  which 
has  followed  me  through  life,  of  doing  everything  in  vain.  I 
have,  however,  had  the  resolution  to  tear  in  pieces  all  my 
sketches  and  projects,  and  to  forswear  all  future  undertakings. 
I  try  to  sleep  away  my  time,  and  pass  two-thirds  of  the  twenty- 
four  hours  in  bed.  I  may  speak  of  myself  as  of  a  dead  man. 
I  will  say,  then,  that  these  Conversations  contained  as  forcible 
writing  as  exists  on  earth." 

The  contrast  between  Landor's  marriage  and  his  views  con- 
cerning marriage  has  often  been  pointed  out.  "  Death  itself," 
he  writes,  "  to  the  reflecting  mind  is  less  serious  than  marriage. 
.  .  .  Death  is  not  even  a  blow,  is  not  even  a  pulsation  ;  it  is  a 
pause.  But  marriage  unrolls  the  awful  lot  of  numberless  genera- 
tions." At  the  age  of  thirty-six  he  saw  a  young  lady  at  a  ball  at 
Bath.  "  By  heavens  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  that's  the  nicest  girl  in 
the  room,  and  I'll  marry  her."  A  few  weeks  later  he  did  so. 
She  was  a  commonplace  provincial  beauty,  many  years  younger 
than  himself,  lively  in  her  own  way,  totally  unfitted  to  be  a 
companion  for  Landor.  On  his  retreat  from  Llanthony  he 
stopped  at  Jersey  to  join  his  wife  ;  here  they  quarrelled,  as  often 
before,  and  she  taunted  him  with  their  inequality  of  age  before 
her  sister.  The  next  morning  Landor  set  sail  for  France,  in  an 
oyster  boat,  alone.  But  the  rupture  was  not  on  this  occasion 
final. 

Landor  was  accustomed  to  relate  how  Hazlitt  in  his  deep 
gruff  voice  had  described  Wordsworth  to  him.  "Well,  sir,  did 
you  ever  see  a  horse,  sir  ?  Then,  sir,  you  have  seen  Words- 
worth, sir, — and  a  very  long-faced  horse  at  that,  sir  !  "  Landor 
himself  resembled  a  lion  ;  few  persons  who  met  him  in  mature 
or  later  life  fail  to  speak  of  his  leonine  appearance.  Thus, 
Crabbe  Robinson,  who  knew  him  at  Florence  in  1830,  writes — 
"  He  was  a  man  of  florid  complexion,  with  large,  full  eyes  ; 
altogether  a  '  leonine '  man,  and  with  a  fierceness  of  tone  well- 
suited  to  his  name  ;  his  decisions  being  confident,  and  on  all 
subjects,  whether  of  taste  or  life,  unqualified,  each  standing  for 


LAN  DOR.  xv 

itself,  not  caring  whether  it  was  in  harmony  with  what  had 
gone  before,  or  would  follow  from  the  same  oracular  lips."  (The 
same  writer  records  the  sentence  in  which  an  Italian  summed 
up  the  feelings  of  mingled  awe  and  amusement  that  Landor  in- 
spired— "  All  Englishmen  are  mad,  but  this  one !  ")     His 

laughter  also  is  frequently  mentioned,  "a  laughter  so  panto- 
mimic yet  so  genial,"  says  Lord  Houghton,  "  rising  out  of  a 
momentary  silence  into  peals  so  cumulative  and  sonorous,  that 
all  contradiction  and  possible  affront  were  merged  for  ever." 
Here  and  all  through  there  was  something  Olympian  in  Landor. 
"  His  very  words  are  thunder  and  lightning,"  said  his  friend 
Southey,  "  such  is  the  power  and  splendour  with  which  they 
burst  out.  But  all  is  perfectly  natural  ;  there  is  no  trick  about 
him." 

Notwithstanding  all  his  impetuosity,  Landors  "Achillean 
wrath  "  represents  a  part  only  of  the  man's  nature.  A  very 
keen  observer,  Charles  Dickens,  has  recorded  that  at  the  height 
of  his  indignation,  and  when  his  hands  were  clenched,  there  was 
"  a  noticeable  tendency  to  relaxation  on  the  part  of  the  thumb." 
Leigh  Hunt,  who  knew  him  about  1820,  writes — "  He  is  like  a 
stormy  mountain  pine  that  should  produce  lilies.  After  in- 
dulging the  partialities  of  his  friendships  and  enmities,  and 
trampling  on  kings  and  ministers,  he  shall  cool  himself,  like  a 
Spartan  worshipping  a  moonbeam,  in  the  patient  meekness  of 
Lady  Jane  Grey."  He  was  charming  towards  boys,  he  loved 
the  ways  and  the  companionship  of  children  ;  his  affection  for 
animals  is  described  in  Boythorn  of  Bleak  House  (taken  from 
Landor  with  the  genius  and  much  else  left  out),  who  would 
declaim  "  with  unimaginable  energy "  while  his  canary  was 
perched  on  his  thumb,  Landor's  favourite  animal  being,  however, 
a  dog.  His  tenderness,  as  it  may  be  called,  for  flowers  has  left 
many  traces  on  his  work,  especially  his  poems,  and  a  story  told 
of  him  by  the  Italians  round  Fiesole,  where  he  lived  for  many 
years,  is  at  least  ben  trovato.  One  day,  it  is  said,  in  a  fit  of 
anger,  he  threw  his  cook  out  of  the  window  ;  immediately  after 
he  was  seen  at  the  window  beneath  which  the  injured  man  lay  : 
"  Good  God  !  I  forgot  the  violets."     To  women  he  was  always 


xvi  LAN  DOR. 

gentle — regarding  them,  it  appears,  as  a  very  superior  sort  of 
flower — and  always  attractive.  Lady  Blessington,  a  competent 
authority,  thought  him  the  most  genuinely  polite  man  in  Europe  ; 
"  he  was  chivalry  incarnate,"  said  Miss  Kate  Field.  Mrs.  Lynn 
Lynton  describes  her  first  accidental  meeting  with  him  when  he 
was  over  seventy — "  a  noble-looking  old  man,  badly  dressed  in 
shabby  snuff-coloured  clothes,  a  dirty  old  blue  necktie,  un- 
starched cotton  shirt — with  a  front  more  like  a  night-gown  than 
a  shirt — and  'knubbly'  applepie  boots.  But  underneath  the  rusty 
old  hat-brim  gleamed  a  pair  of  quiet  and  penetrating  grey-blue 
eyes  ;  the  voice  was  sweet  and  masterly,  the  manner  that  of  a 
man  of  rare  distinction.  ...  I  was  taken  by  surprise.  Here 
stood  in  the  flesh  one  of  my  great  spiritual  masters,  one  of  my 
most  revered  intellectual  guides.  I  remember  how  the  blood 
came  into  my  face  as  I  dashed  up  to  him  with  both  hands  held 
out,  and  said  '  Mr.  Landor  !  oh  !  is  this  Mr.  Landor  ?'  as  if  he 
had  been  a  god  suddenly  revealed.  And  I  remember  the  amused 
smile  with  which  he  took  both  my  hands  in  his  and  said — 'And 
who  is  this  little  girl,  I  wonder?'" 

He  stood  aloof  for  the  most  part  from  his  great  contem 
poraries.  For  Southey  he  cherished  always  a  devoted  and 
chivalrous  affection  which  led  him  to  over-estimate  Southey's 
position.  As  a  critic  Landor  belonged  to  a  school  that  flourished 
before  Sainte-Beuve  and  Taine  had  re-created  criticism.  His  is 
the  criticism  of  words  and  sentences,  like  Leigh  Hunt's — less 
sensitive  and  sympathetic,  more  pungent  and  incisive.  He  had 
nothing  of  the  deeper  insight  of  Coleridge,  De  Quincey,  or  Lamb 
at  their  best.  For  Wordsworth's  poetry  he  had  an  enthusiastic 
but  very  imperfect  appreciation,  preferring  poems  like  Laodamia. 
At  a  later  period  he  finds  in  Wordsworth  "  a  sad  deficiency  of 
vital  heat."  Scott  he  called  "  a  great  ale-house  writer,"  but  at  the 
latter  part  of  his  life  fell  back  on  his  novels  with  much  enjoy- 
ment. He  always  admired  Lamb,  and  wrote  some  of  his  finest 
elegiac  verses  on  his  death.  For  Coleridge  he  cared  very  moder- 
ately. Of  Keats,  on  the  other  hand,  he  wrote  that  he  "  already 
far  surpassed  all  his  contemporaries  in  this  country  in  the  poet's 
most  noble  attributes."     Of  Byron  he  spoke  contemptuously, 


LANDOR.  xvii 

though  he  could  not  fail  to  perceive  his  poetic  energy.  Byron 
belonged  to  a  younger  generation,  and  his  turbulent  spirit 
struck  across  the  measured  antique  decorum  within  whose 
boundaries  Landor  sought  to  restrain  the  tumult  of  the  soul. 
He  only  saw  Byron  once.  On  going  into  a  perfumer's  shop  to 
buy  a  pot  of  ottar  of  roses  he  found  Byron  buying  soap.  When, 
however,  Byron  died  on  a  mission  in  the  cause  of  freedom 
Landor  wrote  a  noble  eulogy  of  him.  Shelley  lived  at  Pisa  at 
the  same  time  as  Landor  ;  they  never  met,  though  each  ardently 
admired  the  other's  poetry,  because  Landor  was  held  back 
by  the  wild  rumours  that  circulated  concerning  Shelley.  Later 
on  he  deeply  regretted  the  misunderstanding  that  had  kept 
them  apart,  and  while  assigning  to  Shelley  almost  the  first  place 
both  as  a  poet  and  a  prose-writer,  wrote  that  "  his  generosity  and 
charity  went  far  beyond  those  of  any  man  (I  believe)  at  present 


"  Since  Chaucer  was  alive  and  hale, 
No  man  hath  walked  along  our  roads  with  steps 
So  active,  so  inquiring  eye,  or  tongue 
So  varied  in  discourse." 

Shortly  before  Landor's  death  Swinburne  went  over  to  Florence 
to  see  him,  and  the  writer  whose  "  ingenious  "  wit  Samuel  Parr 
had  once  distinguished  received  the  homage  of  a  young  poet 
who  belonged  to  an  altogether  different  world. 

Landor  continued  till  near  the  last  to  produce  work  which 
grew  more  vivid  and  brilliant  rather  than  dimmer.  "  Do  you 
think  the  grand  old  Pagan  wrote  that  piece  just  now?"  asks 
Carlyle  of  a  Conversation  published  when  Landor  was  over 
eighty.  "The  sound  of  it  is  like  the  ring  of  Roman  swords  on 
the  helmets  of  barbarians  !  The  unsubduable  old  Roman  !  " 
His  life  closes  with  sadness  that  has  in  it,  as  it  has  been  said, 
a  touch  of  Lear's  tragedy.  Still  as  reckless  and  untamable  as 
ever,  the  "  Olympian  schoolboy "  had  engaged  in  a  violent 
quarrel  at  Bath  ;  it  was  necessary  to  take  legal  proceedings 
against  him,  and  he  was  compelled  to  leave  England.     His  wife 


xviii  LAND  OR. 

and  children,  to  whom  he  had  made  over  all  his  property,  and 
whom  he  had  not  seen  for  many  years,  still  lived  at  Florence; 
unwisely  he  was  induced  to  rejoin  them.  Here,  in  what  had 
been  his  old  home  at  Fiesole,  his  own  family  not  only  made  life 
intolerable  to  him — an  easy  thing  to  do  perhaps — but  refused 
to  make  any  allowance  which  would  permit  him  to  live  by 
himself.  One  day  he  presented  himself  before  Mr.  Browning, 
almost  penniless,  declaring  that  nothing  would  induce  him  to 
return.  It  appears  to  have  been  largely  owing  to  Browning's 
considerate  kindness  (as  during  many  previous  years  to 
Forster's)  that  the  old  lion  was  enabled  to  spend  the  last  few 
years  of  his  life  in  peace.  At  this  time  he  had  become  more 
leonine  and  majestic  than  ever — the  very  type  of  that  "  race  of 
splendid  and  savage  old  men  "  announced  by  Whitman.  He 
still  wrote  with  the  old  mastery  ;  he  still  had  a  dog,  Giallo,  who 
shared  all  his  opinions  ;  he  taught  Latin  to  a  young  American 
friend,  Miss  Kate  Field,  who  has  written  of  him  affectionately. 
But  the  end  was  approaching  ;  his  two  youngest  sons  came  to 
him  during  the  last  weeks,  and  he  died  on  the  17th  of  September 
1864  in  his  ninetieth  year.  Some  years  earlier  he  had  said  in 
noble  lines  that  are  Greek  both  in  spirit  and  in  form  : — 

"  I  strove  with  none,  for  none  was  worth  my  strife  ; 
Nature  I  loved,  and  next  to  Nature,  Art ; 
I  warmed  both  hands  before  the  fire  of  life  ; 
It  sinks,  and  I  am  ready  to  depart." 

At  the  outset  I  coupled  Landor's  name  with  Milton's.  There 
is  for  this  classification  a  reason  which  lies  not  merely  in  the 
similarity  of  their  temperament  and  haughty  isolation,  or  in 
their  austere  republicanism.  In  Landor's  prose,  as  in  Milton's 
verse,  we  see  the  essentially  romantic  northern  genius  dominated 
by  a  plastic  force  which  we  may  call  classic.  These  two  words 
indicate  the  two  great  and  opposing  tendencies,  rarely  united, 
which  run  through  all  literature.  The  classic  tendency  is 
towards  simplicity  and  calm,  towards  clear  and  definite  outline, 
as  of  sculpture,  and  the  classic  artist  has  wrought  the  substance 


LANDOR.  xix 

of  his  work  to  the  measure  of  his  ideal.  The  romantic  artist, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  a  painter  rather  than  a  sculptor  ;  he  cares 
more  for  vivid  colour  than  for  definite  outline  ;  he  delights  in 
picturesque  profusion.  The  classic  artist  lives  in  a  temple  ;  the 
romantic  artist  dwells  in  the  forest.  Spenser  is  the  most 
romantic  of  romantic  poets,  and  the  English  genius  is  essentially 
romantic  ;  all  our  poets  of  the  first  rank,  with  the  single  excep- 
tion of  Wordsworth,  are  on  the  romantic  side.  Wordsworth, 
whenever  he  is  great  as  an  artist,  has  the  easy  self-control,  the 
clear  outline  and  sane  simplicity  of  classic  art.  He  knows  that, 
in  the  words  he  has  put  into  the  mouth  of  Protesilaus  when  he 
attempts  to  soothe  Laodomia's  passion, 

"  The  gods  approve 
The  depth,  and  not  the  tumult,  of  the  soul." 

And  Wordsworth  as  an  artist  is  perhaps  the  least  understood  of 
our  great  poets.  In  prose  also  we  are  predominantly  and 
characteristically  romantic.  Even  in  the  period  of  our  classic 
prose,  the  period  of  Dryden  and  Swift,  there  is  a  tendency 
towards  a  barren  frigidity  ;  it  is  too  often  pseudo-classic,  having 
the  same  relation  to  the  true  classic  as  those  strange  and 
hideous  church-facades  that  still  linger  among  us  have  to  a 
genuine  antique  temple.  After  that  long  and  steadying  period 
of  retrenchment  our  characteristic  romantic  prose  burst  out  with 
renewed  vigour.  Landor  has  all  the  luxuriant  energy  of  the 
native  character.  But  perhaps  out  of  the  very  turbulence  of  his 
nature  he  had  learnt  to  approve 

"The  depth,  and  not  the  tumult,  of  the  soul." 

It  was  because  in  him  there  was  this  tumult  to  subdue — and  not 
that  foundation  of  bovine  passivity  on  which  Wordsworth's  art 
rests— that  he  is  not  a  purely  classic  artist.  Landor's  position 
may  best  be  shown  by  illustration.  This  is  how  Ruskin— 
unsurpassable  in  romantic  prose — describes  the  Alps  as 
seen  from  the  plain  of  Piedmont— "A  wilderness  of  jagged 
peaks,    cast    in     passionate    and    fierce    profusion    along    the 


xx  LAN  DOR. 

circumference  of  heaven  ;  precipice  behind  precipice,  and 
gulf  beyond  gulf,  filled  with  the  flowing  of  the  sunset,  and 
forming  mighty  channels  for  the  flowings  of  the  clouds,  which 
roll  up  against  them  out  of  the  vast  Italian  plain,  forced 
together  by  the  narrowing  crescent,  and  breaking  up  at  last 
against  the  Alpine  wall  in  towers  of  spectral  spray  ;  or  sweeping 
up  its  ravines  with  long  moans  of  complaining  thunder."  In 
Landor's  pages  natural  sights  and  sounds  have  been  subjected  to 
the  plastic  imagination,  and  come  before  us,  not  as  molten  lava, 
but  moulded  into  concrete  images,  massive  or  pungent.  "  When 
our  conversation  paused  awhile  in  the  stillness  of  midnight,  we 
heard  the  distant  waves  break  heavily.  Their  sound,  as  you 
remarked,  was  such  as  you  could  imagine  the  sound  of  a  giant 
might  be,  who,  coming  back  from  travel  into  some  smooth  and 
level  and  still  and  solitary  place,  with  all  his  armour  and  all  his 
spoils  about  him,  casts  himself  slumberously  down  to  rest." 
And  he  describes  the  internal  world  in  the  same  fashion  : — 
"  There  is  a  gloom  in  deep  love,  as  in  deep  water  :  there  is  a 
silence  in  it  which  suspends  the  foot,  and  the  folded  arms  and 
the  dejected  head  are  the  images  it  reflects.  No  voice  shakes 
its  surface  :  the  muses  themselves  approach  it  with  a  tardy  and 
a  timid  step,  and  with  a  low  and  tremulous  and  melancholy 
song."  And  again,  of  a  poet  for  whom  he  had  little  love  : — 
"  Spenser's  is  a  spacious  but  somewhat  low  chamber,  heavy 
with  rich  tapestry,  on  which  the  figures  are  mostly  dispro- 
portioned,  but  some  of  the  faces  are  lively  and  beautiful ;  the 
furniture  is  part  creaking  and  worm-eaten,  part  fragrant  with 
cedar  and  sandal-wood  and  aromatic  gums  and  balsams  ;  every 
table  and  mantelpiece  and  cabinet  is  covered  with  gorgeous 
vases,  and  birds,  and  dragons,  and  houses  in  the  air."  He 
proceeds  always  by  a  series  of  clear  and  definite  concrete 
images,  vivified  by  intellect  and  emotion.  Realising  that  all 
language  is  metaphor  he  is  determined  that  his  shall  be  distinct 
metaphor,  and  while  he  ranges  to  remote  antiquity  in  search  of 
images  he  is  best  pleased  when  they  are  simplest  and  most 
familiar.  At  the  finest  Landor's  is  not  only  the  most  substantial 
but  also  the  most  musical  of  styles.     No  one  has  written  prose 


LANDOR.  xxi 

so  like  poetry  and  yet  so  unfailingly  true  to  the  laws  of  prose. 
To  realise  this  we  need  only  turn  to  the  Conversation  between 
Leofric  and  Godiva.  Newman's  style  is  among  the  most 
musical,  but  its  exquisite  melody  is  thin  beside  the  masculine 
harmony  of  this  "deep-chested  music." 

Landor's  affinities  are  indicated  by  his  tastes.  Among  the 
ancients  his  favourite  poet  was  Catullus,  in  whom  the  colour  and 
passion  that  we  should  term  romantic  are  restrained — and  only 
just  restrained — by  classic  form.  Among  the  moderns,  after  Shak- 
spere,he  loved  above  all  Milton ;  among  later  poets  he  hasspoken 
perhaps  most  enthusiastically  of  Keats,  in  whom  also  we  find  the 
same  harmony  of  opposing  traditions  as  in  Milton.  Outside 
English  and  ancient  literature  there  was  no  writer  for  whom  he 
had  so  much  affection  as  Boccaccio,  and  of  Boccaccio  we  may 
say,  in  the  words  of  a  fine  critic,  Emile  Montegut,  as  of  Landor, 
"  If  his  form  is  classic,  his  matter,  his  prime  substance  is 
romantic,  so  that  at  the  same  moment  that  he  recalls  Livy,  Sallust, 
and  Cicero,  he  carries  the  imagination  towards  Shakspere, 
Spenser  and  Chaucer."  It  is  necessary  to  state  clearly 
Landor's  position  in  English  prose,  because  there  appears  to  be 
some  confusion  in  the  matter  ;  and  while  Mr.  Colvin  unhesita- 
tingly places  Landor  on  the  classic  side,  Mr.  Saintsbury  classes 
him  with  the  writers  of  romantic  prose.  But  indeed  a  writer's 
style  is  his  most  deep-ruoted  and  inalienable  possession  ;  we 
cannot  too  carefully  ascertain  its  form  and  quality.  Landor's 
organ-voice  is  determined  by  the  whole  structure  of  the  man's 
tumultuous  nature  enamoured  of  calm,  the  strength  and  the 
tenderness  of  the  pine  that  produced  lilies. 

Landor  is,  as  M.  Sarrazin,  one  of  his  best  critics,  remarks,  a 
great  and  typical  Englishman,  the  representative  of  an 
"aristocratic  republic."  Emerson,  who  came  to  Europe 
attracted  by  the  desire  to  see  three  or  four  men  among  whom 
was  Landor,  has  recorded  a  similar  opinion.  "  He  has  a 
wonderful  brain,"  he  writes,  after  a  visit  to  the  villa  at  Fiesole, 
"  despotic,  violent,  and  inexhaustible,  meant  for  a  soldier,  by 
what  chance  converted  to  letters,  in  which  there  is  not  a  style 
nor  a  tint  not  known  to  him,  yet  with  an  English  appetite  for 


xxii  LAN  DOR. 

actions  and  heroes."  He  showed  this  appetite  when,  on 
Napoleon's  invasion  of  Spain,  he  went  over  and  with  his  own 
energy  and  money  raised  a  body  of  men  with  whom  he  marched 
across  the  country  to  the  seat  of  war  ;  and  a  little  later  he  was 
only  hindered  from  going  to  Spain  again  by  the  state  of  his  own 
affairs.  Landor  is  above  all  an  artist  and  a  man  of  letters,  but 
there  is  an  heroic  temper  in  his  work. 

He  desired  to  walk  "  with  Epicurus  on  the  right  hand  and 
Epictetus  on  the  left."  His  general  philosophical  attitude  is  indi- 
cated in  the  three  Conversatio7is  with  which  this  volume  concludes. 
He  belonged  to  what  is  called  the  English  school,  and  attached 
himself  not  so  much  to  any  later  writer  as  to  Bacon,  to  whom, 
he  somewhere  says,  Shakspere  and  Milton  might  look  up 
reverently.  "  I  meddle  not  at  present  with  infinity  or  eternity," 
he  makes  Diogenes  say  to  Plato  ;  "  when  I  can  comprehend 
them  I  will  talk  about  them.  You  metaphysicians  kill  the  flower- 
bearing  and  fruit-bearing  glebe  with  delving  and  turning  over 
and  sifting,  and  never  bring  any  solid  and  malleable  mass  from 
the  dark  profundity  in  which  you  labour.  .  .  .  This  is  philo- 
sophy :  to  make  remote  things  tangible,  common  things 
extensively  useful  ;  useful  things  extensively  common,  and  to 
leave  the  least  necessary  for  the  last."  In  religion  he  insisted 
chiefly  on  love  to  humanity  and  the  widest  toleration.  In  politics 
he  was  a  republican  of  the  school  of  Plutarch,  with  a  lively 
hatred  of  kings.  His  republicanism  was  aristocratic,  a  govern- 
ment by  the  fittest,  and  he  never  reconciled  this  with  modern 
democracy,  which,  he  thought,  must  lead  to  despotism.  He  had 
a  strenuous  love  of  freedom  ;  if  it  is  better  to  have  one  master 
than  many,  Petrarch  says  in  the  Pentameron,  let  a  man's  self  be 
that  one  master.  The  practical  political  measures  which 
Landor  supported  were  such  as  those  in  favour  of  the  removal 
of  Catholic  disabilities,  of  mitigated  penal  laws,  of  land  legisla- 
tion for  the  relief  of  Ireland,  and  the  Factory  Acts.  He  followed 
with  passionate  interest  the  movement  of  Italian  emancipation.* 

*  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  Landor,  with  his  intense  individualism, 
was  in  favour  of  what  would  be  called  Socialistic  legislation  ;  and  with 
evident  approval  he  puts  the  following  words  in  the  mouth  of  William 


LANDOR.  xxiii 

There  are  many  deductions  to  be  made  in  the  estimate  of 
Landor's  life-work.  He  is  a  great  artist,  but  within  narrow 
limits  ;  he  can  be  colossal  in  a  sentence  or  within  a  few  pages, 
but  beyond  these  limits  he  is  wanting  in  architectonic  power — 
the  power  of  duly  proportioning  a  great  whole — and  sprawls 
about  in  as  purely  romantic  fashion  as  Spenser.  He  can  rarely 
describe  vivacity  or  progression  ;  action  in  his  pages  always 
stands  still.  One  must  never  in  reading  Landor  hasten  towards 
any  climax  or  focus  of  interest,  for  none  such  exists  ;  the  reader 
must  accompany  Landor  in  an  open-eyed  and  leisurely  fashion 
if  he  is  to  receive  all  the  enjoyment  and  exhilaration  of  this 
companionship.  Landor  is  not  always  in  touch  with  his  reader  ; 
he  can  never  be  described  as  light  reading  ;  even  his  humour  is 
generally  elephantine  ;  sometimes  he  spends  too  much  time  on 
uninteresting  or  merely  scholarly  excursions  ;  sometimes,  not- 
withstanding the  series  of  clear-cut  concrete  images  by  which  he 
proceeds,  his  effort  after  concentration  results  in  apparent 
obscurity.  But  when  all  deductions  are  made  we  must  return 
to  Landor  again  and  again — to  adopt  Emerson's  words — "  for 
wisdom,  wit,  and  indignation  which  are  unforgetable." 

With  his  sound  fibre  and  sinewy  strength,  his  massive  energy, 
which  bears  in  its  bosom  tenderness  so  exquisite,  this  "  gigantic 
and  Olympian  schoolboy  "  seems  to  be  the  younger  brother  of  an 
elder  race,  of  Chaucer  and  Rabelais  and  Bacon  ;  he  has  little 
of  the  subtle  and  supple  skill  that  belongs  to  the  children  of  a 
more  sublimated  civilisation,  to  Heine,  or  Emerson,  or  Renan. 
"  I  hate  both  poetry  and  wine  without  body.  Look  at 
Shakspere,  Bacon,  and  Milton  ;  were  these  your  pure  imagin- 
ation men  ?      The  least  of  them,  whichever  it  was,  carried  a 

Penn  :• — "  Every  government  should  provide  for  every  subject  the  means 
of  living  both  honestly  and  at  ease.  We  should  bring  out  of  every  man 
and  every  creature  as  much  utility  as  we  may  :  now,  much  utility  will 
never  be  produced,  unless  we  render  life  easy  and  comfortable.  If  all 
men  and  women  would  labour  six  hours  in  the  twenty-four,  some 
mentally,  some  corporeally,  setting  apart  one  day  in  the  seven,  all  the 
work  would  be  completed  that  is  requisite  for  our  innocent  and  rational 
desires.  ,  ,  ,  I  tell  thee  the  thing  is  possible,  and  is  done." 


xxiv  LANDOR. 

jewel  of  poetry  about  him,  worth  all  his  tribe  that  came  after. 
They  stood  among  substantial  men,  and  sang  upon  recorded 
actions."  Landor,  too,  stands  among  substantial  men  ;  he  is  of 
the  same  virile  tribe  as  Burns,  and  as  Browning,  and  as 
Whitman.  To  say  great  things  greatly  is  an  achievement 
which,  like  the  noblest  outcomes  of  the  art-instinct,  like  a  play 
by  Shakspere,  or  a  Venus  by  Titian,  is  on  the  level  of  a  deed 
of  heroism  or  devotion.  It  stirs  the  pulses  of  our  blood,  and 
lifts  the  common  lives  of  men  into  a  larger  and  sweeter  air. 


IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 


MARCELLUS  AND  HANNIBAL. 

[Marcellus,  the  Commander  of  the  Roman  army,  lies  before 
Hannibal,  mortally  wounded.] 

Hannibal.  Could  a  JSTumidian  horseman  ride  no  faster  1 
""Marcellus  !  oh  !  Marcellus  !  lie  moves  not — he  is  dead. 
Did  he  not  stir  his  fingers  1  Stand  wide,  soldiers — wide, 
forty  paces — give  him  air — bring  water — halt !  Gather 
those  broad  leaves,  and  all  the  rest,  growing  under  the 
brushwood — unbrace  his  armour.  Loose  the  helmet  first — 
his  breast  rises.  I  fancied  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  me — they 
have  rolled  back  again.  Who  presumed  to  touch  my 
shoulder  1  This  horse  1  It  was  surely  the  horse  of  Mar- 
cellus !  Let  no  man  mount  him.  Ha  !  ha  !  the  Romans, 
too,  sink  into  luxury  :  here  is  gold  about  the  charger. 

Gaulish  Chieftain.  Execrable  thief  !  The  golden  chain 
of  our  king  under  a  beast's  grinders  !  The  vengeance  of  the 
gods  hath  overtaken  the  impure 

Hannibal.  We  will  talk  about  vengeance  when  we  have 
entered  Rome,  and  about  purity  among  the  priests,  if  they 

21 


2  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

will  hear  us.  Sound  for  the  surgeon.  That  arrow  may  be 
extracted  from  the  side,  deep  as  it  is. — The  conqueror  of 
Syracuse  lies  before  me. — Send  a  vessel  off  to  Carthage. 
Say  Hannibal  is  at  the  gates  of  Rome. — Marcellus,  who 
stood  alone  between  us,  fallen.  Brave  man !  I  would 
rejoice  and  cannot. — How  awfully  serene  a  countenance  ! 
Such  as  we  hear  are  in  the  islands  of  the  Blessed.  And 
how  glorious  a  form  and  stature !  Such  too  was  theirs  ! 
They  also  once  lay  thus  upon  the  earth  wet  with  their 
blood — few  other  enter  there.     And  what  plain  armour  ! 

Gaulish  Chieftain.  My  party  slew  him — indeed  I  think 
I  slew  him  myself.  I  claim  the  chain  :  it  belongs  to  my 
king  ;  the  glory  of  Gaul  requires  it.  Never  will  she  endure 
to  see  another  take  it. 

Hannibal.  My  friend,  the  glory  of  Marcellus  did  not 
require  him  to  wear  it.  When  he  suspended  the  arms  of 
your  brave  king  in  the  temple,  he  thought  such  a  trinket 
unworthy  of  himself  and  of  Jupiter.  The  shield  he  battered 
down,  the  breast-plate  he  pierced  with  his  sword — these  he 
showed  to  the  people  and  to  the  gods ;  hardly  his  wife  and 
little  children  saw  this,  ere  his  horse  wore  it. 

Gaulish  Chieftain.     Hear  me,  O  Hannibal  ! 

Hannibal.  What !  when  Marcellus  lies  before  me  1  when 
his  life  may  perhaps  be  recalled  1  when  I  may  lead  him  in 
triumph  to  Carthage  1  when  Italy,  Sicily,  Greece,  Asia,  wait 
to  obey  me?  Content  thee!  I  will  give  thee  mine  own 
bridle,  worth  ten  such. 

Gaulish  Chieftain.     For  myself  1 

Hannibal.     For  thyself. 

Gaulish  Chieftain.  And  these  rubies  and  emeralds,  and 
that  scarlet 

Hannibal.     Yes,  yes. 

Gaulish  Chieftain.      0  glorious  Hannibal  !  unconquerable 


MARCELLUS  AND  HANNIBAL.  3 

hero !  0  my  happy  country  !  to  have  such  an  ally  and 
defender.  I  swear  eternal  gratitude — yes,  gratitude,  love, 
devotion,  beyond  eternity. 

Hannibal.  In  all  treaties  we  fix  the  time  :  I  could 
hardly  ask  a  longer.  Go  back  to  thy  station. — I  would  see 
what  the  surgeon  is  about,  and  hear  what  he  thinks.  The 
life  of  Marcellus  !  the  triumph  of  Hannibal  !  what  else  has 
the  world  in  it  1     Only  Rome  and  Carthage  :  these  follow. 

Marcellus.  I  must  die  then  1  The  gods  be  praised  ! 
The  commander  of  a  Roman  army  is  no  captive. 

Hannibal  {to  the  Surgeon).  Could  not  he  bear  a  sea- 
voyage  1     Extract  the  arrow. 

Surgeon.     He  expires  that  moment. 

Marcellus.     It  pains  me  :  extract  it. 

Hannibal.  Marcellus,  I  see  no  expression  of  pain  on 
your  countenance,  and  never  will  I  consent  to  hasten  the 
death  of  an  enemy  in  my  power.  Since  your  recovery  is 
hopeless,  you  say  truly  you  are  no  captive. 

[To  the  Surgeon.)  Is  there  nothing,  man,  that  can 
assuage  the  mortal  pain  1  for,  suppress  the  signs  of  it  as 
he  may,  he  must  feel  it.  Is  there  nothing  to  alleviate  and 
allay  itl 

Marcellus.  Hannibal,  give  me  thy  hand — thou  hast 
found  it  and  brought  it  me,  compassion. 

(To  the  Surgeon.)  Go,  friend  ;  others  want  thy  aid  ; 
several  fell  around  me. 

Hannibal.  Recommend  to  your  country,  O  Marcellus, 
while  time  permits  it,  reconciliation  and  peace  with  me, 
informing  the  Senate  of  my  superiority  in  force,  and  the 
impossibility  of  resistance.  The  tablet  is  ready  :  let  me 
take  off  this  ring — try  to  write,  to  sign  it,  at  least.  Oh, 
what  satisfaction  I  feel  at  seeing  you  able  to  rest  upon  the 
elbow,  and  even  to  smile  ! 


4  MA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

Marcellus.  Within  an  hour  or  less,  with  how  severe  a 
brow  would  Minos  say  to  me,  "  Marcellus,  is  this  thy 
writing  1" 

Rome  loses  one  man  :  she  hath  lost  many  such,  and  she 
still  hath  many  left. 

Hannibal.  Afraid  as  you  are  of  falsehood,  say  you  this  1 
I  confess  in  shame  the  ferocity  of  my  countrymen.  Unfor- 
tunately, too,  the  nearer  post3  are  occupied  by  Gauls, 
infinitely  more  cruel.  The  Numidians  are  so  in  revenge  : 
the  Gauls  both  in  revenge  and  in  sport.  My  presence  is 
required  at  a  distance,  and  I  apprehend  the  barbarity  of 
one  or  other,  learning,  as  they  must  do,  your  refusal  to 
execute  my  wishes  for  the  common  good,  and  feeling  that 
1  iy  this  refusal  you  deprive  them  of  their  country,  after  so 
long  an  absence. 

Marcellus.      Hannibal,  thou  art  not  dying. 

Hannibal.     What  then?     What  mean  you  1 

Marcellus.  That  thou  mayest,  and  very  justly,  have 
many  things  yet  to  apprehend  :  I  can  have  none.  The  bar- 
barity of  thy  soldiers  is  nothing  to  me :  mine  would  not 
dare  be  cruel.  Hannibal  is  forced  to  be  absent ;  and  his 
authority  goes  away  with  his  horse.  On  this  turf  lies 
defaced  the  semblance  of  a  general ;  but  Marcellus  is  yet 
the  regulator  of  his  army.  Dost  thou  abdicate  a  power 
conferred  on  thee  by  thy  nation  1  Or  wouldst  thou  acknow- 
ledge it  to  have  become,  by  thy  own  sole  fault,  less  plenary 
than  thy  adversary's  ? 

I  have  spoken  too  much  :  let  me  rest  ;  this  mantle 
oppresses  me. 

Hannibal.  I  placed  my  mantle  on  your  head  when  the 
helmet  was  first  removed,  and  while  you  were  lying  in  the 
sun.     Let  me  fold  it  under,  and  then  replace  the  ring. 

Marcellus.     Take  it,  Hannibal.     It  was  given  me  by  a 


MARCELLUS  AND  HAXNTBAL.  5 

poor  woman  who  flew  to  me  at  Syracuse,  antl  who  covered 
it  with  her  hair,  torn  off  in  desperation  that  she  had  no 
other  gift  to  offer.  Little  thought  I  that  her  gift  and  her 
words  should  be  mine.  How  suddenly  may  the  most 
powerful  be  in  the  situation  of  the  most  helpless  !  Let  that 
ring  and  the  mantle  under  my  head  be  the  exchange  of 
guests  at  parting.  The  time  may  come,  Hannibal,  when 
thou  (and  the  gods  alone  know  whether  as  conqueror  or 
conquered)  mayest  sit  under  the  roof  of  my  children,  and  in 
either  case  it  shall  serve  thee.  In  thy  adverse  fortune,  they 
will  remember  on  whose  pillow  their  father  breathed  his 
last ;  in  thy  prosperous  (Heaven  grant  it  may  shine  upon 
thee  in  some  other  country  !)  it  will  rejoice  thee  to  protect 
them.  We  feel  ourselves  the  most  exempt  from  affliction 
when  we  relieve  it,  although  we  are  then  the  most  conscious 
that  it  may  befall  us. 

There  is  one  thing  here  which  is  not  at  the  disposal  of 
either. 

Hannibal.     What  1 

Marcellus.      This  body. 

Hannibal.  Whither  would  you  be  lifted  1  Men  are 
ready. 

Marcellus.  I  meant  not  so.  My  strength  is  failing.  I 
seem  to  hear  rather  what  is  within  than  what  is  without. 
My  sight  and  my  other  senses  are  in  confusion.  I  would 
have  said — This  body,  when  a  few  bubbles  of  air  shall  have 
left  it,  is  no  more  worthy  of  thy  notice  than  of  mine  ;  but 
thy  glory  will  not  let  thee  refuse  it  to  the  piety  of  my 
family. 

Hannibal.  You  would  ask  something  else.  I  perceive 
an  inquietude  not  visible  till  now. 

Marcellus.  Duty  and  Death  make  us  think  of  home 
sometimes. 


6  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

Hannibal.  Thitherward  the  thoughts  of  the  conqueror 
and  of  the  conquered  fly  together. 

Marcellus.     Hast  thou  any  prisoners  from  my  escort  ? 

Hannibal.  A  few  dying  lie  about — and  let  them  lie — 
they  are  Tuscans.  The  remainder  I  saw  at  a  distance, 
flying,  and  but  one  brave  man  among  them — he  appeared  a 
Roman — a  youth  who  turned  back,  though  wounded.  They 
surrounded  and  dragged  him  away,  spurring  his  horse  with 
their  swords.  These  Etrurians  measure  their  courage  care- 
fully, and  tack  it  well  together  before  they  put  it  on,  but 
throw  it  off  again  with  lordly  ease. 

Marcellus,  why  think  about  them  ?  or  does  aught  else 
disquiet  your  thoughts? 

Marcellus.  I  have  suppressed  it  long  enough.  My  son 
— my  beloved  son  ! 

Hannibal.  Where  is  he?  Can  it  be?  Was  he  with 
you  ? 

Marcellus.  He  would  have  shared  my  fate — and  has 
not.  Gods  of  my  country  !  beneficent  throughout  life  to 
me,  in  death  surpassingly  beneficent :  I  render  you,  for  the 
last  time,  thanks. 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH  AND  CECIL. 

Elizabeth.  I  advise  thee  again,  churlish  Cecil,  how  that 
our  Edmund  Spenser,  whom  thou  callest  most  uncourteously 
a  whining  whelp,  hath  good  and  solid  reason  for  his  com- 
plaint. God's  blood  !  shall  the  lady  that  tieth  my  garter 
and  shuffles  the  smock  over  my  head,  or  the  lord  that 
steadieth  my  chair's  back  while  I  eat,  or  the  other  that 
looketh  to  my  buck-hounds  lest  they  be  mangy,  be  holden 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH  AND  CECIL.  7 

by  me  in  higher  esteem  and  estate  than  he  who  hath  placed 
me  among  the  bravest  of  past  times,  and  will  as  safely  and 
surely  set  me  down  among  the  loveliest  in  the  future  % 

Cecil.  Your  Highness  must  remember  he  carouseth  fully 
for  such  deserts  :  fifty  pounds  a-year  of  undipped  moneys, 
and  a  butt  of  canary  wine ;  not  to  mention  three  thousand 
acres  in  Ireland,  worth  fairly  another  fifty  and  another 
butt,  in  seasonable  and  quiet  years. 

Elizabeth.  The  moneys  are  not  enough  to  sustain  a  pair 
of  grooms  and  a  pair  of  palfreys,  and  more  wine  hath  been 
drunken  in  my  presence  at  a  feast.  The  moneys  are  given 
to  such  men,  that  they  may  not  incline  nor  be  obligated  to 
any  vile  or  lowly  occupation  ;  and  the  canary,  that  they 
may  entertain  such  promising  wits  as  court  their  company 
and  converse  ;  and  that  in  such  manner  there  may  be  alway 
in  our  land  a  succession  of  these  heirs  unto  fame.  He  hath 
written,  not  indeed  with  his  wonted  fancifulness,  nor  in 
learned  and  majestical  language,  but  in  homely  and  rustic 
wise,  some  verses  which  have  moved  me,  and  haply  the 
more  inasmuch  as  they  demonstrate  to  me  that  his  genius 
hath  been  dampened  by  his  adversities.     Read  them. 

Cecil. 

"  How  much  is  lost  when  neither  heart  nor  eye 
Rosewinged  Desire  or  fabling  Hope  deceives  ; 
When  boyhood  with  quick  throb  hath  ceased  to  spy 
The  dubious  apple  in  the  yellow  leaves ; 

"  When,  rising  from  the  turf  where  youth  reposed, 
We  find  but  deserts  in  the  far-sought  shore  ; 
When  the  huge  book  of  Faery-land  lies  closed, 

And  those  strong  brazen  clasps  will  yield  no  more." 

Elizabeth.     The  said  Edmund  hath  also  furnished  unto 
the  weaver  at  Arras,  John   Blanquieres,  on  my  account,  a 


S  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

description  for  some  of  his  cunningest  wenches  to  work  at, 
supplied  by  mine  own  self,  indeed,  as  far  as  the  subject- 
matter  goes,  but  set  forth  by  him  with  figures  and  fancies, 
and  daintily  enough  bedecked.  I  could  have  wished  he  had 
thereunto  joined  a  fair  comparison  between  Dian — no 
matter — he  might  perhaps  have  fared  the  better  for  it  ;  but 
poets'  wits, — God  help  them  ! — when  did  they  ever  sit  close 
about  them1}  Read  the  poesy,  not  over-rich,  and  concluding, 
very  awkwardly  and  meanly. 

Cecil. 

' '  Where  forms  the  lotus,  with  its  level  leaves 
And  solid  blossoms,  many  floating  isles, 
What  heavenly  radiance  swift  descending  cleave3 
The  darksome  wave  !  Unwonted  beauty  smiles 

"  On  its  pure  bosom,  on  each  bright-eyed  flower 
On  every  nymph,  and  twenty  sate  around. 
Lo  !  'twas  Diana — from  the  sultry  hour 

Hither  she  fled,  nor  fear'd  she  sight  or  sound. 

"  Unbappy  youth,  whom  thirst  and  quiver-reeds 

Drew  to  these  haunts,  whom  awe  forbade  to  fly  ! 
Three  faithful  dogs  before  him  rais'd  their  heads, 
And  watched  and  wonder'd  at  that  fixed  eye. 

"  Forth  sprang  his  favourite— with  her  arrow-hand 
Too  late  the  goddess  hid  what  hand  may  hide, 
Of  every  nymph  and  every  reed  complain'd, 
And  dashed  upon  the  bank  the  waters  wide. 

"  On  the  prone  head  and  sandal'd  feet  they  flew— 
Lo  !  slender  hoofs  and  branching  horns  appear  I 
The  last  marr'd  voice  not  e'en  the  favourite  knew, 
But  bay'd  and  fasten'd  on  the  upbraiding  deer. 

"  Far  be,  chaste  goddess,  far  from  me  and  mine 

The  stream  that  tempts  thee  in  the  summer  noon  ! 
Alas,  that  vengeance  dwells  with  charms  divine ' 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH  AND  CECIL.  9 

Elizabeth.  Pshaw  !  give  me  the  paper :  I  forewarned 
thee  how  it  ended, — pitifully,  pitifully. 

Cecil.  I  cannot  think  otherwise  than  that  the  under- 
taker of  the  aforecited  poesy  hath  chosen  your  Highness ; 
for  I  have  seen  painted — I  know  not  where,  but  I  think  no 
farther  off  than  Putney — the  identically  same  Dian,  with 
full  as  many  nymphs,  as  he  calls  them,  and  more  dogs.  So 
small  a  matter  as  a  page  of  poesy  shall  never  stir  my  choler 
nor  twitch  my  purse-string. 

Elizabeth.     I  have  read  in  Plinius  and  Mela  of  a  runlet 
near  Dodona,  which  kindled  by  approximation  an  unlighted 
torch,  and  extinguished  a  lighted  one.     Now,  Cecil,  I  desire 
no   such    a  jetty    to  be    celebrated  as    the   decoration    of 
my  court  :  in  simpler  words,  which  your  gravity  may  more 
easily  understand,  I  would  not  from  the  fountain  of  honour 
give  lustre  to  the  dull  and  ignorant,  deadening  and  leaving 
in  its  tomb  the  lamp  of  literature  and  genius.     I  ardently 
wish    ray  reign    to    be    remembered  :  if  my  actions  were 
different  from  what  they  are,  I  should  as  ardently  wish  it 
to   be   forgotten.      Those   are   the    worst   of    suicides,    who 
voluntarily  and   propensely   stab   or  suffocate   their    fame, 
when  God  hath  commanded  them  to  stand  on  high  for  an 
example.     We  call  him  parricide  who  destroys  the  author 
of  his  existence  :  tell  me,  what  shall  we  call  him  who  casts 
forth    to    the    dogs    and    birds  of    prey  its    most  faithful 
propagator  and  most   firm   support  1     Mark  me,  I   do  not 
speak  of  that  existence  which  the  proudest  must  close  in  a 
ditch, — the  narrowest,  too,  of  ditches  and  the  soonest  filled 
and  fouled,  and  whereunto  a  pinch  of  ratsbane  or  a  poppy- 
head  may  bend  him  ;  but  of  that  which  reposes  on  our  own 
good  deeds,  carefully  picked  up,   skilfully  put  together,  and 
decorously  laid  out  for  us  by  another's  kind  understanding  : 
I  speak  of  an  existence  such  as  no  father  is  author  of,  or 


io  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

provides  for.  The  parent  gives  us  few  days  and  sorrowful ; 
the  poet,  many  and  glorious :  the  one  (supposing  him 
discreet  and  kindly)  best  reproves  our  faults;  the  other  best 
remunerates  our  virtues. 

A  page  of  poesy  is  a  little  matter  :  be  it  so ;  but  of 
a  truth  I  do  tell  thee,  Cecil,  it  shall  master  full  many  a 
bold  heart  that  the  Spaniard  cannot  trouble;  it  shall  win  to 
it  full  many  a  proud  and  flighty  one  that  even  chivalry  and 
manly  comeliness  cannot  touch.  I  may  shake  titles  and 
dignities  by  the  dozen  from  my  breakfast-board  ;  but  I  may 
not  save  those  upon  whose  heads  I  shake  them  from  rotten- 
ness and  oblivion.  This  year  they  and  their  sovereign 
dwell  together  ;  next  year,  they  and  their  beagle.  Both 
have  names,  but  names  perishable.  The  keeper  of  my  privy- 
seal  is  an  earl  :  what  then  1  the  keeper  of  my  poultry -yard 
is  a  Caesar.  In  honest  truth,  a  name  given  to  a  man  is  no 
better  than  a  skin  given  to  him  :  what  is  not  natively 
his  own  falls  off  and  comes  to  nothing. 

I  desire  in  future  to  hear  no  contempt  of  penmen,  unless 
a  depraved  use  of  the  pen  shall  have  so  cramped  them  as  to 
incapacitate  them  for  the  sword  and  for  the  Council 
Chamber.  If  Alexander  was  the  Great,  what  was  Aristoteles 
who  made  him  so,  and  taught  him  every  art  and  science  he 
knew,  except  three, — those  of  drinking,  of  blaspheming,  and 
of  murdering  his  bosom  friends?  Come  along  :  I  will  bring 
thee  back  again  nearer  home.  Thou  mightest  toss  and 
tumble  in  thy  bed  many  nights,  and  never  eke  out  the 
substance  of  a  stanza  ;  but  Edmund,  if  perchance  I  should 
call  upon  him  for  his  counsel,  would  give  me  as  wholesome 
and  prudent  as  any  of  you.  We  should  indemnify  such 
men  for  the  injustice  we  do  unto  them  in  not  calling  them 
about  us,  and  for  the  mortification  they  must  suffer  at  seeing 
their    inferiors    set  before    them.     Edmund   is   grave   and 


TIBERIUS  AND   VIP  SAM  A.  n 

gentle  :  he  complains  of  fortune,  not  of  Elizabeth;  of  courts, 
not  of  Cecil.  I  am  resolved, — so  help  me,  God  ! — he  shall 
have  no  further  cause  for  his  repining.  Go,  convey  unto 
him  those  twelve  silver  spoons,  with  the  apostles  on  them, 
gloriously  gilded  ;  and  deliver  into  his  hand  these  twelve 
large  golden  pieces,  sufficing  for  the  yearly  maintenance  of 
another  horse  and  groom.  Beside  which,  set  open  before 
him  with  due  reverence  this  Bible,  wherein  he  may  read 
the  mercies  of  God  toward  those  who  waited  in  patience  for 
His  blessing  ;  and  this  pair  of  crimson  silk  hose,  which 
thou  knowest  I  have  worn  only  thirteen  months,  taking 
heed  that  the  heel-piece  be  put  into  good  and  sufficient 
restoration,  at  my  sole  charges,  by  the  Italian  woman  nigh 
the  pollard  elm  at  Charing  Cross. 


TIBERIUS  AND  VIPSANIA. 

["Vipsania,  the  daughter  of  Agrippa,  was  divorced  from  Tiberius 
by  Augustus  and  Livia,  in  order  that  he  might  marry  Julia,  and  hold 
the  empire  by  inheritance.  He  retained  such  an  affection  for  her,  and 
showed  it  so  intensely  when  he  once  met  her  afterward,  that  every 
precaution  was  taken  lest  they  should  meet  again."] 

Tiberius.  Vipsania,  my  Vipsania,  whither  art  thou 
walking? 

Vipsania.     Whom  do  I  see  ? — my  Tiberius  1 

Tiberius.  Ah  !  no,  no,  no  !  but  thou  seest  the  father  of 
thy  little  Drusus.  Press  him  to  thy  heart  the  more  closely 
for  this  meeting,  and  give  him 

Vipsania.  Tiberius !  the  altars,  the  gods,  the  destinies, 
are  all  between  us — I  will  take  it  from  this  hand  ;  thus, 
thus  shall  he  receive  it. 


12  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

Tiberius.  Raise  up  thy  face,  my  beloved  !  I  must  not 
shed  tears.  Augustus,  Livia,  ye  shall  not  extort  them  from 
me.  Vipsania  !  I  may  kiss  thy  head — for  I  have  saved  it. 
Thou  sayest  nothing.     I  have  wronged  thee  ;  ay  1 

Vipsania.  Ambition  does  not  see  the  earth  she  treads 
on  ;  the  rock  and  the  herbage  are  of  one  substance  to  her. 
Let  me  excuse  you  to  my  heart,  0  Tiberius.  It  has  many 
wants  ;  this  is  the  first  and  greatest. 

Tiberius.  My  ambition,  I  swear  by  the  immortal  gods, 
places  not  the  bar  of  severance  between  us.  A  stronger 
hand,     the    hand    that    composes    Rome    and    sways    the 

world 

Vipsania.  Overawed  Tiberius.  I  know  it;  Augustus 
willed  and  commanded  it. 

Tiberius.  And  overawed  Tiberius  !  Power  bent,  Death 
terrified,  a  Nero  !  What  is  our  race,  that  any  should  look 
down  on  us  and  spurn  us  1  Augustus,  my  benefactor,  I 
have  wronged  thee  !  Livia,  my  mother,  this  one  cruel  deed 
was  thine  !  To  reign,  forsooth,  is  a  lovely  thing.  0 
womanly  appetite !  Who  would  have  been  before  me, 
though  the  palace  of  Csesar  cracked  and  split  with  emperors, 
while  I,  sitting  in  idleness  on  a  cliff  of  Rhodes,  eyed  the 
sun  as  he  swung  his  golden  censer  athwart  the  heavens,  or 
his  image  as  it  overstrode  the  sea  ?  I  have  it  before  me  ;  and, 
though  it  seems  falling  on  me,  I  can  smile  on  it — just  as  I 
did  from  my  little  favourite  skiff,  painted  round  with  the 
marriage  of  Thetis,  when  the  sailors  drew  their  long  shaggy 
hair  across  their  eyes,  many  a  stadium  away  from  it,  to 
mitigate  its  effulgence. 

These,  too,  were  happy  days  :  days  of  happiness  like  these 
I  could  recall  and  look  back  upon  with  unaching  brow. 

O  land  of  Greece  !    Tiberius  blesses   thee,   bidding  thee 
rejoice  and  flourish. 


TIBERIUS  AND  VIPSANIA.  13 

Why  cannot  one  hour,  Vipsania,  beauteous  and  light  as 
we  have  led,  return  ? 

Vipsania.  Tiberius  !  is  it  to  me  that  you  were  speaking] 
I  would  not  interrupt  you  ;  but  I  thought  I  heard  my 
name  as  you  walked  away  and  looked  up  toward  the  East. 
So  silent ! 

Tiberius.  Who  dared  to  call  thee  ?  Thou  wert  mine 
before  the  gods — do  they  deny  it  1     Was  it  my  fault 

Vipsania.  Since  we  are  separated,  and  for  ever,  0 
Tiberius,  let  us  think  no  more  on  the  cause  of  it.  Let 
neither  of  us  believe  that  the  other  was  to  blame  :  so  shall 
separation  be  less  painful. 

Tiberius.  0  mother  !  and  did  I  not  tell  thee  what  she 
was? — patient  in  injury,  proud  in  innocence,  serene  in 
grief ! 

Vipsania.  Did  you  say  that  too  1  But  I  think  it  was 
so :  I  had  felt  little.  One  vast  wave  has  washed  away  the 
impression  of  smaller  from  my  memory.  Could  Livia, 
could  3'our  mother,  could  she  who  was  so  kind  to  me 

Tiberius.  The  wife  of  Caesar  did  it.  But  hear  me  now ; 
hear  me  :  be  calm  as  I  am.  No  weaknesses  are  such  as 
those  of  a  mother  who  loves  her  only  son  immoderately ; 
and  none  are  so  easily  worked  upon  from  without.  Who 
knows  what  impulses  she  received  1  She  is  very,  very 
kind  :  but  she  regards  me  only,  and  that  which  at  her 
bidding  is  to  encompass  and  adorn  me.  All  the  weak  look 
after  Power,  protectress  of  weakness.  Thou  art  a  woman, 
O  Vipsania  !  is  there  nothing  in  thee  to  excuse  my  mother  ? 
So  good  she  ever  was  to  me  !  so  loving. 

Vipsania.     I  quite  forgive  her  :  be  tranquil,  0  Tiberius  ! 

Tiberius.  Never  can  I  know  peace — never  can  I  pardon 
— anyone.  Threaten  me  with  thy  exile,  thy  separation,  thy 
seclusion  !    Remind  me  that  another  climate  might  endanger 


14  /MAG/NARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

thy  health ! — There  death  met  rue  and  turned  me  round. 
Threaten  me  to  take  our  son  from  us — our  one  boy,  our 
helpless  little  one — him  whom  we  made  cry  because  we 
kissed  him  both  together  !  Rememberest  thou  1  Or  dost 
thou  not  hear  ?  turning  thus  away  from  me  ! 

Yipsania.  I  hear ;  I  hear !  Oh  cease,  my  sweet 
Tiberius !  Stamp  not  upon  that  stone :  my  heart  lies 
under  it. 

Tiberius.  Ay,  there  again  death,  and  more  than  death, 
stood  before  me.  Oh,  she  maddened  me,  my  mother  did, 
she  maddened  me — she  threw  me  to  where  I  am  at  one 
breath.  The  gods  cannot  replace  me  where  I  was,  nor 
atone  to  me,  nor  console  me,  nor  restore  my  senses.  To 
whom  can  I  liy ;  to  whom  can  I  open  my  heart ;  to  whom 
speak  plainly  1  There  was  upon  the  earth  a  man  I  could 
converse  with,  and  fear  nothing  ;  there  was  a  woman,  too,  I 
could  love,  and  fear  nothing.  What  a  soldier,  what  a 
Roman,  was  thy  father,  O  my  young  bride  !  How  could 
those  who  never  saw  him  have  discoursed  so  rightly  upon 
virtue  ! 

Vipsania.  These  words  cool  my  breast  like  pressing  his 
urn  against  it.    He  was  brave  :  shall  Tiberius  want  courage? 

Tiberius.  My  enemies  scorn  me.  I  am  a  garland  dropped 
from  a  triumphal  car,  and  taken  up  and  looked  on  for  the 
placed  I  occupied ;  and  tossed  away  and  laughed  at.  Sena- 
tors !  laugh,  laugh  !  Your  merits  may  be  yet  rewarded — 
be  of  good  cheer !  Counsel  me,  in  your  wisdom,  what 
services  I  can  render  you,  conscript  fathers  ! 

Vipsania.  This  seems  mockery  :  Tiberius  did  not  smile 
so,  once. 

Tiberius.     They  had  not  then  congratulated  me. 

Vipsania.      On  what  1 

Tiberius.      And  it  was  not  because  she  was  beautiful,  a3 


TIBERIUS  AND  VIPSANIA.  15 

they  thought  her,  and  virtuous,  as  I  know  she  is ;  but 
because  the  flowers  on  the  altar  were  to  be  tied  together  by 
my  heart-string.  On  this  they  congratulated  me.  Their 
day  will  come.  Their  sons  and  daughters  are  what  I  would 
wish  them  to  be  :  worthy  to  succeed  them. 

Vipsania.  Where  is  that  quietude,  that  resignation,  that 
sanctity,  that  heart  of  true  tenderness  1 

Tiberius.     Where  is  my  love  1 — my  love  ? 

Vipsania.  Cry  not  thus  aloud,  Tiberius  !  there  is  an  echo 
in  the  place.     Soldiers  and  slaves  may  burst  in  upon  us. 

Tiberius.  And  see  my  tears  ?  There  is  no  echo,  Vip- 
sania ;  why  alarm  and  shake  me  so  1  We  are  too  high  here 
for  the  echoes  :  the  city  is  below  us.  Methinks  it  trembles 
and  totters  :  would  it  did  !  from  the  marble  quays  of  the 
Tiber  to  this  rock.  There  is  a  strange  buzz  and  murmur 
in  my  brain  ;  but  I  should  listen  so  intensely,  I  should  hear 
the  rattle  of  its  roofs,  and  shout  with  joy. 

Vipsania.     Calm,  O  my  life  !  calm  this  horrible  transport. 

Tiberius.  Spake  I  so  loud  1  Did  I  indeed  then  send  my 
voice  after  a  lost  sound,  to  bring  it  back ;  and  thou 
fanciedest  it  an  echo  1  Wilt  not  thou  laugh  with  me,  as 
thou  were  wont  to  do,  at  such  an  error  1  What  was  I 
saying  to  thee,  my  tender  love,  when  I  commanded — I  know 
not  whom — to  stand  back,  on  pain  of  death  1  Why  starest 
thou  on  me  in  such  agony1?  Have  I  hurt  thy  fingers,  child'? 
I  loose  them  ;  now  let  me  look  !  Thou  turnest  thine  eyes 
away  from  me.  Oh  !  oh  !  I  hear  my  crime !  Immortal 
gods  !  I  cursed  them  audibly,  and  before  the  sun,  my 
mother  1 


1 6  IMA GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 


EPICTETUS  AND  SENECA. 

Seneca.  Epictetus,  I  desired  your  master,  Epaphroditua, 
to  send  you  hither,  having  been  much  pleased  with  his 
report  of  your  conduct,  and  much  surprised  at  the  ingenuity 
of  your  writings. 

Epictetus.     Then  I  am  afraid,  my  friend 

Seneca.  My  friend  !  are  these  the  expressions — Well, 
let  it  pass.  Philosophers  must  bear  bravely.  The  people 
expect  it. 

Epictetus.  Are  philosophers,  then,  only  philosophers  for 
the  people;  and,  instead  of  instructing  them,  must  they 
play  tricks  before  them1?  Give  me  rather  the  gravity  of 
dancing  dogs.  Their  motions  are  for  the  rabble;  their 
reverential  eyes  and  pendant  paws  are  under  the  pressure 
of  awe  at  a  master ;  but  they  are  dogs,  and  not  below  their 
destinies. 

Seneca.  Epictetus  1  I  will  give  you  three  talents  to  let 
me  take  that  sentiment  for  my  own. 

Epictetus.  I  would  give  thee  twenty,  if  I  had  them,  to 
make  it  thine. 

Seneca.  You  mean,  by  lending  to  it  the  graces  of  my 
lamruasje  ? 

Epictetus.  I  mean,  by  lending  it  to  thy  conduct.  And 
now  let  me  console  and  comfort  thee,  under  the  calamity  I 
brought  on  thee  by  calling  thee  my  friend.  If  thou  art  not 
my  friend,  why  send  for  me  1  Enemy  I  can  have  none: 
beina:  a  slave,  Fortune  has  now  done  with  me. 

Seneca.  Continue,  then,  your  former  observations. 
What  were  you  saying  1 

Epictetus.     That  which  thou  interruptedst. 

Seneca.     What  was  it  1 


EPICTETUS  AND  SENECA.  i7 

Epictetus.  I  should  have  remarked  that,  if  thou  foundest 
ingenuity  in  my  writings,  thou  must  have  discovered  in 
them  some  deviation  from  the  plain,  homely  truths  of  Zeno 
and  Cleanthes. 

Seneca.     We  all  swerve  a  little  from  thera. 

Epictetus.     In  practice  too  1 

Seneca.     Yes,  even  in  practice,  I  am  afraid. 

Epictetus.     Often  1 

Seneca.     Too  often. 

Epictetus.  Strange !  I  have  been  attentive,  and  yet  have 
remarked  but  one  difference  among  you  great  personages  at 
Rome. 

Seneca.     What  difference  fell  under  your  observation  1 

Epictetus.  Crates  and  Zeno  and  Cleanthes  taught  us 
that  our  desires  were  to  be  subdued  by  philosophy  alone. 
In  this  city,  their  acute  and  inventive  scholars  take  us 
a-side,  and  show  us  that  there  is  not  only  one  way,  but  two. 

Seneca.     Two  ways  1 

Ep>ictetus.  They  whisper  in  our  ear,  "  These  two  ways 
are  philosophy  and  enjoyment :  the  wiser  man  will  take  the 
readier,  or,  not  finding  it,  the  alternative."     Thou  reddenest. 

Seneca.     Monstrous  degeneracy. 

Epictetus.  What  magnificent  rings  !  I  did  not  notice 
them  until  thou  liftedst  up  thy  hands  to  heaven,  in  detesta- 
tion of  such  effeminacy  and  impudence. 

Seneca.  The  rings  are  not  amiss ;  my  rank  rivets  them 
upon  my  fingers  :  I  am  forced  to  wear  them.  Our  emperor 
gave  me  one,  Epaphroditus  another,  Tigellinus  the  third.  I 
cannot  lay  them  aside  a  single  day,  for  fear  of  offending  the 
gods,  and  those  whom  they  love  the  most  worthily. 

Epictetus.  Although  they  make  thee  stretch  out  thy 
fingers,  like  the  arms  and  legs  of  one  of  us  slaves  upon  a 
31  oss. 

22 


1 8  IMA  GIN  A  R  V  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

Seneca.     Oh  horrible  !     Find  some  other  resemblance. 

JEpictetus.     The  extremities  of  a  fig-leaf. 

Seneca.     Ignoble  ! 

Epictetus.     The  claws  of  a  toad,  trodden  on  or  stoned. 

Seneca.  You  have  great  need,  Epictetus,  of  an  instructor 
in  eloquence  and  rhetoric:  you  want  topics,  and  tropes,  and 
figures. 

Epictetus.  I  have  no  room  for  them.  They  make  such 
a  buzz  in  the  house,  a  man's  own  wife  cannot  understand 
what  he  says  to  her. 

Seneca.  Let  us  reason  a  little  upon  style.  I  would  set 
you  right,  and  remove  from  before  you  the  prejudices  of  a 
somewhat  rustic  education.  We  may  adorn  the  simplicity 
of  the  wisest. 

Epictetus.  Thou  canst  not  adorn  simplicityj  What  is 
naked  or  defective  is  susceptible  of  decoration  :  what  is 
decorated  is  simplicity  no  longer.  Thou  mayest  give  another 
thing  in  exchange  for  it;  but  if  thou  wert  master  of  it,  thou 
wouldst  preserve  it  inviolate.  It  is  no  wonder  that  we 
mortals,  little  able  as  we  are  to  see  truth,  should  be  less 
able  to  express  it. 

Seneca.  You  have  formed  at  present  no  idea  of 
style. 

Epictetus.  I  never  think  about  it.  First,  I  consider 
whether  what  I  am  about  to  say  is  true  ;  then,  whether  I 
can  say  it  with  brevity,  in  such  a  manner  as  that  others 
shall  see  it  as  clearly  as  I  do  in  the  light  of  truth ;  for,  if 
they  survey  it  as  an  ingenuity,  my  desire  is  ungratified,  my 
duty  unfulfilled.  I  go  not  with  those  who  dance  round  the 
image  of  Truth,  less  out  of  honour  to  her  than  to  display 
their  agility  and  address. 

Seneca.  We  must  attract  the  attention  of  readers  by 
novelty,  and  force,  and  grandeur  of  expression. 


EPICTETUS  AND  SENECA.  19 

Epictetus.  We  must.  Nothing  is  so  grand  as  truth, 
nothing  so  forcible,  nothing  so  novel. 

Seneca.  Sonorous  sentences  are  wanted  to  awaken  the 
lethargy  of  indolence. 

Epictetus.  Awaken  it  to  what1?  Here  lies  the  question; 
and  a  weighty  one  it  is.  If  thou  awakenest  men  where 
they  can  see  nothing  and  do  no  work,  it  is  better  to  let  them 
rest :  but  will  not  they,  thinkest  thou,  look  up  at  a  rainbow, 
unless  they  are  called  to  it  by  a  clap  of  thunder "! 

Seneca.  Your  early  youth,  Epictetus,  has  been,  I  will 
not  say  neglected,  but  cultivated  with  rude  instruments  and 
unskilful  hands. 

Epictetus.  I  thank  God  for  it.  Those  rude  instruments 
have  left  the  turf  lying  yet  toward  the  sun  ;  and  those 
unskilful  hands  have  plucked  out  the  docks. 

Seneca.  We  hope  and  believe  that  we  have  attained  a 
vein  of  eloquence,  brighter  and  more  varied  than  has  been 
hitherto  laid  open  to  the  world. 

Epictetus.     Than  any  in  the  Greek  1 

Seneca.     We  trust  so. 

Epictetus.     Than  your  Cicero's  ? 

Seneca.  If  the  declaration  may  be  made  without  an 
offence  to  modesty.  Surely,  you  cannot  estimate  or  value 
the  eloquence  of  that  noble  pleader  1 

Epictetus.  Imperfectly,  not  being  born  in  Italy  ;  and 
the  noble  pleader  is  a  much  less  man  with  me  than  the 
noble  philosopher.  I  regret  that,  having  farms  and  villas, 
he  would  not  keep  his  distance  from  the  pumping  up  of  foul 
words  against  thieves,  cut-throats,  and  other  rogues  ;  and 
that  he  lied,  sweated,  and  thumped  his  head  and  thighs,  in 
behalf  of  those  who  were  no  better. 

Seneca.  Senators  must  have  clients,  and  must  protect 
them. 


20  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

Epictetus.      Innocent  or  guilty  1 

Seneca.      Doubtless. 

Epictetus.  If  I  regret  what  is  and  might  not  be,  I  may 
regret  more  what  both  is  and  must  be.  However,  it  is  an 
amiable  thing,  and  no  small  merit  in  the  wealthy,  even  to 
trifle  and  play  at  their  leisure  hours  with  philosophy.  It 
cannot  be  expected  that  such  a  personage  should  espouse 
hi>r,  or  should  recommend  her  as  an  inseparable  mate  to 
his  heir. 

Seneca.     I  would. 

Epictetus.  Yes,  Seneca,  but  thou  hast  no  son  to  make 
the  match  for ;  and  thy  recommendation,  I  suspect,  would 
be  given  him  before  he  could  consummate  the  marriage. 
Every  man  wishes  his  sons  to  be  philosophers  while  they 
are  young  ;  but  takes  especial  care,  as  they  grow  older,  to 
teach  them  its  insufficiency  and  unfitness  for  their  inter- 
course with  mankind.  The  paternal  voice  says,  "  You  must 
not  be  particular ;  you  are  about  to  have  a  profession  to  live 
by  ;  follow  those  who  have  thriven  the  best  in  it."  Now, 
among  these,  whatever  be  the  profession,  canst  thou  point 
out  to  me  one  single  philosopher? 

Seneca.  Not  just  now  ;  nor,  upon  reflection,  do  I  think 
it  feasible. 

Epictetus.  Thou,  indeed,  mayest  live  much  to  thy  ease 
and  satisfaction  with  philosophy,  having  (they  say)  two 
thousand  talents. 

Seneca.  And  a  trifle  to  spare — pressed  upon  me  by  that 
godlike  youth,  my  pupil  Nero. 

Epictetus.  Seneca !  where  God  hath  placed  a  mine,  he 
hath  placed  the  materials  of  an  earthquake. 

Seneca.  A  true  philosopher  is  beyond  the  reach  of 
Fortune. 


PETER  THE  GREAT  AND  ALEXIS.  21 

Epictetus.  The  false  one  thinks  himself  so.  Fortune 
cares  little  about  philosophers  ;  but  she  remembers  where 
she  hath  set  a  rich  man,  and  she  laughs  to  see  the  Destinies 
at  his  door. 


PETER  THE  GREAT  AND  ALEXIS. 

[In  this  tremendous  satire — founded,  like  most  of  the  Conversations 
of  this  class,  on  the  bare  historical  fact — Landor  concentrates  hi.^ 
never-failing  hatred  of  kiugs.  We  may  compare  with  it  The  Empress 
Catherine  and  Princess  Dashkof.  ] 

Peter.  And  so,  after  flying  from  thy  father's  house, 
thou  hast  returned  again  from  Vienna.  After  this  affront 
in  the  face  of  Europe,  thou  darest  to  appear  before  me  1 

Alexis.  My  emperor  and  father !  I  am  brought  before 
your  Majesty,  not  at  my  own  desire. 

Peter.     I  believe  it  well. 

Alexis.      I  would  not  anger  you. 

Peter.  What  hope  hadst  thou,  rebel,  in  thy  (light  to 
Vienna  1 

Alexis.  The  hope  of  peace  and  privacy;  the  hope  of 
securitv  ;  and,  above  all  things,  of  never  more  offendin ■■■ 
you. 

Peter.     That  hope  thou  hast  accomplished. 

Thou  imaginedst,  then,  that  my  brother  of  Austria  would 
maintain  thee  at  his  court — speak  ! 

Alexis.  No,  sir!  I  imagined  that  he  would  have  afford*  d 
me  a  place  of  refuge. 

Peter.     Didst  thou,  then,  take  money  with  thee  1 

Alexis.     A  few  gold  pieces. 

Peter.     How  many  1 


22  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

Alexis.     About  sixty. 

Peter.  He  would  have  given  thee  promises  for  half  the 
money;  but  the  double  of  it  does  not  purchase  a  house, 
ignorant  wretch  ! 

A  lexis.  I  knew  as  much  as  that :  although  my  birth  did 
not  appear  to  destine  me  to  purchase  a  house  anywhere ; 
and  hitherto  your  liberality,  my  father,  hath  supplied  my 
wants  of  every  kind. 

Peter.  Not  of  wisdom,  not  of  duty,  not  of  spirit,  not  of 
courage,  not  of  ambition.  I  have  educated  thee  among  my 
guards  and  horses,  among  my  drums  and  trumpets,  among 
my  flags  and  masts.  When  thou  wert  a  child,  and  couldst 
hardly  walk,  I  have  taken  thee  into  the  arsenal,  though 
children  should  not  enter  according  to  regulations :  I  have 
there  rolled  cannon  balls  before  thee  over  iron  plates  ;  and 
I  have  shown  thee  bright  new  arms,  bayonets  and  sabres  ; 
and  I  have  pricked  the  back  of  my  hands  until  the  blood 
came  out  in  many  places;  and  I  have  made  thee  lick  it;  and 
1  have  then  done  the  same  to  thine.  Afterward,  from  thy 
tenth  year,  I  have  mixed  gunpowder  in  thy  grog ;  I  have 
peppered  thy  peaches;  I  have  poured  bilge-water  (with  a 
little  good  wholesome  tar  in  it)  upon  thy  melons ;  I  have 
brought  out  girls  to  mock  thee  and  cocker  thee,  and  talk 
like  mariners,  to  make  thee  braver.  Nothing  would  do. 
Nay,  recollect  thee  !  I  have  myself  led  thee  forth  to  the 
window  when  fellows  were  hanged  and  shot ;  and  I  have 
shown  thee  every  day  the  halves  and  quarters  of  bodies  ; 
and  I  have  sent  an  orderly  or  chamberlain  for  the  heads ; 
and  I  have  pulled  the  cap  up  from  over  the  eyes ;  and  I 
have  made  thee,  in  spite  of  thee,  look  steadfastly  upon  them, 
incorrigible  coward ! 

And  now  another  word  with  thee  about  thy  scandalous 
flight  from  the  palace,  in  time  of  quiet  too !     To  the  point ! 


PETER  THE  GREAT  AND  ALEXIS.  23 

did  my  brother  of  Austria  invite  thee  ?     Did  he,  or  did  he 
not? 

Alexis.  May  I  answer  without  doing  an  injury  or  dis- 
service to  his  Imperial  Majesty? 

Peter.  Thou  mayest.  What  injury  canst  thou  or  any 
one  do,  by  the  tongue,  to  such  as  he  is  ? 

Alexis.  At  the  moment,  no;  he  did  not.  Nor  indeed 
can  I  assert  that  he  at  any  time  invited  me ;  but  he  said  he 
pitied  me. 

Peter.  About  what  ?  hold  thy  tongue  ;  let  that  pass. 
Princes  never  pity  but  when  they  would  make  traitors  : 
then  their  hearts  grow  tenderer  than  tripe.  He  pitied  thee, 
kind  soul,  when  he  would  throw  thee  at  thy  father's  head ; 
but  finding  thy  father  too  strong  for  him,  he  now  commiser- 
ates the  parent,  laments  the  son's  rashness  and  disobedience, 
and  would  not  make  God  angry  for  the  world.  At  first, 
however,  there  must  have  been  some  overture  on  his  part ; 
otherwise  thou  art  too  shamefaced  for  intrusion.  Come, — 
thou  hast  never  had  wit  enough  to  lie, — tell  me  the  truth, 
the  whole  truth. 

Alexis.  He  said  that,  if  ever  I  wanted  an  asylum,  his 
court  was  open  to  me. 

Peter.  Open !  so  is  the  tavern  ;  but  folks  pay  for  what 
they  get  there.     Open,  truly  !  and  didst  thou  find  it  so  ? 

Alexis.     He  received  me  kindly. 

Peter.     I  see  he  did. 

A  lexis.     Derision,  O  my  father  !  is  not  the  fate  I  merit. 

Peter.     True,  true  !  it  was  not  intended. 

Alexis.     Kind  father  !  punish  me  then  as  you  will. 

Peter.  Villain  !  wouldst  thou  kiss  my  hand,  too  ?  Art 
thou  ignorant  that  the  Austrian  threw  thee  away  from  him, 
with  the  same  indifference  as  he  would  the  outermost  leaf  of 
a  sandy  sunburnt  lettuce  ? 


24  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

Alexis.     Alas  !  I  am  not  ignorant  of  tins. 

Peter.  He  dismissed  thee  at  my  order.  If  I  had  de- 
manded from  him  his  daughter,  to  be  the  bed-feilow  of  a 
Kalmuc,  he  would  have  given  her,  and  praised  God. 

Alexis.     0  father  !   is  his  baseness  my  crime  ? 

Peter.  No  ;  thine  is  greater.  Thy  intention,  I  know,  is 
to  subvert  the  institutions  it  has  been  the  labour  of  my 
lifetime  to  establish.  Thou  hast  never  rejoiced  at  my 
victories. 

Alexis.  I  have  rejoiced  at  your  happiness  and  your 
safety. 

Peter.  Liar  !  coward  !  traitor  !  when  the  Polanders  and 
Swedes  fell  before  me,  didst  thou  from  thy  soul  congratu- 
late mel  Didst  thou  get  drunk  at  home  or  abroad,  or 
praise  the  Lord  of  Hosts  and  Saint  Nicholas  1  Wert  thou 
not  silent  and  civil  and  low-spirited  1 

Alexis.  I  lamented  the  irretrievable  loss  of  human  life; 
I  lamented  that  the  bravest  and  noblest  were  swept  away 
the  first ;  that  the  gentlest  and  most  domestic  were  the 
earliest  mourners  ;  that  frugality  was  supplanted  by  intem- 
perance ;  that  order  was  succeeded  by  confusion  ;  and  that 
your  Majesty  was  destroying  the  glorious  plans  you  alone 
were  capable  of  devising. 

Peter.  I  destroy  them  !  how  ?  Of  what  plans  art  thou 
speaking  1 

Alexis.  Of  civilising  the  Muscovites.  The  Polanders  in 
part  were  civilised  :  the  Swedes,  more  than  any  other  nation 
on  the  Continent ;  and  so  excellently  versed  were  they  in 
military  science,  and  so  courageous,  that  every  man  you 
killed  cost  you  seven  or  eight. 

Peter.  Thou  liest  ;  nor  six.  And  civilised,  forsooth  1 
Why,  the  robes  of  the  metropolitan,  him  at  Upsal,  are  not 
worth  three  ducats,  between   Jew  and   Livornese.     I  have 


PETER  THE  GREAT  AND  AEEXIS.  25 

no  notion  that  Poland  and  Sweden  shall  be  the  only  coun- 
tries that  produce  great  princes.  What  right  have  they  to 
such  as  Gustavus  and  Sobieski  1  Europe  ought  to  look  to 
this  before  discontents  become  general,  and  the  people  do  to 
us  what  we  have  the  privilege  of  doing  to  the  people.  I 
am  wasting  my  words  :  there  is  no  arguing  with  positive 
fools  like  thee.  So  thou  wouldst  have  desired  me  to  let  the 
Polanders  and  Swedes  lie  still  and  quiet  !  Two  such 
powerful  nations  ! 

Alexis.  For  that  reason  and  others  I  would  have  gbully 
seen  them  rest,  until  our  own  people  had  increased  in 
numbers  and  prosperity. 

Peter.  And  thus  thou  disputest  my  right,  before  my  face, 
to  the  exercise  of  the  supreme  power. 

A  lexis.     Sir  !  God  forbid  ! 

Peter.  God  forbid,  indeed  !  What  care  such  villains  as 
thou  art  what  God  forbids  !  He  forbids  the  son  to  be  dis- 
obedient to  the  father  ;  he  forbids — he  forbids — twenty 
things.  I  do  not  wish,  and  will  not  have,  a  successor  who 
dreams  of  dead  people. 

Alexis.     My  father  !     I  have  dreamed  of  none  such. 

Peter.  Thou  hast,  and  hast  talked  about  them — Scy- 
thians, I  think,  they  call  'em.  Now,  who  told  thee,  Mr. 
Professor,  that  the  Scythians  were  a  happier  people  than  we 
are ;  that  they  were  inoffensive  ;  that  they  were  free ;  that 
they  wandered  with  their  carts  from  pasture  to  pasture, 
from  river  to  river  :  that  they  traded  with  good  faith  ; 
that  they  fought  with  good  courage ;  that  they  injured 
none,  iiivaded  none,  and  feared  none  1  At  this  rate  1 
have  effected  nothing.  The  great  founder  of  Rome,  1 
heard  in  Holland,  slew  his  brother  for  despiting  the 
weakness  of  his  walls ;  and  shall  the  founder  of  this 
better  place  spare  a  degenerate  son,  who  prefers  a  vagabond 


26  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

life  to  a  civilised  one,  a  cart  to  a  city,  a  Scythian  to  a 
Muscovite  1  Have  I  not  shaved  my  people,  and  breeched 
them  ?  Have  I  not  formed  them  into  regular  armies,  with 
bands  of  music  and  haversacks  ?  Are  bows  better  than  can- 
non ?  shepherds  than  dragoons,  mare's  milk  than  brandy, 
raw  steaks  than  broiled  ?  Thine  are  tenets  that  strike  at 
the  root  of  politeness  and  sound  government.  Every  prince 
in  Europe  is  interested  in  rooting  them  out  by  fire  and 
sword.  There  is  no  other  way  with  false  doctrines  :  breath 
against  breath  does  little. 

A  lexis.  Sire,  I  never  have  attempted  to  disseminate  my 
opinions. 

Peter.  How  couldst  thou1?  the  seed  would  fall  only 
on  granite.  Those,  however,  who  caught  it  brought  it 
to  me. 

Alexis.  Never  have  I  undervalued  civilisation  :  on  the 
contrary,  I  regretted  whatever  impeded  it.  In  my  opinion, 
the  evils  that  have  been  attributed  to  it  sprang  from  its 
imperfections  and  voids ;  and  no  nation  has  yet  acquired  it 
more  than  very  scantily. 

Peter.  How  so  1  give  me  thy  reasons — thy  fancies 
rather  ;  for  reason  thou  hast  none. 

Alexis.  When  I  find  the  first  of  men,  in  rank  and 
gpnius,  hating  one  another,  and  becoming  slanderers  and 
liars  in  order  to  lower  and  vilify  an  opponent ;  when  I  hear 
the  God  of  mercy  invoked  to  massacres,  and  thanked  for 
furthering  what  he  reprobates  and  condemns — I  look  back 
in  vain  on  any  barbarous  people  for  worse  barbarism.  I 
have  expressed  my  admiration  of  our  forefathers,  who,  not 
beins  Christians,  were  yet  more  virtuous  than  those  who 
are  ;  more  temperate,  more  just,  more  sincere,  more  chaste, 
more  peaceable. 

Peter.     Malignant  atheist  ! 


PETER  THE  GREAT  AND  ALEXIS.  27 

Alexis.  Indeed,  my  father,  were  I  malignant  I  must  be 
an  atheist ;  for  malignity  is  contrary  to  the  command,  and 
inconsistent  with  the  belief,  of  God. 

Peter.  Am  I  Czar  of  Muscovy,  and  hear  discourses  on 
reason  and  religion  1  from  my  own  son  too !  No,  by  the 
Holy  Trinity  !  thou  art  no  son  of  mine.  If  thou  touchest 
my  knee  again,  I  crack  thy  knuckles  with  this  tobacco- 
stopper  :  I  wish  it  were  a  sledge-hammer  for  thy  sake.  Off, 
sycophant !     Off;  run-away  slave  ! 

A  lexis.  Father  !  father  !  my  heart  is  broken  !  If  I 
have  offended,  forgive  me  ! 

Peter.     The  State  requires  thy  signal  punishment. 

Alexis.  If  the  State  requires  it,  be  it  so;  but  let  my 
father's  anger  cease ! 

Peter.  The  world  shall  judge  between  us.  I  will  brand 
thee  with  infamy. 

Alexis.  Until  now,  0  father  !  I  never  had  a  proper 
sense  of  glory.  Hear  me,  0  Czar  !  let  not  a  thing  so  vile 
as  I  am  stand  between  you  and  the  world  !  Let  none 
accuse  you  ! 

Peter.     Accuse  me,  rebel !     Accuse  me,  traitor  ! 

Alexis.  Let  none  speak  ill  of  you,  O  my  father  !  The 
public  voice  shakes  the  palace  ;  the  public  voice  penetrates 
the  grave ;  it  precedes  the  chariot  of  Almighty  God,  and  is 
heard  at  the  judgment-seat. 

Peter.  Let  it  go  to  the  devil !  I  will  have  none  of  it 
here  in  Petersburgh.  Our  Church  says  nothing  about  it ; 
our  laws  forbid  it.  As  for  thee,  unnatural  brute,  I  have  no 
more  to  do  with  thee  neither  ! 

Ho  there  !  chancellor  !  What !  come  at  last !  Wert 
napping,  or  counting  thy  ducats  1 

Chancellor.     Your  Majesty's  will  and  pleasure  ! 

Peter.     Is  the  Senate  assembled  in  that  room  ? 


28  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

Chancellor.     Every  member,  sire. 

Peter.  Conduct  this  youth  with  thee,  and  let  them  judge 
him  :  thou  understandest  me. 

Chancellor.  Your  Majesty's  commands  are  the  breath  of 
our  nostrils. 

Peter.  If  these  rascals  are  amiss,  I  will  try  my  new 
cargo  of  Livonian  hemp  upon  'em. 

Chancellor  (returning).     Sire  !  sire  ! 

Peter.  Speak,  fellow  !  Surely  they  have  not  condemned 
him  to  death,  without  giving  themselves  time  to  read  the 
accusation,  that  thou  comest  back  so  quickly. 

Chancellor.     No,  sire  !     Nor  has  either  been  done. 

Peter.     Then  thy  head  quits  thy  shoulders. 

Chancellor.      0  sire  ! 

Piter.     Curse  thy  silly  sires!  what  art  thou  about? 

Chancellor.     Alas  !  he  fell. 

Peter.  Tie  him  up  to  thy  chair,  then.  Cowardly  beast ! 
what  made  him  fall  1 

Chancellor.     The  hand  of  Death  ;  the  name  of  father. 

Peter.     Thou  puzzlest  me  ;  prythee  speak  plainlier. 

Chancellor.  We  told  him  that  his  crime  was  proven  and 
manifest ;  that  his  life  was  forfeited. 

Peter.     So  far,  well  enough. 

Chancellor.      He  smiled. 

Peter.  He  did  !  did  he  1  Impudence  shall  do  him  little 
good.  Who  could  have  expected  it  from  that  smock-face ! 
Go  on — what  then  1 

Chancellor.  He  said  calmly,  but  not  without  sighing 
twice  or  thrice,  "  Lead  me  to  the  scaffold :  I  am  weary  of 
life ;  nobody  loves  me."  I  condoled  with  him,  and  wept 
upon  his  hand,  holding  the  paper  against  my  bosom.  He 
took  the  corner  of  it  between  his  fingers,  and  said,  "  Read 
me  this  paper;  read  my  death-warrant.      Your  silence  and 


LOUIS  XIV.  AND  FATHER  LA  CHAISE.        29 

tears  have  signified  it ;  yet  the  law  has  its  forms.  Do  not 
keep  me  in  suspense.  My  father  says,  too  truly,  I  am  not 
courageous  ;  but  the  death  that  leads  me  to  my  God  shall 
never  terrify  me." 

Peter.  I  have  seen  these  white-livered  knaves  die 
resolutely  ;  I  have  seen  them  quietly  fierce  like  white  fer- 
rets, with  their  watery  eyes  and  tiny  teeth.     You  read  it  1 

Chancellor.  In  part,  sire  !  When  he  heard  your  Majesty's 
name  accusing  him  of  treason  and  attempts  at  rebellion  and 
parricide,  he  fell  speechless.  We  raised  him  up :  he  was 
motionless  ;  he  was  dead  ! 

Peter.  Inconsiderate  and  barbarous  varlet  as  thou  art, 
dost  thou  recite  this  ill  accident  to  a  father  !  and  to  one 
who  has  not  dined  !     Bring  me  a  glass  of  brandy. 

Chancellor.  And  it  please  your  Majesty,  might  I  call  a 
— a 

Peter.  Away  and  bring  it :  scamper  !  All  equally  and 
alike  shall  obey  and  serve  me. 

Hark  ye  !  bring  the  bottle  with  it  :  I  must  cool  myself — 
and — hark  ye  !  a  rasher  of  bacon  on  thy  life  !  and  some 
pickled  sturgeon,  and  some  krout  and  caviar,  and  good 
strong  cheese. 


LOUIS  XIV.  AND  FATHER  LA  CHAISE. 

Louis.  Father,  there  is  one  thing  which  I  never  have 
confessed  ;  sometimes  considering  it  almost  as  a  light 
matter,  and  sometimes  seeing  it  in  its  true  colours.  In  my 
wars  against  the  Dutch  I  committed  an  action 

La  Chaise.  Sire,  the  ears  of  the  Lord  are  always  open  to 
those  who  confess  their  sins  to  their  confessor.      Cruelties 


30  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

and  many  other  bad  deeds  are  perpetrated  in  war,  at  which 
we  should  shudder  in  our  houses  at  Paris. 

Louis.  The  people  who  were  then  in  their  houses  did 
shudder,  poor  devils  !  It  was  ludicrous  to  see  how  such 
clumsy  figures  skipped,  when  the  bombs  fell  among  their 
villages,  in  which  the  lower  part  of  the  habitations  was 
under  water  ;  and  children  looked  from  the  upper  windows, 
between  the  legs  of  calves  and  lambs,  and  of  the  old  house- 
hold dog,  struggling  to  free  himself,  as  less  ignorant  of  his 
danger.  Loud  shrieks  were  sometimes  heard,  when  the 
artillery  and  other  implements  of  war  were  silent ;  for 
fevers  raged  within  their  insulated  walls,  and  wives 
execrated  their  husbands,  with  whom  they  had  lived  in 
concord  and  tenderness  many  years,  when  the  father 
enforced  the  necessity  of  throwing  their  dead  infant  into  the 
lake  below.  Our  young  soldiers  on  such  occasions  exercised 
their  dexterity,  and  took  their  choice ;  for  the  whole  family 
was  assembled  at  the  casement,  and  prayers  were  read  over 
the  defunct,  accompanied  with  some  firm  and  with  some 
faltering  responses. 

By  these  terrible  examples  God  punished  their  heresy. 

La  Chaise.  The  Lord  of  Hosts  is  merciful :  he  protected 
your  Majesty  in  the  midst  of  these  horrors. 

Louis.  He  sustained  my  strength,  kept  up  my  spirits, 
and  afforded  me  every  day  some  fresh  amusement,  in  the 
country  of  this  rebellious  and  blasphemous  people,  who 
regularly,  a  quarter  before  twelve  o'clock,  knowing  that 
mass  was  then  performed  among  us,  sang  their  psalms. 

La  Chaise.  I  cannot  blame  a  certain  degree  of  severity 
on  such  occasions :  on  much  slighter,  we  read  in  the  Old 
Testament,  nations  were  smitten  with  the  edge  of  the 
sword. 

Louis.     I    have    wanted    to    find    that    place,    but    my 


LOUIS  XIV.  AND  FATHER  LA  CHAISE.        31 

Testament  was  not  an  old  one  :  it  was  printed  at  the  Louvre 
in  my  own  time.  As  for  the  edge  of  the  sword,  it  was  not 
always  convenient  to  use  that :  they  are  stout  fellows  ;  but 
our  numbers  enabled  us  to  starve  them  out,  and  we  had 
more  engineers  and  better.  Beside  which,  I  took  peculiar 
vengeance  on  some  of  the  principal  families,  and  on  some 
among  the  most  learned  of  their  professors ;  for  if  any  had 
a  dissolute  son,  who,  as  dissolute  sons  usually  are,  was  the 
darling  of  the  house,  I  bribed  him,  made  him  drunk,  and 
converted  him.  This  occasionally  broke  the  father's  heart 
— God's  punishment  of  stubbornness  ! 

La  Chaise.  Without  the  especial  grace  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  such  conversions  are  transitory.  It  is  requisite  to 
secure  the  soul  while  we  have  it,  by  the  exertion  of  a  little 
loving-kindness.  I  would  deliver  the  poor  stray  creatures 
up  to  their  Maker  straightway,  lest  he  should  call  me  to 
account  for  their  backsliding.  Heresy  is  a  leprosy,  which 
the  whiter  it  is  the  worse  it  is.  Those  who  appear  the  most 
innocent  and  godly,  are  the  very  men  who  do  the  most 
mischief  and  hold  the  fewest  observances.  They  hardly 
treat  God  Almighty  like  a  gentleman,  grudge  him  a  clean 
napkin  at  his  own  table,  and  spend  less  upon  him  than 
upon  a  Christmas  dinner. 

Louis.  O  Father  La  Chaise !  you  have  searched  my 
heart ;  you  have  brought  to  light  my  hidden  offences. 
Nothing  is  concealed  from  your  penetration.  I  come  forth 
like  a  criminal  in  his  chains. 

La  Chaise.  Confess,  sire,  confess  !  I  will  pour  the  oil 
into  your  wounded  spirit,  taking  due  care  that  the 
vengeance  of  Heaven  be  satisfied  by  your  atonement. 

Louis.  Intelligence  was  brought  to  me  that  the  cook  of 
the  English  general  had  prepared  a  superb  dinner,  in  conse- 
quence of  what  that  insolent  and  vainglorious  people  are  in 


32  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

the  habit  of  calling  a  success.  "  We  shall  soon  see," 
exclaimed  I,  "who  is  successful:  God  protects  France." 
The  whole  army  shouted,  and,  I  verily  believe,  at  that 
moment  would  have  conquered  the  world.  I  deferred  it  : 
my  designs  lie  in  my  own  breast.  Father,  I  never  heard 
such  a  shout  in  my  life  :  it  reminded  me  of  Cherubim  and 
Seraphim  and  Archangels.  The  infantry  cried  with  joy  ; 
the  horses  capered  and  neighed  and  ventriloquised  right 
and  left,  from  an  excess  of  animation.  Leopard-skins, 
bear-skins,  Genoa  velvet,  Mechlin  ruffles,  Brussels  cravats, 
feathers  and  fringes  and  golden  bands,  up  in  the  air  at 
once;  pawings  and  snortings,  threats  and  adjurations, 
beginnings  and  ends  of  songs.  I  was  Henry  and  Caesar, 
Alexander  and  David,  Charlemagne  and  Agamemnon:  I 
had  only  to  give  the  word ;  they  would  swim  across  the 
Channel,  and  bring  the  tyrant  of  proud  Albion  back  in 
chains.  All  my  prudence  was  requisite  to  repress  their 
ardour. 

A  letter  had  been  intercepted  by  my  scouts,  addressed 
by  the  wife  of  the  English  general  to  her  husband.  She 
was  at  Gorcum  :  she  informed  him  that  she  would  send 
him  a  glorious  mince  pie,  for  his  dinner  the  following  day, 
in  celebration  of  his  victory.  "  Devil  incarnate  ! "  said  I, 
on  reading  the  despatch,  "I  will  disappoint  thy  malice." 
I  was  so  enraged  that  I  went  within  a  mile  or  two  of 
cannon-shot  ;  and  I  should  have  gone  within  half-a-mile,  if 
my  dignity  had  permitted  me,  or  if  my  resentment  had 
lasted.  I  liberated  the  messenger,  detaining  as  hostage  his 
son  who  accompanied  him,  and  promising  that,  if  the  mince- 
pie  was  secured,  I  would  make  him  a  chevalier  on  the  spot. 
Providence  favoured  our  arms ;  but  unfortunately  there 
were  among  my  staff-officers  some  who  had  fought  under 
Turenne,   and    who,   I    suspect,   retained    the    infection    of 


LOUIS  XIV.  AND  FATHER  LA   CHAISE.         33 

heresy.  They  presented  the  mince-pie  to  me  on  their 
knees,  and  I  ate.  It  was  Friday.  I  did  not  remember  the 
day  when  I  began  to  eat ;  but  the  sharpness  of  the  weather, 
the  odour  of  the  pie,  and  something  of  vengeance  springing 
up  again  at  the  sight  of  it,  made  me  continue  after  I  had 
recollected ;  and,  to  my  greater  condemnation,  I  had 
inquired  that  very  morning  of  what  materials  it  was  com- 
posed. God  set  his  face  against  me,  and  hid  from  me  the 
light  of  his  countenance,  I  lost  victory  after  victory, 
nobody  knows  how  ;  for  my  generals  were  better  than  tho 
enemy's,  my  soldiers  more  numerous,  more  brave,  more 
disciplined.  And,  extraordinary  and  awful  !  even  those 
who  swore  to  conquer  or  die,  ran  back  again  like  whelps 
just  gelt,  crying,  "  It  is  the  first  duty  of  a  soldier  to  see 
his  king  in  safety."  I  never  heard  so  many  fine  sentiments 
or  fewer  songs.  My  stomach  was  out  of  order  by  the 
visitation  of  the  Lord.  I  took  the  sacrament  on  the 
Sunday. 

La  Chaise.  The  sacrament  on  a  Friday's  gras  1  I  should 
have  recommended  first  a  de  prqfundis,  a  miserere,  and  an 
eructavit  cor  meum,  and  lastly  a  little  oil  of  ricina  which, 
administered  by  the  holy  and  taken  by  the  faithful,  is 
almost  as  efficacious  in  its  way  as  that  of  Rheims.  Penance 
is  to  be  done  :  your  Majesty  must  fast ;  your  Majesty  must 
wear  sackcloth  next  your  skin,  and  carry  ashes  upon  your 
head  before  the  people. 

Louis.  Father,  I  cannot  consent  to  this  humiliation  : 
the  people  must  fear  me.  What  are  you  doing  with  those 
scissors  and  that  pill  1  I  am  sound  ;  give  it  Villeroy  or 
Richelieu. 

La  Chaise.  Sire,  no  impiety,  no  levity,  I  pray.  In  this 
pill,  as  your  Majesty  calls  it,  are  some  flakes  of  ashes  from 
the  incense,  which  seldom   is  pure  gum  ;  break  it  between 

23 


34  IMA  GINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

your  fingers,  and  scatter  it  upon  your  peruke.  Well  done  ! 
Now  take  this. 

Louis.  Faith !  I  have  no  sore  on  groin  or  limb.  A 
black  plaster  !  what  is  that  for? 

La  Chaise.  This  is  sackcloth.  It  is  the  sack  in  which 
Madame  de  Maintenon  put  her  knitting,  until  the  pins 
frayed  it. 

Louis.     I  should  have  believed  that  sackcloth  means 

La  Chaise.  No  interpretations  of  Scripture,  I  charge 
you  from  authority,  sire.     Put  it  on  your  back  or  bosom. 

Louis.  God  forgive  me,  sinner  !  It  has  dropped  down 
into  my  pantaloon  :  will  that  do  1 

La  Chaise.  Did  it,  in  descending,  touch  your  back,  belly, 
ribs,  breast,  or  shoulder,  or  any  parts  that  needs  mortifica- 
tion, and  can  be  mortified  without  scandal  ? 

Louis.     I  placed  it  between  my  frills. 

La  Chaise.  In  such  manner  as  to  touch  the  skin 
sensibly  ? 

Louis.     It  tickled  me,  by  stirring  a  hair  or  two. 

La  Chaise.  Be  comforted,  then;  for  people  have  been 
tickled  to  death. 

Louis.  But,  Father,  you  remit  the  standing  in  presence 
of  the  people  ? 

La  Chaise.  Indeed  I  do  not.  Stand  at  the  window,  son 
of  St.  Louis. 

Louis.  And  perform  the  same  ceremonies  1  no,  upon  my 
conscience  !     My  almoner 

La  Chaise.     They  are  performed. 

Louis.  But  the  people  will  never  know  what  is  on  my 
head  or  in  my  pantaloon. 

La  Chaise.  Penance  is  performed  so  far  :  to-morrow  is 
Friday  ;  one  more  rigid  must  be  enforced.  Six  dishes  alone 
shall  come  upon  the  table ;  and,  although  fasting  doe3   not 


LOUIS  XIV.  AND  FATHER  LA  CHAISE.         35 

extend  to  wines  or  liqueurs,  I  order  that  three  kinds  only 
of  wine  be  presented,  and  three  of  liqueur. 

Louis.     In  the  six  dishes  is  soup  included  1 

La  Chaise.  Soup  is  not  served  in  a  dish  ;  but  T  forbid 
more  than  three  kinds  of  soup. 

Louis.     Oysters  of  Cancale  ? 

La  Chaise.  Those  come  in  barrels ;  take  care  they  be 
not  dished.  Your  Majesty  must  either  eat  them  raw  from 
the  barrel,  or  dressed  in  scallop,  or  both  ;  but  beware,  I  say 
again,  of  dishing  this  article,  as  your  soul  shall  answer  for  it 
at  the  last  clay.  There  are  those  who  would  prohibit  them 
wholly.  I  have  experienced — I  mean  in  others — strange 
uncouth  effects  therefrom,  which,  unless  they  shadow  fortlx 
something  mystical,  it  were  better  not  to  provoke. 

Louis.  Pray,  Father,  why  is  that  frightful  day  which 
you  mentioned  just  now,  and  which  I  think  I  have  heard 
mentioned  on  other  occasions,  called  the  last ;  when  the  last 
in  this  life  is  over  before  it  comes,  and  when  the  first  in  the 
next  is  not  begun  ? 

La  Chaise.  It  is  called  the  last  day  by  the  Church, 
because  after  that  day  the  Church  can  do  nothing  for  the 
sinner.  Her  saints,  martyrs,  and  confessors  can  plead  at 
the  bar  for  him  the  whole  of  that  day  until  sunset,  some 
say  until  after  angelus ;  then  the  books  are  closed,  the 
candles  put  out,  the  doors  shut,  and  the  key  turned.  The 
flames  of  purgatory  then  sink  into  the  floor,  and  would  not 
wither  a  cistus-leaf  full-blown  and  shed ;  there  is  nothing 
left  but  heaven  and  hell,  songs  and  lamentations. 

Louis.  Permit  me  to  ask  another  question  of  no  less 
importance,  and  connected  with  my  penance.  The  Bishop 
of  Aix  in  Provence  has  sent  me  thirty  fine  quails. 

La  Chaise.  There  are  naturalists  who  assert  that  quails 
have  fallen  from  heaven  like  manna.     Externally  they  bear 


36  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  COWERS  A  TJONS. 

the  appearance  of  birds,  and  I  have  eaten  them  in  that 
persuasion.  If,  however,  any  one  from  grave  authority  is 
convinced  of  the  contrary,  or  propends  to  believe  so,  and 
eats  thereof,  the  fault  is  venial.  I  conferred  with  Tam- 
hurini  on  this  momentous  point.  He  distinguishes  between 
quails  taken  in  the  field,  or  in  the  air  as  they  descend,  and 
tame  quails  bred  within  coops  and  enclosures,  which  are 
begotten  in  the  ordinary  way  of  generation,  and  of  which 
the  substance  in  that  case  must  be  different.  I  cannot 
believe  that  the  Bishop  of  Aix  would  be  the  conservator 
of  creatures  so  given  to  fighting  and  wantonness ;  but  rather 
opine  that  his  quails  alighted  somewhere  in  his  diocese,  and 
perhaps  as  a  mark  of  divine  favour  to  so  worthy  a  member 
of  the  Church.  It  is  safer  to  eat  them  after  twelve  o'clock 
at  night ;  but,  where  there  is  purity  and  humility  of  spirit,  I 
see  not  that  they  are  greatly  to  he  dreaded. 


The  fiction  of  the  quails  will  appear  extravagant  to  those  only  who 
are  in  ignorance  that  such  opinions  have  prevailed  among  casuists. 
The  Carthusians,  to  whom  animal  food  is  forbidden,  whereby  ,they 
mean  solely  the  flesh  of  quadrupeds  and  of  birds,  may  nevertheless  eat 
the  otter  and  the  gull ;  it  may  be  eaten  by  Catholics  even  in  Lent. 
From  this  permission  in  regard  to  the  cjvll,  do  we  derive  the  English 
verb  and  noun  ? 

We  often  lay  most  stress  on  our  slightest  faults,  and  have  more 
apprehension  from  things  unessential  than  from  things  essential. 
When  Lord  Tylney  was  on  his  death-bed,  and  had  not  been  shaved 
for  two  days,  he  burst  suddenly  into  tears,  and  cried  to  his  valet, 
"  Are  not  you  ashamed  to  abandon  me  ?  would  you  let  me  go  this 
figure  into  the  presence  of  my  Maker?  " 

He  was  shaved,  and  (I  hope)  presented. 


HENRY  VIII.  AND  ANNE  BOLEYN.  37 


HENRY  VIII.  AND  ANNE  BOLEYN. 

[The  King  conies  disguised  to  his  wife,  who  has  just  been  condemned 
to  death.     Landor's  treatment  of  Anne  is  very  characteristic] 

Henry.  Dost  thou  know  me,  Nanny,  in  this  yeoman's 
dress?  'S  blood  !  does  it  require  so  long  and  vacant  a  stare 
to  recollect  a  husband  after  a  week  or  two  1  No  tragedy- 
tricks  with  me  !  a  scream,  a  sob,  or  thy  kerchief  a  trifle  the 
wetter,  were  enough.  Why,  verily  the  little  fool  faints  in 
earnest.  These  whey  faces,  like  their  kinsfolk  the  ghosts, 
give  us  no  warning.  Hast  had  water  enough  upon  thee  1 
Take  that,  then  :  art  thyself  again  ? 

Anne.  Father  of  mercies  !  do  I  meet  again  my  husband, 
as  was  my  last  prayer  on  earth  1  Do  I  behold  my  beloved 
lord — in  peace — and  pardoned,  my  partner  in  eternal  bliss  1 
it  was  his  voice.  I  cannot  see  him  :  why  cannot  1 1  Oil 
why  do  these  pangs  interrupt  the  transports  of  the  blessed  1 

Henry.  Thou  openest  thy  arms  :  faith  !  I  came  for  that. 
Nanny,  thou  art  a  sweet  slut.  Thou  groanest,  wench :  art 
in  labour  1  Faith  !  among  the  mistakes  of  the  night,  I  am 
ready  to  think  almost  that  thou  hast  been  drinking,  and 
that  I  have  not. 

Anne.  God  preserve  your  Highness  :  grant  me  your  for- 
giveness for  one  slight  offence.  My  eyes  were  heavy;  I  fell 
asleep  while  I  was  reading.  I  did  not  know  of  your  pre- 
sence at  first ;  and,  when  I  did,  I  could  not  speak.  I  strove 
for  utterance :  I  wanted  no  respect  for  my  liege  and 
husband. 

Henry.  My  pretty  warm  nestling,  thou  wilt  then  lie  ! 
Thou  wert  reading,  and  aloud  too,  with  thy  saintly  cup  of 
water  by  thee,  and — what  !  thou  art  still  girlishly  fond  of 
those  dried  cherries ! 


38  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

Anne.  I  had  no  other  fruit  to  offer  your  Highness  the 
first  time  I  saw  you,  and  you  were  then  pleased  to  invent 
for  me  some  reason  why  they  should  be  acceptable.  I  did 
not  dry  these  :  may  I  present  them,  such  as  they  are  \  We 
shall  have  fresh  next  month. 

Henry.  Thou  art  always  driving  away  from  the  discourse. 
One  moment  it  suits  thee  to  know  me,  another  not. 

Anne.  Remember,  it  is  hardly  three  months  since  I 
miscarried.     I  am  weak,  and  liable  to  swoons. 

Henry.  Thou  hast,  however,  thy  bridal  cheeks,  with 
lustre  upon  them  when  there  is  none  elsewhere,  and  obsti- 
nate lips  resisting  all  impression  ;  but,  now  thou  talkest 
about  miscarrying,  who  is  the  father  of  that  boy  1 

Anne.  Yours  and  mine — He  who  hath  taken  him  to 
his  own  home,  before  (like  me)  he  could  struggle  or  cry 
for  it. 

Henry.  Pagan,  or  worse,  to  talk  so !  He  did  not  come 
into  the  world  alive :  there  was  no  baptism. 

Anne.  I  thought  only  of  our  loss  :  my  senses  are  con- 
founded. I  did  not  give  him  my  milk,  and  yet  I  loved  him 
tenderly ;  for  I  often  fancied,  had  he  lived,  how  contented 
and  joyful  he  would  have  made  you  and  England. 

Henry.  No  subterfuges  and  escapes.  I  warrant,  thou 
canst  not  say  whether  at  my  entrance  thou  wert  waking  or 
wandering. 

Anne.    Faintness  and  drowsiness  came  upon  me  suddenly. 

Henry.  Well,  since  thou  really  and  truly  sleepedst,  what 
didst  dream  oil 

Anne.     I  begin  to  doubt  whether  I  did  indeed  sleep. 

Henry.  Ha !  false  one — never  two  sentences  of  truth 
together  !  But  come,  what  didst  think  about,  asleep  or 
awake ! 


HENRY  VIII.  AND  ANNE  BOLEYN.  39 

Anne.  I  thought  that  God  had  pardoned  me  my  offences, 
and  had  received  me  unto  him. 

Henry.     And  nothing  more  1 

Anne.  That  my  prayers  had  been  heard  and  my  wishes 
were  accomplishing :  the  angels  alone  can  enjoy  more 
beatitude  than  this. 

Henry.  Vexatious  little  devil  !  She  says  nothing  now 
about  me,  merely  from  perverseness.  Hast  thou  never 
thought  about  me,  nor  about  thy  falsehood  and  adultery  1 

Anne.  If  I  had  committed  any  kind  of  falsehood,  in 
regard  to  you  or  not,  I  should  never  have  rested  until  I 
had  thrown  myself  at  your  feet  and  obtained  your  pardon  ; 
but,  if  ever  I  had  been  guilty  of  that  other  crime,  I  know 
not  whether  I  should  have  dared  to  implore  it,  even  of 
God's  mercy. 

Henry.  Thou  hast  heretofore  cast  some  soft  glances  upon 
Smeaton  ;  hast  thou  not  ? 

Anne.  He  taught  me  to  play  on  the  virginals,  as  you 
know,  when  I  was  little,  and  thereby  to  please  your 
Highness. 

Henry.  And  Brereton  and  Korris— what  have  they 
taught  thee  "\ 

Anne.     They  are  your  servants,  and  trusty  ones. 

Henry.  Has  not  Weston  told  thee  plainly  that  he  loved 
thee? 

Anne.     Yes  ;  and 

Henry.     What  didst  thou  1 

Anne.     I  defied  him. 

Henry.     Is  that  all  1 

Anne.  I  could  have  done  no  more  if  he  had  told  me 
that  he  hated  me.  Then,  indeed,  I  should  have  incurred 
more  justly  the  reproaches  of  your  Highness  :  I  should  have 
smiled. 


40  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

Henry.  We  have  proofs  abundant :  the  fellows  shall  one 
and  all  confront  thee.  Aye,  clap  thy  hands  and  kiss  thy 
sleeve,  harlot ! 

Anne.  Oh  that  so  great  a  favour  is  vouchsafed  me  ! 
My  honour  is  secure ;  my  husband  will  be  happy  again  ;  he 
will  see  my  innocence. 

Henry.  Give  me  now  an  account  of  the  moneys  thou 
hast  received  from  me  within  these  nine  months.  I  want 
them  not  back :  they  are  letters  of  gold  in  record  of  thy 
guilt.  Thou  hast  had  no  fewer  than  fifteen  thousand 
pounds  in  that  period,  without  even  thy  asking  ;  what  hast 
done  with  it,  wanton  1 

Anne.     I  have  regularly  placed  it  out  to  interest. 

Henry.     Where  1  I  demand  of  thee. 

Anne.  Among  the  needy  and  ailing.  My  Lord  Arch- 
bishop has  the  account  of  it,  sealed  by  him  weekly.  I 
also  had  a  copy  myself  ;  those  who  took  away  my  papers 
may  easily  find  it ;  for  there  are  few  others,  and  they  lie 
open. 

Henry.  Think  on  my  munificence  to  thee ;  recollect 
who  made  thee.     Dost  sigh  for  what  thou  hast  lost  1 

Anne.     I  do,  indeed. 

Henry.  I  never  thought  thee  ambitious;  but  thy  vice3 
creep  out  one  by  one. 

Anne.  I  do  not  regret  that  I  have  been  a  queen  and  am 
no  longer  one ;  nor  that  my  innocence  is  called  in  question 
by  those  who  never  knew  me  ;  but  I  lament  that  the  good 
people  who  loved  me  so  cordially,  hate  and  curse  me ;  that 
those  who  pointed  me  out  to  their  daughters  for  imitation 
check  them  when  they  speak  about  me ;  and  that  he  whom 
next  to  God  I  have  served  with  most  devotion  is  my 
accuser. 

Henry.     Wast   thou    conning    over   something    in   that 


HENRY  VIII.  AND  ANNE  BOLEYN.  41 

dingy  book  for  thy  defence1?  Come,  tell  me,  what  wast 
thou  reading  1 

Anne.  This  ancient  chronicle.  I  was  looking  for  some 
one  in  my  own  condition,  and  must  have  missed  the  page. 
Surely  in  so  many  hundred  years  there  shall  have  been 
other  young  maidens,  first  too  happy  for  exaltation,  and 
after  too  exalted  for  happiness — not,  perchance,  doomed  to 
die  upon  a  scaffold,  by  those  they  ever  honoured  and  served 
faithfully  ;  that,  indeed,  I  did  not  look  for  nor  think  of  ; 
but  my  heart  was  bounding  for  any  one  I  could  love  and 
pity.  She  would  be  unto  me  as  a  sister  dead  and  gone ; 
but  hearing  me,  seeing  me,  consoling  me,  and  being 
consoled.     0  my  husband  !  it  is  so  heavenly  a  thing 

Henri/.  To  whine  and  whimper,  no  doubt,  is  vastly 
heavenly. 

Anne.  I  said  not  so  ;  but  those,  if  there  be  any  such, 
who  never  weep,  have  nothing  in  them  of  heavenly  or  of 
earthly.  The  plants,  the  trees,  the  very  rocks  and  un- 
sunned clouds,  show  us  at  least  the  semblances  of  weeping; 
and  there  is  not  an  aspect  of  the  globe  we  live  on,  nor  of 
the  waters  and  skies  around  it,  without  a  reference  and  a 
similitude  to  our  joys  or  sorrows. 

Henry.  I  do  not  remember  that  notion  anywhere. 
Take  care  no  enemy  rake  out  of  it  something  of  materialism. 
Guard  well  thy  empty  hot  brain ;  it  may  hatch  more  evil. 
As  for  those  odd  v/ords,  I  myself  would  fain  see  no  great 
harm  in  them,  knowing  that  grief  and  frenzy  strike  out 
many  things  which  would  else  lie  still,  and  neither  spirt 
nor  sparkle.  I  also  know  that  thou  hast  never  read  any 
thing  but  Bible  and  history — the  two  worst  books  in  the 
world  for  young  people,  and  the  most  certain  to  lead 
astray  both  prince  and  subject.  For  which  reason  I  have 
interdicted  and  entirely  put  down  the  one,  and  will  (by  the 


42  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

blessing  of  the  Virgin  and  of  holy  Paul)  commit  the  other 
to  a  rigid  censor.  If  it  behooves  us  kings  to  enact  what 
our  people  shall  eat  and  drink — of  which  the  most  unruly 
and  rebellious  spirit  can  entertain  no  doubt — greatly  more 
doth  it  behoove  us  to  examine  what  they  read  and  think. 
The  body  is  moved  according  to  the  mind  and  will ;  we 
must  take  care  that  the  movement  be  a  right  one,  on  pain 
of  God's  anger  in  this  life  and  the  next. 

Anne.  O  my  dear  husband  !  it  must  be  a  naughty  thing, 
indeed,  that  makes  him  angry  beyond  remission.  Did  you 
ever  try  how  pleasant  it  is  to  forgive  any  one  ?  There  is 
nothing  else  wherein  we  can  resemble  God  perfectly  and 
easily. 

Henry.  Resemble  God  perfectly  and  easily !  Do  vile 
creatures  talk  thus  of  the  Creator  1 

Anne.  No,  Henry,  when  his  creatures  talk  thus  of  him, 
they  are  no  longer  vile  creatures  !  When  they  know  that 
he  is  good,  they  love  him  ;  and,  when  they  love  him,  they 
are  good  themselves.  O  Henry !  my  husband  and  King ! 
the  judgments  of  our  Heavenly  Father  are  righteous;  on 
this,  surely,  we  must  think  alike. 

Henry.  And  what,  then  1  Speak  out ;  again  I  command 
thee,  speak  plainly  !  thy  tongue  was  not  so  torpid  but  this 
moment.     Art  ready  1     Must  I  wait  1 

Anne.  If  any  doubt  remains  upon  your  royal  mind  of 
your  equity  in  this  business  :  should  it  haply  seem  possible 
to  you  that  passion  or  prejudice,  in  yourself  or  another, 
may  have  warped  so  strong  an  understanding — do  but  sup- 
plicate the  Almighty  to  strengthen  and  enlighten  it,  and  he 
will  hear  you. 

Henry.     What !  thou  wouldst  fain  change  thy  quarters, 

ay? 

Anne.     My   spirit  is   detached  and    ready,  and    I    shall 


HENRY  VIII.  AND  ANNE  BOLEYN.  43 

change  them  shortly,  whatever  your  Highness  may 
determine. 

Henry.  Yet  thou  appearest  hale  and  resolute,  and  (they 
tell  me)  smirkest  and  smilest  to  everybody. 

Anne.  The  withered  leaf  catches  the  sun  sometimes, 
little  as  it  can  profit  by  it ;  and  I  have  heard  stories  of  the 
breeze  in  other  climates  that  sets  in  when  daylight  is  about 
to  close,  and  how  constant  it  is,  and  how  refreshing.  My 
heart,  indeed,  is  now  sustained  strangely  ;  it  became  the 
more  sensibly  so  from  that  time  forward,  when  power  and 
grandeur  and  all  things  terrestrial  were  sunk  from  sight. 
Every  act  of  kindness  in  those  about  me  gives  me  satis- 
faction and  pleasure,  such  as  I  did  not  feel  formerly.  I  was 
worse  before  God  chastened  me  ;  yet  I  was  never  an  ingrate. 
What  pains  have  I  taken  to  find  out  the  village-girls  who 
placed  their  posies  in  my  chamber  ere  I  arose  in  the  morn- 
ing !  How  gladly  would  I  have  recompensed  the  forester 
who  lit  up  a  brake  on  my  birthnight,  which  else  had  warmed 
him  half  the  winter  1  But  these  are  times  past :  I  was  not 
Queen  of  England. 

Henry.     Nor  adulterous,  nor  heretical. 

Anne.     God  be  praised  ! 

Henry.  Learned  saint !  thou  knowest  nothing  of  the 
lighter,  but  perhaps  canst  inform  me  about  the  graver,  of 
them. 

Anne.     Which  may  it  be,  my  liege  1 

Henry.  Which  may  it  be  1  Pestilence  !  I  marvel  that 
the  walls  of  this  tower  do  not  crack  around  thee  at  such 
impiety. 

Anne.  I  would  be  instructed  by  the  wisest  of  theologians: 
such  is  your  Highness. 

Henry.  Are  the  sins  of  the  body,  foul  as  they  are,  com- 
parable to  those  of  the  soul  1 


44  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

A  une.     When  they  are  united,  they  must  be  worse. 

Henry.  Go  on,  go  on :  thou  pushest  thy  own  breast 
against  the  sword.  God  hath  deprived  thee  of  thy  reason 
for  thy  punishment.  I  must  hear  more  :  proceed,  I  charge 
thee. 

Anne.  An  aptitude  to  believe  one  thing  rather  than 
another,  from  ignorance  or  weakness,  or  from  the  more  per- 
suasive manner  of  the  teacher,  or  from  his  purity  of  life,  or 
from  the  strong  impression  of  a  particular  text  at  a  par- 
ticular time,  and  various  things  beside,  may  influence  and 
decide  our  opinion ;  and  the  hand  of  the  Almighty,  let  us 
hope,  will  fall  gently  on  human  fallibility. 

Henry.  Opinion  in  matters  of  faith  !  rare  wisdom  !  rare 
religion !  Troth,  Anne !  thou  hast  well  sobered  me.  I 
came  rather  warmly  and  lovingly  ;  but  these  light  ringlets, 
by  the  holy  rood,  shall  not  shade  this  shoulder  much  longer. 
Nay,  do  not  start ;  I  tap  it  for  the  last  time,  my  sweetest. 
If  the  Church  permitted  it,  thou  shouldst  set  forth  on  thy 
long  journey  with  the  eucharist  between  thy  teeth,  however 
loath. 

Anne.  Love  your  Elizabeth,  my  honoured  lord,  and  God 
bless  you  !  She  will  soon  forget  to  call  me.  Do  not  chide 
her  :  think  how  young  she  is. 

Could  T,  could  I  kiss  her,  but  once  again  !  it  would  com- 
fort my  heart, — or  break  it. 


JOSEPH  SCALIGER  AND  MONTAIGNE. 

Montaigne.  What  could  have  brought  you,  M.  de 
l'Escale,  to  visit  the  old  man  of  the  mountain,  other  than  a 
irood  heart  1     Oh  how  delighted  and  charmed  I  am  to  hear 


JOSEPH  SC AUGER  AND  MONTAIGNE.         45 

you  speak  such  excellent  Gascon.  You  rise  early,  I  see : 
you  must  have  risen  with  the  sun,  to  be  here  at  this  hour ; 
it  is  a  stout  half-hour's  walk  from  the  brook.  I  have 
capital  white  wine,  and  the  best  cheese  in  Auvergne.  You 
saw  the  goats  and  the  two  cows  before  the  castle. 

Pierre,  thou  hast  done  well  :  set  it  upon  the  table,  and 
tell  Master  Matthew  to  split  a  couple  of  chickens  and  broil 
them,  and  to  pepper  but  one.  Do  you  like  pepper,  M.  de 
l'Escale  1 

Scaliger.     Not  much. 

Montaigne.  Hold  hard  t  let  the  pepper  alone  :  I  hate  it. 
Tell  him  to  broil  plenty  of  ham  ;  only  two  slices  at  a  time, 
upon  his  salvation. 

Scaliger.  This,  I  perceive,  is  the  antechamber  to  your 
library  :  here  are  your  everyday  books. 

Montaigne.  Faith  1  I  have  no  other.  These  are  plenty, 
methinks  ;  is  not  that  your  opinion  1 

Scaliger.  You  have  great  resources  within  yourself,  and 
therefore  can  do  with  fewer. 

Montaigne.  Why,  how  many  now  do  you  think  here 
may  be  1 

Scaliger.  I  did  not  believe  at  first  that  there  could  be 
above  fourscore. 

Montaigne.  Well  !  are  fourscore  few  1 — are  we  talking 
of  peas  and  beans. 

Scaliger.  I  and  my  father  (put  together)  have  written 
well-nigh  as  many. 

Montaigne.  Ah  !  to  write  them  is  quite  another  thing : 
but  one  reads  books  without  a  spur,  or  even  a  pat  from  our 
Lady  Vanity.  How  do  you  like  my  wine  1 — it  comes  from 
the  little  knoll  yonder  :  you  cannot  see  the  vines,  those 
chestnut-trees  are  between. 


46  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

Scaliger.  The  wine  is  excellent ;  light,  odoriferous,  with  a 
smartness  like  a  sharp  child's  prattle. 

Montaigne.  It  never  goes  to  the  head,  nor  pulls  the 
nerves,  which  many  do  as  if  they  were  guitar-strings.  I 
drink  a  couple  of  bottles  a-day,  winter  and  summer,  and 
never  am  the  worse  for  it.  You  gentlemen  of  the  Agennois 
have  better  in  your  province,  and  indeed  the  very  best 
under  the  sun.  I  do  not  wonder  that  the  Parliament  of 
Bordeaux  should  be  jealous  of  their  privileges,  and  call  it 
Bordeaux.  Now,  if  you  prefer  your  own  country  wine, 
only  say  it :  I  have  several  bottles  in  my  cellar,  with  corks 
as  long  as  rapiers,  and  as  polished.  I  do  not  know,  M.  de 
l'Escale,  whether  you  are  particular  in  these  matters  :  not 
quite,  I  should  imagine,  so  great  a  judge  in  them  as  in 
others  1 

Scaliger.  I  know  three  things — wine,  poetry,  and  the 
world. 

Montaigne.  You  know  one  too  many,  then.  I  hardly 
know  whether  I  know  anything  about  poetry ;  for  I  like 
Clem  Marot  better  than  Ronsard.  Ronsard  is  so  plaguily 
stiff  and  stately,  where  there  is  no  occasion  for  it ;  I 
verily  do  think  the  man  must  have  slept  with  his  wife  in  a 
cuirass. 

Scaliger.  It  pleases  me  greatly  that  you  like  Marot. 
His  version  of  the  Psalms  is  lately  set  to  music,  and  added 
to  the  New  Testament,  of  Geneva. 

Montaigne.  It  is  putting  a  slice  of  honeycomb  into  a 
barrel  of  vinegar,  which  will  never  grow  the  sweeter 
for  it. 

Scaliger.  Surely,  you  do  not  think  in  this  fashion  of  the 
New  Testament ! 

Montaigne.  Who  supposes  it1?  Whatever  is  mild  and 
kindly  is  there.     But  Jack  Calvin  has  thrown  bird-lime  and 


JOSEPH  SCALIGER  AND  MONTAIGNE.         47 

vitriol  upon  it,  and  whoever  but  touches  the  cover  dirties 
his  fingers  or  burns  them. 

Scaliger.  Calvin  is  a  very  great  man,  I  do  assure  you, 
M.  de  Montaigne. 

Montaigne.  I  do  not  like  your  great  men  who  beckon 
me  to  them,  call  me  their  begotten,  their  dear  child,  and 
their  entrails ;  and,  if  I  happen  to  say  on  any  occasion, 
"  I  beg  leave,  sir,  to  dissent  a  little  from  you,"  stamp  and 
cry,   "The  devil  you  do  !  "  and  whistle  to  the  executioner. 

Scaliger.     You  exaggerate,  my  worthy  friend  ! 

Montaigne.  Exaggerate  do  I,  M.  de  l'Escale  1  What 
was  it  he  did  the  other  day  to  the  poor  devil  there  with  an 
odd  name  1 — Melancthon,  I  think  it  is. 

Scaliger.  I  do  not  know  :  I  have  received  no  intelligence 
of  late  from  Geneva. 

Montaigne.  It  was  but  last  night  that  our  curate  rode 
over  from  Lyons  (he  made  two  days  of  it,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose) and  supped  with  me.  He  told  me  that  Jack  had  got 
his  old  friend  hanged  and  burned.  I  could  not  join  him  in 
the  joke,  for  I  find  none  such  in  the  J\Tew  Testament,  on 
which  he  would  have  founded  it ;  and,  if  it  is  one,  it  is  not 
in  my  manner  or  to  my  taste. 

Scaliger.  I  cannot  well  believe  the  report,  my  dear  sir. 
He  was  rather  urgent,  indeed,  on  the  combustion  of  the 
heretic  Michael  Servetus  some  years  past. 

Montaigne.  A  thousand  to  one,  my  spiritual  guide  mis- 
took the  name.  He  has  heard  of  both,  I  warrant  him,  and 
thinks  in  his  conscience  that  either  is  as  good  a  roast  as  the 
other. 

Scaliger.  Theologians  are  proud  and  intolerant,  and 
truly  the  farthest  of  all  men  from  theology,  if  theology 
means  the  rational  sense  of  religion,  or  indeed  has  anything 
to  do  with  it  in  any  way.     Melancthon  was  the  very  best. 


43  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

of  the  reformers  ;  quiet,  sedate,  charitable,  intrepid,  firm  in 
friendship,  ardent  in  faith,  acute  in  argument,  and  profound 
in  learning. 

Montaigne.  Who  cares  about  his  argumentation  or  his 
learning,  if  he  was  the  rest  1 

Scaliger.  I  hope  you  will  suspend  your  judgment  on  this 
affair  until  you  receive  some  more  certain  and  positive 
information. 

Montaigne.     I  can  believe  it  of  the  Sieur.  Calvin. 

Scaliger.  I  cannot.  John  Calvin  is  a  grave  man,  orderly 
and  reasonable. 

Montaigne.  In  my  opinion  he  has  not  the  order  nor  the 
reason  of  my  cook.  Mat  never  took  a  man  for  a  sucking- 
pig,  cleaning  and  scraping  and  buttering  and  roasting  him ; 
nor  ever  twitched  God  by  the  sleeve  and  swore  he  should 
not  have  his  own  way. 

Scaliger.  M.  de  Montaigne,  have  you  ever  studied  the 
doctrine  of  predestination? 

Montaigne.  I  should  not  understand  it,  if  I  had ;  and  I 
would  not  break  through  an  old  fence  merely  to  get  into  a 
cavern.  I  would  not  give  a  fig  or  a  fig-leaf  to  know  the 
truth  of  it,  as  far  as  any  man  can  teach  it  me.  Would  it 
make  me  honester  or  happier,  or,  in  other  things,  wiser  1 

Scaliger.     I  do  not  know  whether  it  would  materially. 

Montaigne.  I  should  be  an  egregious  fool  then  to  care 
about  it.  Our  disputes  on  controverted  points  have  filled 
the  country  with  missionaries  and  cut-throats.  Both  parties 
have  shown  a  disposition  to  turn  this  comfortable  old  house 
of  mine  into  a  fortress.  If  I  had  inclined  to  either,  the 
other  would  have  done  it.  Come  walk  about  it  with  me ; 
after  a  ride,  you  can  do  nothing  better  to  take  oft"  fatigue. 

Scaliger.     A  most  spacious  kitchen  ! 

Montaigne.     Look  up ! 


JOSEPH  SCALIGER  AND  MONTAIGNE.  49 

Scaliger.  You  have  twenty  or  more  flitches  of  bacoa 
hanging  there. 

Montaigne.  And  if  I  had  been  a  doctor  or  a  captain,  I 
should  have  had  a  cobweb  and  predestination  in  the  place 
of  them.  Your  soldiers  of  the  religion  on  the  one  side,  and 
of  the  good  old  faith  on  the  other,  would  not  have  left  unto 
me  safe  and  sound'even  that  good  old  woman  there. 

Scaliger.     Oh  yes  they  would,  T  hope. 

Old  Woman.  Why  clost  giggle,  Mat1?  What  should  he 
know  about  the  business  1  He  speaks  mighty  bad  French, 
and  is  as  spiteful  as  the  devil.  Praised  be  God,  we  have  a 
kind  master,  who  thinks  about  us,  and  feels  for  us. 

Scaliger.  Upon  my  word,  M.  de  Montaigne,  this  gallery 
is  an  interesting  one. 

Montaigne.  I  can  show  you  nothing  but  my  house  and 
my  dairy.  We  have  no  chase  in  the  month  of  May,  you 
know, — unless  you  would  like  to  bait  the  badger  in  the 
stable.     This  is  rare  sport  in  rainy  days. 

Scaliger.     Are  you  in  earnest,  M.  de  Montaigne  1 

Montaigne.  No,  no,  no,  I  cannot  afford  to  worry  him 
outright  :  only  a  little  for  pastime, — a  morning's  merriment 
for  the  clogs  and  wenches. 

Scaliger.  You  really  ai*e  then  of  so  happy  a  tempera- 
ment that,  at  your  time  of  life,  you  can  be  amused  by 
baiting  a  badger  ! 

Montaigne.  Why  not?  Your  father,  a  wiser  and 
graver  and  older  man  than  I  am,  was  amused  by  baiting  a 
professor  or  critic.  I  have  not  a  dog  in  the  kennel  that 
would  treat  the  badger  worse  than  bravo  Julius  treated 
Cardan  and  Erasmus,  and  some  dozens  more.  We  are  all 
childish,  old  as  well  as  young ;  and  our  very  last  tooth 
would  fain  stick,  M.  de  l'Escale,  in  some  tender  place  of  a 
neighbour.     Boys  laugh  at  a  person  who  falls  in  the  dirt ; 

24 


50  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

men  laugh  rather  when  they  make  him  fall,  and  most 
when  the  dirt  is  of  their  own  laying. 

Is  not  the  gallery  rather  cold,  after  the  kitchen  ?  "We 
must  go  through  it  to  get  into  the  court  where  I  keep  my 
tame  rabbits  ;  the  stable  is  hard  by  :  come  along,  come 
along. 

Scaliger.  Permit  me  to  look  a  little  at  those  banners. 
Some  of  them  are  old  indeed. 

Montaigne.  Upon  my  word,  I  blush  to  think  I  never 
took  notice  how  they  are  tattered.  I  have  no  fewer  than 
three  women  in  the  house,  and  in  a  summer's  evening,  only 
two  hours  long,  the  worst  of  those  rags  might  have  been 
darned  across. 

Scaliger.     You  would  not  have  done  it  surely  ! 

Montaigne.  I  am  not  over-thrifty  ;  the  women  might 
have  been  better  employed.  It  is  as  well  as  it  is  then ; 
ay? 

Scaliger.      I  think  so. 

Montaigne.     So  be  it. 

Scaliger.  They  remind  me  of  my  own  family,  we  being 
descended  from  the  great  Cane  della  Scala,  Prince  of 
Verona,  and  from  the  House  of  Hapsburg,  as  you  must 
have  heard  from  my  father. 

Montaigne.  What  signifies  it  to  the  world  whether  the 
great  Cane  was  tied  to  his  grandmother  or  not  ?  As  for  the 
House  of  Hapsburg,  if  you  could  put  together  as  many 
such  houses  as  would  make  up  a  city  larger  than  Cairo, 
they  would  not  be  worth  his  study,  or  a  sheet  of  paper  on 
the  table  of  it. 


BOCCACCIO  AND  PETRARCA.  51 


BOCCACCIO  AND  PETRARCA. 

Boccaccio.  Remaining  among  us,  I  doubt  not  that  you 
would  soon  receive  the  same  distinctions  in  your  native 
country  as  others  have  conferred  upon  you  :  indeed,  in  con- 
fidence  I  may  promise  it.  For  gi*eatly  are  the  Florentines 
ashamed  that  the  most  elegant  of  their  writers  and  the 
most  independent  of  their  citizens  lives  in  exile,  by  the 
injustice  he  had  suffered  in  the  detriment  done  to  his 
property,  through  the  intemperate  administration  of  their 
laws. 

Petrarca.  Let  them  recall  me  soon  and  honourably : 
then  perhaps  I  may  assist  them  to  remove  their  ignominy, 
which  I  carry  about  with  me  wherever  I  go,  and  which  is 
pointed  out  by  my  exotic  laurel. 

Boccaccio.  There  is,  and  ever  will  be,  in  all  countries 
and  under  all  governments,  an  ostracism  for  their  greatest 
men. 

Petrarca.  At  present  we  will  talk  no  more  about  it. 
To-morrow  I  pursue  my  journey  towards  Padua,  where  I 
am  expected ;  where  some  few  value  and  esteem  me,  honest 
and  learned  and  ingenious  men ;  although  neither  those 
Transpadane  regions,  nor  whatever  extends  beyond  them, 
have  yet  produced  an  equal  to  Boccaccio. 

Boccaccio.  Then,  in  the  name  of  friendship,  do  not  go 
thither  ! — form  such  rather  from  your  fellow-citizens.  I 
love  my  equals  heartily  ;  and  shall  love  them  the  better 
when  I  see  them  raised  up  here,  from  our  own  mother 
earth,  by  you. 

Petrarca.     Let  us  continue  our  walk. 

Boccaccio.  If  you  have  been  delighted  (and  you  say  you 
have  been)  at  seeing  again,  after  so  long  an  absence,  the 


52  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

house  and  garden  wherein  I  have  placed  the  relaters  of  ray 
stories,  as  reported  in  the  Decameron,  come  a  little  way 
further  up  the  ascent,  and  we  will  pass  through  the  vine- 
yard on  the  west  of  the  villa.  You  will  see  presently 
another  on  the  right,  lying  in  its  warm  little  garden  close 
to  the  roadside,  the  scene  lately  of  somewhat  that  would 
have  looked  well,  as  illustration,  in  the  midst  of  your 
Latin  reflections.  It  shows  us  that  people  the  most 
serious  and  determined  may  act  at  last  contrariwise  to  the 
line  of  conduct  they  have  laid  down. 

Petrarca.  Relate  it  to  me,  Messer  Giovanni ;  for  you 
are  able  to  give  reality  the  merits  and  charms  of  fiction, 
just  as  easily  as  you  give  fiction  the  semblance,  the  stature, 
and  the  movement  of  reality. 

Boccaccio.  I  must  here  forego  such  powers,  if  in  good 
truth  T  possess  them. 

Petrarca.  This  long  green  alley,  defended  by  box  and 
c}"presses,  is  very  pleasant.  The  smell  of  box,  although  not 
sweet,  is  more  agreeable  to  me  than  many  that  are ;  I  can- 
not say  from  what  resuscitation  of  early  and  tender  feeling. 
The  cypress  too  seems  to  strengthen  the  nerves  of  the  brain. 
Indeed,  I  delight  in  the  odour  of  most  trees  and  plants. 

Will  not  that  dog  hurt  us  1 — he  comes  closer. 

Boccaccio.  Dog  !  thou  hast  the  colours  of  a  magpie  and 
the  tongue  of  one;  prythee  be  quiet:  art  thou  not  ashamed  1 

Petrarca.  Verily  he  trots  off,  comforting  his  angry  belly 
with  his  plenteous  tail,  flattened  and  bestrewn  under  it. 
He  looks  back,  going  on,  and  puffs  out  his  upper  lip  without 
a  bark. 

Boccaccio.  These  creatures  are  more  accessible  to  tem- 
perate and  just  rebuke  than  the  creatures  of  our  species, 
usually  angry  with  less  reason,  and  from  no  sense,  as  dogs 
are,  of  duty.     Look  into  that  white  arcade  !     Surely  it  waa 


BOCCACCIO  AND  PETRARCA.  53 

white  the  other  day  ;  and  now  I  perceive  it  is  still  so  :  the 
setting  sun  tinges  it  with  yellow. 

Petrarca.  The  house  has  nothing  of  either  the  rustic  or 
the  magnificent  about  it ;  nothing  quite  regular,  nothing 
much  varied.  If  there  is  anything  at  all  affecting,  as  I  fear 
there  is,  in  the  story  you  are  about  to  tell  me,  I  could  wish 
the  edifice  itself  bore  externally  some  little  of  the  interest- 
ing that  I  might  hereafter  turn  my  mind  toward  it,  looking 
out  of  the  catastrophe,  though  not  away  from  it.  But  I  do 
not  even  find  the  peculiar  and  uncostly  decoration  of  our 
Tuscan  villas  :  the  central  turret,  round  which  the  kite 
perpetually  circles  in  search  of  pigeons  or  smaller  prey, 
borne  onward,  like  the  Flemish  skater,  by  effortless  will  in 
motionless  progression.  The  view  of  Fiesole  must  be  lovely 
from  that  window ;  but  I  fancy  to  myself  it  loses  the 
cascade  under  the  single  high  arch  of  the  Mugnone. 

Boccaccio.  I  think  so.  In  this  villa — come  rather 
further  off:  the  inhabitants  of  it  may  hear  us,  if  they  should 
happen  to  be  in  the  arbour,  as  most  people  are  at  the 
present  hour  of  day — in  this  villa,  Messer  Francesco,  lives 
Monna  Tita  Monalda,  who  tenderly  loved  Amadeo  degi 
Oricellari.  She  however  was  reserved  and  coy  ;  and  Father 
Pietro  de'  Pucci,  an  enemy  to  the  family  of  Amadeo,  told 
her  never  more  to  think  of  him,  for  that,  just  before  he  knew 
her,  he  had  thrown  his  arm  round  the  neck  of  Nunciata 
Righi,  his  mother's  maid,  calling  her  most  immodestly 
a  sweet  creature,  and  of  a  whiteness  that  marble  would  split 
with  envy  at. 

Monna  Tita  trembled  and  turned  pale.  "  Father,  is  the 
gill  really  so  very  fair? ''  said  she  anxiously. 

"  Madonna,"  replied  the  father,  "after  confession  she  is  not 
much  amiss  :  white  she  is,  with  a  certain  tint  of  pink  not 
belonging  to  her,  but  coming  over  her  as  through  the  wing  of 


54  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

an  angel  pleased  at  the  holy  function ;  and  her  breath 
is  such,  the  very  ear  smells  it  :  poor,  innocent,  sinful  soul ! 
Hei  !  The  wretch,  Amadeo,  would  have  endangered  her 
salvation." 

"She  must  be  a  wicked  girl  to  let  him,"  said  Monna 
Tita.  "  A  young  man  of  good  parentage  and  education 
would  not  dare  to  do  such  a  thing  of  his  own  accord.  I 
will  see  him  no  more  however.  But  it  was  before  he  knew 
me  :  and  it  may  not  be  true.  I  cannot  think  any  young 
woman  would  let  a  young  man  do  so,  even  in  the  last  hour 
before  Lent.     Now  in  what  month  was  it  supposed  to  be  1 " 

"  Supposed  to  be  ! "  cried  the  father  indignantly  :  "  in 
June  ;  I  say  in  June." 

"Oh!  that  now  is  quite  impossible:  for  on  the  second 
of  July,  forty-one  days  from  this,  and  at  this  very  hour  of 
it,  he  swore  to  me  eternal  love  and  constancy.  I  will 
inquire  of  him  whether  it  is  true  :  I  will  charge  him  with 
it." 

She  did.  Amadeo  confessed  his  fault,  and,  thinking  it  a 
venial  one,  would  have  taken  and  kissed  her  hand  as  he 
asked  forgiveness. 

Pelrarca.  Children  !  children  t  I  will  go  into  the  house, 
and  if  their  relatives,  as  1  suppose,  have  approved  of  the 
marriage,  I  will  endeavour  to  persuade  the  young  lady  that 
a  fault  like  this,  on  the  repentance  of  her  lover,  is 
not  unpardonable.  But  first,  is  Amadeo  a  young  man  of 
loose  habits  t 

Boccaccio.  Less  than  our  others  :  in  fact,  I  never  heard 
of  any  deviation,  excepting  this. 

Pelrarca.     Come  then  with  me. 

Boccaccio.     Wait  a  little. 

Pelrarca.  I  hope  the  modest  Tita,  after  a  trial,  will  not 
be  too  severe  with  him. 


BOCCACCIO  AND  PETRARCA.  5$ 

Boccaccio.  Severity  is  far  from  her  natuix;  ;  but,  such  is 
her  purity  and  innocence,  she  shed  many  and  bitter  tears  at 
his  confession,  and  declared  her  unalterable  determination 
of  takincr  the  veil  anions'  the  nuns  of  Fiesole.  Amadeo  fell 
at  her  feet,  and  wept  upon  them.  She  pushed  him  from 
her  gently,  and  told  him  she  would  still  love  him  if  he 
would  follow  her  example,  leave  the  world,  and  become  a 
friar  of  San  Marco.  Amadeo  was  speechless ;  and,  if  he 
had  not  been  so,  he  never  would  have  made  a  promise  he 
intended  to  violate.  She  retired  from  him.  After  a  time 
he  arose,  less  wounded  than  benumbed  by  the  sharp  un- 
covered stones  in  the  garden-walk  ;  and,  as  a  man  who 
fears  to  fall  from  a  precipice  goes  farther  from  it  than  isi 
necessary,  so  did  Amadeo  shun  the  quarter  where  the  gate 
is,  and,  oppressed  by  his  agony  and  despair,  throw  his 
arms  across  the  sun-dial  and  rest  his  brow  upon  it,  hot  as  it 
must  have  been  on  a  cloudless  day  in  August.  When  the 
evening  was  about  to  close,  he  was  aroused  by  the  cries  of 
rooks  overhead ;  they  flew  towards  Florence,  and  beyond : 
he,  too,  went  back  into  the  city. 

Tita  fell  sick  from  her  incpuietude.  Every  morning  ere 
sunrise  did  Amadeo  return ;  but  could  hear  only  from  the 
labourers  in  the  field  that  Monna  Tita  was  ill,  because  she 
had  promised  to  take  the  veil  and  had  not  taken  it,  know- 
ing, as  she  must  do,  that  the  heavenly  bridegroom  is  a 
bridegroom  never  to  be  trilled  with,  let  the  spouse  be 
young  and  beautiful  as  she  may  be.  Amadeo  had  often 
conversed  with  the  peasant  of  the  farm,  who  much  pitied 
so  worthy  and  loving  a  gentleman  ;  and,  finding  him  one 
evening  fixing  some  thick  and  high  stakes  in  the  ground, 
offered  to  help  him.  After  due  thanks,  "  It  is  time,"  said 
the  peasant,  "  to  rebuild  the  hovel  and  watch  the  grapes." 

"  This  is  my  house,"  cried  he.      "  Could  I  never,  in  my 


56  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

stupidity,  think  about  rebuilding  it  before?  Bring  me 
another  mat  or  two :  I  will  sleep  here  to-night,  to-morrow 
night,  every  night,  all  autumn,  all  winter." 

He  slept  there,  and  was  consoled  at  last  by  hearing  that 
Monna  Tita  was  out  of  danger,  and  recovering  from  her 
illness  by  spiritual  means.  His  heart  grew  lighter  day 
after  day.  Every  evening  did  he  observe  the  rooks,  in  the 
same  order,  pass  along  the  same  track  in  the  heavens,  just 
over  San  Marco  ;  and  it  now  occurred  to  him,  after  three 
weeks,  indeed,  that  Monna  Tita  had  perhaps  some  strange 
idea,  in  choosing  his  monastery,  not  unconnected  with  the 
passage  of  these  birds.  He  grew  calmer  upon  it,  until  he 
asked  himself  whether  he  might  hope.  In  the  midst  of 
this  half-meditation,  half-dream,  his  whole  frame  was 
shaken  by  the  voices,  however  low  and  gentle,  of  two 
monks,  coming  from  the  villa  and  approaching  him.  He 
would  have  concealed  himself  under  this  bank  whereon 
we  aro  standing  ;  but  they  saw  him,  and  called  him  by 
name.  He  now  perceived  that  the  younger  of  them  was 
Guiberto  Oddi,  with  whom  he  had  been  at  school  about  six 
or  seven  years  ago,  and  who  admired  him  for  his  courage 
and  frankness  when  he  was  almost  a  child. 

"Do  not  let  us  mortify  poor  Amadeo,"  said  Guiberto  to 
his  companion.  "  Return  to  the  road  :  I  will  speak  a  few 
words  to  him,  and  engage  him  (I  trust)  to  comply  with 
reason  and  yield  to  necessity."  The  elder  monk,  who  saw 
he  should  have  to  climb  the  hill  again,  assented  to  the  pro- 
posal, and  went  into  the  road.  After  the  first  embraces 
and  few  words,  "Amadeo!  Amadeo!"  said  Guiberto,  "it 
was  love  that  made  me  a  friar ;  let  anything  else  make  you 


one." 


"  Kind  heart  !  "  replied  Amadeo.      "  If  death  or  religion, 
or  hatred  of  me,  deprives  me  of  Tita  Monalda,  I  will  die. 


BOCCACCIO  AND  PETRARCA.  57 

where  she  commanded  me,  in  the  cowl.  It  is  you  who 
prepare  her,  then,  to  throw  away  her  life  and  mine ! " 

"  Hold  !  Amadeo  !  "  said  Guiberto,  "  I  officiate  together 
with  good  Father  Fontesecco,  who  invariably  falls  asleep 
amid  our  holy  function." 

Now,  Messer  Francesco,  I  must  inform  you  that  Father 
Fontesecco  has  the  heart  of  a  flower.  It  feels  nothing,  it 
wants  nothing ;  it  is  pure  and  simple,  and  full  of  its  own 
little  light.  Innocent  as  a  child,  as  an  angel,  nothing  ever 
troubled  him  but  how  to  devise  what  he  should  confess. 
A  confession  costs  him  more  trouble  to  invent  than  any 
Giornata  in  my  Decameron  cost  me.  He  was  once  over- 
heard to  say  on  this  occasion,  "  God  forgive  me  in  his 
infinite  mercy,  for  making  it  appear  that  I  am  a  little 
worse  than  he  has  chosen  I  should  be  !  "  He  is  temperate ; 
for  he  never  drinks  more  than  exactly  half  the  wine  and 
water  set  before  him.  In  fact,  he  drinks  the  wine  and 
leaves  the  water,  saying,  "  We  have  the  same  water  up  at 
San  Domenico ;  we  send  it  hither:  it  would  be  uncivil  to 
take  back  our  own  gift,  and  still  more  to  leave  a  suspicion 
that  we  thought  other  people's  wine  poor  beverage."  Being 
afflicted  by  the  gravel,  the  physician  of  his  convent  advised 
him,  as  he  never  was  fond  of  wine,  to  leave  it  ofT  entirely ; 
on  which  he  said,  "  I  know  few  things  ;  but  this  I  know 
well — in  water  there  is  often  gravel,  in  wine  never.  It 
hath  pleased  God  to  afflict  me,  and  even  to  go  a  little  out 
of  his  way  in  order  to  do  it,  for  the  greater  warning  to 
other  sinners.  I  will  drink  wine,  brother  Ansel  mini,  and 
help  his  work." 

I  have  led  you  away  from  the  younger  monk. 

"  While  Father  Fontesecco  is  in  the  first  stage  of 
beatitude,  chanting  through  his  nose  the  benedicite,  I  will 
attempt,"  said  Guiberto,  "  to  comfort  Monna  Tita." 


58  IMA GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

"  Good,  blessed  Guiberto  !  "  exclaimed  Amadeo  in  a  trans- 
port of  gratitude,  at  which  Guiberto  smiled  with  his  usual 
grace  and  suavity.  "  0  Guiberto  !  Guiberto  !  my  heart  is 
breaking.  Why  should  she  want  you  to  comfort  her  ? — 
but — comfort  her  then !"  and  he  covered  his  face  within  his 
hands. 

"  Remember,"  said  Guiberto  placidly,  "  her  uncle  is  bed- 
ridden ;  her  aunt  never  leaves  him  ;  the  servants  are  old 
and  sullen,  and  will  stir  for  nobody.  Finding  her  resolved, 
as  they  believe,  to  become  a  nun,  they  are  little  assiduous 
in  their  services.  Humour  her,  if  none  else  does,  Amadeo  ; 
let  her  fancy  that  you  intend  to  be  a  friar  ;  and,  for  the 
present,  walk  not  on  these  grounds." 

"  Are  you  true,  or  are  you  traitorous  1 "  cried  Amadeo, 
grasping  his  friend's  hand  most  fiercely. 

"  Follow  your  own  counsel,  if  you  think  mine  insincere," 
said  the  young  friar,  not  withdrawing  his  hand,  but  placing 
the  other  on  Amadeo's.  "  Let  me,  however,  advise  you  to 
conceal  yourself  ;  and  I  will  direct  Silvestrina  to  bring  you 
such  accounts  of  her  mistress  as  may  at  least  make  you  easy 
in  regard  to  her  health.     Adieu." 

Amadeo  was  now  rather  tranquil ;  more  than  he  had  ever 
been,  not  only  since  the  displeasure  of  Monna  Tita,  but 
since  the  first  sight  of  her.  Profuse  at  all  times  in  his 
gratitude  to  Silvestrina,  whenever  she  brought  him  good 
news,  news  better  than  usual,  he  pressed  her  to  his  bosom. 
Silvestrina  Pioppi  is  about  fifteen,  slender,  fresh,  intelligent, 
lively,  good-humoured,  sensitive  ;  and  any  one  but  Amadeo 
might  call  her  very  pretty. 

Pelrarca.  Ah,  Giovanni !  here  I  find  your  heart  obtaining 
the  mastery  over  your  vivid  and  volatile  imagination.  Well 
have  you  said,  the  maiden  being  really  pretty,  any  one  but 


BOCCACCIO  AND  PETRARCA.  59 

Amadeo  might  think  her  so.  On  the  banks  of  the  Sorga 
there  are  beautiful  maids  ;  the  woods  and  the  rocks  have  a 
thousand  times  repeated  it.  I  heard  but  one  echo  ;  I  heard 
but  one  name  :  I  would  have  fled  from  them  for  ever  at 
another. 

Boccaccio.  Francesco,  do  not  beat  your  breast  just  now  : 
wait  a  little.  Monna  Tita  would  take  the  veil.  The  fatal 
certainty  was  announced  to  Amadeo  by  his  true  Guiberto, 
who  had  earnestly  and  repeatedly  prayed  her  to  consider 
the  thing  a  few  months  longer. 

"  I  will  see  her  first !  By  all  the  saints  of  heaven  I  will 
see  her  ! "  cried  the  desperate  Amadeo,  and  ran  into  the 
house,  toward  the  still  apartment  of  his  beloved.  Fortu- 
nately Guiberto  was  neither  less  active  nor  less  strong  than 
he,  and  overtaking  him  at  the  moment,  drew  him  into  the 
room  opposite.  "  If  you  will  be  quiet  and  reasonable,  there 
is  yet  a  possibility  left  you,"  said  Guiberto  in  his  ear, 
although  perhaps  he  did  not  think  it.  "  But  if  you  utter  a 
voice  or  are  seen  by  any  one,  you  ruin  the  fame  of  her  you 
love,  and  obstruct  your  own  prospects  for  ever.  It  being 
known  that  you  have  not  slept  in  Florence  these  several 
nights,  it  will  be  suspected  by  the  malicious  that  you  have 
slept  in  the  villa  with  the  connivance  of  Monna  Tita. 
Compose  yourself ;  answer  nothing  ;  rest  where  you  are  :  do 
not  add  a  worse  imprudence  to  a  very  bad  one.  I  promise 
you  my  assistance,  my  speedy  return,  and  best  counsel  : 
you  shall  be  released  at  daybreak."  He  ordered  Silvestrina 
to  supply  the  unfortunate  youth  with  the  cordials  usually 
administered  to  the  uncle,  or  with  the  rich  old  wine  they 
were  made  of  ;  and  she  performed  the  order  with  such 
promptitude  and  attention,  that  he  was  soon  in  some  sort 
refreshed. 

Petrarca.     I   pity  him   from   my  innermost   heart,   poor 


60  IMA  GINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

» 

young  man  !  Alas,  we  are  none  of  us,  by  original  sin,  free 
from  infirmities  or  from  vices. 

Boccaccio.  If  we  could  find  a  man  exempt  by  nature 
from  vices  and  infirmities,  we  should  find  one  not  worth 
knowing  :  he  would  also  be  void  of  tenderness  and  com- 
passion. What  allowances  then  could  his  best  friends 
expect  from  him  in  their  frailties  1  What  help,  consola- 
tion, and  assistance  in  their  misfortunes'?  We  are  in  the 
midst  of  a  workshop  well  stored  with  sharp  instruments  : 
we  may  do  ill  with  many,  unless  we  take  heed;  and  good 
with  all,  if  we  will  but  learn  how  to  employ  them. 

Pelrarca.  There  is  somewhat  of  reason  in  this.  You 
strengthen  me  to  proceed  with  you :  I  can  bear  the  rest. 

Boccaccio.  Guiberto  had  taken  leave  of  his  friend,  and 
had  advanced  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  which  (as  you  perceive)  is 
nearly  the  whole  way,  on  his  return  to  the  monastery,  when 
he  was  overtaken  by  some  peasants  who  were  hastening 
homeward  from  Florence.  The  information  he  collected 
from  them  made  him  determine  to  retrace  his  steps.  He 
entered  the  room  again,  and,  from  the  intelligence  he  had 
just  acquired,  gave  Amadeo  the  assurance  that  Monna  Tita 
must  delay  her  entrance  into  the  convent ;  for  that  the 
abbess  had  that  moment  gone  down  the  hill  on  her  way 
toward  Siena  to  venerate  some  holy  relics,  carrying  with 
her  three  candles,  each  five  feet  long,  to  burn  before  them  ; 
which  candles  contained  many  particles  of  the  myrrh  pre- 
sented at  the  nativity  of  our  Saviour  by  the  wise  men  of 
the  East.  Amadeo  breathed  freely,  and  was  persuaded  by 
Guiberto  to  take  another  cup  of  old  wine,  and  to  eat  with 
him  some  cold  roast  kid,  which  had  been  ollered  him  for 
iuereada.*     After  the  agitation  of  his  mind  a  heavy  sleep 

*  Mcrenda  is  luncheon — meridiana — eaten  by  the  wealthier  at  the 
hour  when  the  peasants  dine. 


BOCCACCIO  AND  PETRARCA.  61 

fell  upon  the  lover,  coming  almost  before  Guiberto  departed: 
so  heavy  indeed  that  Silvestrina  was  alarmed.  It  was  her 
apartment ;  and  she  performed  the  honours  of  it  as  well  as 
any  lady  in  Florence  could  have  done. 

Petrarca.  I  easily  believe  it :  the  poor  are  more  atten- 
tive than  the  rich,  and  the  young  are  more  compassionate 
than  the  old. 

Boccaccio.  O  Francesco  !  what  inconsistent  creatures 
are  we  ! 

Petrarca.  True,  indeed  !  I  now  foresee  the  end.  He 
might  have  done  worse. 

Boccaccio.      I  think  so. 

Petrarca.     He  almost  deserved  it. 

Boccaccio.      I  think  that  too. 

Petrarca.  Wretched  mortals  !  our  passions  for  ever  lead 
us  into  this,  or  worse. 

Boccaccio.     Ay,  truly  ;  much  worse  generally. 

Petrarca.  The  very  twig  on  which  the  flowers  grew 
lately  scourges  us  to  the  bone  in  its  maturity. 

Boccaccio.  Incredible  will  it  be  to  you,  and,  by  my  faith, 
to  me  it  was  hardly  credible.  Certain  however  is  it,  that 
Guiberto  on  his  return  by  sunrise  found  Amadeo  in  the 
arms  of  sleep. 

Petrarca.  Not  at  all,  not  at  all :  the  truest  lover  might 
sutler  and  act  as  he  did. 

Boccaccio.  But,  Francesco,  there  was  another  pair  of 
arms  about  him,  worth  twenty  such,  divinity  as  he  is. 
A  loud  burst  of  laughter  from  Guiberto  did  not  arousa 
either  of  the  parties ;  but  Monna  Tita  heard  it,  and  rushed 
into  the  room,  tearing  her  hair,  and  invoking  the  saints  of 
heaven  against  the  perfidy  of  man.  She  seized  Silvestrina 
by  that  arm  which  appeared  the  most  offending :  the  girl 
opened  her  eyes,  turned  on  her  face,  rolled  out  of  bed,  and 


62  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

threw  herself  at  the  feet  of  her  mistress,  shedding  tears, 
and  wiping  them  away  with  the  only  piece  of  linen  about 
her.  Monna  Tita  too  shed  tears.  Amadeo  still  slept  pro- 
foundly ;  a  flush,  almost  of  crimson,  overspreading  his 
cheeks.  Monna  Tita  led  away,  after  some  pause,  poor 
Silvestrina,  and  made  her  confess  the  whole.  She  then 
wept  more  and  more,  and  made  the  girl  confess  it  again, 
and  explain  her  confession.  "  I  cannot  believe  such  wicked- 
ness," she  cried  :  "  he  could  not  be  so  hardened.  O  sinful 
Silvestrina !  how  will  you  ever  tell  Father  Doni  one  half, 
one  quarter  ?     He  never  can  absolve  you." 

Teirarca.  Giovanni,  I  am  glad  I  did  not  enter  the  house; 
you  were  prudent  in  restraining  me.  I  have  no  pity  for 
the  youth  at  all :  never  did  one  so  deserve  to  lose  a  mistress. 

Boccaccio.     Say,  rather,  to  gain  a  wife. 

Petrarca.     Absurdity  !  impossibility  ! 

Boccaccio.  He  won  her  fairly ;  strangely,  and  on  a 
strange  table,  as  he  played  his  game.  Listen  !  that  guitar 
is  Monna  Tita's.  Listen  I  what  a  fine  voice  (do  not  you 
think  it?)  is  Amadeo's. 

Amadeo  (singing). 

Oh,  I  have  err'd  ! 

I  laid  my  hand  upon  the  nest 

(Tita,  I  sigh  to  sing  the  rest) 

Of  the  wrong  bird. 

Petrarca.  She  laughs  too  at  it  !  Ah  !  Monna  Tita  was 
made  by  nature  to  live  on  this  side  of  Fiesole. 


ME  TELL  US  AND  MART  US.  63 


METELLUS  AND  MARIUS. 

[  At  the  siege  of  Numantia  the  Roman  tribune  Metellus  commands 
the  centurion  Marius  to  mount  the  walls  and  describe  what  he  sees.] 

Metellus.  Well  met,  Caius  Marius  !  My  orders  are  to 
find  instantly  a  centurion  who  shall  mount  the  walls ;  one 
capable  of  observation,  acute  in  remark,  prompt,  calm, 
active,  intrepid.  The  Numantians  are  sacrificing  to  the 
gods  in  secrecy ;  they  have  sounded  the  horn  once  only, — 
and  hoarsely  and  low  and  mournfully. 

Marius.  Was  that  ladder  I  see  yonder  among  the  caper- 
bushes  and  purple  lilies,  under  where  the  fig-tree  grows  out 
of  the  rampart,  left  for  me  ? 

Metellus.  Even  so,  wert  thou  willing.  Wouldst  thou 
mount  it  1 

Marius.  Rejoicingly.  If  none  are  below  or  near,  may 
I  explore  the  state  of  things  by  entering  the  city  ? 

Metellus.     Use  thy  discretion  in  that. 

What  seest  thou  1  Wouldst  thou  leap  down  1  Lift  the 
ladder. 

Marius.  Are  there  spikes  in  it  where  it  sticks  in  the 
turf  1  I  should  slip  else. 

Metellus.  How !  bravest  of  our  centurions,  art  even 
thou  afraid  1     Seest  thou  any  one  by  1 

Marius.     Ay  ;  some  hundreds  close  beneath  me. 

Metellus.  Retire,  then.  Hasten  back  ;  I  will  protect 
thy  descent. 

Marius.  May  I  speak,  O  Metellus,  without  an  offence 
to  discipline  ? 

Metellus.     Say. 

Marius.     Listen  !     Dost  thou  not  hear  ? 


64  I  MAG  WAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

Metellus.  Shame  on  thee !  alight,  alight !  my  shield 
shall  cover  thee. 

Marius.  There  is  a  murmur  like  the  hum  of  bees  in  the 
bean-field  of  Cereate  ;  for  the  sun  is  hot,  and  the  ground  is 
thirsty.  When  will  it  have  drunk  up  for  me  the  blood  that 
has  run,  and  is  yet  oozing  on  it,  from  those  fresh  bodies  ! 

Metellus.  How  !  We  have  not  fought  for  many  days ; 
■what  bodies,  then,  are  fresh  ones  1 

Marius.  Close  beneath  the  wall  are  those  of  infants  and 
of  girls  ;  in  the  middle  of  the  road  are  youths,  emaciated  ; 
some  either  unwounded  or  wounded  months  ago  ;  some  on 
their  spears,  others  on  their  swords :  no  few  have  received 
in  mutual  death  the  last  interchange  of  friendship ;  their 
da^ors  unite  them,  hilt  to  hilt,  bosom  to  bosom. 

Metellus.     Mark  rather  the  living, — what  are  they  about  ? 

Marius.  About  the  sacrifice,  which  portends  them,  I 
conjecture,  but  little  good, — it  burns  sullenly  and  slowly. 
The  victim  will  lie  upon  the  pyre  till  morning,  and  still  be 
unconsumed,  unless  they  bring  more  fuel. 

I  will  leap  down  and  walk  on  cautiously,  and  return  with 
tidings,  if  death  should  spare  me. 

Never  was  any  race  of  mortals  so  unmilitary  as  these 
Numantians;  no  watch,  no  stations,  no  palisades  across  the 
streets. 

Metellus.  Did  they  want,  then,  all  the  wood  for  the 
altar  1 

Marius.     It  appears  so — I  will  return  anon. 

Metellus.     The  gods  speed  thee,  my  brave,  honest  Marius ! 

Marius  (returned).  The  ladder  should  have  been  better 
spiked  for  that  slippery  ground.  I  am  down  again  safe, 
however.  Here  a  man  may  walk  securely,  and  without 
picking  his  steps. 

Metellus.     Tell  me,  Caius,  what  thou  sawest. 


METELLUS  AND  MARIUS.  65 

Marius.     The  streets  of  Nuraantia. 

Metellus.     Doubtless;  but  what  else? 

Marius.  The  temples  and  markets  and  places  of  exercise 
and  fountains. 

Metellus.  Art  thou  crazed,  centurion1?  what  more? 
Speak  plainly,  at  once,  and  briefly. 

Marius.      I  beheld,  then,  all  Nuraantia. 

Metellus.  Has  terror  maddened  thee  1  hast  thou  descried 
nothing  of  the  inhabitants  but  those  carcasses  under  the 
ramparts  ? 

Marius.  Those,  0  Metellus,  lie  scattered,  although  not 
indeed  far  asunder.  The  greater  part  of  the  soldiers  and 
citizens — of  the  fathers,  husbands,  widows,  wives,  espoused 
— were  assembled  together. 

Metellus.     About  the  altar  ? 

Marius.      Upon  it. 

Metellus.  So  busy  and  earnest  in  devotion  !  but  how  all 
upon  it  1 

Marius.  It  blazed  under  them,  and  over  them,  and 
round  about  them. 

Metellus.  Immortal  gods  !  Art  thou  sane,  Caius 
Marius  1  Thy  visage  is  scorched  :  thy  speech  may  wander 
after  such  an  enterprise ;  thy  shield  burns  my  hand 

Marius.  I  thought  it  had  cooled  again.  Why,  truly,  it 
seems  hot  :  I  now  feel  it. 

Metellus.     Wipe  off  those  embers. 

Marius.  'Twere  better :  there  will  be  none  opposite 
to  shake  them  upon,  for  some  time. 

The  funereal  horn,  that  sounded  with  such  feebleness, 
sounded  not  so  from  the  faint  heart  of  him  who  blew  it.  Him 
I  saw ;  him  only  of  the  living.  Should  I  say  it  ?  there  was 
another  :  there  was  one  child  whom  its  parent  could  not  kill, 
could  not    part  from.      She  had  hidden  it    in  her  robe,   I 

25 


66  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

suspect;  and,  when  the  fire  had  reached  it,  either  it 
shrieked  or  she  did.  For  suddenly  a  cry  pierced  through 
the  crackling  pinewood,  and  something  of  round  in  figure 
fell  from  brand  to  brand,  until  it  reached  the  pavement,  at 
the  feet  of  him  who  had  blown  the  horn.  I  rushed  toward 
him,  for  I  wanted  to  hear  the  whole  story,  and  felt  the 
pressure  of  time.  Condemn  not  my  weakness,  O  Csecilius ! 
I  wished  an  enemy  to  live  an  hour  longer ;  for  my  orders 
were  to  explore  and  bring  intelligence.  When  I  gazed  on 
him,  in  height  almost  gigantic,  I  wondered  not  that  the 
blast  of  his  trumpet  was  so  weak  :  rather  did  I  wonder  that 
Famine,  whose  hand  had  indented  every  limb  and  feature, 
had  left  him  any  voice  articulate.  I  rushed  toward  him, 
however,  ere  my  eyes  had  measured  either  his  form  or 
strength.  He  held  the  child  against  me,  and  staggered 
under  it. 

"  Behold,"  he  exclaimed,    "  the  glorious  ornament  of  a 

Roman  triumph  ! " 

I  stood  horror-stricken  ;  when  suddenly  drops,  as  of  rain, 
pattered  down  from  the  pyre.  I  looked  ;  and  many  were 
the  precious  stones,  many  were  the  amulets  and  rings  and 
bracelets,  and  other  barbaric  ornaments,  unknown  to  me  in 
form  or  purpose,  that  tinkled  on  the  hardened  and  black 
branches,  from  mothers  and  wives  and  betrothed  maids;  and 
some,  too,  I  can  imagine,  from  robuster  arms — things  of 
joyance,  won  in  battle.  The  crowd  of  incumbent  bodies 
was  so  dense  and  heavy,  that  neither  the  fire  nor  the  smoke 
could  penetrate  upward  from  among  them  ;  and  they  sank, 
whole  and  at  once,  into  the  smouldering  cavern  eating  out 
below.      He  at  whose  neck  hung  the  trumpet  felt  this,  and 

started. 

"There   is  yet  room,"  he  cried,  "and  there  is  strength 
enough  yet,  both  in  the  element  and  in  me." 


ME  TELL  US  AND  MARL  US.  67 

He  extended  his  withered  arras,  he  thrust  forward  the 
gaunt  links  of  his  throat,  and  upon  gnarled  knees,  that 
smote  each  other  audibly,  tottered  into  the  civic  fire.  It — 
like  some  hungry  and  strangest  beast  on  the  innermost  wild 
of  Africa,  pierced,  broken,  prostrate,  motionless,  gazed  at  by 
its  hunter  in  the  impatience  of  glory,  in  the  delight  of  awe 
— panted  once  more,  and  seized  him. 

I  have  seen  within  this  hour,  0  Metellus,  what  Rome  in 
the  cycle  of  her  triumphs  will  never  see,  what  the  Sun  in 
his  eternal  course  can  never  show  her,  what  the  Earth  has 
borne  but  now,  and  must  never  rear  again  for  her,  what 
Victory  herself  has  envied  her, — a  Numantian. 

Metellus.  We  shall  feast  to-morrow.  Hope,  Caius 
Marius,  to  become  a  tribune  :  trust  in  fortune. 

Marius.  Auguries  are  surer  :  surest  of  all  is  persever- 
ance. 

Metellus.  I  hope  the  wine  has  not  grown  vapid  in  my 
tent :  I  have  kept  it  waiting,  and  must  now  report  to  Scipio 
the  intelligence  of  our  discovery.     Come  after  me,  Caius. 

Marius  (alone).  The  tribune  is  the  discoverer !  the 
centurion  is  the  scout  !  Caius  Marius  must  enter  more 
Numantias.  Light-hearted  Csecilius,  thou  mayest  perhaps 
hereafter,  and  not  with  humbled  but  with  exulting  pride, 
take  orders  from  this  hand.  If  Scipio's  words  are  fate,  and 
to  me  they  sound  so,  the  portals  of  the  Capitol  may  shake 
before  my  chariot,  as  my  horses  plunge  back  at  the  applauses 
of  the  people,  and  Jove  in  his  high  domicile  may  welcome 
the  citizen  of  Arpinum. 


63  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 


BOSSUET  AND  THE  DUCHESS  DE 
FONTANGES. 

[The  Abbe  de  Clioisy  says  that  the  Dacliess  was  "  belle  comme  un 
amje,  mais  sotle  comme  un  panier."  This  is  perhaps  the  most  suc- 
cessful of  Landor's  playful  dialogues.] 

Bossuet.  Mademoiselle,  it  is  the  King's  desire  that  I 
compliment  you  on  the  elevation  you  have  attained. 

Fontanges.  0  monseigneur,  I  know  very  well  what  you 
mean.  His  Majesty  is  kind  and  polite  to  everybody.  The 
last  thing  he  said  to  me  was,  "  Angelique  !  do  not  forget  to 
compliment  Monseigneur  the  Bishop  on  the  dignity  I  have 
conferred  upon  him,  of  almoner  to  the  Dauphiness,  I 
desired  the  appointment  for  him  only  that  he  might  be  of 
rank  sufficient  to  confess  you,  now  you  are  Duchess.  Let 
him  be  your  confessor,  my  little  girl." 

Bossuet.  I  dare  not  presume  to  ask  you,  mademoiselle, 
what  was  your  gracious  reply  to  the  condescension  of  our 
royal  master. 

Fontanges.  Oh,  yes  !  you  may.  I  told  him  I  was  almost 
sure  I  should  be  ashamed  of  confessing  such  naughty  things 
to  a  person  of  high  rank,  who  writes  like  an  angel. 

Bossuet.  The  observation  was  inspired,  mademoiselle,  by 
your  goodness  and  modesty. 

Fontanges.  You  are  so  agreeable  a  man,  monseigneur,  I 
will  confess  to  you,  directly,  if  you  like. 

Bossuet.  Have  you  brought  yourself  to  a  proper  frame 
of  mind,  young  lady  1 

Fontanges.     What  is  that  t 

Bossuet.     Do  you  hate  sin  1 


BOSSUET  AND  THE  DUCHESS.  69 

Fontanges.      Very  much. 

Bossuet.     Are  you  resolved  to  leave  it  off? 

Fontanges.  I  have  left  it  off  entirely  since  the  King 
began  to  love  me.  I  have  never  said  a  spiteful  word  of 
anybody  since. 

Bossuet.  In  your  opinion,  mademoiselle,  are  there  no 
other  sins  than  malice  1 

Fontanges.  I  never  stole  anything  ;  I  never  committed 
adultery  ;  I  never  coveted  my  neighbour's  wife  ;  I  never 
killed  any  person,  though  several  have  told  me  they  should 
die  for  me. 

Bossuet.     Yain,  idle  talk  !     Did  you  listen  to  it  1 

Fontanges.  Indeed  I  did,  with  both  ears  ;  it  seemed  so 
funny. 

Bossuet.     You  have  something  to  answer  for,  then. 

Fontanges.  No,  indeed,  I  have  not,  monseigneur.  t 
have  asked  many  times  after  them,  and  found  they  were  all 
alive,  which  mortified  me. 

Bossuet.  So,  then  !  you  would  really  have  them  die  for 
you? 

Fontanges.  Oh,  no,  no  !  but  I  wanted  to  see  whether 
they  were  in  earnest,  or  told  me  fibs;  for,  if  they  told  me 
fibs,  I  would  never  trust  them  again. 

Bossuet.     Do  you  hate  the  world,  mademoiselle  1  . 

Fontanges.  A  good  deal  of  it :  all  Picardy,  for  example, 
and  all  Sologne  ;  nothing  is  uglier — and,  oh  my  life  !  what 
frightful  men  and  women  ! 

BossueL  I  would  say,  in  plain  language,  do  you  hate  the 
flesh  and  the  Devil  1 

Fontanges.  Who  does  not  hate  the  Devil  1  If  you  will 
hold  my  hand  the  while,  I  will  tell  him  so. — I  hate  you, 
beast  !     There  now.      As  for  flesh,  I  never  could  bear  a  fat 


70  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

man.  Such  people  can  neither  dance  nor  hunt,  nor  do 
anything  that  I  know  of. 

Bossuet.  Mademoiselle  Marie- Angelique  de  Scoraille  de 
Rousille,  Duchess  de  Fontanges  !  do  you  hate  titles  and 
dignities  and  yourself  ? 

Fontanges.  Myself  !  does  anyone  hate  me?  Why  should 
I  be  the  first  ?  Hatred  is  the  worst  thing  in  the  world  :  it 
makes  one  so  very  ugly. 

Bossuet.  To  love  God,  we  must  hate  ourselves.  We 
must  detest  our  bodies,  if  we  would  save  our  souls. 

Fontanges.  That  is  hard:  how  can  I  do  it?  I  see  nothing 
so  detestable  in  mine.  Do  you  ?  To  love  is  easier.  I  love 
God  whenever  I  think  of  him,  he  has  been  so  very  good  to 
me ;  but  I  cannot  hate  myself,  if  I  would.  As  God  hath 
not  hated  me,  why  should  I  ?  Beside,  it  was  he  who  made 
the  King  to  love  me ;  for  I  heard  you  say  in  a  sermon  that 
the  hearts  of  kings  are  in  his  rule  and  governance.  As  for 
titles  and  dignities,  I  do  not  care  much  about  them  while 
His  Majesty  loves  me,  and  calls  me  his  Angelique.  They 
make  people  more  civil  about  us  ;  and  therefore  it  must  be 
a  simpleton  who  hates  or  disregards  them,  and  a  hypocrite 
who  pretends  it.  I  am  glad  to  be  a  duchess.  Manon  and 
Lisette  have  never  tied  my  garter  so  as  to  hurt  me  since,  nor 
has  the  mischievous  old  La  Grange  said  anything  cross  or 
bold :  on  the  contrary,  she  told  me  what  a  fine  colour  and 
what  a  plumpness  it  gave  me.  Would  not  you  rather  be  a 
duchess  than  a  waiting-maid  or  a  nun,  if  the  King  gave  you 
your  choice? 

Bossuet.  Pardon  me,  mademoiselle,  I  am  confounded  at 
the  levity  of  your  question. 

Fontanges.     I  am  in  earnest,  as  you  see. 

Bossiiet.  Flattery  will  come  before  you  in  other  and  more 
dangerous  forms  :  you  will  be  commended   for  excellences 


BOSSUET  AND  THE  DUCHESS.  ji 

which  do  not  belong  to  you  ;  and  this  you  will  find  as  injur- 
ious to  your  repose  as  to  your  virtue.  An  ingenuous  mind 
feels  in  unmerited  praise  the  bitterest  reproof.  If  you  reject 
it,  you  are  unhappy;  if  you  accept  it,  you  are  undone.  The 
compliments  of  a  king  are  of  themselves  sufficient  to  pervert 
your  intellect. 

Fontanges.  There  you  are  mistaken  twice  over.  It  is 
not  my  person  that  pleases  him  so  greatly  :  it  is  my  spirit, 
my  wit,  my  talents,  my  genius,  and  that  very  thing  which 
you  have  mentioned — what  was  it  1  my  intellect.  He  never 
complimented  me  the  least  upon  my  beauty.  Others  have 
said  that  I  am  the  most  beautiful  young  creature  under 
heaven  ;  a  blossom  of  Paradise,  a  nymph,  an  angel;  worth 
(let  me  whisper  it  in  your  ear — do  I  lean  too  hard  1)  a 
thousand  Montespans.  But  His  Majesty  never  said  more 
on  the  occasion  than  that  I  was  imparagonable  !  (what  is 
that  % )  and  that  he  adored  me ;  holding  my  hand  and 
sitting  quite  still,  when  he  might  have  romped  with  me  and 
kissed  me. 

Bossuet.     I  would  aspire  to  the  glory  of  converting  you. 

Fontanges.  You  may  do  anything  with  me  but  convert 
me  :  you  must  not  do  that ;  I  am  a  Catholic  born.  M,  de 
Turenne  and  Mademoiselle  de  Duras  were  heretics :  you 
did  right  there.  The  King  told  the  chancellor  that  he  pre- 
pared them,  that  the  business  was  arranged  for  you,  and 
that  you  had  nothing  to  do  but  get  ready  the  arguments 
and  responses,  which  you  did  gallantly — did  not  you  1 
And  yet  Mademoiselle  de  Duras  was  very  awkward  for  a 
long  while  afterwards  in  crossing  herself,  and  was  once 
remarked  to  beat  her  breast  in  the  litany  with  the  points 
of  two  fingers  at  a  time,  when  every  one  is  taught  to  use 
only  the  second,  whether  it  has  a  ring  upon  it  or  not.  I 
am  sorry  she  did  so ;  for  people  might  think  her  insincere 


7 2  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

in  her  conversion,  and  pretend  that  she  kept  a  finger  for 
each  religion. 

Bossuet.  It  would  be  as  uncharitable  to  doubt  the 
conviction  of  Mademoiselle  de  Duras  as  that  of  M.  le 
Marechali. 

Fontanges.  I  have  heard  some  fine  verses,  I  can  assure 
you,  monseigneur,  in  which  you  are  called  the  conqueror  of 
Turenne.  I  should  like  to  have  been  his  conqueror  myself, 
he  was  so  great  a  man.  I  understand  that  you  have  lately 
done  a  much  more  difficult  thing. 

Bossuet.     To  what  do  you  refer,  mademoiselle  1 

Fontanges.  That  you  have  overcome  quietism.  Now,  in 
the  name  of  wonder,  how  could  you  manage  that  1 

Bossuet.     By  the  grace  of  God. 

Fontanges.  Yes,  indeed;  but  never  until  now  did  God 
give  any  preacher  so  much  of  his  grace  as  to  subdue  this 
pest. 

Jlossuet.     It  has  appeared  among  us  but  lately. 

Fontanges.  Oh,  dear  me  !  I  have  always  been  subject  to 
it  dreadfully,  from  a  child. 

Bossuet.     Really  !  I  never  heard  so. 

Fontanges.  I  checked  myself  as  well  as  I  could,  although 
they  constantly  told  me  I  looked  well  in  it. 

Bossuet.     In  what,  mademoiselle? 

Fontanges.  In  quietism ;  that  is,  when  I  fell  asleep  at 
sermon-time.  I  am  ashamed  that  such  a  learned  and  pious 
man  as  M.  de  Fenelon  should  incline  to  it,  as  they  say  lie 
does. 

Bossuet.     Mademoiselle,  you  quite  mistake  the  matter. 

Fontanges.  Is  not  then  M.  de  Fenelon  thought  a  very 
pious  and  learned  person  1 

Bossuet.      And  justly. 

Fontanges.      I  have   read   a  great   way  in  a  romance   lie 


BOSS UET  A ND  THE  D UCHESS.  73 

has  begun,  about  a  knight-errant  in  search  of  a  father.  The 
King  says  there  are  many  such  about  his  court ;  but  I 
never  saw  them  nor  heard  of  them  before.  The  Mar 
chioness  de  la  Motte,  his  relative,  brought  it  to  me,  written 
out  in  a  charming  hand,  as  much  as  the  copy-book  would 
hold ;  and  I  got  through,  I  know  not  how  far.  If  he  had 
gone  on  with  the  nymphs  in  the  grotto,  I  never  should  have 
been  tired  of  him  ;  but  he  quite  forgot  his  own  story,  and  left 
them  at  once  ;  in  a  hurry  (I  suppose)  to  set  out  upon  his 
mission  to  Saintonge  in  the  pays  de  d'Aunis,  where  the 
King  has  promised  him  a  famous  heretic-hunt.  He  is,  I 
do  assure  you,  a  wonderful  creature  :  he  understands  so 
much  Latin  and  Greek,  and  knows  all  the  tricks  of  the 
sorceresses.     Yet  you  keep  him  under. 

Bossuet.  Mademoiselle,  if  you  really  have  anything  to 
confess,  and  if  you  desire  that  I  should  have  the  honour  of 
absolving  you,  it  would  be  better  to  proceed  in  it,  than  to 
oppress  me  with  unmerited  eulogies  on  my  humble  labours. 

Fontanges.  You  must  first  direct  me,  monseigneur :  I 
have  nothing  particular.  The  King  assures  me  there  is  no 
harm  whatever  in  his  love  toward  me. 

Bossuet.  That  depends  on  your  thoughts  at  the  moment. 
If  you  abstract  the  mind  from  the  body,  and  turn  your 
heart  toward  heaven 

Fontanges.  O  monseigneur,  I  always  did  so — every  time 
but  once — you  quite  make  me  blush.  Let  us  converse 
about  something  else,  or  I  shall  grow  too  serious,  just  as  you 
made  me  the  other  day  at  the  funeral  sermon.  And  now 
let  me  tell  you,  my  Lord,  you  compose  such  pretty  funeral 
sermons,  I  hope  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you 
preach  mine. 

Bossuet.  Rather  let  us  hope,  mademoiselle,  that  the 
hour  is  }'et  far  distant  when  so  melancholy  a  service  will  be 


74  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

performed  for  you.  May  he  who  is  unborn  be  the  sad 
announcer  of  your  departure  hence  !  *  May  he  indicate  to 
those  around  him  many  virtues  not  perhaps  yet  full-blown  in 
you,  and  point  triumphantly  to  many  faults  and  foibles 
checked  by  you  in  their  early  growth,  and  lying  dead  on 
the  open  road  you  shall  have  left  behind  you  !  To  me  the 
painful  duty  will,  I  trust,  be  spared  :  I  am  advanced  in 
age  ;  you  are  a  child. 

Fontanges.     Oh,  no  !  I  am  seventeen. 

Bossuet.  I  should  have  supposed  you  younger  by  two 
years  at  least.  But  do  you  collect  nothing  from  your  own 
reflection,  which  raises  so  many  in  my  breast  1  You  think 
it  possible  that  I,  aged  as  I  am,  may  preach  a  sermon  on 
your  funeral.  We  say  that  our  days  are  few  ;  and  saying 
it,  we  say  too  much.  Marie  Angdlique,  we  have  but  one : 
the  past  are  not  ours,  and  who  can  promise  us  the  future  1 
This  in  which  we  live  is  ours  only  while  we  live  in  it ;  the 
next  moment  may  stike  it  off  from  us  ;  the  next  sentence  I 
would  utter  may  be  broken  and  fall  between  us.f  The 
beauty  that  has  made  a  thousand  hearts  to  beat  at  one 
instant,  at  the  succeeding  has  been  without  pulse  and 
colour,  without  admirer,  friend,  companion,  follower.  She 
by  whose  eyes  the  march  of  victory  shall  have  been  directed, 
whose  name  shall  have  animated  armies  at  the  extremities 

*  Bossuet  was  in  his  fifty-fourth  year  ;  Mademoiselle  de  Fontanges 
died  in  child-bed  the  year  following  :  he  survived  her  twenty-three. 

t  Though  Bossuet  was  capable  of  uttering  and  even  of  fesling  such 
a  sentiment,  his  conduct  towards  Fenelon,  the  fairest  apparition  that 
Christianity  ever  presented,  was  ungenerous  and  unjust. 

While  the  diocese  of  Cambray  was  ravaged  by  Louis,  it  was  spared 
by  Marlborough  ;  who  said  to  the  Archbishop  that,  if  he  was  sorry  he 
had  not  taken  Cambray,  it  was  chiefly  because  he  lost  for  a  time  the 
pleasure  of  visiting  so  great  a  man.  Peterborough,  the  next  of  our 
generals  in  glory,  paid  his  respects  to  him  some  years  afterward. 


BOSSUET  AND  THE  DUCHESS.  75 

of  the  earth,  drops  into  one  of  its  crevices  and  mingles  with 
its  dust.  Duchess  de  Fontanges  !  think  on  this  !  Lady  ! 
so  live  as  to  think  on  it  undisturbed  ! 

Fonlanges.  O  God!  I  am  quite  alarmed.  Do  not  talk 
thus  gravely.  It  is  in  vain  that  you  speak  to  me  in  so 
sweet  a  voice.  I  am  frightened  even  at  the  rattle  of  the 
beads  about  my  neck  :  take  them  off,  and  let  us  talk  on 
other  things.  What  was  it  that  dropped  on  the  floor  as 
you  were  speaking  1  It  seemed  to  shake  the  room,  though 
it  sounded  like  a  pin  or  button. 

Bossuet.     Leave  it  there  ! 

Fontanges.  Your  ring  fell  from  your  hand,  ray  Lord 
Bishop  !  How  quick  you  are  !  Could  not  you  have  trusted 
me  to  pick  it  up  1 

Bossuet.  Madame  is  too  condescending  :  had  this  hap- 
pened, I  should  have  been  overwhelmed  with  confusion. 
My  hand  is  shrivelled  :  the  ring  has  ceased  to  fit  it.  A 
mere  accident  may  draw  us  into  perdition ;  a  mere  accident 
may  bestow  on  us  the  means  of  grace.  A  pebble  has  moved 
you  more  than  my  words. 

Fontanges.  It  pleases  me  vastly  :  I  admire  rubies.  I 
will  ask  the  King  for  one  exactly  like  it.  This  is  the  time 
he  usually  comes  from  the  chase.  I  am  sorry  you  cannot 
be  present  to  hear  how  prettily  I  shall  ask  him  :  but  that  is 
impossible,  you  know  ;  for  I  shall  do  it  just  when  I  am 
certain  he  would  give  me  anything.  He  said  so  himself  : 
he  said  but  yesterday — 

"  Such  a  sweet  creature  is  worth  a  world  :" 

and  no  actor  on  the  stage  was  more  like  a  king  than  His 
Majesty  was  when  he  spoke  it,  if  he  had  but  kept  his  wig 
and  robe  on.     And   yet   you    know  Lb  is  rather  stiff  and 


76  IMA  GINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

wrinkled  for  so  great  a  monarch  ;  and  his  eyes,  I  am  afraid, 
are  beginning  to  fail  him,  he  looks  so  close  at  things. 

Bossuet.  Mademoiselle,  such  is  the  duty  of  a  prince  who 
desires  to  conciliate  our  regard  and  love. 

Fontanges.  Well,  I  think  so  too,  though  I  did  not  like 
it  in  him  at  first.  I  am  sure  he  will  order  the  ring  for  me, 
and  I  will  confess  to  you  with  it  upon  my  finger.  But  first 
I  must  be  cautious  and  particular  to  know  of  him  how 
much  it  is  his  royal  will  that  I  should  say. 


JOHN  OF  GAUNT  AND  JOANNA  OF  KENT. 

["Joanna,  called  the  Fair  Maid  of  Kent,  was  cousin  of  the  Black 
Prince,  whom  she  married.  John  of  Gaunt  was  suspected  of  aiming  at 
the  crown  in  the  beginning  of  Richard's  minority,  which,  increasing 
the  hatred  of  the  people  against  him  for  favouring  the  sect  of 
Wiekliffe,  excited  them  to  demolish  his  house  and  to  demand  his 
impeachment."  In  this  dialogue  Landor  embodies  his  ideal  of 
medieval  chivalry.] 

Joanna.  How  is  this,  my  cousin,  that  you  are  besieged 
in  your  own  house,  by  the  citizens  of  London  1  I  thought 
you  were  their  idol. 

Gaunt.  If  their  idol,  madam,  I  am  one  which  they  may 
tread  on  as  they  list  when  down  ;  but  which,  by  my  soul  and 
knighthood  !  the  ten  best  battle-axes  among  them  shall  find 
it  hard  work  to  unshrine. 

Pardon  me  :  I  have  no  right  perhaps  to  take  or  touch 
this  hand  ;  yet,  my  sister,  bricks  and  stones  and  arrows  are 
not  presents  fit  for  you.  Let  me  conduct  you  some  paces 
hence. 


JOHN  OF  GAUNT  AND  JOANNA  OF  KENT.     77 

Joanna.  I  will  speak  to  those  below  in  the  street. 
Quit  my  hand  :  they  shall  obey  me. 

Gaunt.  If  you  intend  to  order  my  death,  madam,  your 
guards  who  have  entered  my  court,  and  whose  spurs  and 
halberts  I  hear  upon  the  staircase,  may  overpower  my 
domestics ;  and,  seeing  no  such  escape  as  becomes  my 
dignity,  I  submit  to  you.  Behold  my  sword  and  gauntlet 
at  your  feet !  Some  formalities,  I  trust,  will  be  used  in 
the  proceedings  against  me.  Entitle  me,  in  my  attainder, 
not  John  of  Gaunt,  not  Duke  of  Lancaster,  not  King  of 
Castile ;  nor  commemorate  my  father,  the  most  glorious  of 
princes,  the  vanquisher  and  pardoner  of  the  most  powerful ; 
nor  style  me,  what  those  who  loved  or  who  flattered  me 
did  when  I  was  happier,  cousin  to  the  Fair  Maid  of  Kent. 
Joanna,  those  days  are  over !  But  no  enemy,  no  law,  no 
eternity  can  take  away  from  me,  or  move  further  off,  my 
affinity  in  blood  to  the  conqueror  in  the  held  of  Crecy,  of 
Poitiers,  and  Najora.  Edward  was  my  brother  when  he 
was  but  your  cousin;  and  the  edge  of  my  shield  has  clinked 
on  his  in  many  a  battle.  Yes,  we  were  ever  near — if  not 
in  worth,  in  danger.     She  weeps. 

Joanna.  Attainder !  God  avert  it !  Duke  of  Lancaster, 
what  dark  thought — alas  !  that  the  Regency  should  have 
known  it!  I  came  hither,  sir,  for  no  such  purpose  as  to 
ensnare  or  incriminate  or  alarm  you. 

These  weeds  might  surely  have  protected  me  from  the 
fresh  tears  you  have  drawn  forth. 

Gaunt.  Sister,  be  comforted  !  this  visor,  too,  has  felt 
them. 

Joanna.  O  my  Edward !  my  own  so  lately  !  Thy 
memory — thy  beloved  image — which  never  hath  abandoned 
me,  makes  me  bold  :  I  dare  not  say  "  generous ; "  for  in 
saying  it  I  .should  cease  to  be  so — and  who  could  be  called 


78  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

generous  by  the  side  of  thee  ?  I  will  rescue  from  perdition 
the  enemy  of  my  son. 

Cousin,  you  loved  your  brother.  Love,  then,  what  was 
dearer  to  him  than  his  life :  protect  what  he,  valiant  as  you 
have  seen  him,  cannot  !  The  father,  who  foiled  so  many, 
hath  left  no  enemies  ;  the  innocent  child,  who  can  injure 
no  one,  finds  them  ! 

Why  have  you  unlaced  and  laid  aside  your  visor?  Do 
not  expose  your  body  to  those  missiles.  Hold  your  shield 
before  yourself,  and  step  aside.  I  need  it  not.  I  am 
resolved 

Gaunt.  On  what,  my  cousin  1  Speak,  and,  by  the 
saints  !  it  shall  be  clone.  This  breast  is  your  shield  ;  this 
arm  is  mine. 

Joanna.  Heavens  !  who  could  have  hurled  those  masses 
of  stone  from  below  1  they  stunned  me.  Did  they  descend 
all  of  them  together  ;  or  did  they  split  into  fragments  on 
hitting  the  pavement  1 

Gaunt.  Truly,  I  was  not  looking  that  way  :  they  came, 
I  must  believe,  while  you  were  speaking. 

Joanna.  Aside,  aside  !  further  back  !  disregard  me ! 
Look  !  that  last  arrow  sticks  half  its  head  deep  in  the 
wainscot.  It  shook  so  violently  I  did  not  see  the  feather 
at  first. 

No,  no,  Lancaster  !  I  will  not  permit  it.  Take  your 
shield  up  again;  and  keep  it  all  before  you.  Now  step 
aside  :  I  am  resolved  to -prove  whether  the  people  will  hear 
me. 

Gaunt.      Then,  madam,  by  your  leave 

Joanna.     Hold  ! 

Gaunt.  Villains  !  take  back  to  your  kitchens  those  spits 
and  skewers  that  you,  forsooth,  would  fain  call  swords  and 
arrows  ;  and  keep  your  bricks  and  stones  for  your  graves  ! 


JOHN  OF  GAUNT  AND  JOANNA  OF  KENT.     79 

Joanna.  Imprudent  man  !  who  can  save  you  ?  I  shall 
be  frightened  :  I  must  speak  at  once. 

O  good  kind  people !  ye  who  so  greatly  loved  me,  when  I 
am  sure  I  had  done  nothing  to  deserve  it,  have  I  (unhappy 
me  !)  no  merit  with  you  now,  when  I  would  assuage  your 
anger,  protect  your  fair  fame,  and  send  you  home  contented 
with  yourselves  and  me  ?  Who  is  he,  worthy  citizens, 
whom  ye  would  drag  to  slaughter1? 

True,  indeed,  he  did  revile  some  one.  Neither  I  nor  you 
can  say  whom — some  feaster  and  rioter,  it  seems,  who  had 
little  right  (he  thought)  to  carry  sword  or  bow,  and 
who,  to  show  it,  hath  slunk  away.  And  then  another 
raised  his  anger  :  he  was  indignant  that,  under  his  roof,  a 
woman  should  be  exposed  to  stoning.  Which  of  you  would 
not  be  as  choleric  in  a  like  affront  ?  In  the  house  of  which 
among  you  should  I  not  be  protected  as  resolutely  ? 

No,  no  :  I  never  can  believe  those  angry  cries.  Let  none 
ever  tell  me  again  he  is  the  enemy  of  my  son,  of  his  king, 
your  darling  child,  Richard.  Are  your  fears  more  lively 
than  a  poor  weak  female's?  than  a  mother's?  yours,  whom 
he  hath  so  often  led  to  victory,  and  praised  to  his  father, 
naming  each — he,  John  of  Gaunt,  the  defender  of  the  help- 
less, the  comforter  of  the  desolate,  the  rallying  signal  of 
the  desperately  brave  ! 

Retire,  Duke  of  Lancaster  !     This  is  no  time 

Gaunt.  Madam,  I  obey  ;  but  not  through  terror  of  that 
puddle  at  the  house-door,  which  my  handful  of  dust  would 
dry  up.     Deign  to  command  me  ! 

Joanna.     In  the  name  of  my  son,  then,  retire  ! 

Gaunt.     Angelic  goodness  !  I  must  fairly  win  it. 

Joanna.  I  think  I  know  his  voice  that  crieth  out,  "  Who 
will   answer   for  him?"     An  honest  and  loyal  man's,  one 


8o  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

who  would  counsel  and  save  me  in  any  difficulty  and 
danger.  With  what  pleasure  and  satisfaction,  with  what 
perfect  joy  and  confidence,  do  I  answer  our  right-trusty 
and  well-judging  friend  ! 

"  Let  Lancaster  bring  his  sureties,"  say  you,  "  and  we 
separate."  A  moment  yet  before  we  separate  ;  if  I  might 
delay  you  so  long,  to  receive  your  sanction  of  those 
securities  :  for,  in  such  grave  matters,  it  would  ill  become 
us  to  be  over-hasty.  I  could  bring  fifty,  I  could  bring  a 
hundred,  not  from  among  soldiers,  not  from  among  courtiers  ; 
but  selected  from  yourselves,  were  it  equitable  and  fair  to 
show  such  partialities,  or  decorous  in  the  parent  and 
guardian  of  a  king  to  offer  any  other  than  herself. 

Raised  by  the  hand  of  the  Almighty  from  amidst  you, 
but  still  one  of  you,  if  the  mother  of  a  family  is  a  part  of 
it,  here  I  stand  surety  for  John  of  Gaunt,  Duke  of  Lan- 
caster, for  his  loyalty  and  allegiance. 

Gaunt  (running  back  toward  Joanna).  Are  the  rioters, 
then,  bursting  into  the  chamber  through  the  windows  1 

Joanna.  The  windows  and  doors  of  this  solid  edifice 
rattled  and  shook  at  the  people's  acclamation.  My  word  is 
given  for  you  :  this  was  theirs  in  return.  Lancaster  !  what 
a  voice  have  the  people  when  they  speak  out !  It  shakes 
me  with  astonishment,  almost  with  consternation,  while  it 
establishes  the  throne  :  what  must  it  be  when  it  is  lifted  up 
in  vengeance  ! 

Gaunt.     Wind  ;  vapour 


Joanna.  Which  none  can  wield  nor  hold.  Need  I  say 
this  to  my  cousin  of  Lancaster  1 

Gaunt.  Rather  say,  madam,  that  there  is  always  one 
Btar  above  which  can  tranquillise  and  control  them. 

Joanna.     Go,  cousin  !  another  time  more  sincerity  ! 

Gaunt.     You    have    this    day    saved    my    life    from    the 


LADY  LISLE  AND  ELIZABETH  GAUNT.        81 

people  ;  for  I  now  see  ray  danger  better,  when  it  is  no 
longer  close  before  me.     My  Christ  !  if  ever  I  forget 

Joanna.  Swear  not :  every  man  in  England  hath  sworn 
what  you  would  swear.  But  if  you  abandon  my  Richard, 
my  brave  and  beautiful  child,  may — Oh  !  I  could  never 
curse,  nor  wish  an  evil  ;  but,  if  you  desert  him  in  the  hour 
of  need,  you  will  think  of  those  who  have  not  deserted 
you,  and  your  own  great  heart  will  lie  heavy  on  you, 
Lancaster  ! 

Am  I  graver  than  I  ought  to  be,  that  you  look  dejected? 
Come,  then,  gentle  cousin,  lead  me  to  my  horse,  and  accom- 
pany me  home.  Richard  will  embrace  us  tenderly.  Every 
one  is  dear  to  every  other  upon  rising  out  fresh  from  peril  ; 
affectionately  then  will  he  look,  sweet  boy,  upon  his  mother 
and  his  uncle  !  Never  mind  how  many  questions  he  may 
ask  you,  nor  how  strange  ones.  His  only  displeasure,  if  he 
has  any,  will  be  that  he  stood  not  against  the  rioters  or 
anions;  them. 

Gaunt.  Older  than  he  have  been  as  fond  of  mischief, 
and  as  fickle  in  the  choice  of  a  party. 

I  shall  tell  him  that,  coming  to  blows,  the  assailant  is 
often  in  the  right ;  that  the  assailed  is  always. 


LADY   LISLE   AND   ELIZABETH    GAUNT. 

[Burnet  relates  from  William  Penn,  who  was  present,  that  Eliza- 
beth Gaunt  placed  the  faggots  round  her  body  with  her  own  hands. 
Lady  Lisle  was  not  burnt  alive,  though  sentenced  to  it ;  but  hanged 
and  beheaded.] 

Lady  Lisle.     Madam,    I    am   confident   you   will   pardon 

me  ;  for  affliction  teaches  forgiveness. 

26 


82  IMA  G1NAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

Elizabeth  Gaunt.  From  the  cell  of  the  condemned  we 
are  going,  unless  my  hopes  mislead  me,  where  alone  we  can 
receive  it. 

Tell  me,  I  beseech  you,  lady  !  in  what  matter  or  manner 
do  you  think  you  can  have  offended  a  poor  sinner  such  as  I 
am.  Surely  we  come  into  this  dismal  place  for  our  offences  ; 
and  it  is  not  here  that  any  can  be  given  or  taken. 

Lady  Lisle.  Just  now,  when  I  entered  the  prison,  I  saw 
your  countenance  serene  and  cheerful ;  you  looked  upon  me 
for  a  time  with  an  unaltered  eye  ;  you  turned  away  from 
me,  as  I  fancied,  only  to  utter  some  expressions  of  devotion  ; 
and  again  you  looked  upon  me,  and  tears  rolled  down  your 
face.  Alas  that  I  should,  by  any  circumstance,  any  action, 
or  recollection,  make  another  unhappy  !  Alas  that  I  should 
deepen  the  gloom  in  the  very  shadow  of  death  ! 

Elizabeth  Gaunt.  Be  comforted  :  you  have  not  done  it. 
Grief  softens  and  melts  and  flows  away  with  tears. 

I  wept  because  another  was  greatly  more  wretched  than 
myself.  I  wept  at  that  black  attire — at  that  attire  of 
modesty  and  of  widowhood. 

Lady  Lisle.  It  covers  a  wounded,  almost  a  broken  heart 
— an  unworthy  offering  to  our  blessed  Redeemer. 

Elizabeth  Gaunt.  In  his  name  let  us  now  rejoice  !  Let 
us  offer  our  prayers  and  our  thanks  at  once  together !  We 
may  yield  up  our  souls,  perhaps,  at  the  same  hour. 

Lady  Lisle.  Is  mine  so  pure  ?  Have  I  bemoaned,  as  I 
should  have  done,  the  faults  I  have  committed  1  Have  my 
sighs  arisen  for  the  unmerited  mercies  of  my  God  ;  and  not 
rather  for  him,  the  beloved  of  my  heart,  the  adviser  and 
sustainer  I  have  lost  1 

Open,  0  gates  of  Death  ! 

Smile  on  me,  approve  my  last  action  in   this   world,   O 


LAD  Y  LISLE  AND  ELIZA  BE  TH  GA  UNT.        83 

virtuous  husband !  0  saint  and  martyr !  my  brave,  com- 
passionate, and  loving  Lisle  ! 

Elizabeth  Gaunt.  And  cannot  you,  too,  smile,  sweet 
lady  1  Are  not  you  with  him  even  now  1  Doth  body,  doth 
clay,  doth  air,  separate  and  estrange  free  spirits  1  Bethink 
you  of  his  gladness,  of  his  glory  ;  and  begin  to  partake 
them. 

Oh  !  how  could  an  Englishman,  how  could  twelve, 
condemn  to  death — condemn  to  so  great  an  evil  as  they 
thought  it  and  may  find  it — this  innocent  and  helpless 
widow  1 

Lady  Lisle.  Blame  not  that  jury ! — blame  not  the  jury 
which  brought  against  me  the  verdict  of  guilty.  I  was  so : 
I  received  in  my  house  a  wanderer  who  had  fought  under 
the  rash  and  giddy  Monmouth.  He  was  hungry  and  thirsty, 
and  I  took  him  in.  My  Saviour  had  commanded,  my  King 
had  forbidden  it. 

Yet  the  twelve  would  not  have  delivered  me  over  to 
death,  unless  the  judge  had  threatened  them  with  an  accu- 
sation of  treason  in  default  of  it.  Terror  made  them 
unanimous :  they  redeemed  their  properties  and  lives  at  the 
stated  price. 

Elizabeth  Gaunt.  I  hope,  at  least,  the  unfortunate  man 
whom  you  received  in  the  hour  of  danger  may  avoid  his 
penalty. 

Lady  Lisle.     Let  us  hope  it. 

Elizabeth  Gaunt.  I,  too,  am  imprisoned  for  the  same 
ofience ;  and  I  have  little  expectation  that  he  who  was  con- 
cealed by  me  hath  any  chance  of  happiness,  although  he 
hath  escaped.  Could  I  find  the  means  of  conveying  to 
him  a  small  pittance,  I  should  leave  the  world  the  more 
comfortably. 

Lady  Lisle.     Trust  in  God  ;  not  in  one  thing  or  another, 


84  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

but  in  all.  Resign  the  care  of  this  wanderer  to  his 
guidance. 

Elizabeth  Gaunt.      He  abandoned  that  guidance. 

Lady  Lisle.  Unfortunate  !  how  can  money  then  avail 
him? 

Elizabeth  Gaunt.  It  might  save  him  from  distress  and 
from  despair,  from  the  taunts  of  the  hard-hearted,  and  from 
the  inclemency  of  the  godly. 

Lady  Lisle.  In  godliness,  0  my  friend  !  there  cannot  be 
inclemency. 

Elizabeth  Gaunt.  You  are  thinking  of  perfection,  my 
dear  lady  ;  and  I  marvel  not  at  it,  for  what  else  hath  ever 
occupied  your  thoughts  !  But  godliness,  in  almost  the  best 
of  us,  often  is  austere,  often  uncompliant  and  rigid — proner 
to  reprove  than  to  pardon,  to  drag  back  or  thrust  aside  than 
to  invite  and  help  onward. 

Poor  man  !  I  never  knew  him  before ;  I  cannot  tell  how 
he  shall  endure  his  self-reproach,  or  whether  it  will  bring 
him  to  calmer  thoughts  hereafter. 

Lady  Lisle.  I  am  not  a  busy  idler  in  curiosity  ;  nor,  if  I 
were,  is  there  time  enough  left  me  for  indulging  in  it ;  yet 
gladly  would  I  learn  the  history  of  events,  at  the  first 
appearance  so  resembling  those  in  mine. 

Elizabeth  Gaunt.  The  person's  name  I  never  may  dis- 
close ;  which  would  be  the  worst  thing  I  could  betray  of  the 
trust  he  placed  in  me.  He  took  refuge  in  my  humble 
dwelling,  imploring  me  in  the  name  of  Christ  to  harbour 
him  for  a  season.  Food  and  raiment  were  afforded  him 
unsparingly  ;  yet  his  fears  made  him  shiver  through  them. 
Whatever  I  could  urge  of  prayer  and  exhortation  was  not 
wanting ;  still,  although  he  prayed,  he  was  disquieted. 
Soon  came  to  my  ears  the  declaration  of  the  King,  that  hia 
Majesty  would  rather  pardon  a  rebel  than  the  concealer  of 


LADY  LISLE  AND  ELIZABETH  GAUNT.        85 

a  rebel.  The  hope  was  a  faint  one  ;  but  it  was  a  hope,  and 
I  trave  it  him.  His  thanksgivings  were  now  more  ardent, 
his  prayers  more  humble,  and  oftener  repeated.  They  did 
not  strengthen  his  heart :  it  was  unpurified  and  unprepared 
for  them.  Poor  creature  !  he  consented  with  it  to  betray 
me  ;  and  I  am  condemned  to  be  burned  alive.  Can  we 
believe,  can  we  encourage  the  hope,  that  in  his  weary  way 
through  life  he  will  find  those  only  who  will  conceal  from 
him  the  knowledge  of  this  execution  ?  Heavily,  too  heavily, 
must  it  weigh  on  so  irresolute  and  infirm  a  breast. 

Let  it  not  move  you  to  weeping. 

Lady  Lisle.     It  does  not ;  oh  !  it  does  not. 

Elizabeth  Gaunt.     What,  then  1 

Lady  TAsle.  Your  saintly  tenderness,  your  heavenly 
tranquillity. 

Elizabeth  Gaunt.  ISTo,  no  :  abstain  1  abstain  !  It  was  I 
who  grieved  ;  it  was  I  who  doubted.  Let  us  now  be 
firmer  :  we  have  both  the  same  rock  to  rest  upon.  See  J  I 
shed  no  tears. 

I  saved  his  life,  an  unprofitable  and  (I  fear)  a  joyless 
one ;  he,  by  God's  grace,  has  thrown  open  to  me,  and  at  an 
earlier  hour  than  ever  I  ventured  to  expect  it,  the  avenue 
to  eternal  bliss. 

Lady  Lisle.  0  my  angel  I  that  strewest  with  fresh 
flowers  a  path  already  smooth  and  pleasant  to  me,  may 
those  timorous  men  who  have  betrayed,  and  those  misguided 
ones  who  have  prosecuted  us,  be  conscious  on  their  death- 
beds that  we  have  entered  it  !  and  they  too  will  at  last  find 
rest 


86  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 


THE  EMPRESS  CATHARINE  AND 
PRINCESS  DASHKOF. 

Catharine.  Into  his  heart!  into  his  heart t  If  he 
escapes,  we  perish. 

Do  you  think,  Dashkof,  they  can  hear  me  through  the 
double  door  1  Yes ;  hark  i  they  heard  me :  they  have 
done  it. 

What  bubbling  and  gurgling  !  he  groaned  but  once. 

Listen  t  his  blood  is  busier  now  than  it  ever  was  before. 
I  should  not  have  thought  it  could  have  splashed  so  loud 
upon  the  floor,  although  our  bed,  indeed,  is  rather  of  the 
highest. 

Put  your  ear  against  the  lock. 

Dashkof.     I  hear  nothing. 

Catharine.  My  ears  are  quicker  than  yours,  and  know 
these  notes  better.  Let  me  come. — Hear  nothing !  You 
did  not  wait  long  enough,  nor  with  coolness  and  patience. 
There  ! — there  again  1  The  drops  are  now  like  lead  :  every 
half-minute  they  penetrate  the  eider-down  and  the  mattress. 
■ — How  now  !  which  of  these  fools  has  brought  his  dog  with 
him  1  What  trampling  and  lapping  !  the  creature  will  carry 
the  marks  all  about  the  palace  with  his  feet  and  muzzle. 

Dashkof.      Oh,  heavens  ! 

Catharine.     Are  you  afraid  ? 

Dashkof.  There  is  a  horror  that  surpasses  fear,  and  will 
have  none  of  it.     I  knew  not  this  before. 

Catharine.  You  turn  pale  and  tremble.  You  should 
have  supported  me,  in  case  I  had  required  it. 

Dashkof.  I  thought  only  of  the  tyrant.  Neither  in  life 
nor  in  death   could   any  one  of  these  miscreants  make  me 


CATHARINE  AND  PRINCESS  DASHKOF.       87 

tremble.  But  the  husband  slain  by  his  wife ! — I  saw- 
not  into  my  heart;  I  looked  not  into  it,  and  it  chastises 
me. 

Catharine.     Dashkof,  are  you,  then,  really  unwell  1 

Dashkof.     What  will  Russia,  what  will  Europe,  say  1 

Catharine.  Russia  has  no  more  voice  than  a  whale. 
She  may  toss  about  in  her  turbulence;  but  my  artillery 
(for  now,  indeed,  I  can  safely  call  it  mine)  shall  stun  and 
quiet  her. 

Dashkof.     God  grant 

Catharine.  I  cannot  but  laugh  at  thee,  my  pretty 
Dashkof !  God  grant,  forsooth  !  He  has  granted  all  we 
wanted  from  him  at  present — the  safe  removal  of  this 
odious  Peter. 

Dashkof.  Yet  Peter  loved  you;  and  even  the  worst 
husband  must  leave,  surely,  the  recollection  of  some  sweet 
moments.  The  sternest  must  have  trembled,  both  with 
apprehension  and  with  hope,  at  the  first  alteration  in  the 
health  of  his  consort ;  at  the  first  promise  of  true  union, 
imperfect  without  progeny.  Then,  there  are  thanks 
rendered  together  to  heaven,  and  satisfactions  communicated, 
and  infant  words  interpreted ;  and  when  the  one  has 
failed  to  pacify  the  sharp  cries  of  babyhood,  pettish  and 
impatient  as  sovereignty  itself,  the  success  of  the  other  in 
calming  it,  and  the  unenvied  triumph  of  this  exquisite 
ambition,  and  the  calm  gazes  that  it  wins  upon  it. 

Catharine.  Are  these,  my  sweet  friend,  your  lessons 
from  the  Stoic  school  1  Are  not  they,  rather,  the  pale- 
faced  reflections  of  some  kind  epithalamiast  from  Livonia  or 
Bessarabia  1  Come,  come  away.  I  am  to  know  nothing  at 
present  of  the  deplorable  occurrence.  Did  not  you  wish  his 
death  1 

Dashkof'.     It  is  not  his  death  that  shocks  me. 


S8  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

Catharine.  I  understand  you  :  beside,  you  said  as  much 
before. 

DasJikof.     I  fear  for  your  renown. 

Catharine.     And  for  your  own  good  name — ay,  Dashkof  1 

Dashkqf.  He  was  not,  nor  did  I  ever  wish  him  to  be.  my 
friend. 

Catharine.     You  hated  him. 

Dashkqf.      Even  hatred  may  be  plucked  up  too  roughly. 

Catharine.  Europe  shall  be  informed  of  my  reasons,  if 
she  should  ever  find  out  that  I  countenanced  the  con- 
spiracy. She  shall  be  persuaded  that  her  repose  made  the 
step  necessary  ;  that  my  own  life  was  in  danger  ;  that  I  fell 
upon  my  knees  to  soften  the  conspirators ;  that,  only  when 
I  had  fainted,  the  horrible  deed  was  done.  She  knows 
already  that  Peter  was  always  ordering  new  exercises  and 
uniforms ;  and  my  ministers  can  evince  at  the  first  audience 
my  womanly  love  of  peace 

Dashkqf.  Europe  may  be  more  easily  subjugated  than 
duped. 

Catharine.     She  shall  be  both,  God  willing. 

Dashkqf.  The  majesty  of  thrones  will  seem  endangered 
by  this  open  violence. 

Catharine.  The  majesty  of  thrones  is  never  in  jeopardy 
by  those  who  sit  upon  them.  A  sovereign  may  cover  one 
with  blood  more  safely  than  a  subject  can  pluck  a  feather 
out  of  the  cushion.  It  is  only  when  the  people  does  the 
violence  that  we  hear  an  ill  report  of  it.  Kings  poison  and 
stab  one  another  in  pure  legitimacy.  Do  your  republican 
ideas  revolt  from  such  a  doctrine  ? 

Dashkqf.  I  do  not  question  this  right  of  theirs,  and 
never  will  oppose  their  exercise  of  it.  But  if  you  prove  to 
the  people  how  easy  a  matter  it  is  to  extinguish  an  emperor, 
and  how  pleasantly  and   prosperously  we  may  live  after  it, 


CATHARINE  AND  PRINCESS  DASHKOF.        So 

is  it  not  probable  that  they  also  will  now  and  then  try  the 
experiment ;  particularly,  if  anyone  in  Russia  should  here- 
after hear  of  glory  and  honour,  and  how  immortal  are  these 
by  the  consent  of  mankind,  in  all  countries  and  ages,  in  him 
who  releases  the  world,  or  any  part  of  it,  from  a  lawless 
and  ungovernable  despot?  The  chances  of  escape  are 
many,  and  the  greater  if  he  should  have  no  accomplices. 
Of  his  renown  there  is  no  doubt  at  all  :  that  is  placed 
above  chance  and  beyond  time,  by  the  sword  he  hath 
exercised  so  righteously. 

Catharine,.  True  ;  but  we  must  reason  like  democrats  no 
longer.  Republicanism  is  the  best  thing  we  can  have, 
when  we  cannot  have  power ;  but  no  one  ever  held  the  two 
together.      I  am  now  autocrat. 

Dashkof.  Truly,  then,  may  I  congratulate  you.  The 
dignity  is  the  highest  a  mortal  can  attain. 

Catharine.     I  know  and  feel  it. 

Dashkof.     I  wish  you  always  may. 

Catharine.  I  doubt  not  the  stability  of  power  :  I  can 
make  constant  both  fortune  and  love.  My  Dashkof  smiles 
at  this  conceit :  she  has  here  the  same  advantage,  and  does 
not  envy  her  friend  even  the  autocracy. 

Dashkof.     Indeed  I  do,  and  most  heartily. 

Catharine.      How  1 

Dashkof.  I  know  very  well  what  those  intended  who 
first  composed  the  word  ;  but  they  blundered  egregiously. 
In  spite  of  them,  it  signifies  power  over  oneself — of  all 
power  the  most  enviable,  and  the  least  consistent  with 
power  over  others. 

I  hope  and  trust  there  is  no  danger  to  you  from  any 
member  of  the  council-board  inflaming  the  guards  or  other 
soldiery. 

Catharine.      The   members   of   the   council-board   did    not 


go  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

sit  at  it,  but  upon  it ;  and  their  tactics  were  performed 
cross-legged.  What  partisans  are  to  be  dreaded  of  that 
commander-in-chief  whose  chief  command  is  over  pantaloons 
and  facings,  whose  utmost  glory  is  perched  on  loops  and 
feathers,  and  who  fancies  that  battles  are  to  be  won  rather 
by  pointing  the  hat  than  the  cannon  1 

Dashkof.  Peter  was  not  insensible  to  glory  ;  few  men 
are  :  but  wiser  heads  than  his  have  been  perplexed  in  the 
road  to  it,  and  many  have  lost  it  by  their  ardour  to  attain  it. 
I  have  always  said  that,  unless  we  devote  ourselves  to  the 
public  good,  we  may  perhaps  be  celebrated ;  but  it  is 
beyond  the  power  of  fortune,  or  even  of  genius,  to  exalt 
us  above  the  dust. 

Catharine.  Dashkof,  you  are  a  sensible,  sweet  creature  ; 
but  rather  too  romantic  on  principle,  and  rather  too 
visionary  on  glory.  I  shall  always  both  esteem  and  love 
you  ;  but  no  other  woman  in  Europe  will  be  great  enough 
to  endure  you,  and  you  will  really  put  the  men  hors  de 
combat.  Thinking  is  an  enemy  to  beauty,  and  no  friend  to 
tenderness.  Men  can  ill  brook  it  one  in  another ;  in  women 
it  renders  them  what  they  would  fain  call  "  scornful "  (vain 
assumption  of  high  prerogative  ! )  and  what  you  would  find 
bestial  and  outrageous.  As  for  my  reputation,  which  I 
know  is  dear  to  you,  I  can  purchase  all  the  best  writers  in 
Europe  with  a  snuff-box  each,  and  all  the  remainder 
with  its  contents.  Not  a  gentleman  of  the  Academy  but  is 
enchanted  by  a  toothpick,  if  I  deign  to  send  it  him.  A 
brilliant  makes  me  Semiramis ;  a  watch-chain,  Venus ;  a 
ring,  Juno.     Voltaire  is  my  friend. 

Dashkof.     He  was  Frederick's. 

Catharine.      I  shall  be  the  Pucelle   of  Russia.     No!  I 
had  forgotten  ;  he  has  treated  her  scandalously. 

Dashkof.     Does  your  Majesty  value  the   flatteries  of  a 


CATHARINE  AND  PRINCESS  DASHKOF.        91 

writer  who  ridicules  the  most  virtuous  and  glorious  of  his 
nation  ;  who  crouched  before  that  monster  of  infamy,  Louis 
XV.;  and  that  worse  monster,  the  king  his  predecessor1? 
He  reviled,  with  every  indignity  and  indecency,  the  woman 
who  rescued  France;  and  who  alone,  of  all  that  ever  led 
the  armies  of  that  kingdom,  made  its  conquerors — the 
English — tremble.  Its  monarchs  and  marshals  cried  and 
ran  like  capons,  flapping  their  fine  crests  from  wall  to  wall, 
and  cackling  at  one  breath  defiance  and  surrender.  The 
village  girl  drew  them  back  into  battle,  and  placed  the 
heavens  themselves  against  the  enemies  of  Charles.  She 
seemed  supernatural  :  the  English  recruits  deserted  ;  they 
would  not  fight  against  God. 
Catharine.     Fools  and  bigots  ! 

Dashkof.  The  whole  world  contained  none  other,  except- 
ing those  who  fed  upon  them.  The  Maid  of  Orleans  was 
pious  and  sincere  :  her  life  asserted  it ;  her  death  confirmed 
it.  Glory  to  her,  Catharine,  if  you  love  glory.  Detestation 
to  him  who  has  profaned  the  memory  of  this  most  holy 
martyr — the  guide  and  avenger  of  her  king,  the  redeemer 
and  saviour  of  her  country. 

Catharine.  Be  it  so  ;  but  Voltaire  buoys  me  up  above 
some  impertinent,  troublesome  qualms. 

Dashkof.  If  Deism  had  been  prevalent  in  Europe,  he 
would  have  been  the  champion  of  Christianity  ;  and  if  the 
French  had  been  Protestants,  he  would  have  shed  tears 
upon  the  papal  slipper.  He  buoys  up  on  one  :  for  he  gives  no 
one  hope.  He  may  amuse  :  dulness  itself  must  be  amused, 
indeed,  by  the  versatility  and  brilliancy  of  his  wit. 

Catharine.  While  I  was  meditating  on  the  great  action 
I  have  now  so  happily  accomplished,  I  sometimes  thought 
his  wit  feeble.  This  idea,  no  doubt,  originated  from  the 
littleness  of  everything  in  comparison  with  my  undertaking. 


92  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

Dashkof.  Alas  !  we  lose  much  when  we  lose  the  capacity 
of  being  delighted  by  men  of  genius,  and  gain  little  when 
we  are  forced  to  run  to  them  for  incredulity. 

Catharine.  I  shall  make  some  use  of  my  philosopher  at 
Ferney.  I  detest  him  as  much  as  you  do  ;  but  where  will 
you  find  me  another  who  writes  so  pointedly  1  You  really, 
then,  fancy  that  people  care  for  truth  1  Innocent  Dashkof  ! 
Believe  me,  there  is  nothing  so  delightful  in  life  as  to  find 
a  liar  in  a  person  of  repute.  Have  you  never  heard  good 
folks  rejoicing  at  it  1  Or,  rather,  can  you  mention  to  me 
any  one  who  has  not  been  in  raptures  when  he  could  com- 
municate such  glad  tidings?  The  goutiest  man  would  go 
on  foot  without  a  crutch  to  tell  his  friend  of  it  at  midnight  ; 
and  would  cross  the  Neva  for  the  purpose,  when  he  doubted 
whether  the  ice  would  bear  him.  Men,  in  general,  are 
so  weak  in  truth,  that  they  are  obliged  to  put  then 
bravery  under  it  to  prop  it.  Why  do  they  pride  them- 
selves, think  you,  on  their  courage,  when  the  bravest  of 
them  is  by  many  degrees  less  courageous  than  a  mastiff- 
bitch  in  the  straw  1  It  is  only  that  they  may  be  rogues 
without  hearing  it,  and  make  their  fortunes  without  render- 
ing an  account  of  them. 

Now  we  chat  again  as  we  used  to  do.  Your  spirits 
and  your  enthusiasm  have  returned.  Courage,  my  sweet 
Dashkof ;  do  not  begin  to  sigh  again.  We  never  can  want 
husbands  while  we  are  young  and  lively.  Alas  !  I  cannot 
always  be  so.  Heigho  1  But  serfs  and  preferment  will  do: 
none  shall  refuse  me  at  ninety, — Paphos  or  Tobolsk. 

Have  not  you  a  song  for  me  1 

Dashkof.     German  or  Russian  ? 

Catharine.  Neither,  neither.  Some  frightful  word  might 
drop — might  remind  me — no,  nothing  shall  remind  me. 
French,  rather  :   French  songs  are  the  liveliest  in  the  world. 


CATHARINE  AND  PRINCESS  DASHKOF.        93 

Is  the  rouge  off  my  face  1 

Dashkof.  It  is  rather  in  streaks  and  mottles ;  excepting 
just  under  the  eyes,  where  it  sits  as  it  should  do. 

Catharine.  I  am  heated  and  thirsty  :  I  cannot  imagine 
how.  I  think  we  have  not  yet  taken  our  coffee.  Was  it  so 
strong?  What  am  I  dream  in  2;  of  1  I  could  eat  onlv  a  slice 
of  melon  at  breakfast ;  my  duty  urged  me  then,  and  dinner 
is  yet  to  come.  Remember,  I  am  to  faint  at  the  midst  of  it 
when  the  intelligence  comes  in,  or  rather  when,  in  despite  of 
every  effort  to  conceal  it  from  me,  the  awful  truth  has 
flashed  upon  my  mind.  Remember,  too,  you  are  to  catch 
me,  and  to  cry  for  help,  and  to  tear  those  fine  flaxen  hairs 
which  we  laid  up  together  on  the  toilet ;  and  we  are  both  to 
be  as  inconsolable  as  we  can  be  for  the  life  of  us.  Not 
now,  child,  not  now.  Come,  sing.  I  know  not  how  to  fill 
up  the  interval.  Two  long  hours  yet ! — how  stupid  and 
tiresome !  I  wish  all  things  of  the  sort  could  be  done  and 
be  over  in  a  day.  They  are  mightily  disagreeable  when  by 
nature  one  is  not  cruel.  People  little  know  my  character. 
I  have  the  tenderest  heart  upon  earth.  I  am  courageous, 
but  I  am  full  of  weaknesses.  I  possess  in  perfection  the 
higher  part  of  men,  and— to  a  friend  I  may  say  it—the 
most  amiable  part  of  women.  Ho,  ho  !  at  last  you  smile  : 
now,  your  thoughts  upon  that. 

Dashkof.     I  have  heard  fifty  men  swear  it. 

Catharine.  They  lied,  the  knaves  !  I  hardly  knew  them 
by  sight.  We  were  talking  of  the  sad  necessity. — Ivan 
must  follow  next :  he  is  heir  to  the  throne.  I  have  a  wild, 
impetuous,  pleasant  little  protege,  who  shall  attempt  to 
rescue  him.  I  will  have  him  persuaded  and  incited  to  it, 
and  assured  of  pardon  on  the  scaffold.  He  can  never  know 
the  trick  we  play  him  ;  unless  his  head,  like  a  bottle  of 
Bordeaux,  ripens  its  contents  in  the  sawdust.       Orders  are 


94  IMA  GIN  A  R  V  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

given  that  Ivan  be  despatched  at  the  first  disturbance  in  the 
precincts  of  the  castle ;  in  short,  at  the  fire  of  the  sentry. 
But  not  now, — another  time  :  two  such  scenes  together,  and 
without  some  interlude,  would  perplex  people, 

I  thought  we  spoke  of  singing  :  do  not  make  me  wait,  my 
dearest  creature  !  Now  cannot  you  sing  as  usual,  without 
smoothing  your  dove's-throat  with  your  handkerchief,  and 
taking  off  your  necklace  1  Give  it  me,  then  ;  give  it  me. 
I  will  hold  it  for  you  :  I  must  play  with  something. 

Sing,  sing;  I  am  quite  impatient. 


LEOFRIC  AND  GODIVA. 

[Leofric  rides  into  Coventry  with  his  young  bride.     None  of  tho 
Conversations  excel  this  in  loveliness.] 

Godiva.  There  is  a  dearth  in  the  land,  my  sweet  Leofric! 
Remember  how  many  weeks  of  drought  we  have  had,  even 
in  the  deep  pastures  of  Leicestershire ;  and  how  many 
Sundays  we  have  heard  the  same  prayers  for  rain,  and 
supplications  that  it  would  please  the  Lord  in  his  mercy  to 
turn  aside  his  anger  from  the  poor,  pining  cattle.  You,  my 
dear  husband,  have  imprisoned  more  than  one  malefactor 
for  leaving  his  dead  ox  in  the  public  way ;  and  other  hinds 
have  fled  before  you  out  of  the  traces,  in  which  they,  and 
their  sons  and  their  daughters,  and  haply  their  old  fathers 
and  mothers,  were  dragging  the  abandoned  wain  homeward. 
Although  we  were  accompanied  by  many  brave  spearmen 
and  skilful  archers,  it  was  perilous  to  pass  the  creatures 
which  the  farm-yard  dogs,  driven  from  the  hearth  by  the 
poverty    of    their    masters,    were    tearing    and    devouring ; 


LEOFRIC  AND  GODTVA.  95 

while  others,  bitten  and  lamed,  filled  the  air  either  with 
long  and  deep  howls  or  sharp  and  quick  barkings,  as  they 
struggled  with  hunger  and  feebleness,  or  were  exasperated 
by  heat  and  pain.  Nor  could  the  thyme  from  the  heath, 
nor  the  bruised  branches  of  the  fir-tree,  extinguish  or  abate 
the  foul  odour. 

Leofric.  And  now,  Godiva,  my  darling,  thou  art  afraid 
we  should  be  eaten  up  before  we  enter  the  gates  of 
Coventry ;  or  perchance  that  in  the  gardens  there  are  no 
roses  to  greet  thee,  no  sweet  herbs  for  thy  mat  and  pillow. 

Godiva.  Leofric,  I  have  no  such  fears.  This  is  the 
month  of  roses  :  I  find  them  everywhere  since  my  blessed 
marriage.  They,  and  all  other  sweet  herbs,  I  know  not  why, 
seem  to  greet  me  wherever  I  look  at  them,  as  though  they 
knew  and  expected  me.  Surely  they  cannot  feel  that  I  am 
fond  of  them. 

Leofric.  0  light,  laughing  simpleton  !  But  what  wouldst 
thou  ?  I  came  not  hither  to  pray  ;  and  yet  if  praying  would 
satisfy  thee,  or  remove  the  drought,  I  would  ride  up  straight- 
way to  Saint  Michael's  and  pray  until  morning. 

Godiva.  I  would  do  the  same,  O  Leofric  !  but  God  hath 
turned  away  his  ear  from  holier  lips  than  mine.  Would 
my  own  dear  husband  hear  me,  if  I  implored  him  for  what 
is  easier  to  accomplish, — what  he  can  do  like  God  1 

Leofric.     How!  what  is  it? 

Godiva.  I  would  not,  in  the  first  hurry  of  your  wrath, 
appeal  to  you,  my  loving  Lord,  in  behalf  of  these  unhappy 
men  who  have  offended  you. 

Leofric.      Unhappy  !  is  that  all  1 

Godiva.  Unhappy  they  must  surely  be,  to  have  offended 
you  so  grievously.  What  a  soft  air  breathes  over  us  !  how 
quiet  and  serene  and  still  an  evening!  how  calm  are  the 
heavens  and  the  earth  ! — Shall  none  enjoy  them  ;  not  even 


96  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

we,  my  Leof ric  1  The  sun  is  ready  to  set :  let  it  never  set,  0 
Leofric,  on  your  anger.  These  are  not  my  words  :  they  are 
better  than  mine.  Should  they  lose  their  virtue  from  my 
unworthiness  in  uttering  them  1 

Leofric.     Godiva,  wouldst  thou  plead  to  me  for  rebels  1 

Godiva.  They  have,  then,  drawn  the  sword  against  you  1 
Indeed,  I  knew  it  not. 

Leofric.  They  have  omitted  to  send  me  my  dues,  estab- 
lished by  my  ancestors,  well  knowing  of  our  nuptials,  and 
of  the  charges  and  festivities  they  require,  and  that  in  a 
season  of  such  scarcity  my  own  lands  are  insufficient. 

Godiva.     If  they  were  starving,  as  they  said  they  were 

Leofric.  Must  I  starve  too?  Is  it  not  enough  to  lose 
my  vassals  1 

Godiva.  Enough  !  0  God  !  too  much !  too  much  ! 
May  you  never  lose  them  !  Give  them  life,  peace,  comfort, 
contentment.  There  are  those  among  them  who  kissed  me 
in  my  infancy,  and  who  blessed  me  at  the  baptismal  font. 
Leofric,  Leofric !  the  first  old  man  I  meet  I  shall  think  is 
one  of  those  ;  and  I  shall  think  on  the  blessing  he  gave,  and 
(ah  me !)  on  the  blessing  I  bring  back  to  him.  My  heart 
will  bleed,  will  burst ;  and  he  will  weep  at  it !  he  will  weep, 
poor  soul,  for  the  wife  of  a  cruel  lord  who  denounces 
vengeance  on  him,  who  carries  death  into  his  family  ! 

Leofric.     We  must  hold  solemn  festivals. 

Godiva.     We  must,  indeed. 

Leofric.     Well,  then  1 

Godiva.  Is  the  clamorousness  that  succeeds  the  death  of 
God's  dumb  creatures,  are  crowded  halls,  are  slaughtered 
cattle,  festivals  1 — are  maddening  songs,  and  giddy  dances, 
and  hireling  praises  from  parti-coloured  coats  ?  Can  the 
voice  of  a  minstrel  tell  us  better  things  of  ourselves 
than  our  own  internal  one  might  tell  us ;  or  can  his  breath 


LEOFRIC  AND  GODIVA.  97 

make  our  breath  softer  in  sleep  ?  0  my  beloved !  let 
everything  be  a  joyance  to  us  :  it  will,  if  we  will.  Sad  is 
the  day,  and  worse  must  follow,  when  we  hear  the  black- 
bird in  the  garden,  and  do  not  throb  with  joy.  But, 
Leofric,  the  high  festival  is  strown  by  the  servant  of 
God  upon  the  heart  of  man.  It  is  gladness,  it  is  thanks- 
giving ;  it  is  the  orphan,  the  starveling,  pressed  to  the 
bosom,  and  bidden  as  its  first  commandment  to  remember 
its  benefactor.  We  will  hold  this  festival ;  the  guests  are 
ready  :  we  may  keep  it  up  for  weeks,  and  months,  and  years 
together,  and  always  be  the  happier  and  the  richer  for 
it.  The  beverage  of  this  feast,  O  Leofric,  is  sweeter  than 
bee  or  flower  or  vine  can  give  us:  it  flows  from  heaven; 
and  in  heaven  will  it  abundantly  be  poured  out  again  to 
him  who  pours  it  out  here  abundantly. 

Leofric.     Thou  art  wild. 

Godiva.  I  have,  indeed,  lost  myself.  Some  Power,  some 
good  kind  Power,  melts  me  (body  and  soul  and  voice)  into 
tenderness  and  love.  O  my  husband,  we  must  obey  it. 
Look  upon  me  !  look  upon  me  !  lift  your  sweet  eyes  from 
the  ground  !     I  will  not  cease  to  supplicate ;  I  dare  not. 

Leofric.     We  may  think  upon  it. 

Godiva.     O  never  say  that !    What !  think  upon  goodness 
when  you  can  be  good  ?     Let  not  the  infants  cry  for  suste 
nance  !     The  mother  of  our  blessed  Lord  will  hear  them  ; 
us  never,  never  afterward. 

Leofric.  Here  comes  the  Bishop  :  we  are  but  one  mile 
from  the  walls.  Why  dismountest  thou  ?  no  bishop  can 
expect  it.  Godiva  !  my  honour  and  rank  among  men  are 
humbled  by  this.  Earl  Godwin  will  hear  of  it.  Up  !  up  ! 
the  Bishop  hath  seen  it :  he  urgeth  his  horse  onward. 
Dost  thou  not  hear  him  now  upon  the  .solid  turf  behind 
thee  t  27 


98  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

Godiva.  Never,  no,  never  will  I  rise,  O  Leofric,  until 
you  remit  this  most  impious  task — this  tax  on  hard  labour, 
on  hard  life. 

Leofric.  Turn  round  :  look  how  the  fat  nag  canters,  as 
to  the  tune  of  a  sinner's  psalm,  slow  and  hard-breathing. 
What  reason  or  right  can  the  people  have  to  complain,  while 
their  bishop's  steed  is  so  sleek  and  well  caparisoned  1 
Inclination  to  change,  desire  to  abolish  old  usages. — Up  ! 
up  !  for  shame !  They  shall  smart  for  it,  idlers  1  Sir 
Bishop,  I  must  blush  for  my  young  bride. 

Godiva.  My  husband,  my  husband  !  will  you  pardon  the 
city? 

Leofric.  Sir  Bishop  !  I  could  not  think  you  would  have 
seen  her  in  this  plight.  Will  I  pardon  ?  Yea,  Godiva,  by 
the  holy  rood,  will  I  pardon  the  city,  when  thou  ridest 
naked  at  noontide  through  the  streets  ! 

Godiva.  O  my  clear,  cruel  Leofric,  where  is  the  heart 
you  gave  me  %     It  was  not  so  :  can  mine  have  hardened  it  1 

Bishoj).  Earl,  thou  abashest  thy  spouse;  she  turneth 
pale,  and  weepeth.     Lady  Godiva,  peace  be  with  thee. 

Godiva.  Thanks,  holy  man !  peace  will  be  with  me 
when  peace  is  with  your  city.  Did  you  hear  my  Lord's 
cruel  word  1 

Bishop.     I  did,  lady. 

Godiva.     Will  you  remember  it,  and  pray  against  it. 

Bishoj).     Wilt  thou  forget  it,  daughter? 

Godiva.     I  am  not  offended. 

Bishop.     Angel  of  peace  and  purity  ! 

Godiva.  But  treasure  it  up  in  your  heart :  deem  it  an 
incense,  good  only  when  it  is  consumed  and  spent,  ascending 
with  prayer  and  sacrifice.      And,  now,  what  was  it  ? 

Bishop.  Christ  save  us !  that  he  will  pardon  the  city 
when  thou  ridest  naked  throush  the  streets  at  noon. 


LEOFRIC  AND  GODIVA.  99 

Godiva.     Did  he  swear  an  oath  1 

Bishop.     He  sware  by  the  holy  rood. 

Godiva.     My  Redeemer,  thou  hast  heard  it!  save  the  city  1 

Leofric.  We  are  now  upon  the  beginning  of  the  pave- 
ment :  these  are  the  suburbs.  Let  us  think  of  feasting  :  we 
may  pray  afterward  ;  to-morrow  we  shall  rest. 

Godiva.     No  judgments,  then,  to-morrow,  Leofric  1 

Leofric.     None  :  we  will  carouse. 

Godiva.  The  saints  of  heaven  have  given  me  strength 
and  confidence  ;  my  prayers  are  heard ;  the  heart  of  my 
beloved  is  now  softened. 

Leofric.     Ay,  ay. 

Godiva.  Say,  dearest  Leofric,  is  there  indeed  no  other 
hope,  no  other  mediation'? 

Leofric.  I  have  sworn.  Beside,  thou  hast  made  me 
redden  and  turn  my  face  away  from  thee,  and  all  the  knaves 
have  seen  it :  this  adds  to  the  city's  crime. 

Godiva.  I  have  blushed  too,  Leofric,  and  was  not  rash 
nor  obdurate. 

Leofric.  But  thou,  my  sweetest,  art  given  to  blushing : 
there  is  no  conquering  it  in  thee.  I  wish  thou  hadst  not 
alighted  so  hastily  and  roughly :  it  hath  shaken  down  a 
sheaf  of  thy  hair.  Take  heed  thou  sit  not  upon  it,  lest  it 
anguish  thee.  Well  done  !  it  mingleth  now  sweetly  with 
the  cloth  of  gold  upon  the  saddle,  running  here  and  there, 
as  if  it  had  life  and  faculties  and  business,  and  were  work- 
ing thereupon  some  newer  and  cunninger  device.  0  my 
beauteous  Eve  !  there  is  a  Paradise  about  thee  !  the  world 
is  refreshed  as  thou  movest  and  breathest  on  it.  I  cannot 
see  or  think  of  evil  where  thou  art.  I  could  throw  my 
arms  even  here  about  thee.  No  signs  for  me  !  no  shaking 
of  sunbeams  !  no  reproof  or  frown  of  wonderment. — I  will 
say  it — now,  then,  for  worse — I  could  close  with  my  kisses 


i  oo  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

thy  half-open  lips,  ay,  and  those  lovely  and  loving  eyes, 
before  the  people. 

Godiva.  Tomorrow  you  shall  kiss  me,  and  they  shall 
bless  you  for  it.  I  shall  be  very  pale,  for  to-night  I  must 
fast  and  pray. 

Leofric.  I  do  not  hear  thee ;  the  voices  of  the  folk  are 
so  loud  under  this  archway. 

Godiva  (to  herself).  God  help  them !  good  kind  souls  ! 
I  hope  they  will  not  crowd  about  me  so  to-morrow.  O 
Leofric !  could  my  name  be  forgotten,  and  yours  alone 
remembered  I  But  perhaps  my  innocence  may  save  me 
from  reproach  ;  and  how  many  as  innocent  are  in  fear  and 
famine  1  No  eye  will  open  on  me  but  fresh  from  tears. 
What  a  young  mother  for  so  large  a  family  !  Shall  my 
youth  harm  me  1  Under  God's  hand  it  gives  me  courage. 
Ah  !  when  will  the  morning  come  1  Ah  1  when  will  the 
noon  be  over  1 

The  story  of  Godiva,  at  one  of  whose  festivals  or  fairs  I  was  present 
in  my  boyhood,  has  always  much  interested  me  ;  and  I  wrote  a  poem 
on  it,  sitting,  I  remember,  by  the  square  pool  at  Rugby.  "When  I 
showed  it  to  the  friend  in  wliom  I  had  most  confidence,  he  began  to 
scoff  at  the  subject ;  and,  on  his  reaching  the  last  line,  his  laughter 
was  loud  and  immoderate.  This  conversation  has  brought  both 
laughter  and  stanza  back  to  me,  and  the  earnestness  with  which  I 
entreated  and  implored  my  friend  not  to  tell  the  lads,  so  heart- 
strickenly  and  desperately  was  I  ashamed.  The  verses  are  these,  if 
any  one  else  should  wish  another  laugh  at  me : — 

In  every  hour,  in  every  mood, 
0  lady,  it  is  sweet  and  good 

To  bathe  the  soul  in  prayer  ; 
And,  at  the  close  of  such  a  day, 
When  we  have  ceased  to  bless  and  pray, 

To  dream  on  thy  long  hair. 

Jlay  the  peppermint  be  still  growing  on  the  bank  in  that  place  1 


ESSEX  AND  SPENSER.  101 


ESSEX  AND  SPENSER. 

[Spenser  has  just  escaped  from  Ireland,  where  his  house  and  infant 
child  had  been  burnt.  Essex,  not  yet  aware  of  his  misfortune,  has 
sent  for  him.] 

Essex.  Instantly  on  hearing  of  thy  arrival  from  Ireland, 
I  sent  a  message  to  thee,  good  Edmund,  that  I  might  learn, 
from  one  so  judicious  and  dispassionate  as  thou  art,  the 
real  state  of  things  in  that  distracted  country ;  it  having 
pleased  the  Queen's  Majesty  to  think  of  appointing  me  her 
deputy,  in  order  to  bring  the  rebellious  to  submission. 

Spenser.  "Wisely  and  well  considered  ;  but  more  worthily 
of  her  judgment  than  her  affection.  May  your  lordship 
overcome,  as  you  have  ever  done,  the  difficulties  and  dangers 
you  foresee. 

Essex.  "We  grow  weak  by  striking  at  random  ;  and 
knowing  that  I  must  strike,  and  strike  heavily,  I  would 
fain  see  exactly  where  the  stroke  shall  fall. 

Now  what  tale  have  you  for  us  1 

Spenser.  Interrogate  me,  my  lord,  that  I  may  answer 
each  question  distinctly,  my  mind  being  in  sad  confusion  at 
what  I  have  seen  and  undergone. 

Essex.  Give  me  thy  account  and  opinion  of  these  very 
affairs  as  thou  leftest  them  ;  for  I  would  rather  know  one 
part  well  than  all  imperfectly  ;  and  the  violences  of  which 
1  have  heard  within  the  day  surpass  belief. 

Why  weepest  thou,  my  gentle  Spenser  1  Have  the  rebels 
sacked  thy  house  ? 

Spenser.     They  have  plundered  and  utterly  destroyed  it. 

Essex.     T  grieve  for  thee,  and  will  see  thee  righted. 

UBHA3Y 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


102  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

Spenser.     In  this  they  have  little  harmed  me. 

Essex.  How  !  I  have  heard  it  reported  that  thy  grounds 
are  fertile,  and  thy  mansion  large  and  pleasant. 

Spenser.  If  river  and  lake  and  meadow-ground  and 
mountain  could  render  any  place  the  abode  of  pleasantness, 
pleasant  was  mine,  indeed  ! 

On  the  lovely  banks  of  Mulla  I  found  deep  contentment. 
Under  the  dark  alders  did  I  muse  and  meditate.  Innocent 
hopes  were  my  gravest  cares,  and  my  playfullest  fancy  was 
with  kindly  wishes.  Ah  !  surely  of  all  cruelties  the  worst 
is  to  extinguish  our  kindness.  Mine  is  srone :  I  love  the 
people  and  the  land  no  longer.  My  lord,  ask  me  not  about 
them  :  I  may  speak  injuriously. 

Essex.  Think  rather,  then,  of  thy  happier  hours  and 
busier  occupations  ;  these  likewise  may  instruct  me. 

Spenser.  The  first  seeds  I  sowed  in  the  garden,  ere  the 
old  castle  was  made  habitable  for  my  lovely  bride,  were 
acorns  from  Penshurst.  I  planted  a  little  oak  before  my 
mansion  at  the  birth  of  each  child.  My  sons,  I  said  to 
myself,  shall  often  play  in  the  shade  of  them  when  I  am 
gone ;  and  every  year  shall  they  take  the  measure  of  their 
growth,  as  fondly  as  I  take  theirs. 

Essex.  Well,  well ;  but  let  not  this  thought  make  thee 
weep  so  bitterly. 

Spenser.  Poison  may  ooze  from  beautiful  plants  ;  deadly 
grief  from  dearest  reminiscences.  I  must  grieve,  I  must 
weep  :  it  seems  the  law  of  God,  and  the  only  one  that 
men  are  not  disposed  to  contravene.  In  the  performance 
of  this  alone  do  they  effectually  aid  one  another. 

Essex.  Spenser  !  I  wish  I  had  at  hand  any  arguments 
or  persuasions  of  force  sufficient  to  remove  thy  sorrow  ; 
but,  really,  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  seeing  men  grieve 
at    anything    except  the  loss   of  favour   at    court,  or  of  a 


ESSEX  AND  SPENSER.  103 

hawk,  or  of  a  buck-hound.  And  were  I  to  swear  out  condol- 
ences to  a  man  of  thy  discernment,  in  the  same  round, 
roll-call  phrases  we  employ  with  one  another  upon  these 
occasions,  I  should  be  guilty,  not  of  insincerity,  but  of 
insolence.  True  grief  hath  ever  something  sacred  in  it ; 
and,  when  it  visiteth  a  wise  man  and  a  brave  one,  is 
most  holy. 

Nay,  kiss  not  my  hand  :  he  whom  God  smiteth  hath  God 
with  him.      In  his  presence  what  am  1 1 

Spenser.  Never  so  great,  my  lord,  as  at  this  hour,  when 
you  see  aright  who  is  greater.  May  He  guide  your  counsels, 
and  preserve  your  life  and  glory  ! 

Essex.     Where  are  thy  friends  1     Are  they  with  thee  ? 

Spenser.  Ah,  where,  indeed !  Generous,  true-hearted 
Philip  !  where  art  thou,  whose  presence  was  unto  me  peace 
and  safety;  whose  smile  was  contentment,  and  whose  praise 
renown  ?  My  lord  !  I  cannot  but  think  of  him  among  still 
heavier  losses  :  he  was  my  earliest  friend,  and  would  have 
taught  me  wisdom. 

Essex.  Pastoral  poetry,  my  dear  Spenser,  doth  not 
require  tears  and  lamentations.  Dry  thine  eyes;  rebuild 
thine  house  :  the  Queen  and  Council,  I  venture  to  promise 
thee,  will  make  ample  amends  for  every  evil  thou  hast 
sustained.  What !  does  that  enforce  thee  to  wail  still 
louder  1 

Spenser.  Pardon  me,  bear  with  me,  most  noble  heart  ! 
I  have  lost  what  no  Council,  no  Queen,  no  Essex,  can 
restore. 

Essex.  We  will  see  that.  There  are  other  swords,  and 
other  arms  to  yield  them,  beside  a  Leicester's  and  a 
Raleigh's.  Others  can  crush  their  enemies,  and  serve  their 
friends. 

Spenser.     O  my  sweet  child  !     And  of  many  so  powerful, 


io4  IMA  G1NAR  V  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

many  so  wise  and  so  beneficent,  was  there  none  to  save 
thee  ?     None  !  none  ! 

Essex.  I  now  perceive  that  thou  lamentest  what  almost 
every  father  is  destined  to  lament.  Happiness  must  be 
bought,  although  the  payment  may  be  delayed.  Consider : 
the  same  calamity  might  have  befallen  thee  here  in  London. 
Neither  the  houses  of  ambassadors,  nor  the  palaces  of  kings, 
nor  the  altars  of  God  himself,  are  asylums  against  death. 
How  do  I  know  but  under  this  very  roof  there  may  sleep 
some  latent  calamity,  that  in  an  instant  shall  cover  with 
gloom  every  inmate  of  the  house,  and  every  far  dependent  1 

Spenser.     God  avert  it ! 

Essex.  Every  day,  every  hour  of  the  year,  do  hundreds 
mourn  what  thou  mournest. 

Spenser.  Oh,  no,  no,  no  !  Calamities  there  are  around 
us ;  calamities  there  are  all  over  the  earth ;  calamities 
there  are  in  all  seasons :  but  none  in  any  season,  none  in 
any  place,  like  mine. 

Essex.  So  say  all  fathers,  so  say  all  husbands.  Look  at 
any  old  mansion-house,  and  let  the  sun  shine  as  gloriously 
as  it  may  on  the  golden  vanes,  or  the  arms  recently 
quartered  over  the  gateway  or  the  embayed  window,  and  on 
the  happy  pair  that  haply  is  toying  at  it :  nevertheless,  thou 
mayest  say  that  of  a  certainty  the  same  fabric  hath  seen 
much  sorrow  within  its  chambers,  and  heard  many  wailings ; 
and  each  time  this  was  the  heaviest  stroke  of  all.  Funerals 
have  passed  along  through  the  stout-hearted  knights  upon 
the  wainscot,  and  amid  the  laughing  nymph3  upon  the 
arras.  Old  servants  have  shaken  their  heads,  as  if  some- 
body had  deceived  them,  when  they  found  that  beauty  and 
nobility  could  perish. 

Edmund  !  the  things  that  are  too  true  pass  by  us  as 
if  they  were  not  true  at  all ;  and  when  they  have  singled  us 


ESSEX  AND  SPENSER.  105 

out,  then  only  do  they  strike  us.  Thou  and  I  must  go  too. 
Perhaps  the  next  year  may  blow  us  away  with  its  fallen 
leaves. 

Spenser.  For  you,  my  lord,  many  years  (I  trust)  are 
waiting :  I  never  shall  see  those  fallen  leaves.  No  leaf,  no 
bud,  will  spring  upon  the  earth  before  I  sink  into  her  breast 
for  ever. 

Essex.  Thou,  who  art  wiser  than  most  men,  shouldst 
bear  with  patience,  equanimity,  and  courage  what  is  common 
to  all. 

Spenser.  Enough,  enough,  enough  1  Have  all  men  seen 
their  infant  burnt  to  ashes  before  their  eyes  ? 

Essex.     Gracious  God  !  Merciful  Father  !  what  is  this  1 

Spenser.  Burnt  alive  !  burnt  to  ashes  !  burnt  to  ashes ! 
The  flames  dart  their  serpent  tongues  through  the  nursery- 
window.  I  cannot  quit  thee,  my  Elizabeth  !  I  cannot  lay 
down  our  Edmund !  Oh,  these  flames  !  They  persecute, 
they  enthrall  me ;  they  curl  round  my  temples ;  they  hiss 
upon  my  brain  ;  they  taunt  me  with  their  fierce,  foul 
voices  ;  they  carp  at  me,  they  wither  me,  they  consume  me, 
throwing  back  to  me  a  little  of  life  to  roll  and  suffer  in,  with 
their  fangs  upon  me.  Ask  me,  my  lord,  the  things  you  wish 
to  know  from  me  :  I  may  answer  them  ;  I  am  now  composed 
again.  Command  me,  my  gracious  lord  !  I  would  yet  serve 
you  :  soon  I  shall  be  unable.  You  have  stooped  to  raise  me 
up ;  you  have  borne  with  me  ;  you  have  pitied  me,  even 
like  one  not  powerful.  You  have  brought  comfort,  and  will 
leave  it  with  me,  for  gratitude  is  comfort. 

Oh  1  my  memory  stands  all  a  tip-toe  on  one  burning 
point :  when  it  drops  from  it,  then  it  perishes.  Spare  me : 
ask  me  nothing ;  let  me  weep  before  you  in  peace, — the 
kindest  act  of  greatness. 

Essex.     I   should  rather  have  dared   to  mount  into  the 


106  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

midst  of  the  conflagration  than  I  now  dare  entreat  thee  not 
to  weep.  The  tears  that  overflow  thy  heart,  my  Spenser, 
will  staunch  and  heal  it  in  their  sacred  stream ;  but  not 
without  hope  in  God. 

Spenser.  My  hope  in  God  is  that  I  may  soon  see  again 
what  he  has  taken  from  me.  Amid  the  myriads  of  angels, 
there  is  not  one  so  beautiful ;  and  even  he  (if  there  be  any) 
who  is  appointed  my  guardian  could  never  love  me  so. 
Ah  !  these  are  idle  thoughts,  vain  wanderings,  distempered 
dreams.  If  there  ever  were  guardian  angels,  he  who  so 
wanted  one — my  helpless  boy — would  not  have  left  these 
arms  upon  my  knees. 

Essex.  God  help  and  sustain  thee,  too  gentle  Spenser ! 
I  never  will  desert  thee.  But  what  ami!  Great  they 
have  called  me  !  Alas,  how  powerless  then  and  infantile  is 
greatness  in  the  presence  of  calamity ! 

Come,  give  me  thy  hand  :  let  us  walk  up  and  down  the 
gallery.  Bravely  done  1  I  will  envy  no  more  a  Sidney  or 
a  Raleigh. 


WILLIAM   WALLACE   AND    KING 
EDWARD  I. 

Edward.     Whom  seest  thou  here  ? 
Wallace.     The  King  of  England. 

Edward.     And   thou  abaseth   not  thy   head   before   the 
majesty  of  the  sceptre  1 
Wallace.     I  did. 
Edward.      I  marked  it  not 


WALLACE  AND  KING  EDWARD  I.  107 

Wallace.  God  beheld  it  when  I  did  it ;  and  he  knoweth, 
as  doth  King  Edward,  how  devoutly  in  my  heart's  strength 
I  fought  for  it. 

Edward.  Robber !  for  what  sceptre  ?  Who  commis- 
sioned thee  t 

Wallace.     My  country. 

Edward.  Thou  liest :  there  is  no  country  where  there  is 
no  king. 

Wallace.  Sir,  it  were  unbecoming  to  ask  in  this  palace, 
why  there  is  no  king  in  my  country. 

Edward.  To  spare  thy  modesty,  then,  I  will  inform 
thee.  Because  the  kingdom  is  mine.  Thou  hast  rebelled 
against  me ;  thou  hast  presumed  even  to  carry  arms  against 
both  of  those  nobles,  Bruce  and  Cummin,  who  contended 
for  the  Scottish  throne,  and  with  somewhat  indeed  of 
lawyer's  likelihood. 

Wallace.  They  placed  the  Scottish  throne  under  the 
English. 

Edward.     Audacious  churl  !  is  it  not  meet1! 

Wallace.     In  Scotland  we  think  otherwise. 

Edward.  Rebels  do,  subverters  of  order,  low  ignorant 
knaves,  without  any  stake  in  the  country.  It  hath  pleased 
God  to  bless  my  arms  ;  what  further  manifestation  of  our 
just  claims  demandest  thou  1     Silence  becomes  thee. 

Wallace.  Where  God  is  named.  What  is  now  to  the 
right  bank  of  a  river,  is  to  the  left  when  we  have  crossed  it 
and  look  round. 

Edward.  Thou  wouldst  be  witty  truly !  Who  was 
wittiest,  thou  or  I,  when  thy  companion  Menteith  delivered 
thee  into  my  hands  1 

Wallace.  Unworthy  companions  are  not  the  peculiar 
curse  of  private  men.  I  chose  not  Menteith  for  his 
treachery,  nor  rewarded  him  for  it.     Sir,  I  have  contended 


io8  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

with  you  face  to  face ;  but  would  not  here  :  your  glory 
eclipses  mine,  if  this  be  glory. 

Edward.  So,  thou  wouldst  place  thyself  on  a  level  with 
princes  ! 

Wallace.  Willingly,  if  they  attacked  my  country ;  and 
above  them. 

Edward.  Dost  thou  remember  the  Carron-side,  when 
your  army  was  beaten  and  dispersed  1 

Wallace.  By  the  defection  of  Cummin  and  the  arrogance 
of  Stuart. 

Edward.  Recollectest  thou  the  colloquy  that  Bruce 
condescended  to  hold  with  thee  across  the  river  1 

Wallace.  I  do,  sir.  Why  would  not  he,  being  your 
soldier,  and  fighting  loyally  against  his  native  land,  pass  the 
water,  and  exterminate  an  army  so  beaten  and  dispersed  1 
The  saddle  skirts  had  been  rather  the  stifFer  on  the  morrow, 
but  he  would  have  hung  them  up  and  never  felt  them. 
Why  not  finish  the  business  at  once  1 

Edward.  He  wished  to  persuade  thee,  loose  re  viler,  that 
thy  resistance  was  useless. 

Wallace.  He  might  have  made  himself  heard  better  if 
he  had  come  across. 

Edward.  No  trifling  ;  no  arguing  with  me  ;  no  remarks 
here,  caitiff!  Thou  canst  not  any  longer  be  ignorant  that 
he  hath  slain  his  competitor,  Cummin ;  that  my  troops 
surround  him;  and  that  he  perhaps  may  now  repent  the 
levity  of  his  reproaches  against  thee.  I  may  myself  have 
said  a  hasty  word  or  two ;  but  thou  hast  nettled  me.  My 
anger  soon  passes.  I  never  punish  in  an  enemy  anything 
else  than  obstinacy.  I  did  not  counsel  the  accusations  and 
malignant  taunts  of  Bruce. 

Wallace.     Sir,  I  do  not  bear  them  in  mind. 

Edward.      No  1 


WALLACE  AND  KLNG  EDWARD  L  iog 

Wallace.     Indeed,  I  neither  do  nor  would. 

Edward.  Dull  wretch  !  I  should  never  forget  such.  I 
can  make  allowances;  I  am  a  king.  I  would  flay  him  alive 
for  half  of  them,  and  make  him  swallow  back  the  other  half 
without  his  skin. 

Wallace.     Few  have  a  right  to  punish ;  all  to  pardon. 

Edward.  I  perceive  thou  hast  at  last  some  glimmering 
of  shame ;  and  adversity  makes  thee  very  Christian-like. 

Wallace.  Adversity,  then,  in  exercising  her  power,  loses 
her  name  and  features.  King  Edward  !  thou  hast  raised  me 
among  men.  Without  thy  banners  and  bows  in  array  against 
me,  I  had  sunk  into  utter  forgetfulness.  Thanks  to  thee 
for  placing  me,  eternally,  where  no  strength  of  mine  could 
otherwise  have  borne  me  !  Thanks  to  thee  for  bathing  my 
spirit  in  deep  thoughts,  in  refreshing  calm,  in  sacred  still- 
ness !  This,  O  King  !  is  the  bath  for  knighthood  :  after 
this  it  may  feast,  and  hear  bold  and  sweet  voices,  and  mount 
to  its  repose. 

I  thought  it  hard  to  be  seized  and  bound  and  betrayed  by 
those  in  whom  I  trusted.  I  grieved  that  a  valiant  soldier 
(such  is  Menteith)  should  act  so.  Unhappily  !  he  must  now 
avoid  all  men's  discourses.  'Twill  pierce  his  heart  to  hear 
censures  of  the  disloyal ;  and  praises  on  the  loyal  will  dry 
up  its  innermost  drop.  Two  friends  can  never  more  em- 
brace in  his  presence  but  he  shall  curse  them  in  the  bitter- 
ness of  his  soul,  and  his  sword  shall  spring  up  to  cleave 
them.  "  Alas  !  "  will  he  say  to  himself,  "  is  it  thus  ?  was  it 
thus  when  I  drew  it  for  my  country?" 

Edward.  Think  now  of  other  matters  :  think,  what  I 
suggested,  of  thy  reproaches. 

Wallace.     I  have  none  to  make  myself. 

Edward.     Be  it  so  :  I  did  not  talk  about  that  any  longer. 

Wallace.     What  others,  then,  can  touch  or  reach  me  1 


no  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

Edward.     Such  as  Bruce's. 

Wallace.  Reproaches  they  were  not ;  for  none  were  ever 
cast  against  me  :  but  taunts  they  were,  not  unmingled  with 
invitations. 

Edward.  The  same  invitations,  and  much  greater,  I  now 
repeat.     Thou  shalt  govern  Scotland  for  me. 

Wallace.  Scotland,  sir,  shall  be  governed  for  none :  she 
is  old  enough  to  stand  by  herself,  and  to  stand  upright ;  the 
blows  she  hath  received  have  not  broken  her  loins. 

Edward.  Come,  come,  Wallace  !  thou  hast  sense  and 
spirit :  confess  to  me  fairly  that,  if  thou  wert  at  liberty,  thou 
wouldst  gladly  make  Bruce  regret  his  ill-treatment  of  thee. 

Wallace.     Well,  then,  I  do  confess  it. 

Edward.  Something  would  I  myself  hazard, — not  too 
much ;  but  prudently  and  handsomely  Tell  me  now 
plainly — for  I  love  plain-speaking  and  everything  free  and 
open — in  what  manner  thou  wouldst  set  about  it ;  and 
perhaps,  God  willing,  I  may  pi'ovide  the  means. 

Wallace.  Sir,  you  certainly  would  not :  it  little  suits 
your  temper  and  disposition. 

Edward.  Faith  !  not  so  little  as  thou  supposest.  Mag- 
nanimity and  long-suffering  have  grown  upon  me,  and  well 
become  me ;  but  they  have  not  produced  all  the  good  I 
might  have  expected  from  them.  Joyfully  as  I  would  try 
them  again,  at  any  proper  opportunity,  there  is  nothing  I 
am  not  bound  to  do,  in  dearness  to  my  people,  to  rid  myself 
of  an  enemy. 

In  my  mind  no  expressions  could  be  more  insulting  than 
Bruce's,  when  he  accused  thee,  a  low  and  vulgar  man  (how 
canst  thou  help  that  1 ),  of  wishing  to  possess  the  crown. 

Wallace.     He  was  right. 

Edward.  How !  astonishment  !  Thou  wouldst,  then, 
have  usurped  the  sovereignty  ! 


WALLACE  AND  KING  EDWARD  I.  in 

Wallace.  I  possessed  a  greater  power  by  war  than  peace 
could  ever  give  rue ;  yet  I  invited  and  exhorted  the  legiti- 
mate heir  of  the  throne  to  fight  for  it  and  receive  it.  If 
there  is  any  satisfaction  or  gratification  in  being  the  envy  of 
men,  I  had  enough  and  greatly  more  than  enough  of  it,  when 
even  those  I  love  envied  me  :  what  would  have  been  my 
portion  of  it,  had  I  possessed  that  which  never  should  have 
been  mine? 

Edward.     Why,  then,  sayst  thou  that  Bruce  was  right  1 

Wallace.  He  judged,  as  most  men  do,  from  his  own  feel- 
ings. Many  have  worn  crowns  ;  some  have  deserved  them  : 
I  have  done  neither. 

Edward.  Return  to  Scotland ;  bring  me  Bruce's  head 
back  ;  and  rule  the  kingdom  as  viceroy. 

Wallace.  I  would  rather  make  him  rue  his  words  against 
me,  and  hear  him. 

Edward.     Thou  shalt. 

Wallace.  Believe  me,  sir,  you  would  repent  of  your  per- 
mission. 

Edward.     No,  by  the  saints  ! 

Wallace.     You  would  indeed,  sir. 

Edward.  Go,  and  try  me ;  do  not  hesitate :  I  see  thou 
art  half  inclined  ;  I  may  never  make  the  same  offer  again. 

Wallace.      I  will  not  go. 

Edward.  Weak,  wavering  man !  hath  imprisonment  in 
one  day  or  two  wrought  such  a  change  in  thee  1 

Wallace.  Slavery  soon  does  it;  but  I  am,  and  will  ever 
be,  unchanged. 

Edward.  It  was  not  well,  nor  by  my  order,  that  thou 
wert  dragged  along  the  road,  barefooted  and  bareheaded, 
while  it  snowed  throughout  all  the  journey. 

Wallace.     Certainly,  sir,  you  did    not  order  it  to  snow 


1 1 2  IMA  GINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

from  the  latter  days  of  December  till  the  middle  of  January  ; 
but  whatever  else  was  done,  if  my  guard  spake  the  truth 

Edward.     He  lied,  he  lied,  he  lied 

Wallace. or  the  warrant  he  showed  me  is  authentic,  wag 

done  according  to  your  royal  order. 

Edward.  What !  are  my  officers  turned  into  constables  1 
base  varlets  !     It  must  have  seemed  hard,  Wallace  ! 

Wallace.  Not  that,  indeed  ;  for  I  went  barefooted  in  my 
youth,  and  have  mostly  been  bareheaded  when  I  have  not 
been  in  battle.  But  to  be  thrust  and  shoven  into  the  court- 
yard ;  to  shiver  under  the  pent-house  from  which  the  wind 
had  blown  the  thatch,  while  the  blazing  fire  within  made  the 
snow  upon  the  opposite  roof  redden  like  the  dawn ;  to  wax 
faint,  ahungered,  and  athirst,  when,  within  arm's  length  of 
me,  men  pushed  the  full  cup  away,  and  would  drink  no  more, 
— to  that  I  have  never  been  accustomed  in  my  country. 
The  dogs,  honester  and  kinder  folks  than  most,  but  rather 
dull  in  the  love  of  hospitality,  unless  in  the  beginning  soma 
pains  are  taken  with  them  by  their  masters,  tore  my  scant 
gear ;  and  then  your  soldiers  felt  their  contempt  more 
natural  and  easy.  The  poor  curs  had  done  for  them  what 
their  betters  could  not  do ;  and  the  bolder  of  the  company 
looked  hard  in  my  face,  to  see  if  I  were  really  the  same 
man. 

Edward.     O  the  rude  rogues  !  that  was  too  bad. 

Wallace.  The  worst  was  this.  Children  and  women, 
fathers  and  sons,  came  running  down  the  hills — some  sink- 
ing knee-deep  in  the  encrusted  snow,  others  tripping  lightly 
over  it — to  celebrate  the  nativity  of  our  blessed  Lord. 
They  entreated,  and  the  good  priest  likewise,  that  I  might 
be  led  forth  into  the  church,  and  might  kneel  down  amid 
them.  "  Off,"  cried  the  guard ;  "  would  ye  plead  for 
Wallace    the    traitor  1 "     I  saw    them  tremble,  for  it  was 


WALLACE  AND  KING  EDWARD  I.  113 

treason  in  them  ;  and  then  came  my  grief  upon  me,  and  bore 
hard.  They  lifted  up  their  eyes  to  heaven,  and  it  gave  me 
strength. 

Edward.  Thou  shalt  not,  I  swear  to  thee,  march  back  in 
such  plight. 

Wallace.     I  will  not,  I  swear  to  thee,  march  a  traitor. 

Edward.  Right !  right !  I  can  trust  thee — more  than  half 
already.  Bruce  is  the  traitor,  the  worst  of  the  two :  he 
raises  the  country  against  me.  Go  ;  encompass  him  ;  entrap 
him,  quell  him. 

Sweetheart !  thou  hast  a  rare  fancy,  a  youth's  love  at 
first  sight,  for  thy  chains  :  unwilling  to  barter  them  for 
liberty,  for  country,  for  revenge,  for  honour. 

Wallace.  The  two  latter  are  very  dear  to  me  !  For  the 
two  former  I  have  often  shed  my  blood,  and,  if  more  is  want- 
ing, take  it.  My  heart  is  no  better  than  a  wooden  cup, 
whereof  the  homely  liquor  a  royal  hand  would  cast  away 
indifferently.  There  once  were  those  who  pledged  it  ! 
where  are  they  1  Forgive  my  repining,  O  God  !  Enough, 
if  they  are  not  here. 

Edward.  Nay,  nay,  Wallace !  thou  wrongest  me.  Thou 
art  a  brave  man.  I  do  not  like  to  see  those  irons  about  thy 
wrists  :  they  are  too  broad  and  tight ;  they  have  bruised 
thee  cruelly. 

Wallace.  Methinks  there  was  no  necessity  to  have  ham- 
mered the  rivets  on  quite  so  hard  ;  and  the  fellow  who  did  it 
needed  not  to  look  over  his  shoulder  so  often  while  he  was 
about  it,  telling  the  people,  "  This  is  Wallace."  Wrist  or 
iron,  he  and  his  hammer  cared  not. 

Edward.  I  am  mightily  taken  with  the  fancy  of  seeing 
thee  mcrtify  Bruce.  Thou  shalt  do  it:  let  me  have  thy 
plan.  

23 


r  14  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

ARCHBISHOP  BOULTER  AND   PHILIP 

SAVAGE. 

["  Boulter,  primate  of  Ireland,  saved  that  kingdom  from  pestilence 
and  famine  in  the  year  1729,  by  supplying  the  poor  with  bread,  medi- 
cines, attendance,  and  every  possible  comfort  and  accommodation. 
Again,  in  1740  and  1741,  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  were  fed, 
twice  a-day,  principally  at  his  expense,  as  we  find  in  La  Biographie 
Universelle — an  authority  the  least  liable  to  suspicion.  He  built  hos- 
pitals at  Drogheda  and  Armagh,  and  endowed  them  richly  No 
private  man,  in  any  age  or  country,  has  contributed  so  largely  to 
relieve  the  sufferings  of  his  fellow-creatures  ;  to  which  object  he  and  his 
wife  devoted  their  ample  fortunes,  both  during  their  lives  and  after 
their  decease."] 

Boulter.  Heai'tily  glad  am  I  to  see  you,  my  brother,  if, 
in  these  times  of  calamity  and  desolation,  such  a  sentiment 
may  be  expressed  or  felt.  My  wife  is  impatient  to  embrace 
her  sister. 

Savage.  My  lord  primate,  I  did  not  venture  to  bring  her 
with  me  from  Dublin,  wishing  to  wait  until  I  had  explored 
the  road,  and  had  experienced  the  temper  of  the  people. 

Boulter.  I  much  regret  her  absence,  and  yet  more  the 
cause  of  it ;  let  me  hope,  however,  that  nothing  unexpectedly 
unpleasant  has  occurred  to  you  in  your  journey  hither. 

Savage.  I  came  on  horseback,  attended  by  one  servant. 
Had  I  been  prudent,  he  would  not  have  worn  his  livery ; 
for  hardly  any  object  is  more  offensive  to  the  poor,  in  sea- 
sons of  distress,  than  a  servant  in  livery,  spruce  and  at  his 
ease.  They  attach  to  it  the  idea  of  idleness  and  comfort, 
which  they  contrast  writh  their  own  hard  labour  and  its  ill 
requital. 

Two  miles  from  Armagh  we  were  met  by  a  multitude  of 


BOULTER  AND  SAVAGE.  115 

work-people ;  they  asked  my  groom  who  I  was ;  he  told 
them  my  name,  and,  perhaps,  in  the  pride  of  his  heart,  my 
office.  Happily  they  never  had  heard  of  the  one  or  the 
other.  They  then  enclosed  me,  and  insisted  on  knowing 
whether  I  came  with  orders  from  the  castle  to  fire  upon 
them,  as  had  been  threatened  some  days  before. 

"  For  what  ?  my  honest  friends  !  "  cried  I. 

"  For  wanting  bread  and  asking  it,"  was  the  answer  that 
ran  from  mouth  to  mouth,  frequently  repeated,  and  deepen- 
ing at  every  repetition,  till  hoarseness  and  weakness  made 
it  drop  and  cease.  I  then  assured  them  that  no  such  orders 
were  given,  or  would  ever  be  ;  and  that  the  king  and 
government  were  deeply  afflicted  at  their  condition,  which, 
however,  was  only  temporary. 

Upon  this  there  came  forward  one  from  among  them  ; 
and,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  mane  of  my  horse,  he  laughed 
till  he  staggered.  I  looked  at  him  in  amaze.  When  he 
had  recovered  himself  a  little  from  his  transport,  he  said, 
"  I  hope  you  are  honest,  my  friend !  for  you  talk  like  a  fool, 
which  in  people  of  your  sort  is  a  token  of  it,  though  some- 
times one  no  weightier  than  Will  Wood's  for  a  halfpenny. 
But  prythee,  now,  my  jewel,  how  can  you  in  your  conscience 
take  upon  yourself  to  say  that  the  king  and  his  ministers 
care  a  flea's  rotten  tooth  whether  or  not  we  crack  with 
emptiness  and  thirst,  so  long  as  our  arms  fill  their  bellies, 
and  drive  away  troublesome  neighbours  while  they  are 
napping  afterward  1  Deeply  afflicted  !  is  it  deeply  afflicted  ! 
O'  my  soul,  one  would  think  there  was  as  much  pleasure  in 
deep  affliction  as  in  deep  drinking,  or  even  more :  for  many 
have  washed  away  their  lands  with  claret,  and  have  then 
given  over  drinking ;  but  where  is  the  good  fellow  who  has 
done  anything  in  this  quarter  by  way  of  raising  his  head 
above  such  a  deep  affliction  1     Has  the  king  or  his  lord- 


1 16  IMA  G1NAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

lieutenant  sent  us  the  value  of  a  mangy  sow's  bristle  1  I 
may  be  mistaken ;  but  I  am  apt  to  think  that,  shallow  as 
we  are  bound  to  believe  we  are  in  other  things,  our  affliction 
is  as  deep  as  theirs,  or  near  upon  it ;  and  yet  we  never 
said  a  word  about  the  matter.  We  only  said  we  were 
naked  and  starving,  and  quitted  our  cabins  that  we  may 
leave  to  our  fathers  and  mothers  our  own  beds  to  die  on, 
and  that  we  may  hear  no  longer  the  cries  of  our  wives  and 
little  ones,  which,  let  me  tell  you,  are  very  different  in  those 
who  are  famishing  from  any  we  ever  heard  before.  Deeply 
afflicted  !  Now,  afore  God  !  what  miseries  have  they  suf- 
fered, or  have  they  seen  1  I  have  heard  of  rich  people  in 
Dublin  with  such  a  relish  for  deep  affliction  they  will  give 
eighteenpence  for  a  book  to  read  of  it." 

Partly  in  hopes  of  proceeding,  and  partly  in  commiser- 
ation, I  slipped  a  guinea  into  the  fellow's  hand.  He  took  it, 
and  did  not  thank  me ;  but  continuing  to  hold  it,  together 
with  my  horse's  mane,  he  said,  "Come  along  with  me." 
I  thought  it  prudent  to  comply.  At  the  distance  of  about 
a  mile,  on  the  right  hand,  is  the  cabin  to  which  I  was  con- 
ducted. A  wretched  horse  was  standing  half  within  it 
and  half  without,  and  exhibiting  in  his  belly  and  ribs  the 
clearest  signs  of  famine  and  weariness.  "  Let  us  hear," 
said  my  guide,  "  what  is  going  on." 

I  dismounted  and  stood  with  him.  Looking  round  about 
the  tenement,  I  found  no  article  of  furniture  ;  for  the  in- 
habitant was  lying  on  the  floor,  covered  with  his  clothes 
only.  Against  the  wall  of  the  doorway  was  hanging  from 
a  nail  a  broken  tin  tobacco  box,  kept  open  by  a  ring  which 
had  formerly  been  the  ornament  of  a  pig's  snout.  Its  more 
recent  service  was  to  make  a  hole  in  a  piece  of  paper,  on 
which  I  read,  "  Notice  to  quit." 

There  was  a  priest  in  the  cabin,  who  spoke,  as  nearly  as 


BO  UL  TER  AND  SA  VA  GE.  117 

I  can  recollect,  these  words :  "  You  are  the  only  Catholic 
in  the  parish,  and  ought  to  set  an  example  to  the  rest  of 
them  about  you." 

"  Father  !  "  said  a  weak  voice,  "  you  told  me  I  might  go 
to  the  archbishop's  when  I  grew  stouter,  and  get  what  I 
could ;  it  being  the  spoil  of  an  enemy.  Such  was  my  hunger 
on  first  recovering  from  the  fever,  and  the  worse  perhaps 
from  having  had  nothing  to  eat  for  a  couple  of  days,  that, 
when  the  servants  gave  me  a  basin  of  broth,  I  swallowed  it. 
None  of  them  had  the  charity  to  warn  me  that  it  was  a 
piece  of  beef  which  was  lying  at  the  bottom,  or  to  tell  me 
that  (for  what  they  knew)  it  might  be  a  turnip ;  so,  without 
thinking  at  all  about  it,  I  just  let  it  take  its  own  way  ! 
There  was  no  more  of  it  than  the  size  of  a  good  potato  ;  a 
healthy  man  would  have  made  but  four  bites  of  it ;  I  had  a 
bitch  that  would  have  swallowed  it  at  one,  when  she  had 
whelps.  I  have  seen  a  man  who  would  make  so  little 
of  it,  he  would  let  his  wife  eat  it  all,  at  a  meal  or  two ;  it 
was  next  to  nothing.  In  my  mind,  I  have  a  doubt  whether, 
as  there  might  be  some  fever  left  upon  me,  it  was  not 
rather  the  show  of  beef  rising  out  of  the  broth  than  real 
beef.  For  sure  enough  I  might  mistake,  as  I  might  in 
thinking  I  was  well  again  when  I  had  still  the  fever ;  which 
could  scarcely  come  back  upon  me  for  eating,  when  it  had 
come  upon  me  the  week  before  for  not  eating.  How- 
soever, I  went  home  and  laid  myself  down  and  slept,  and 
dreamed  of  angels  with  ladles  of  soup  in  their  hands,  some 
ugly  enough,  and  others  laughing,  and  one  of  them  led  that 
very  horse  of  yours  into  the  cabin :  I  should  know  him 
again  anywhere.  We  looked  in  each  other's  face  for  ten 
minutes;  then  down  he  threw  himself  on  me,  as  though  I  were 
no  better  than  ling  and  fern.  There  he  would  have  stayed, 
I  warrant,  till  sunrise,  if  it  had  not  been  Sunday  morning." 


1 1 8  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 


u 


How  !  "  cried  the  priest.  "  What  then !  all  this 
iniquity  was  committed  upon  the  Saturday  !  "  "  This  day 
week,"  answered  the  sick  man,  humbled  as  much,  I  suspect, 
by  blundering  into  the  confession,  as  he  was  by  the 
reproof. 

"  And  now,  by  my  soul !  our  Lady  calls  you  to  an 
account,  sinner  !  "  said  the  priest,  angrily.  "  I  would  not 
vender  if  the  arch- heretic  you  call  archbishop  gave  out  so 
many  thousand  bowls  of  soup  a-day,  for  the  sake  of  drown- 
ing that  soul  of  yours,  swiller  and  swine  !  Hither  have  I 
been  riding  a  matter  of  thirteen  miles,  to  see  that  every- 
thing is  Kointr  on  as  it  ourrht,  and  not  an  ounce  of  oatmeal 
or  a  potato  in  the  house.'"' 

The  poor  inhabitant  of  the  cabin  sighed  aloud.  My 
conductor  strode  softly  toward  the  priest,  and,  twitching 
him  by  the  sleeve,  asked  him  softly  what  he  thought  of  the 
man's  health.  The  poor  creature  heard  the  question,  and 
much  more  distinctly  the  answer,  which  was,  that  he  could 
not  live  out  another  day.  He  requested  the  holy  man  to 
hear  his  confession.  The  most  grievous  part  of  it  had  been 
made  already  :  but  now  the  piece  of  beef  had  its  real  size 
and  weight  given  to  it ;  he  had  eaten  it  with  pleasure,  with 
knowledge ;  he  had  gone  to  bed  upon  it ;  he  had  tried 
to  sleep  ;  he  had  slept ;  he  had  said  no  more  ave-marias  than 
ordinarily.  A  soul  labouring  under  such  a  mountain  of  sin 
required  (God  knows  how  many)  masses  for  its  purgation 
and  acquittance. 

"  Be  aisy  ! "  said  my  conductor.  "  He  shall  sup  with 
our  blessed  Lord  in  Paradise  by  seven  o'clock  to  morrow 
night,  if  masses  can  mash  potatoes,  or  there  is  butter-milk 
above." 

On  saying  this  he  pulled  open  the  priest's  hand,  slapped 
it  with  some  violence,  left  the  guinea  in  it,  and  wished  me  a 


BO UL  TEN  AND  SA  VA GE.  \  ig 

pleasant  ride.  I  could  not  bear  to  let  him  quit  me  so 
abruptly,  glad  as  I  should  have  been  before  at  his  de- 
parture. I  asked  him  whether  the  dying  man  was  his 
relative.  He  said,  "  No."  I  wished  to  replace  his  generosity 
somewhat  more  largely. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  "I  have  enough  for  several  days  yet; 
when  it  is  gone,  the  archbishop  will  give  me  what  he  gives 
the  rest.  As  for  that  grassmonger,  he  shall  eat  this  rasher 
of  bacon  with  me  this  blessed  night,  or  I'll  be  damned." 
So  saying,  he  drew  a  thin  slice  from  his  pocket,  neither 
enwrapped  in  paper  nor  in  bread. 

Boulter.  I  hope  soon  to  find  out  this  worthy  man,  the 
warmth  of  whose  heart  may  well  atone  for  that  of  his 
expressions ;  but,  lest  he  should  be  too  urgent  in  his 
invitation,  I  will  immediately  send  one  to  my  brother 
clergyman,  entreating  him  to  dine  with  us.  We  have 
always  tish  on  Fridays  and  Saturdays  from  the  lake  near  us, 
in  case  we  may  be  favoured  by  any  Roman  Catholic  visitor. 

This  slight  displeasure  is,  I  hope,  the  only  one  you  have 
met  with. 

Philip  Savage.  I  must  confess  it  grieved  me  to  see  the 
sheriff's  officers  erecting  the  gallows  at  the  entrance  of 
the  city  :  it  must  exasperate  the  populace.  Men  in  the 
extremity  of  suffering  lose  sooner  the  sense  of  fear  than  the 
excitability  to  indignation :  the  people  of  Ireland  have 
endured  enough  already. 

Boulter.  Indeed  have  they.  It  was  thought  the  excess 
of  hard-heartedness,  when  men  asked  for  bread,  to  give  a 
stone ;   but  better  a  stone  than  a  halter. 

Philip  Savage.  As  our  country  gentlemen,  in  this  part  of 
Ireland  particularly,  are  rather  worse  than  semi-barbarous, 
and  hear  nothing  from  their  cradles  but  threats  and 
defiance,  they  may  deem  it  requisite  and  becoming  to  erect 


120  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

this  formidable  signal  of  regular  government  against  the 
advances  of  insurrection. 

Boulter.  More  are  made  insurgents  by  firing  on  them 
than  by  feeding  them  ;  and  men  are  more  dangerous  in  the 
field  than  in  the  kitchen. 

Philip  Savage.  In  critical  times,  such  as  these,  some 
coercion  and  some  intimidation  may  be  necessary.  We 
must  be  vigilant  and  resolute  against  the  ill-intentioned. 

Boulter.  My  dear  brother  !  would  it  not  be  wiser  to  give 
other  intentions  to  the  ill-intentioned  ?  Cruelty  is  no  more 
the  cure  of  crimes  than  it  is  the  cure  of  sufferings  :  compas- 
sion, in  the  first  instance,  is  good  for  both.  I  have  known 
it  bring  compunction  when  nothing  else  would.  I  forbear 
to  enlarge  on  the  enormous  inhumanity  of  inflicting  the 
punishment  of  death  for  small  offences ;  yet  I  must  remind 
you  to  ask  yourself,  whether,  in  your  belief,  ten  years  ever 
elapsed  in  Ireland,  or  even  in  England,  without  some 
capital  sentence  wrongfully  pronounced.  If  this  be  the 
case,  and  most  men  think  it  is,  does  it  not  occur  to  you 
that  such  a  penalty  should  for  ever  be  expunged  from  our 
statute-book  1  Severe  as  another  may  be,  reparation  of 
some  kind  may  be  made,  on  the  detection  of  its  injustice. 
But  what  reparation  can  reach  the  dead  from  the  living  1 
What  reparation  can  even  reach  the  judge  who  condemned 
him  1  for  he  too  must  be  almost  as  much  a  sufferer.  In 
vain  will  the  jurymen  split  and  subdivide  the  responsibility; 
in  vain  will  they  lament  that  nothing  now  can  mitigate  the 
verdict.  Release,  then,  the  innocent  from  this  long  suffer- 
ing, if  you  will  not  release  the  guilty  from  a  shorter.  What 
can  be  expected  from  the  humanity  of  men,  habituated  to 
see  death  inflicted  on  their  fellow- men,  for  offences  which 
scarcely  bring  an  inconvenience  on  the  prosecutor  1  And 
what  can  be  expected  from   the  judgment  of  those   above 


BOULTER  AND  SAVAGE.  121 

theim,  who  denounce  vengeance  to  preserve  peace,  and  take 
away  life  to  show  respect  for  property  1  More  ferocity  hath 
issued  from  under  English  scarlet  than  from  under  Ameri- 
can ochre.  Violent  resentments  are  the  natural  propen- 
sities of  untamed  man  :  the  protection  of  our  property  does 
not  require  them. 

Philip  Savage.     The  legislator  and  judge  feel  none. 

Boulter.  Why  then  imitate  them  in  voice  and  action  1 
Is  there  anything  lovely  or  dignified  in  such  an  imitation  1 

Philip  Savage.  Our  judges  in  these  days  are  not  often 
guilty  of  the  like  unseemliness,  which  was  common  fifty 
years  ago. 

Boulter.  Certainly  they  are  less  boisterous  and  bluster- 
ing than  under  the  first  James  and  the  first  Charles,  and 
have  wiped  away  much  of  that  rudeness  and  effrontery 
which  is  chastened  in  other  professions  by  civiller  company 
and  more  salutary  awe  :  nevertheless,  at  the  commencement 
of  the  disturbances  which  this  famine  brought  about,  many 
poor  wretches  were  condemned  to  death,  after  much  intem- 
perate language  from  the  judges,  who  declined  to  present 
petitions  on  their  behalf  to  the  lord-lieutenant,  as  I  told 
you  in  my  letter.  Probably  they  are  little  pleased  that  his 
flexibility  of  temper  hath  yielded  to  our  remonstrances  and 
authority.  Painful  would  be  my  situation  as  president  of 
the  council,  and  yours  as  chancellor  of  the  exchequer,  if 
such  people  as  are  usually  sent  hither  for  lords-lieutenant 
were  as  refractory  as  they  are  remiss.  I  trust  it  will  ever 
be  found  convenient  to  appoint  men  of  clemency  to  the  first 
station,  and  that  I  shall  never  be  forced  to  exercise  on  them 
the  powers  entrusted  to  me  of  coercion  and  control. 

It  is  well  when  people  can  believe  that  their  misfortunes 
are  temporary.  How  can  we  apply  such  a  term  to  pesti- 
lence and  famine  1 


1 22  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

Philip  Savage.  .Surely  the  violence  of  the  evil  eats  away 
the  substance  of  it  speedily.  Pestilence  and  famine  are, 
and  always  have  been,  temporary  and  brief. 

Boulter.  Temporary  they  are,  indeed  :  brief  are  they, 
very  brief.  But  why  1  because  life  is  so  under  them.  To 
the  world  they  are  extremely  short ;  but  can  we  say  they 
are  short  to  him  who  bears  them  1  And  of  such  there  are 
thousands,  tens  of  thousands,  in  this  most  afflicted,  most 
neglected  country.  The  whole  of  a  life,  be  it  what  it  may 
be,  is  not  inconsiderable  to  him  who  leaves  it ;  any  more 
than  the  whole  of  a  property,  be  it  but  an  acre,  is  incon- 
siderable to  him  who  possesses  it.  Whether  want  and 
wretchedness  last  for  a  month  or  for  half-a-century,  if  they 
last  as  long  as  the  sufferer,  they  are  to  him  of  very  long 
duration.  Let  us  try,  then,  rather  to  remove  the  evils  of 
Ireland,  than  to  persuade  those  who  undergo  them  that 
there  are  none.  For,  if  they  could  be  thus  persuaded,  we 
should  have  brutalised  them  first  to  such  a  degree  as  would 
render  them  more  dangerous  than  they  were  in  the  reigns  of 
Elizabeth  or  Charles. 

There  will  never  be  a  want  of  money,  or  a  want  of  confi- 
dence, in  any  well-governed  State  that  has  been  long  at 
peace,  and  without  the  danger  of  its  interruption.  But  a 
want  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  in  peasants  or  artisans,  when 
the  seasons  have  been  favourable,  is  a  certain  sign  of  defect 
in  the  constitution,  or  of  criminality  in  the  administration. 
It  may  not  be  advisable  or  safe  to  tell  every  one  this  truth: 
yet  it  is  needful  to  inculcate  it  on  the  minds  of  governors, 
and  to  repeat  it  until  they  find  the  remedy ;  else  the  people, 
one  day  or  other,  will  send  those  out  to  look  for  it  who  may 
trample  down  more  in  the  search  than  suits  good  husbandry. 
God  be  praised !  we  have  no  such  exclamation  to  make 
as  that  of  Ecclesiastes  :   "  Woe  to  thee,  0  land  !  whose  king 


BOULTER  AND  SAVAGE.  123 

ig  a  child," — an  evil  that  may  afflict  a  land  under  the  same 
king,  for  years  indefinite.  Our  gracious  sovereign,  ever 
mindful  of  his  humble  origin,  and  ever  grateful  to  the 
people  who  raised  him  from  it  to  the  most  exalted  throne 
in  the  universe, — a  throne  hung  round  with  the  trophies  of 
Cressy,  Agincourt,  Poitiers,  and  Blenheim, — has  little  inclin- 
ation to  imitate  the  ruinous  pride  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  ; 
to  expend  his  revenues,  much  less  those  of  his  people,  in  the 
excavation  of  rivers,  the  elevation  of  mountains,  and  the 
transplantation  of  Asia,  with  all  her  gauds  and  vanities, 
under  the  gilded  domes  of  fairy  palaces. 

Philip  Savage.  Versailles  is  a  monument,  raised  by  the 
king  of  one  country  for  the  benefit  of  kings  in  all  others  ; 
warning  each  in  successive  generations  not  to  exhaust  the 
labour  and  patience  of  his  people,  by  the  indulgence  of  his 
profusion  and  sensuality. 

Boulter.  Let  us  hope,  my  brother,  that  the  poverty  this 
structure  has  entailed  on  the  French  may  not  hereafter 
serve  for  the  foundation  of  more  extensive  evils,  and 
exacerbate  a  heartless  race,  ever  disposed  to  wanton  cruel- 
ties, until  they  at  last  strike  down  the  virtuous  for  standing 
too  near,  and  for  warning  them  where  their  blows  should 
fall.  In  which  case  they  will  become  even  worse  slaves 
than  they  are,  from  the  beating  they  must  sooner  or  later 
undergo. 

If  I  could  leave  the  country  in  its  present  state,  and  if  I 
possessed  the  same  advantage  of  daily  access  to  the  king  as 
when  I  attended  him  from  Germany,  I  should  take  the 
liberty  of  representing  to  him,  that  his  own  moderation  of 
expenditure  might  well  be  copied  in  the  public,  and  that 
some  offices  and  some  pensions  in  this  country  might  be 
lopped  otf,  without  national  dishonour  or  popular  dis- 
content. 


1 24  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

Philip  Savage.  There  has  always  been  an  outcry  against 
places  and  pensions,  whether  the  country  was  nourishing  or 
otherwise.  "We  may  lop  until  we  cut  our  fingers  and  dis- 
able ourselves  for  harder  work.  Surely  a  man  of  your 
grace's  discernment  would  look  well  to  it  first,  and  remem- 
ber, that,  where  the  sun  is  let  in,  the  wind  too  may  let  in 
itself. 

Boulter.  A  want  of  caution  is  not  among  my  defects ; 
nor  is  an  unsteady  deference  to  the  clamours  of  the  multi- 
tude. It  is  necessary  to  ask  sometimes  even  well-dressed 
men,  have  not  the  judges  places  1  is  not  every  office  of  trust 
a  place  1  and  can  any  government  be  conducted  without  its 
functionaries  1  I  do  not  follow  the  public  cry,  nor  run 
before  it.  Pensions,  too,  occasionally  are  just  and  requisite. 
What  man  of  either  party  will  deny,  that  a  Marlborough 
and  a  Peterborough  deserved  such  a  token  of  esteem  from 
the  country  they  served  so  gloriously  ?  or  that  the  payment 
of  even  a  large  annuity  to  such  illustrious  men  is  not  in  the 
end  the  best  economy?  These  rewards  stimulate  exertion 
and  create  merit.  They  likewise  display  to  other  nations 
our  justice,  our  generosity,  our  power,  our  wealth,  and  are 
the  best  monuments  we  can  erect  to  Victory.  Do  not  be 
alarmed  lest  the  people  should  insist  on  too  rigorous  a 
defalcation.  The  British  people,  and  still  more  the  Irish, 
would  resent,  as  a  private  wrong,  the  tearing  one  leaf  from 
the  brow  of  a  brave  defender.  On  the  contrary,  to  say 
nothing  of  clerks  and  commissaries,  the  grant  of  pensions 
to  ambassadors  and  envoys,  who  cannot  act  from  their  own 
judgment,  and  who  only  execute  the  orders  of  others,  with- 
out the  necessity  of  genius,  of  learning,  of  discernment,  or 
of  courage,  is  superfluous  to  a  nation  in  its  prosperity,  and 
insulting  to  one  in  its  distress.  They  are  always  chosen 
out  of  private  friendship  ;    and   their   stipends,  while  they 


LORD  BACON  AND  RICHARD  HOOKER.       125 

act,  are  only  presents  made  to  them  by  their  patrons.  To 
pay  them  afterward  for  having  taken  the  trouble  to  receive 
these  presents,  is  less  needful  than  to  send  a  Christmas-box 
to  my  wig-maker,  because  I  had  preferred  him  already,  and 
had  paid  him  handsomely  for  making  me  a  wig  in  mid- 
summer. Should  we  not  think  him  a  foolish  man  if  he 
expected  it,  and  an  impudent  one  if  he  asked  it? 

We  are  so  fortunate  as  to  have  few  pensions  to  discharge, 
and  little  debt :  nevertheless,  in  times  so  disastrous  as 
these,  when  many  thousands,  I  might  say  millions,  are 
starving,  and  when  persons  once  in  affluence  have  neither 
bread  nor  work,  it  behooves  us,  who  wish  security  and 
respectability  to  the  government,  to  deduct  from  waste 
and  riot  that  which  was  not  given  originally  for  distin- 
guished merit,  and  which  may  now  save  the  lives  of 
generations,  and  scarcely  take  the  garnish  off  one  dish 
in  the  second  courses  of  a  few. 

At  my  table  you  will  find  only  ordinary  fare  ;  and  I 
hardly  know  whether  I  am  not  sinning  while  I  thank  my 
God  that  it  is  plentiful. 


LORD  BACON  AND  RICHARD  HOOKER. 

Bacon.  Hearing  much  of  your  worthiness  and  wisdom, 
Master  Richard  Hooker,  I  have  besought  your  comfort  and 
consolation  in  this  my  too  heavy  affliction  :  for  we  often  do 
stand  in  need  of  hearing  what  we  know  full  well,  and  our 
own  balsams  must  be  poured  into  our  breasts  by  another's 
hand.  As  the  air  at  our  doors  is  sometimes  more  expedi- 
tious in  removing  pain  and  heaviness  from  the  body  than  the 


126  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

most  far-fetched  remedies  would  be,  so  the  voice  alone  of  a 
neighbourly  and  friendly  visitant  may  be  more  effectual  in 
assuaging  our  sorrows,  than  whatever  is  most  forcible  in 
rhetoric  and  most  recondite  in  wisdom.  On  these  occasions 
we  cannot  put  ourselves  in  a  posture  to  receive  the  latter, 
and  still  less  are  we  at  leisure  to  look  into  the  corners  of 
our  store-room,  and  to  uncurl  the  leaves  of  our  references. 
As  for  Memory,  who,  you  may  tell  me,  would  save  us  the 
trouble,  she  is  footsore  enough  in  all  conscience  with  me, 
without  going  further  back.  Withdrawn  as  you  live  from 
court  and  courtly  men,  and  having  ears  occupied  by  better 
reports  than  such  as  are  flying  about  me,  yet  haply  so  hard 
a  case  as  mine,  befalling  a  man  heretofore  not  averse  from 
the  studies  in  which  you  take  delight,  may  have  touched 
you  with  some  concern. 

Hooker.  I  do  think,  my  Lord  of  Verulam,  that,  unhappy 
as  you  appear,  God  in  sooth  has  foregone  to  chasten  you, 
and  that  the  day  which  in  his  wisdom  he  appointed  for 
your  trial,  was  the  very  day  on  which  the  King's  Majesty 
gave  unto  your  ward  and  custody  the  great  seal  of  his 
English  realm.  And  yet  perhaps  it  may  be — let  me  utter  it 
without  offence— that  your  features  and  stature  were  from 
that  day  forwai'd  no  longer  what  they  were  before.  Such 
an  effect  do  power  and  rank  and  oilice  produce  even  on 
prudent  and  religious  men. 

A  hound's  whelp  howleth,  if  you  pluck  him  up  above 
where  he  stood  :  man,  in  much  greater  peril  from  falling, 
doth  rejoice.  You,  my  Lord,  as  befitted  you,  are  smitten 
and  contrite,  and  do  appear  in  deep  wretchedness  and 
tribulation  to  your  servants  and  those  about  you  ;  but  I 
know  that  there  is  always  a  balm  which  lies  uppermost 
in  these  afflictions,  and  that  no  heart  rightly  softened  can 
be  very  sore. 


LORD  BACON  AND  RICHARD  HOOKER.        127 

Bacon.  And  yet,  Master  Richard,  it  is  surely  no  small 
matter  to  lose  the  respect  of  those  who  looked  up  to  us  for 
countenance  ;  and  the  favour  of  a  right  learned  king  ;  and, 
O  Master  Hooker,  such  a  power  of  money  !  But  money  is 
mere  dross.  I  should  always  hold  it  so,  if  it  possessed  not 
two  qualities  :  that  of  making  men  treat  us  reverently,  and 
that  of  enabling  us  to  help  the  needy. 

Hooker.  The  respect,  I  think,  of  those  who  respect  us 
for  what  a  fool  can  give  and  a  rogue  can  take  away,  may 
easily  be  dispensed  with  ;  but  it  is  indeed  a  high  prerogative 
to  help  the  needy  ;  and  when  it  pleases  the  Almighty  to 
deprive  us  of  it,  let  us  believe  that  he  foreknoweth  our  in- 
clination to  negligence  in  the  charge  entrusted  to  us,  and 
that  in  his  mercy  he  hath  removed  from  us  a  most  fearful 
responsibility. 

Bacon.  I  know  a  number  of  poor  gentlemen  to  whom  I 
could  have  rendered  aid. 

Hooker.    Have  you  examined  and  sifted  their  worthiness  1 

Bacon.     Well  and  deeply. 

Hooker.  Then  must  you  have  known  them  long  before 
your  adversity,  and  while  the  means  of  succouring  them 
were  in  your  hands. 

Bacon.  You  have  circumvented  and  entrapped  me, 
Master  Hooker.  Faith  !  I  am  mortiiied  :  you  the  school- 
man, I  the  schoolboy  ! 

Hooker.  Say  not  so,  my  Lord.  Your  years,  indeed,  are 
fewer  than  mine,  by  seven  or  thereabout ;  but  your  know- 
ledge is  far  higher,  your  experience  richer.  Our  wits  are 
not  always  in  blossom  upon  us.  When  the  roses  are  over- 
charged and  languid,  up  springs  a  spike  of  rue.  Mortified 
on  such  an  occasion  1  God  forefend  it  !  But  aijaiii  to  the 
business. — I  should  never  be  over-penitent  for  my  neglect 
of  needy  gentlemen  who  have  neglected   themselves  much 


128  IMAGINAR Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

worse.  They  have  chosen  their  profession  with  its  chances 
and  contingencies.  If  they  had  protected  their  country  by 
their  courage  or  adorned  it  by  their  studies,  they  would 
have  merited,  and  under  a  king  of  such  learning  and  such 
equity  would  have  received  in  some  sort,  their  reward.  I 
look  upon  them  as  so  many  old  cabinets  of  ivory  and 
tortoise-shell,  scratched,  flawed,  splintered,  rotten,  defective 
both  within  and  without,  hard  to  unlock,  insecure  to  lock 
up  again,  unfit  to  use. 

Bacon.  Methinks  it  beginneth  to  rain,  Master  Richard. 
What  if  we  comfort  our  bodies  with  a  small  cup  of  wine, 
against  the  ill-temper  of  the  air.  Wherefore,  in  God's  name, 
are  you  affrightened  ? 

Hooker.     Not  so,  my  Lord  ;  not  so. 

Bacon.     What  then  affects  you  1 

Hooker.  Why,  indeed,  since  your  Lordship  interrogates 
me — I  looked,  idly  and  imprudently,  into  that  rich  buffet ; 
and  I  saw,  unless  the  haze  of  the  weather  has  come  into  the 
parlour,  or  my  sight  is  the  worse  for  last  night's  reading, 
no  fewer  than  six  silver  pints.  Surely,  six  tables  for 
company  are  laid  only  at  coronations. 

Bacon.  There  are  many  men  so  squeamish  that  forsooth 
they  would  keep  a  cup  to  themselves,  and  never  communi- 
cate it  to  their  nearest  and  best  friend  ;  a  fashion  which 
seems  to  me  offensive  in  an  honest  house,  where  no  disease 
of  ill  repute  ought  to  be  feared.  We  have  lately,  Master 
Richard,  adopted  strange  fashions ;  we  have  run  into  the 
wildest  luxuries.  The  Lord  Leicester,  I  heard  it  from  my 
father — God  forefend  it  should  ever  be  recorded  in  our 
history  ! — when  he  entertained  Queen  Elizabeth  at  Kenil- 
worth  Castle,  laid  before  Her  Majesty  a  fork  of  pure  silver. 
I  the  more  easily  credit  it,  as  Master  Thomas  Coriatt 
doth   vouch   for  having  seen  the  same  monstrous  sign  of 


LORD  BACON  AND  RICHARD  HOOKER.       129 

voluptuousness  at  Venice.  We  are  surely  the  especial 
favourites  of  Providence,  when  such  wantonness  hath  not 
melted  us  quite  away.  After  this  portent,  it  would 
otherwise  have  appeared  incredible  that  we  should  have 
broken  the  Spanish  Armada. 

Pledge  me  :  hither  comes  our  wine. 

[To  the  Servant. 

Dolt !  villain !  is  not  this  the  beverage  I  reserve  for 
myself  1 

The  blockhead  must  imagine  that  Malmsey  runs  in  a 
stream  under  the  ocean,  like  the  Alpheus.  Bear  with  me, 
good  Master  Hooker,  but  verily  I  have  little  of  this  wine, 
and  I  keep  it  as  a  medicine  for  my  many  and  growing 
infirmities.  You  are  healthy  at  present :  God  in  his 
infinite  mercy  long  maintain  you  so  !  Weaker  drink  is 
more  wholesome  for  you.  The  lighter  ones  of  France  are 
best  accommodated  by  Nature  to  our  constitutions,  and 
therefore  she  has  placed  them  so  within  our  reach  that  we 
have  only  to  stretch  out  our  necks,  in  a  manner,  and  drink 
them  from  the  vat.  But  this  Malmsey,  this  Malmsey, 
flies  from  centre  to  circumference,  and  makes  youthful 
blood  boil. 

Hooker.  Of  a  truth,  my  knowledge  in  such  matters  is 
but  spare.  My  Lord  of  Canterbury  once  ordered  part  of  a 
goblet,  containing  some  strong  Spanish  wine,  to  be  taken  to 
me  from  his  table  when  I  dined  by  sufferance  with  his 
chaplains,  and,  although  a  most  discreet,  prudent  man  as 
befitteth  his  high  station,  was  not  so  chary  of  my  health  as 
your  Lordship.  Wine  is  little  to  be  trifled  with,  physic 
less.  The  Cretans,  the  brewers  of  this  Malmsey,  have  many 
aromatic  and  powerful  herbs  among  them.  On  their  moun- 
tains, and  notably  on  Ida,  grows  that  dittany  which  works 
such  marvels,  and  which  perhaps  may  give  activity  to  this 

29 


1 30  IMA  GINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

hot  medicinal  drink  of  theirs.  I  would  not  touch  it,  know- 
ingly :  an  unregarded  leaf,  dropped  into  it  above  the  ordinary, 
might  add  such  puissance  to  the  concoction  as  almost  to 
break  the  buckles  in  my  shoes ;  since  we  have  good  and 
valid  authority  that  the  wounded  hart,  on  eating  thereof, 
casts  the  arrow  out  of  his  haunch  or  entrails,  although  it 
stuck  a  palm  deep. 

Bacon,  When  I  read  of  such  things  I  doubt  them. 
Religion  and  politics  belong  to  God,  and  to  God's  vicegerent 
the  King  ;  we  must  not  touch  upon  them  unadvisedly  :  but 
if  I  could  procure  a  plant  of  dittany  on  easy  terms,  I  would 
persuade  my  apothecary  and  my  gamekeeper  to  make  some 
experiments. 

Hooker.  I  dare  not  distrust  what  grave  writers  have 
declared  in  matters  beyond  my  knowledge. 

Bacon.  Good  Master  Hooker,  I  have  read  many  of  your 
reasonings,  and  they  are  admirably  well  sustained :  added 
to  which,  your  genius  has  given  such  a  strong  current  to 
your  language  as  can  come  only  from  a  mighty  elevation 
and  a  most  abundant  plenteousness.  Yet  forgive  me,  in 
God's  name,  my  worthy  Master,  if  you  descried  in  me  some 
expression  of  wonder  at  your  simplicity.  We  are  all  weak 
and  vulnerable  somewhere  :  common  men  in  the  higher 
parts;  heroes,  as  was  feigned  of  Achilles,  in  the  lower. 
You  would  define  to  a  hair's-breadth  the  qualities,  states, 
and  dependencies  of  Principalities,  Dominations,  and 
Powers;  you  would  be  unerring  about  the  Apostles  and 
the  Churches ;  and  'tis  marvellous  how  you  wander  about  a 
pot-herb ! 

Hooker.  I  know  my  poor  weak  intellects,  most  noble 
Lord,  and  how  scantily  they  have  profited  by  my  hard 
painstaking.  Comprehending  few  things,  and  those  imper- 
fectly, I  say  only  what  others  have  said  before,  wise  men 


LORD  BACON  AND  RICHARD  HOOKER.        131 

and  holy  ;  and  if,  by  passing  through  my  heart  into  the 
wide  world  around  me,  it  pleaseth  God  that  this  little 
treasure  shall  have  lost  nothing  of  its  weight  and  pureness, 
my  exultation  is  then  the  exultation  of  humility.  Wisdom 
consisteth  not  in  knowing  many  things,  nor  even  in  know- 
ing them  thoroughly  ;  but  in  choosing  and  in  following  what 
conduces  the  most  certainly  to  our  lasting  happiness  and 
true  glory.  And  this  wisdom,  my  Lord  of  Verulam,  cometh 
from  above. 

Bacon.  I  have  observed  among  the  well-informed  and 
the  ill-informed  nearly  the  same  quantity  of  infirmities  and 
follies  :  those  who  are  rather  the  wiser  keep  them  separate, 
and  those  who  are  wisest  of  all  keep  them  better  out  of 
sight.  Now,  examine  the  sayings  and  writings  of  the  prime 
philosophers,  and  you  will  often  find  them,  Master  Richard, 
to  be  untruths  made  to  resemble  truths.  The  business  with 
them  is  to  approximate  as  nearly  as  possible,  and  not  to 
touch  it :  the  goal  of  the  charioteer  is  evitata  fervidis  rotis, 
as  some  poet  saith.  But  we  who  care  nothing  for  chants 
and  cadences,  and  have  no  time  to  catch  at  applauses,  push 
forward  over  stones  and  sands  straightway  to  our  object. 
I  have  persuaded  men,  and  shall  persuade  them  for  ages, 
that  I  possess  a  wide  range  of  thought  unexplored  by 
others,  and  first  thrown  open  by  me,  with  many  fair  en- 
closures of  choice  and  abstruse  knowledge.  I  have  incited 
and  instructed  them  to  examine  all  subjects  of  useful  and 
rational  inquiry ;  few  that  occurred  to  me  have  I  myself 
left  untouched  or  untried  :  one,  however,  hath  almost 
escaped  me,  and  surely  one  worth  the  trouble. 

Hooker.     Pray,  my  Lord,  if  I  am  guilty  of  no  indiscretion, 
what  may  it  be  ? 

Bacon.     Francis  Bacon. 


132  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 


GENERAL  LACY  AND  CURA  MERINO. 

[Lacy  and  Merino,  who  have  been  fighting  together  in  Spain, 
discourse  concerning  England.  Landor  here  eloquently  expounds  his 
political  views. — The  previous  Conversations  have  generally  been  given 
entire  ;  some  omissions  have  been  made  in  most  of  those  that  follow.] 


Merino.  It  was  God's  will.  As  for  those  rebels,  the 
finger  of  God 

Lacy.  Prythee,  Sefior  Curedo,  let  God's  finger  alone. 
Very  worthy  men  are  apt  to  snatch  at  it  upon  too  light 
occasions  :  they  would  stop  their  tobacco-pipes  with  it.  If 
Spain,  in  the  opinion  of  our  late  opponents,  could  have 
obtained  a  free  Constitution  by  other  means,  they  never 
would  have  joined  the  Fi-ench,  True,  they  persisted  :  but 
how  few  have  wisdom  or  courage  enough  to  make  the 
distinction  between  retracting  an  error  and  deserting  a 
cause  !  He  who  declares  himself  a  party-man,  let  his  party 
profess  the  most  liberal  sentiments,  is  a  registered  and 
enlisted  slave ;  he  begins  by  being  a  zealot  and  ends  by 
being  a  dupe  ;  he  is  tormented  by  regret  and  anger,  yet  is 
he  as  incapable  from  shame  and  irresolution  of  throwing  off 
the  livery  under  which  he  sweats  and  fumes,  as  was  that 
stronger  one,  more  generously  mad,  the  garment  empoisoned 
with  the  life-blood  of  the  Centaur. 

Merino.  How  much  better  is  it  to  abolish  parties  by 
fixing  a  legitimate  king  at  the  head  of  affairs  ! 

Lacy.  The  object,  thank  God,  is  accomplished.  Ferdi- 
nand is  returning  to  Madrid,  if  perverse  men  do  not  mislead 
him. 

Merino.  And  yet  there  are  Spaniards  wild  enough  to 
talk  of  Cortes  and  Chambers  of  Peers. 


GENERAL  LACY  AND  CURA  MERINO.         133 

Lacy.  Of  the  latter  I  know  nothing ;  but  I  know  that 
Spain  formerly  was  great,  free,  and  happy,  by  the  adminis- 
tration of  her  Cortes :  and,  as  I  prefer  in  policy  old 
experiments  to  new,  I  should  not  be  sorry  if  the  madness, 
as  you  call  it,  spread  in  that  direction. 

There  are  many  forms  of  government,  but  only  two 
kinds  ;  the  free  and  the  despotic  :  in  the  one  the  people 
hath  its  representatives,  in  the  other  not.  Freedom,  to  be, 
must  be  perfect :  the  half-free  can  no  more  exist,  even  in 
idea,  than  the  half-entire.  Restraints  laid  by  a  people  on 
itself  are  sacrifices  made  to  liberty ;  and  it  never  exerts  a 
more  beneficent  or  a  greater  power  than  in  imposing  them. 
The  nation  that  pays  taxes  without  its  own  consent  is  under 
slavery :  whosoever  causes,  whosoever  maintains  that 
slavery,  subverts  or  abets  the  subversion  of  social  order. 
Whoever  is  above  the  law  is  out  of  the  law,  just  as 
evidently  as  whoever  is  above  this  room  is  out  of  this  room. 
If  men  will  outlaw  themselves  by  overt  acts,  we  are  not  to 
condemn  those  who  remove  them  by  the  means  least  hazard- 
ous to  the  public  peace.  If  even  my  daughter  brought 
forth  a  monster,  I  could  not  arrest  the  arm  that  should 
smother  it :  and  monsters  of  this  kind  are  by  infinite 
degrees  less  pernicious  than  such  as  rise  up  in  society  by 
violation  of  law. 

In  regard  to  a  Chamber  of  Peers,  Spain  does  not  contain 
the  materials.  What  has  been  the  education  of  our 
grandees  1  How  narrow  the  space  between  the  horn-book 
and  sanbenito  /  The  English  are  amazed,  and  the  French 
are  indignant,  that  we  have  not  imitated  their  Constitutions. 
All  Constitutions  formed  for  the  French  are  provisionary. 
Whether  they  trip  or  tumble,  whether  they  step  or  slide, 
the  tendency  is  direct  to  slavery  ;  none  but  a  most  rigid 
government    will    restrain    them    from    cruelty    or    from 


134  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

mischief ;  they  are  scourged  into  good  humour  and  starved 
into  content.  I  have  read  whatever  I  could  find  on  the 
English  Constitution ;  and  it  appears  to  me,  like  the  Deity, 
an  object  universally  venerated,  but  requiring  a  Revelation. 
I  do  not  find  the  House  of  Peers,  as  I  expected  to  find  it, 
standing  between  the  king  and  people.  Throughout  a  long 
series  of  years,  it  has  been  only  twice  in  opposition  to  the 
Commons  :  once  in  declaring  that  the  slave-trade  ought  not 
to  be  abolished  ;  again  in  declaring  that  those  who  believe 
in  transubstantiation  are  unfit  to  command  an  army  or 
to  decide  a  cause. 

Merino.  Into  what  extravagances  does  infidelity  lead 
men,  in  other  things  not  unwise  1  Blessed  virgin  of  the 
thousand  pains  !  and  great  Santiago  of  Compostella  !  deign 
to  bring  that  benighted  nation  back  again  to  the  right 
path. 

Lacy.  On  Deity  we  reason  by  attributes  ;  on  govern- 
ment by  metaphors.  Wool  or  sand,  embodied,  may  deaden 
the  violence  of  what  is  discharged  against  the  walls  of 
a  city  :  hereditary  aristocracy  hath  no  such  virtue  against 
the  assaults  of  despotism,  which  on  the  contrary  it  will 
maintain  in  opposition  to  the  people.  Since  its  power  and 
wealth,  although  they  are  given  by  the  king,  must  be  given 
from  the  nation, — the  one  has  not  an  interest  in  enriching 
it,  the  other  has.  All  the  countries  that  ever  have  been 
conquered  have  been  surrendered  to  the  conqueror  by 
the  aristocracy,  stipulating  for  its  own  property,  power,  and 
rank,  yielding  up  the  men,  cattle,  and  metals  on  the 
common.  Nevertheless,  in  every  nation  the  project  of  an 
upper  chamber  will  be  warmly  cherished.  The  richer  aspire 
to  honours,  the  poorer  to  protection.  Every  family  of 
wealth  and  respectability  wishes  to  count  a  peer  among 
its  relatives,   and,  where   the  whole  number  is  yet   under 


GENERAL  LACY  AND  CURA  MERINO.         135 

nomination,  every  one  may  hope  it.  Those  who  have  no 
occasion  for  protectors  desire  the  power  of  protecting ;  and 
those  who  have  occasion  for  them  desire  them  to  be  more 
efficient. 

Despotism  sits  nowhere  so  secure  as  under  the  effigy  and 
ensigns  of  Freedom.  You  would  imagine  that  the  British 
peers  have  given  their  names  to  beneficent  institutions, 
wise  laws,  and  flourishing  colonies  :  no  such  thing  ;  instead 
of  which,  a  slice  of  meat  between  two  slices  of  bread 
derives  its  name  from  one ;  a  tumble  of  heels  over  head,  a 
feat  performed  by  beggar-boys  on  the  roads,  from  another. 
The  former,  I  presume,  was  a  practical  commentator  on  the 
Roman  fable  of  the  belly  and  the  members,  and  maintained 
with  all  his  power  and  interest  the  supremacy  of  the  nobler 
part ;  and  the  latter  was  of  a  family  in  which  the  head 
never  was  equivalent  to  the  legs.  Others  divide  their  titles 
with  a  waistcoat,  a  bonnet,  and  a  boot ;  the  more  illustrious 
with  some  island  inhabited  by  sea-calves. 

Merino.  I  deprecate  such  importations  into  our  mon- 
archy. God  forbid  that  the  ermine  of  His  Catholic  Majesty 
be  tagged  with  the  sordid  tail  of  a  monster  so  rough  a3 
feudality ! 

Lacy.  If  kings,  whether  by  reliance  on  external  force,  by 
introduction  of  external  institutions,  or  by  misapplication  of 
what  they  may  possess  within  the  realm,  show  a  disposition 
to  conspire  with  other  kings  against  its  rights,  it  may 
be  expected  that  communities  will  (some  secretly  and  others 
openly)  unite  their  moral,  their  intellectual,  and,  when 
opportunity  permits  it,  their  physical  powers  against  them. 
If  alliances  are  holy  which  are  entered  into  upon  the  soil 
usurped,  surely  not  unholy  are  those  which  are  formed 
for  defence  against  all  kinds  and  all  methods  of  spoliation. 
If  men  are  marked  out  for  banishment,  for  imprisonment, 


1 36  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

for  slaughter,  because  they  assert  the  rights  and  defend  the 
liberties  of  their  country,  can  you  wonder  at  seeing,  as  you 
must  ere  long,  a  confederacy  of  free  countries,  formed 
for  the  apprehension  or  extinction  of  whoever  pays, 
disciplines,  or  directs,  under  whatsoever  title,  those 
tremendous  masses  of  human  kind  which  consume  the  whole 
produce  of  their  native  land  in  depopulating  another  ?  Is 
it  iniquitous  or  unnatural  that  laws  be  opposed  to  edicts,  and 
Constitutions  to  despotism  1  0  Seflor  Merino  !  there  are 
yet  things  holy  :  all  the  barbarians  and  all  the  autocrats  in 
the  universe  cannot  make  that  word  a  byword  to  the 
Spaniard.  Yes,  there  may  be  holy  alliances  ;  and  the  hour 
strikes  for  their  establishment.  This  beautiful  earth,  these 
heavens  in  their  magnificence  and  splendour,  have  seen 
things  more  lovely  and  more  glorious  than  themselves.  The 
throne  of  God  is  a  speck  of  darkness,  if  you  compare  it  with 
the  heart  that  beats  only  and  beats  constantly  to  pour  forth 
its  blood  for  the  preservation  of  our  country !  Invincible 
Spain !  how  many  of  thy  children  have  laid  this  pure 
sacrifice  on  the  altar  !  The  Deity  hath  accepted  it :  and 
there  are  those  who  would  cast  its  ashes  to  the  winds ! 

If  ever  a  perverseness  of  character,  or  the  perfidy  taught 
in  courts,  should  induce  a  king  of  Spain  to  violate  his  oath, 
to  massacre  his  subjects,  to  proscribe  his  friends,  to  imprison 
his  defenders,  to  abolish  the  representation  of  the  people, 
Spain  will  be  drawn  by  resentment  to  do  what  policy  in 
vain  has  whispered  in  the  ear  of  generosity.  She  and 
Portugal  will  be  one  :  nor  will  she  be  sensible  of  disgrace  in 
exchanging  a  prince  of  French  origin  for  a  prince  of 
Portuguese.  After  all  there  is  a  north-west  passage  to  the 
golden  shores  of  Freedom  ;  and,  if  pirates  infest  the  opener 
seas,  brave  adventurers  will  cut  their  way  through  it.  Let 
kings  tremble   at  nothing  but  their  own  fraudulence  and 


GENERAL  LACY  AND  CURA  MERINO.        137 

violence ;  and  never  at  popular  assemblies,  which  alone  can 
direct  them  unerringly. 

Merino.  Educated  as  kings  are,  by  pious  men,  servants 
of  God,  they  see  a  chimera  in  a  popular  assembly. 

Lacy.  Those  who  refuse  to  their  people  a  national  and 
just  representation,  calling  it  a  chimera,  will  one  day 
remember  that  he  who  purchases  their  affections  at  the  price 
of  a  chimera,  purchases  them  cheaply;  and  those  who, 
having  promised  the  boon,  retract  it,  will  put  their  hand  to 
the  signature  directed  by  a  hand  of  iron.  State  after  State 
comes  forward  in  asserting  its  rights,  as  wave  follows  wave  ; 
each  acting  upon  each  ;  and  the  tempest  is  gathering  in 
regions  where  no  murmur  or  voice  is  audible.  Portugal 
pants  for  freedom,  in  other  words  is  free.  With  one  foot 
in  England  and  the  other  in  Brazil,  there  was  danger  in 
withdrawing  either  :  she  appears  however  to  have  recovered 
her  equipoise.  Accustomed  to  fix  her  attention  upon 
England,  wisely  will  she  act  if  she  imitates  her  example 
in  the  union  with  Ireland  ;  a  union  which  ought  to  cause 
no  other  regret  than  in  having  been  celebrated  so  late.  If, 
on  the  contrary,  she  believes  that  national  power  and 
prosperity  are  the  peculiar  gifts  of  independence,  she  must 
believe  that  England  was  more  powerful  and  prosperous  in 
the  days  of  her  heptarchy  than  fifty  years  ago.  Algarve 
would  find  no  more  advantage  in  her  independence  of 
Portugal,  than  Portugal  would  find  in  continuing  detached 
from  the  other  portions  of  our  peninsula.  There  were 
excellent  reasons  for  declaring  her  independence  at  the 
time :  there  now  are  better,  if  better  be  possible,  for  a 
coalition.  She,  like  ourselves,  is  in  danger  of  losing  her 
colonies :  how  can  either  party  by  any  other  means  retrieve 
its  loss  1  Normandy  and  Brittany,  after  centuries  of  war, 
joined  the   other   provinces   of   France:   more   centuries  of 


133  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

severer  war  would  not  sunder  them.  We  have  no  such 
price  to  pay.  Independence  is  always  the  sentiment  that 
follows  liberty  ;  and  it  is  always  the  most  ardently  desired 
by  that  country  which,  supposing  the  administration  of  law 
to  be  similar  and  equal,  derives  the  greatest  advantage  from 
the  union.  According  to  the  state  of  society  in  two  countries, 
to  the  justice  or  injustice  of  government,  to  proximity  or 
distance,  independence  may  be  good  or  bad.  Kormandy 
and  Brittany  would  have  found  it  hurtful  and  pernicious  : 
they  would  have  been  corrupted  by  bribery,  and  overrun  by 
competitors,  the  more  formidable  and  the  more  disastrous 
from  a  parity  of  force.  They  had  not,  however,  so  weighty 
reasons  for  union  with  France,  as  Portugal  has  with 
Spain. 

Merino.  To  avoid  the  collision  of  king  and  people,  we 
may  think  about  an  assembly  to  be  composed  of  the  higher 
clergy  and  principal  nobility. 

Lacy.  What  should  produce  any  collision,  any  dissension 
or  dissidence,  between  king  and  people  1  Is  the  wisdom  of 
a  nation  less  than  an  individual's  1  Can  it  not  see  its  own 
interests  :  and  ought  he  to  see  any  other  %  Surround  the 
throne  with  state  and  splendour  and  magnificence,  but  with- 
hold from  it  the  means  of  corruption,  which  must  overflow 
upon  itself  and  sap  it.  To  no  intent  or  purpose  can  they 
ever  be  employed,  unless  to  subvert  the  Constitution ;  and 
beyond  the  paling  of  a  Constitution  a  king  is  /era  naturce. 
Look  at  llussia  and  Turkey :  how  few  of  their  czars  and 
sultans  have  died  a  natural  death ! — unless  indeed  in  such  a 
state  of  society  the  most  natural  death  is  a  violent  one.  I 
would  not  accustom  men  to  daggers  and  poisons ;  for  which 
reason,  among  others,  I  would  remove  them  as  far  as 
possible  from  despotism. 

To  talk  of   France  is   nugatory :    England   then,    where 


GENERAL  LACY  AND  CURA  MERINO.        139 

more  causes  are  tried  within  the  year  than  among  us  within 
ten,  has  only  twelve  judges  criminal  and  civil,  in  her 
ordinary  courts.  A  culprit,  or  indeed  an  innocent  man, 
may  lie  six  months  in  prison  before  his  trial,  on  suspicion  of 
having  stolen  a  petticoat  or  pair  of  slippers.  As  for  her 
civil  laws,  they  are  more  contradictory,  more  dilatory,  more 
complicated,  more  uncertain,  more  expensive,  more  in- 
humane, than  any  now  in  use  among  men.  They  who 
appeal  to  them  for  redress  of  injury  suffer  an  aggravation  of 
it ;  and  when  Justice  comes  down  at  last,  she  alights 
on  ruins.  Public  opinion  is  the  only  bulwark  against 
oppression,  and  the  voice  of  wretchedness  is  upon  most 
occasions  too  feeble  to  excite  it.  Law  in  England,  and  in  most 
other  countries  of  Europe,  is  the  crown  of  injustice,  burning 
and  intolerable  as  that  hammered  and  nailed  upon  the  head 
of  Zekkler,  after  he  had  been  forced  to  eat  the  quivering 
flesh  of  his  companions  in  insurrection.  In  the  statutes  of 
the  North  American  United  States,  there  is  no  such  offence 
as  libel  upon  the  Government ;  because  in  that  country 
there  is  no  worthless  wretch  whose  government  leads  to, 
or  can  be  brought  into  contempt.  This  undefined  and 
undefinable  offence  in  England  hath  consigned  many  just 
men  and  eminent  scholars  to  poverty  and  imprisonment,  to 
incurable  maladies,  and  untimely  death.  Law,  like  the 
Andalusian  bull,  lowers  her  head  and  shuts  her  eyes  before 
she  makes  her  push ;  and  either  she  misses  her  object 
altogether,  or  she  leaves  it  immersed  in  bloodshed. 

When  an  action  is  brought  by  one  subject  against  another, 
in  which  he  seeks  indemnity  for  an  injury  done  to  his  pro- 
perty, his  comforts,  or  his  character,  a  jury  awards  the 
amount ;  but  if  some  parasite  of  the  king  wishes  to  mend 
his  fortune,  after  a  run  of  bad  luck  at  the  gaming-table  or 
of   improvident    bets    on    the    race-course,   he    informs  the 


140  IMA  CINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

attorney-general  that  he  has  detected  a  libel  on  Majesty, 
which,  unless  it  be  chastised  and  checked  by  the  timely 
interference  of  those  blessed  institutions  whence  they  are 
great  and  glorious,  would  leave  no  man's  office,  or  honour, 
or  peace  inviolable.  It  may  happen  that  the  writer,  at 
worst,  hath  indulged  his  wit  on  some  personal  fault,  some 
feature  in  the  character  far  below  the  crown :  this  is 
enough  for  a  prosecution ;  and  the  author,  if  found  guilty, 
lies  at  the  mercy  of  the  judge.  The  jury  in  this  case  is 
never  the  awarder  of  damages.  Are  then  the  English  laws 
equal  for  all  ?  Recently  there  was  a  member  of  Parliament 
who  declared  to  the  people  such  things  against  the  Govern- 
ment as  were  openly  called  seditious  and  libellous,  both  by 
his  colleagues  and  his  judges.  He  was  condemned  to  pay  a 
fine,  amounting  to  less  than  the  three-hundredth  part  of  his 
property,  and  to  be  confined  for  three  months — in  an  apart- 
ment more  airy  and  more  splendid  than  any  in  his  own 
house.  Another,  no  member  of  Parliament,  wrote  some- 
thing ludicrous  about  Majesty,  and  was  condemned,  he  and 
his  brother,  to  pay  the  full  half  of  their  property,  and  to  be 
confined  among  felons  for  two  years !  This  confinement 
was  deemed  so  flagrantly  cruel,  that  the  magistrates  soon 
afterward  allowed  a  little  more  light,  a  little  more  air,  and 
better  company  ;  not,  however,  in  separate  wards,  but 
separate  prisons.  The  judge  who  pronounced  the  sentence 
is  still  living ;  he  lives  unbruised,  unbranded,  and  he 
appears  like  a  man  among  men. 

Merino.  Why  not  1  He  proved  his  spirit,  firmness,  and 
fidelity  :  in  our  country  he  would  be  appointed  grand 
inquisitor  on  the  next  vacancy,  and  lead  the  queen  to  her 
seat  at  the  first  auto  da  ft.  Idlers  and  philosophers  may 
complain ;  but  certainly  this  portion  of  the  English  institu- 
tions ought  to  be  commended  warmly  by  every  true  Spaniard, 


GENERAL  LACY  AND  CURA  MERINO.        141 

every  friend  to  the  altar  and  the  throne.  And  yet,  General, 
you  mention  it  in  such  a  manner  as  would  almost  let  a 
careless,  inattentive  hearer  go  away  with  the  persuasion 
that  you  disapprove  of  it.  Speculative  and  dissatisfied 
men  are  'existing  in  all  countries,  even  in  Spain  and 
England ;  but  we  have  scourges  in  store  for  the  pruriency 
of  dissatisfaction,  and  cases  and  caps  for  the  telescopes  of 
speculation. 

Lacy.  The  faultiness  of  the  English  laws  is  not  com- 
plained of  nor  pointed  out  exclusively  by  the  speculative  or 
the  sanguine,  by  the  oppressed  or  the  disappointed ;  it  was 
the  derision  and  scoif  of  George  the  Second,  one  of  the 
bravest  and  most  constitutional  kings.  "As  to  our  laws," 
said  he,  "  we  pass  near  a  hundred  every  session,  which  seem 
made  for  no  other  purpose  but  to  afford  us  the  pleasure  of 
breaking  them." 

This  is  not  reported  by  Whig  or  Toiy,  who  change  prin- 
ciples as  they  change  places,  but  by  a  dispassionate,  unam- 
bitious man  of  sound  sense  and  in  easy  circumstances,  a 
personal  and  intimate  friend  of  the  king,  from  whose 
lips  he  himself  received  it — Lord  Waldegrave.  Yet  an 
Englishman  thinks  himself  quite  as  free,  and  governed  quite 
as  rationally,  as  a  citizen  of  the  United  States :  so  does  a 
Chinese.  Such  is  the  hemlock  that  habitude  administers 
to  endurance  ;  and  so  long  is  it  in  this  torpor  ere  the  heart 
sickens. 

I  am  far  from  the  vehemence  of  the  English  commander, 
Nelson — a  man,  however,  who  betrayed  neither  in  war  nor 
policy  any  deficiency  of  acuteness  and  judgment.  He  says 
unambiguously  and  distinctly  in  his  letters,  "  All  ministers 
of  kings  and  princes  are,  in  my  opinion,  as  great  scoundx-els 
as  ever  lived." 

Versatility,    indecision,   falsehood,  and   ingratitude,    had 


142  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

strongly  marked,  as  he  saw,  the  two  principal  ones  of  his 
country,  Pitt  and  Fox  ;  the  latter  of  whom  openly  turned 
honesty  into  derision,  while  the  former  sent  it  wrapped  up 
decently  to  market.  Now  if  all  ministers  of  kings  and 
princes  are,  what  the  admiral  calls  them  from  his  experience, 
"as  great  scoundrels  as  ever  lived,"  we  must  be  as  great 
fools  as  ever  lived  if  we  endure  them  :  we  should  look  for 
others. 

Merino.  Even  that  will  not  do :  the  new  ones,  pos- 
sessing the  same  power  and  the  same  places,  will  be  the 
same  men. 

Lacy.  I  am  afraid  then  the  change  must  not  be  only  in 
the  servants,  but  in  the  masters,  and  that  we  must  not 
leave  the  choice  to  those  who  always  choose  "  as  great 
scoundrels  as  ever  lived."  Nelson  was  a  person  who  had 
had  much  to  do  with  the  ministers  of  kings  and  princes  ; 
none  of  his  age  had  more, — an  age  in  which  the  ministers 
had  surely  no  less  to  do  than  those  in  any  other  age  since 
the  creation  of  the  world.  He  was  the  best  commander  of 
his  nation  ;  he  was  consulted  and  employed  in  every  difficult 
and  doubtful  undertaking:  he  must  have  known  them 
thoroughly.  What  meaning,  then,  shall  we  attribute  to  his 
words  1  Shall  we  say  that  "as  great  scoundrels  as  ever 
lived  "  ought  to  govern  the  universe  in  perpetuity  1  Or  can 
we  doubt  that  they  must  do  so,  if  we  suffer  kings  and 
princes  to  appoint  them  at  each  other's  recommendation  1 

Merino.  Nelson  was  a  heretic,  a  blasphemer,  a  revolu- 
tionist. 

Lacy.  On  heresy  and  blasphemy  I  am  incapable  of  decid- 
ing but  never  was  there  a  more  strenuous  antagonist  of 
revolutionary  principles ;  and  upon  this  rock  his  glory  split 
and  foundered.  When  Sir  William  Hamilton  declared  to 
the  Neapolitan  insurgents,  who  had  laid  down  their  arms 


GENERAL  LACY  AND  CUR  A  MERINO.         143 

before  royal  promises,  that,  his  Government  having  engaged 
with  the  Allied  Powers  to  eradicate  revolutionary  doctrines 
from  Europe,  he  could  not  countenance  the  fulfilment  of  a 
capitulation  which  opposed  the  views  of  the  coalition,  whnt 
did  Nelson  ?  lie  tarnished  the  brightest  sword  in  Europe, 
and  devoted  to  the  most  insatiable  of  the  Furies  the  purest 
blood !  A  Caroline  and  a  Ferdinand,  the  most  opprobrious 
of  the  human  race  and  among  the  lowest  in  intellect,  were 
permitted  to  riot  in  the  slaughter  of  a  Caraccioli. 

The  English  Constitution,  sir,  is  founded  on  revolutionary 
doctrines,  and  her  kings  acknowledge  it.  Recollect  now  the 
note  of  her  diplomatist.  Is  England  in  Europe  ?  If  she  is, 
which  I  venture  not  to  assert,  her  rulers  have  declared  their 
intention  to  eradicate  the  foundations  of  her  liberties ;  and 
they  have  broken  their  word  so  often  that  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  they  will  attempt  to  recover  their  credit  by  keeping 
it  strictly  here.  But  the  safest  and  least  costly  conquests 
for  England  would  be  those  over  the  understandings  and 
the  hearts  of  men.  They  require  no  garrisons  ;  they  equip 
no  navies  ;  they  encounter  no  tempests  :  they  withdraw  none 
from  labour ;  they  might  extend  from  the  arctic  to  the  ant- 
arctic circle,  leaving  every  Briton  at  his  own  fireside ;  and 
Earth  like  Ocean  would  have  her  great  Pacific.  The  strength 
of  England  lies  not  in  armaments  and  invasions  :  it  lies  in 
the  omnipresence  of  her  industry,  and  in  the  vivifyin" 
energies  of  her  high  civilisation.  There  are  provinces  she 
cannot  grasp ;  there  are  islands  she  cannot  hold  fast ;  but 
there  is  neither  island  nor  province,  there  is  neither  kino-dom 
nor  continent,  which  she  could  not  draw  to  her  side  and  fix 
there  everlastingly,  by  saying  the  magic  words,  Be  Free. 
Every  land  wherein  she  favours  the  sentiments  of  freedom, 
every  land  wherein  she  but  forbids  them  to  be  stifled,  is  her 
own  ;  a  true  ally,  a  willing  tributary,  an  inseparable  friend. 


144  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

Principles   hold    those   together  whom    power   could   only 
alienate. 

Merino.  I  understand  little  these  novel  doctrines ;  but 
Democracy  herself  must  be  contented  with  the  principal 
features  of  the  English  Constitution.  The  great  leaders  are 
not  taken  from  the  ancient  families. 

Lacy.  These  push  forward  into  Parliament  young  per- 
sons of  the  best  talents  they  happen  to  pick  up,  whether  at 
a  ball  or  an  opera,  at  a  gaming-table  or  a  college-mess,  who 
from  time  to  time,  according  to  the  offices  they  have  filled, 
mount  into  the  upper  chamber  and  make  room  for  others ; 
but  it  is  understood  that,  in  both  chambers,  they  shall  dis- 
tribute honours  and  places  at  the  command  of  their  patrons. 
True,  indeed,  the  ostensible  heads  are  not  of  ancient  or  even 
of  respectable  parentage.  The  more  wealthy  and  powerful 
peers  send  them  from  their  boroughs  into  the  House  of 
Commons,  as  they  send  race-horses  from  their  stables  to 
Newmarket,  and  cocks  from  their  training-yard  to  Don- 
caster.  This  is,  in  like  manner,  a  pride,  a  luxury,  a  specu- 
lation. Even  bankrupts  have  been  permitted  to  sit  there  ; 
men  who,  when  they  succeeded,  were  a  curse  to  their 
country  worse  than  when  they  failed. 

Let  us  rather  collect  together  our  former  institutions, 
cherish  all  that  brings  us  proud  remembrances,  brace  our 
limbs  for  the  efforts  we  must  make,  train  our  youth  on  our 
own  arena,  and  never  deem  it  decorous  to  imitate  the  limp 
of  a  wrestler  writhing  in  his  decrepitude. 

The  Chamber  of  Peers  in  England  is  the  dormitory  of 
freedom  and  of  genius.  Those  who  enter  it  have  eaten  the 
lotus,  and  forget  their  country.  A  minister,  to  suit  his 
purposes,  may  make  a  dozen  or  a  score  or  a  hundred  of 
peers  in  a  day.  If  they  are  rich  they  are  inactive  ;  if  they 
are  poor  they  are  dependent.     In  general  he  chooses  the 


GENERAL  LACY  AND  CURA  MERINO.         145 

rich,  who  always  want  something  ;  for  wealth  is  less  easy 
to  satisfy  than  poverty,  luxury  than  hunger.  He  can  dis- 
pense with  their  energy  if  he  can  obtain  their  votes,  and  they 
never  abandon  him  unless  he  has  contented  them. 

Merino,  Impossible  !  that  any  minister  should  make 
twenty,  or  even  ten  peers,  during  one  convocation. 

Lacy.  The  English,  by  a  most  happy  metaphor,  call  them 
batches,  seeing  so  many  drawn  forth  at  a  time,  with  the 
rapidity  of  loaves  from  an  oven,  and  moulded  to  the  same 
ductility  by  less  manipulation.  A  minister  in  that  system 
has  equally  need  of  the  active  and  the  passive,  as  the  crea- 
tion has  equally  need  of  males  and  females.  Do  not 
imagine  I  would  discredit  or  depreciate  the  House  of  Peers. 
Never  will  another  land  contain  one  composed  of  characters 
in  general  more  honourable  ;  more  distinguished  for  know- 
ledge, for  charity,  for  generosity,  for  equity ;  more  perfect 
in  all  the  duties  of  men  and  citizens.  Let  it  stand  ;  a 
nation  should  be  accustomed  to  no  changes,  to  no  images 
but  of  strength  and  duration  :  let  it  stand,  then,  as  a  lofty 
and  ornamental  belfry,  never  to  be  taken  down  or  lowered, 
until  it  threatens  by  its  decay  the  congregation  underneath  ; 
but  let  none  be  excommunicated  who  refuse  to  copy  it, 
whether  from  faultiness  in  their  foundation  or  from 
deficiency  in  their  materials.  Different  countries  require 
different  governments.  Is  the  rose  the  onlv  flower  in  the 
garden  1  Is  Hesperus  the  only  star  in  the  heavens  1  We 
may  be  hurt  by  our  safeguards,  if  we  try  new  ones. 

Don  Britomarte  Delciego  took  his  daily  siesta  on  the 
grass  in  the  city-dyke  of  Barbastro  :  he  shaded  his  face  with 
his  sombrero,  and  slept  profoundly.  One  day,  unfortunately, 
a  gnat  alighted  on  his  nose  and  bit  it.  Don  Britomarte 
roused  himself  ;  and,  remembering  that  he  could  enfold  his 
arms    in    his    mantle,  took    off  a    glove   and    covered    the 

30 


146  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

unprotected  part  with  it.  Satisfied  at  the  contrivance,  he 
slept  again  ;  and  more  profoundly  than  ever.  Whether  there 
was  any  savoury  odour  in  the  glove  I  know  not :  certain  it 
is  that  some  rats  came  from  under  the  fortifications,  and, 
perforating  the  new  defence  of  Don  Britomarte,  made  a 
breach  in  the  salient  angle  which  had  suffered  so  lately  by  a 
less  potent  enemy;  and  he  was  called  from  that  day  forward 
the  knight  cf  the  kid-skin  visor. 

Merino.  Sir,  I  do  not  understand  stories  :  I  never  found 
wit  or  reason  in  them. 

Lacy.  England  in  the  last  twenty  years  has  undergone 
a  greater  revolution  than  any  she  struggled  to  counteract — 
a  revolution  more  awful,  more  pernicious.  She  alone  of  all 
the  nations  in  the  world  hath  suffered  by  that  of  France : 
she  is  become  less  wealthy  by  it,  less  free,  less  liberal, 
less  moral.  Half-a  century  ago  she  was  represented  chiefly 
by  her  country-gentlemen.  Pitt  made  the  richer  peers  ;  the 
intermediate,  pensioners  ;  the  poorer,  exiles  ;  and  his 
benches  were  overflowed  with  "  honourables "  from  the 
sugar-cask  and  indigo-bag.  He  changed  all  the  features 
both  of  mind  and  matter.  Old  mansions  were  converted 
into  workhouses  and  barracks  :  children  who  returned  from 
school  at  the  holidays  stopped  in  their  own  villages,  and 
asked  why  they  stopped.  More  oaks  followed  him  than 
ever  followed  Orpheus  ;  and  more  stones,  a  thousand  to 
one,  leaped  down  at  his  voice  than  ever  leaped  up  at 
Amphion's.  Overladen  with  taxation,  the  gentlemen  of 
England — a  class  the  grandest  in  character  that  ever  existed 
upon  earth,  the  best  informed,  the  most  generous,  the  most 
patriotic — were  driven  from  their  residences  into  cities. 
Their  authority  ceased  ;  their  example  was  altogether  lost, 
and  it  appears  by  the  calendars  of  the  prisons,  that  two- 
thirds  of  the  offenders  were  from   the   country ;    whereas 


GENERAL  LACY  AND  CUR  A  MERINO.        147 

until  these  disastrous  times  four-fifths  were  from  the  towns. 
To  what  a  degree  those  of  the  towns  themselves  must  have 
increased,  may  be  supposed  by  the  stagnation  in  many  trades, 
and  by  the  conversion  of  labourers  and  artisans  to  soldiers. 

The  country  gentlemen,  in  losing  their  rank  and 
condition,  lost  the  higher  and  more  delicate  part  of  their 
principles.  There  decayed  at  once  in  them  that  robustness 
and  that  nobility  of  character,  which  men,  like  trees, 
acquire  from  standing  separately.  Deprived  of  their  former 
occupations  and  amusements,  and  impatient  of  inactivity, 
they  condescended  to  be  members  of  gaming  clubs  in  the 
fashionable  cities,  incurred  new  and  worse  expenses,  and 
eagerly  sought,  from  among  the  friendships  they  had 
contracted,  those  who  might  obtain  for  them  or  for  their 
families  some  atom  from  the  public  dilapidation.  Hence 
nearly  all  were  subservient  to  the  minister  :  those  who  were 
not  were  marked  out  as  disaffected  to  the  Constitution,  or 
at  best  as  singular  men  who  courted  celebrity  from 
retirement. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  landed  interest;  and  what 
was  that  of  the  commercial  ?  Industrious  tradesmen 
speculated ;  in  other  words,  gamed.  Bankers  were 
coiners ;  not  giving  a  piece  of  metal,  but  a  scrap  of 
paper.  They  who  had  thousands  lent  millions,  and  lost 
all.  Slow  and  sure  gains  were  discreditable ;  and  nothing 
was  a  sight  more  common,  more  natural,  or  seen  with  more 
indifference,  than  fortunes  rolling  down  from  their  immense 
accumulation.  Brokers  and  insurers  and  jobbers,  people 
whose  education  could  not  have  been  liberal,  were  now  for 
the  first  time  found  at  the  assemblies  and  at  the  tables  of 
the  great,  and  were  treated  there  with  the  first  distinction. 
Every  hand  through  which  money  passes  was  pressed 
affectionately.     The  viler  part  of  what  is  democratical  was 


148  IMA  GIN  A  R  V  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

supported  by  the  aristocracy ;  the  better  of  what  is  repub- 
lican was  thrown  down.  England,  like  one  whose  features 
are  just  now  turned  awry  by  an  apoplexy,  is  ignorant  of 
the  change  she  has  undergone,  and  is  the  more  lethargic  tli8 
more  she  is  distorted.  Not  only  hath  she  lost  her  bloom 
and  spirit,  but  her  form  and  gait,  her  voice  and  memory. 
The  weakest  of  mortals  was  omnipotent  in  Parliament ; 
and  being  so,  he  dreamed  in  his  drunkenness  that  he  could 
compress  the  spirit  of  the  times ;  and  before  the  fumes  had 
passed  away,  he  rendered  the  wealthiest  of  nations  the 
most  distressed.  The  spirit  of  the  times  is  only  to  be  made 
useful  by  catching  it  as  it  rises,  to  be  managed  only  by 
concession,  to  be  controlled  only  by  compliancy.  Like  the 
powerful  agent  of  late  discovery,  that  impels  vast  masses 
across  the  ocean  or  raises  them  from  the  abysses  of  the 
earth,  it  performs  everything  by  attention,  nothing  by 
force,  and  is  fatal  alike  from  coei-cion  and  from  neglect. 
That  government  is  the  best  which  the  people  obey  the 
most  willingly  and  the  most  wisely  ;  that  state  of  society  in 
which  the  greatest  number  may  live  and  educate  their 
families  becomingly,  by  unstrained  bodily  and  unrestricted 
intellectual  exertion ;  where  superiority  in  office  springs 
from  worth,  and  where  the  chief  magistrate  hath  no  higher 
interest  in  perspective  than  the  ascendancy  of  the  laws. 
Nations  are  not  ruined  by  war  :  for  convents  and  churches, 
palaces  and  cities,  are  not  nations.  The  Messenians  and 
Jews  and  Araucanians  saw  their  houses  and  temples  levelled 
with  the  pavement ;  the  mightiness  of  the  crash  gave  the 
stronger  mind  a  fresh  impulse,  and  it  sprang  high  above  the 
flames  that  consumed  the  last  fragment.     The  ruin  of  a 

o 

country  is  not  the  blight  of  corn,  nor  the  weight  and 
impetuosity  of  hailstones  ;  it  is  not  inundation  nor  storm,  it 
is  not  pestilence  or  famine :  a  few  years,  perhaps  a  single 


GENERAL  LACY  AND  CURA  MERINO.        149 

one,  may  cover  all  traces  of  such  calamity.  But  that 
country  is  too  surely  ruined  in  which  morals  are  lost 
irretrievably  to  the  greater  part  of  the  rising  generation  ; 
and  there  are  they  about  to  sink  and  perish,  where  the  ruler 
has  given,  by  an  unrepressed  and  an  unreproved  example, 
the  lesson  of  bad  faith. 

Merino.     Sir,  I  cannot  hear  such  language. 
Lacy.     Why  then  converse  with  me  ?     Is  the  fault  mine 
if  such  language  be  offensive?     Why    should    intolerance 
hatch    an  hypothesis,   or  increase   her  own   alarm   by  the 
obstreperous  chuckle  of  incubation? 

Merino.  Kings  stand  in  the  place  of  God  among  us. 
Lacy.  I  wish  they  would  make  way  for  the  owner. 
They  love  God  only  when  they  fancy  he  has  favoured  their 
passions,  and  fear  him  only  when  they  must  buy  him  off. 
If  indeed  they  be  his  vicegerents  on  earth,  let  them  repress 
the  wicked  and  exalt  the  virtuous.  Wherever  in  the 
material  world  there  is  a  grain  of  gold,  it  sinks  to  the 
bottom  ;  chaff  floats  over  it :  in  the  animal,  the  greatest 
and  most  sagacious  of  creatures  hide  themselves  in  woods 
and  caverns,  in  morasses  and  solitudes,  and  we  hear  first  of 
their  existence  when  we  find  their  bones.  Do  you  perceive 
a  resemblance  anywhere?  If  princes  are  desirous  to  imitate 
the  Governor  of  the  universe ;  if  they  are  disposed  to  obey 
him ;  if  they  consult  religion  or  reason,  or,  what  oftener 
occupies  their  attention,  the  stability  of  power, — they  will 
admit  the  institutions  best  adapted  to  render  men  honest 
and  peaceable,  industrious  and  contented.  Otherwise  let 
them  be  certain  that,  although  they  themselves  may  escape 
the  chastisement  they  merit,  their  children  and  grand- 
children will  never  be  out  of  danger  or  out  of  -fear. 
Calculations  on  the  intensity  of  force  are  often  just; 
hardly  ever  so  those  on  its  durability. 


ISO  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

Merino.  As  if  truly  that  depended  on  men  ! — a  blow 
against  a  superintending  Providence  1  It  always  follows  the 
pestilential  breath  that  would  sully  the  majesty  of  kings. 

Lacy.  Sefior  Merino,  my  name,  if  you  have  forgotten  it, 
is  Lacy  :  take  courage  and  recollect  yourself.  The  whole 
of  my  discourse  hath  tended  to  keep  the  majesty  of  kings 
unsullied,  by  preserving  their  honour  inviolate.  Any  blow 
against  a  superintending  Providence  is  too  insane  for 
reproach,  too  impotent  for  pity :  and  indeed  what  peril 
can  by  any  one  be  apprehended  from  the  Almighty,  when 
he  has  Cura  Merino  to  preach  for  him,  and  the  Holy 
Inquisition  to  protect  him  1 

Merino.  I  scorn  the  sneer,  sir  ;  and  know  not  by  what 
right,  or  after  what  resemblance,  you  couple  my  name  with 
the  Holy  Inquisition  which  our  Lord  the  King  in  his 
wisdom  hath  not  yet  re-established,  and  which  the  Holy 
Allies  for  the  greater  part  have  abolished  in  their 
dominions. 

Lacy.  This  never  would  have  been  effected  if  the  holy 
heads  of  the  meek  usurpers  had  not  raised  themselves  above 
the  crown ;  proving  from  doctors  and  confessors,  from  Old 
Testament  and  New,  the  privilege  they  possessed  of  whip- 
ping and  burning  and  decapitating  the  wearer.  The  kings 
in  their  fright  ran  against  the  chalice  of  poison,  by  which 
many  thousands  of  their  subjects  had  perished,  and  by 
which  their  own  hands  were,  after  their  retractings  and 
writhings,  ungauntleted,  undirked,  and  paralysed. 

Europe,  Asia,  America,  sent  up  simultaneously  to  heaven 
a  shout  of  joy  at  the  subversion.  Africa,  seated  among 
tamer  monsters  and  addicted  to  milder  superstitions, 
wondered  at  what  burst  and  dayspring  of  beautitude 
the  human  race  was  celebrating  around  her  so  high  and 
enthusiastic  a  jubilee. 


CROMWELL  AND  WALTER  NOBLE.  151 

Merino.  I  take  ray  leave,  General.  May  your  Excel- 
lency live  many  years  ! 

I  breathe  the  pure  street-air  again.  Traitor  and  atheist ! 
I  will  denounce  him.  He  has  shaved  for  the  last  time  :  he 
shall  never  have  Christian  burial. 


OLIVER    CROMWELL   AND    WALTER 

NOBLE. 

[Noble,  whom  Landor  claimed  as  an  ancestor,  represented  the  city 
of  Lichfield :  he  lived  familiarly  with  the  best  patriots  of  the  age, 
remonstrated  with  Cromwell,  and  retired  from  public  life  on  the 
punishment  of  Charles.] 

Cromwell.  What  brings  thee  back  from  Staffordshire, 
friend  Walter? 

Noble.  1  hope,  General  Cromwell,  to  persuade  you  that 
the  death  of  Charles  will  be  considered  by  all  Europe  as  a 
most  atrocious  action. 

Cromwell.  Thou  hast  already  persuaded  me  :  what 
then  1 

Noble.  Surely,  then,  you  will  prevent  it,  for  your 
authority  is  great.  Even  those  who  upon  their  consciences 
found  him  guilty  would  remit  the  penalty  of  blood,  some 
from  policy,  some  from  mercy.  I  have  conversed  with 
Hutchinson,  with  Ludlow,  your  friend  and  mine,  with 
Henry  Nevile,  and  Walter  Long :  you  will  oblige  these 
worthy  friends,  and  unite  in  your  favour  the  suffrages  of 
the  truest  and  trustiest  men  living.  There  are  many  others, 
with  whom  I  am  in  no  habits  of  intercourse,  who  are  known 
to    entertain    the  same     sentiments ;    and    these    also    are 


1 5  2  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

among  the  country  gentlemen,  to  whom  our  parliament 
owes  the  better  part  of  its  reputation. 

Cromwell.  You  country  gentlemen  bring  with  you  into 
the  People's  House  a  freshness  and  sweet  savour  which  our 
citizens  lack  mightily.  I  would  fain  merit  your  esteem, 
heedless  of  those  pursy  fellows  from  hulks  and  warehouses, 
with  one  ear  lappeted  by  the  pen  behind  it,  and  the  other 
an  heirloom,  as  Charles  would  have  had  it,  in  Laud's 
star-chamber.  Oh  !  they  are  proud  and  bloody  men.  My 
heart  melts ;  but,  alas !  my  authority  is  null :  I  am  the 
servant  of  the  Commonwealth.  I  will  not,  dare  not,  betray 
it.  If  Charles  Stuart  had  threatened  my  death  only,  in 
the  letter  we  ripped  out  of  the  saddle,  I  would  have 
reproved  him  manfully  and  turned  him  adrift :  but  others 
are  concerned  ;  lives  more  precious  than  mine,  worn  as  it  is 
with  fastings,  prayers,  long  services,  and  preyed  upon  by  a 
pouncing  disease.  The  Lord  hath  led  him  into  the  toils 
laid  for  the  innocent  Foolish  man  !  he  never  could  eschew 
evil  counsel. 

Noble.  In  comparison  with  you,  he  is  but  as  a  pinnacle 
to  a  buttress.  I  acknowledge  his  weaknesses,  and  cannot 
wink  upon  his  crimes :  but  that  which  you  visit  as  the 
heaviest  of  them  perhaps  was  not  so,  although  the  most 
disastrous  to  both  parties — the  bearing  of  arms  against  his 
people.  He  fought  for  what  he  considered  his  hereditary 
property  ;  we  do  the  same :  should  we  be  hanged  for  losing 
a  lawsuit  1 

Cromwell.  No,  unless  it  is  the  second.  Thou  talkest 
finely  and  foolishly,  Wat,  for  a  man  of  thy  calm  discern- 
ment. If  a  rogue  holds  a  pistol  to  my  breast,  do  I  ask  him 
who  he  is  1  Do  I  care  whether  his  doublet  be  of  cat-skin 
or  of  dog-skin  1  Fie  upon  such  wicked  sophisms ! 
Marvellous,  how  the  devil  works  upon  good  men's  minds  ! 


CROMWELL  AND   WALTER  NOBLE.  153 

Noble.  Charles  was  always  more  to  be  dreaded  by  his 
friends  than  by  his  enemies,  and  now  by  neither. 

Cromwell.  God  forbid  that  Englishmen  should  be  feared 
by  Englishmen !  but  to  be  daunted  by  the  weakest,  to  bend 
before  the  worst — I  tell  thee,  Walter  Noble,  if  Moses  and 
the  Prophets  commanded  me  to  this  villainy,  I  would  draw 
back  and  mount  my  horse. 

Noble.  I  wish  that  our  history,  already  too  dark  with 
blood,  should  contain,  as  far  as  we  are  concerned  in  it,  some 
unpolluted  pages. 

Cromwell.  'Twere  better,  much  better.  Never  shall  I 
be  called,  I  promise  thee,  an  unnecessary  shedder  of  blood. 
Remember,  my  good,  prudent  friend,  of  what  materials  our 
secretaries  are  composed:  what  hostility  against  all 
eminence,  what  rancour  against  all  glory.  Not  only  kingly 
power  offends  them,  but  every  other  ;  and  they  talk  of 
putting  to  the  sword,  as  if  it  were  the  quietest,  gentlest,  and 
most  ordinary  thing  in  the  world.  The  knaves  even 
dictate  from  their  stools  and  benches  to  men  in  armour, 
bruised  and  bleeding  for  them  ;  and  with  school-dame's 
scourges  in  their  fists  do  they  give  counsel  to  those  who 
protect  them  from  the  cart  and  halter.  In  the  name  of  the 
Lord,  I  must  spit  outright  (or  worse)  upon  these  crackling 
bouncing  firebrands,  before  I  can  make  them  tractable. 

Noble.  I  lament  their  blindness  ;  but  follies  wear  out 
the  faster  by  being  hard  run  upon.  This  fermenting  sour- 
ness will  presently  turn  vapid,  and  people  will  cast  it  out. 
I  am  not  surprised  that  you  are  discontented  and  angry  at 
what  thwarts  your  better  nature.  But  come,  Cromwell, 
overlook  them,  despise  them,  and  erect  to  yourself  a  glorious 
name  by  sparing  a  mortal  enemy. 

Cromwell.  A  glorious  name,  by  God's  blessing,  I  will 
erect ;  and  all  our  fellow-labourers  shall  rejoice  at  it :  but  I 


154  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

see  better  than  they  do  the  blow  descending  on  them,  and 
my  arm  better  then  theirs  can  ward  it  off.  Noble,  thy 
heart  overflows  with  kindness  for  Charles  Stuart :  if  he 
were  at  liberty  to-morrow  by  thy  intercession,  he  would 
sign  thy  death-warrant  the  day  after,  for  serving,  the 
Commonwealth.  A  generation  of  vipers  !  there  is  nothing 
upright  nor  grateful  in  them  :  never  was  there  a  drop  of 
even  Scotch  blood  in  their  veins.  Indeed,  we  have  a  clew 
to  their  bedchamber  still  hanging  on  the  door,  and  I  suspect 
that  an  Italian  fiddler  or  French  valet  has  more  than  once 
crossed  the  current. 

Noble.  That  may  be  :  nor  indeed  is  it  credible  that  any 
royal  or  courtly  family  has  gone  on  for  three  generations 
without  a  spur  from  interloper.  Look  at  France  !  some 
stout  Parisian  saint  performed  the  last  miracle  there. 

Cromwell.  Now  thou  talkest  gravely  and  sensibly  :  I 
could  hear  thee  discourse  thus  for  hours  together. 

Noble.  Hear  me,  Cromwell,  with  equal  patience  on 
matters  more  important.  We  all  have  our  sufferings  :  why 
increase  one  another's  wantonly  1  Be  the  blood  Scotch  or 
English,  French  or  Italian,  a  drummer's  or  a  buffoon's,  it 
carries  a  soul  upon  its  stream ;  and  every  soul  has  many 
places  to  touch  at,  and  much  business  to  perform,  before  it 
reaches  its  ultimate  destination.  Abolish  the  power  of 
Charles ;  extinguish  not  his  virtues.  Whatever  is  worthy 
to  be  loved  for  anything  is  worthy  to  be  preserved.  A 
wise  and  dispassionate  legislator,  if  any  such  should  arise 
among  men,  will  not  condemn  to  death  him  who  has  done, 
or  is  likely  to  do,  more  service  than  injury  to  society. 
Blocks  and  gibbets  are  the  nearest  objects  to  ours,  and  their 
business  is  never  with  virtues  or  with  hopes. 

Cromwell.     Walter  !  Walter  !  we  laugh  at  speculators. 

Noble.     Many    indeed    are    ready   enough    to    laugh    at 


CROMWELL  AND  WALTER  NOBLE.  155 

speculators,  because  many  profit,  or  expect  to  profit,  by 
established  and  widening  abuses.  Speculations  toward  evil 
lose  their  name  by  adoption ;  speculations  toward  good  are 
for  ever  speculations,  and  he  who  hath  proposed  them  is  a 
chimerical  and  silly  creature.  Among  the  matters  under 
this  denomination  I  never  find  a  cruel  project,  I  never  find 
an  oppressive  or  unjust  one  :  how  happens  it  % 

Cromwell.  Proportions  should  exist  in  all  things. 
Sovereigns  are  paid  higher  than  others  for  their  office;  they 
should  therefore  be  punished  more  severely  for  abusing  it, 
even  if  the  consequences  of  this  abuse  were  in  nothing  more 
grievous  or  extensive.  We  cannot  clap  them  in  the  stocks 
conveniently,  nor  whip  them  at  the  market-place.  Where 
there  is  a  crown  there  must  be  an  axe :  I  would  keep 
it  there  only. 

Noble.  Lop  off  the  rotten,  press  out  the  poisonous,  pre- 
serve the  rest;  let  it  suffice  to  have  given  this  memorable 
example  of  national  power  and  justice. 

Cromwell.  Justice  is  perfect ;  an  attribute  of  God  :  we 
must  not  trifle  with  it. 

Noble.  Should  we  be  less  merciful  to  our  fellow-creatures 
than  to  our  domestic  animals  1  Before  we  deliver  them  to 
be  killed,  we  weigh  their  services  against  their  inconven- 
iences. On  the  foundation  of  policy,  when  we  have  no 
better,  let  us  erect  the  trophies  of  humanity  :  let  us  consider 
that,  educated  in  the  same  manner  and  situated  in  the  same 
position,  we  ourselves  might  have  acted  as  reprovably. 
Abolish  that  for  ever  which  must  else  for  ever  generate 
abuses;  and  attribute  the  faults  of  the  man  to  the  office, 
not  the  faults  of  the  office  to  the  man. 

Cromwell.  I  have  no  bowels  for  hypocrisy,  and  I  abomi- 
nate and  detest  kingship. 

Noble.     I  abominate  and    detest    hangmanship ;  but    in 


1 56  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

certain  stages  of  society  both  are  necessary.  Let  them 
go  together  ;  we  want  neither  now. 

Cromwell.  Men,  like  nails,  lose  their  usefulness  when 
they  lose  their  direction  and  begin  to  bend  :  such  nails  are 
then  thrown  into  the  dust  or  into  the  furnace.  I  must  do 
my  duty ;  I  must  accomplish  what  is  commanded  me  ;  I 
must  not  be  turned  aside.  I  am  loth  to  be  cast  into  the 
furnace  or  the  dust;  but  God's  will  be  done!  Prythee,  Wat, 
since  thou  readest,  as  I  see,  the  books  of  philosophers,  didst 
thou  ever  hear  of  Digby's  remedies  by  sympathy  1 

Noble.     Yes,  formerly. 

Cromwell.  Well,  now,  1  protest,  I  do  believe  there  is 
something  in  them.  To  cure  my  headache,  I  must  breathe 
a  vein  in  the  neck  of  Charles. 

Noble.  Oliver,  Oliver !  others  are  wittiest  over  wine, 
thou  over  blood  :  cold-hearted,  cruel  man. 

Cromwell.  Why,  dost  thou  verily  think  me  so, 
Walter?  Perhaps  thou  art  right  in  the  main:  but  he 
alone  who  fashioned  me  in  my  mother's  womb,  and  who  sees 
things  deeper  than  we  do,  knows  that. 


LORD  BROOKE  AND  SIR   PHILIP  SIDNEY. 

[  Lord  Brooke  is  less  known  than  the  personage  with  whom  he 
converses,  and  upon  whose  friendship  he  had  the  virtue  and  good 
sense  to  found  his  chief  distinction.  On  his  monument  at  Warwick, 
written  by  himself,  we  read  that  he  was  servant  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 
counsellor  of  King  James,  and  friend  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  His  style 
is  stiff,  but  his  sentiments  are  sound  and  manly.] 

Brooke.  I  come  again  unto  the  woods  and  unto  the  wilds 
of  Penshurst,  whither  my  heart  and  the  friend  of  my  heart 
have  long  invited  me. 


LORD  BROOKE  AND  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.    157 

Sidney.  Welcome,  welcome !  And  now,  Greville,  seat 
yourself  under  this  oak  ;  since  if  you  had  hungered  or 
thirsted  from  your  journey,  you  would  have  renewed  the 
alacrity  of  your  old  servants  in  the  hall. 

Brooke.  In  truth  I  did :  for  no  otherwise  the  cood 
household  would  have  it.  The  birds  met  me  first,  affright- 
ened  by  the  tossing  up  of  caps ;  and  by  these  harbingers  I 
knew  who  were  coming.  When  my  palfrey  eyed  them 
askance  for  their  clamorousness,  and  shrank  somewhat  back, 
they  quarrelled  with  him  almost  before  they  saluted  me, 
and  asked  him  many  pert  questions.  What  a  pleasant 
spot,  Sidney,  have  you  chosen  here  for  meditation  !  A 
solitude  is  the  audience-chamber  of  God.  Few  days  in 
our  year  are  like  this :  there  is  a  fresh  pleasure  in  every 
fresh  posture  of  the  limbs,  in  every  turn  the  eye  takes. 

"Youth!  credulous  ofhappiness,  throw  down 
Upon  this  turf  thy  wallet, — stored  and  swoln 
With  morrow-morns,  bird-eggs,  and  bladders  burst- 
That  tires  thee  with  its  wagging  to  and  fro  : 
Thou  too  wouldst  breathe  more  freely  for  it,  Age  ! 
Who  lackest  heart  to  laugh  at  life's  deceit." 

It  sometimes  requires  a  stout  push,  and  sometimes  a  sudden 
resistance,  in  the  wisest  men,  not  to  become  for  a  moment 
the  most  foolish.  What  have  I  done 'J  I  have  fairly 
challenged  you,  so  much  my  master. 

Sidney.  You  have  warmed  me  :  I  must  cool  a  little  and 
watch  my  opportunity.  So  now,  Greville,  return  you  to 
your  invitations,  and  I  will  clear  the  ground  for  the 
company  ;  for  Youth,  for  Age,  and  whatever  comes  between, 
with  kindred  and  dependencies.  Verily  we  need  no  taunts 
like  those  in  your  verses  :  here  we  have  few  vices,  and  con- 
sequently few  repinings.  I  take  especial  care  that  my 
young   labourers   and   farmers   shall   never  be   idle,  and   I 


158  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

supply  them  with  bows  and  arrows,  with  bowls  and  nine- 
pins, for  their  Sunday  evening,  lest  they  drink  and  quarreL 
In  church  they  are  taught  to  love  God  ;  after  church  they 
are  practised  to  love  their  neighbour  :  for  business  on  work- 
days keeps  them  apart  and  scattered,  and  on  market-daya 
they  are  prone  to  a  rivalry  bordering  on  malice,  as  com- 
petitors for  custom.  Goodness  does  not  more  certainly 
make  men  happy  than  happiness  makes  them  good.  We 
must  distinguish  between  felicity  and  prosperity ;  for  pros- 
perity leads  often  to  ambition,  and  ambition  to  disappoint- 
ment :  the  course  is  then  over ;  the  wheel  turns  round  but 
once;  while  the  reaction  of  goodness  and  happiness  is 
perpetual. 

Brooke.  You  reason  justly  and  you  act  rightly.  Piety 
— warm,  soft,  and  passive  as  the  ether  round  the  throne  of 
Grace — is  made  callous  and  inactive  by  kneeling  too 
much  :  her  vitality  faints  under  rigorous  and  wearisome 
observances.  A  forced  match  between  a  man  and  his 
religion  sours  his  temper,  and  leaves  a  barren  bed. 

Sidney.  Desire  of  lucre,  the  worst  and  most  general 
country  vice,  arises  here  from  the  necessity  of  looking 
to  small  gains ;  it  is,  however,  but  the  tartar  that  encrusts 
economy. 

Brooke.  Oh  that  anything  so  monstrous  should  exist  in 
this  profusion  and  prodigality  of  blessings  !  The  herbs, 
elastic  with  health,  seem  to  partake  of  sensitive  and 
animated  life,  and  to  feel  under  my  hasd  the  benediction  I 
would  bestow  on  them.  What  a  hum  of  satisfaction  in 
God's  creatures  !  How  is  it,  Sidney,  the  smallest  do  seem 
the  happiest  1 

Sidney.  Compensation  for  their  weaknesses  and  their 
fears ;  compensation  for  the  shortness  of  their  existence. 
Their  spirits  mount  upon  the  sunbeam    above   the  eagle  ; 


LORD  BROOKE  AND  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.    159 

and  they  have  more  enjoyment  in  their  one  summer  than 
the  elephant  in  his  century. 

Brooke.     Are  not  also  the  little  and  lowly  in  our  species 
the  most  happy  1 

Sidney.  I  would  not  willingly  try  nor  over-curiously 
examine  it.  We,  Greville,  are  happy  in  these  parks  and 
forests  :  we  were  happy  in  my  close  winter-walk  of  box  and 
laurustine.  In  our  earlier  days  did  we  not  emboss  our 
bosoms  with  the  daffodils,  and  shake  them  almost  unto 
shedding  with  our  transport  ?  Ay,  my  friend,  there  is  a 
greater  difference,  both  in  the  stages  of  life  and  in  the 
seasons  of  the  year,  than  in  the  conditions  of  men  :  yet  the 
healthy  pass  through  the  seasons,  from  the  clement  to  the 
inclement,  not  only  unreluctantly  but  rejoicingly,  knowing 
that  the  worst  will  soon  finish,  and  the  best  begin  anew ; 
and  we  are  desirous  of  pushing  forward  into  every  stage  of 
life,  excepting  that  alone  which  ought  reasonably  to  allure 
us  most,  as  opening  to  us  the  Via  Sacra,  along  which  we 
move  in  triumph  to  our  eternal  country.  We  may  in  some 
measure  frame  our  minds  for  the  reception  of  happiness,  for 
more  or  for  less ;  we  should,  however,  well  consider  to  what 
port  we  are  steering  in  search  of  it,  and  that  even  in  the 
richest  its  quantity  is  but  too  exhaustible.  There  is  a 
sickliness  in  the  firmest  of  us,  which  induceth  us  to  change 
our  side,  though  reposing  ever  so  softly :  yet,  wittingly  or 
unwittingly,  we  turn  again  soon  into  our  old  position. 

God  hath  granted  unto  both  of  us  hearts  easily  contented, 
hearts  fitted  for  every  station,  because  fitted  for  every  duty. 
What  appears  the  dullest  may  contribute  most  to  our 
genius ;  what  is  most  gloomy  may  soften  the  seeds  and 
relax  the  fibres  of  gaiety.  We  enjoy  the  solemnity  of  the 
spreading  oak  above  us  :  perhaps  we  owe  to  it  in  part  the 
mood  of  our  minds  at  this  instant ;  perhaps  an  inanimate 


160  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

thing  supplies  me,  while  I  am  speaking,  with  whatever  I 
possess  of  animation.  Do  you  imagine  that  any  contest  of 
shepherds  can  afford  them  the  same  pleasure  as  I  receive 
from  the  description  of  it  ;  or  that  even  in  their  loves,  how- 
ever innocent  and  faithful,  they  are  so  free  from  anxiety  as 
I  am  while  I  celebrate  them  1  The  exertion  of  intellectual 
power,  of  fancy  and  imagination,  keeps  from  us  greatly 
more  than  their  wretchedness,  and  affords  us  greatly  more 
than  their  enjoyment.  We  are  motes  in  the  midst  of 
generations  :  we  have  our  sunbeams  to  circuit  and  climb. 
Look  at  the  summits  of  the  trees  around  us,  how  they  move, 
and  the  loftiest  the  most :  nothing  is  at  rest  within  the 
compass  of  our  view,  except  the  grey  moss  on  the  park- 
pales.  Let  it  eat  away  the  dead  oak,  but  let  it  not  be 
compared  with  the  living  one. 

Poets  are  in  general  prone  to  melancholy  ;  yet  the  most 
plaintive  ditty  hath  imparted  a  fuller  joy,  and  of  longer 
duration,  to  its  composer,  than  the  conquest  of  Persia  to 
the  Macedonian.  A  bottle  of  wine  bringeth  as  much 
pleasure  as  the  acquisition  of  a  kingdom,  and  not  unlike 
it  in  kind :  the  senses  in  both  cases  are  confused  and 
perverted. 

Brooke.  Merciful  Heaven  !  and  for  the  fruition  of  an 
hour's  drunkenness,  from  which  they  must  awaken  with 
heaviness,  pain,  and  terror,  men  consume  a  whole  crop  of 
their  kind  at  one  harvest-home.  Shame  upon  those  light 
ones  who  carol  at  the  feast  of  blood  !  and  worse  upon  those 
graver  ones  who  nail  upon  their  escutcheon  the  name  of 
^reat !  Ambition  is  but  Avarice  on  stilts  and  masked. 
God  sometimes  sends  a  famine,  sometimes  a  pestilence,  and 
sometimes  a  hero,  for  the  chastisement  of  mankind  ;  none 
of  them  surely  for  our  admiration.  Only  some  cause  like 
unto  that  which   is  now  scattering  the   mental  fog  of  the 


SO  UTHE  Y  AND  P ORSON.  1 6 1 

Netherlands,  and  is  preparing  them  for  the  fruits  of  freedom, 
can  justify  us  in  drawing  the  sword  abroad. 

Sidney.  And  only  the  accomplishment  of  our  purpose 
can  permit  us  again  to  sheathe  it ;  for  the  aggrandisement 
of  our  neighbour  is  nought  of  detriment  to  us  :  on  the 
contrary,  if  we  are  honest  and  industrious,  his  wealth  is 
ours.  We  have  nothing  to  dread  while  our  laws  are 
equitable  and  our  impositions  light :  but  children  fly  from 
mothers  who  strip  and  scourge  them.  We  are  come  to  an 
age  when  we  ought  to  read  and  speak  plainly  what  our 
discretion  tells  us  is  fit  :  we  are  not  to  be  set  in  a  corner 
for  mockery  and  derision,  with  our  hands  hanging  down 
motionless,  and  our  pockets  turned  inside-out. 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

But  away,  away  with  politics  :  let  not  this  city-stench  infect 
our  fresh  country  air  ! 


SOUTHEY  AND  PORSON. 

Porson.  I  suspect,  Mr.  Southey,  you  are  angry  with  me 
for  the  freedom  with  which  I  have  spoken  of  your  poetry 
and  Wordsworth's. 

Southey.  What  could  have  induced  you  to  imagine  it, 
Mr.  Professor  ?  You  have  indeed  bent  your  eyes  upon  me, 
since  we  have  been  together,  with  somewhat  of  fierceness 
and  defiance :  I  presume  you  fancied  me  to  be  a  commen- 
tator. You  wrong  me  in  your  belief  that  any  opinion  on 
my  poetical  works  hath  molested  me ;  but  you  afford  me 
more  than  compensation  in  supposing  me  acutely  sensible 

of  injustice  done  to  Wordsworth.     If  we  must  converse  on 

31 


162  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

these  topics,  we  will  converse  on  him.  What  man  ever 
existed  who  spent  a  more  inoffensive  life,  or  adorned  it 
with  nobler  studies  1 

Porson.  I  believe  so ;  and  they  who  attack  him  with 
virulence  are  men  of  as  little  morality  as  reflection.  I  have 
demonstrated  that  one  of  them,  he  who  wrote  the  Pursuits 
of  Literature,  could  not  construe  a  Greek  sentence  or  scan 
a  verse ;  and  I  have  fallen  on  the  very  Index  from  which 
he  drew  out  his  forlorn  hope  on  the  parade.  This  is  incom- 
parably the  most  impudent  fellow  I  have  met  with  in  the 
course  of  my  reading,  which  has  lain,  you  know,  in  a 
province  where  impudence  is  no  rarity. 

•  •■•••■ 

I  had  visited  a  friend  in  King's  Road  when  he  entered. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Review  ?  "  cried  he.  "  Worse  than 
ever  !  I  am  resolved  to  insert  a  paragraph  in  the  papers, 
declaring  that  I  had  no  concern  in  the  last  number." 

"  Is  it  so  very  bad  1 "  said  I,  quietly. 

"  Infamous  !  detestable  !  "  exclaimed  he. 

"  Sit  down,  then :  nobody  will  believe  you,"  was  my 
answer. 

Since  that  morning  he  has  discovered  that  I  drink  harder 
than  usual,  that  my  faculties  are  wearing  fast  away,  that 
once,  indeed,  I  had  some  Greek  in  my  head,  but — he  then 
claps  the  forefinger  to  the  side  of  his  nose,  turns  his  eye 
slowly  upward,  and  looks  compassionately  and  calmly. 

Southey.  Come,  Mr.  Porson,  grant  him  his  merits :  no 
critic  is  better  contrived  to  make  any  work  a  monthly  one, 
no  writer  more  dexterous  in  giving  a  finishing  touch. 

Porson.  The  plagiary  has  a  greater  latitude  of  choice 
than  we ;  and  if  he  brings  home  a  parsnip  or  turnip-top, 
when  he  could  as  easily  have  pocketed  a  nectarine  or  a  pine- 
apple, he  must  be  a  blockhead.     I  never  heard  the  name  of 


SOUTHEY  AND  P ORSON.  163 

the  Pursuer  of  Literature,  who  has  little  more  merit  in 
having  stolen  than  he  would  have  had  if  he  had  never 
stolen  at  all ;  and  I  have  forgotten  that  other  man's,  who 
evinced  his  fitness  to  be  the  censor  of  our  age,  by  a  trans- 
lation of  the  most  naked  and  impure  satires  of  antiquity — 
those  of  Juvenal,  which  owe  their  preservation  to  the 
partiality  of  the  Friars.  I  shall  entertain  an  unfavourable 
opinion  of  him  if  he  has  translated  them  well :  pray, 
has  he  1 

Southey.  Indeed,  I  do  not  know.  I  read  poets  for  their 
poetry,  and  to  extract  that  nutriment  of  the  intellect  and  of 
the  heart  which  poetry  should  contain.  I  never  listen  to 
the  swans  of  the  cesspool,  and  must  declare  that  nothing  is 
heavier  to  me  than  rottenness  and  corruption. 

Porson.  You  are  right,  sir,  perfectly  right.  A  trans- 
lator of  Juvenal  would  open  a  public  drain  to  look  for  a 
needle,  and  may  miss  it.  My  nose  is  not  easily  offended ; 
but  I  must  have  something  to  fill  my  belly.  Come,  we  will 
lay  aside  the  scrip  of  the  transpositor  and  the  pouch  of  the 
pursuer,  in  reserve  for  the  days  of  unleavened  bread  ;  and 
again,  if  you  please,  to  the  lakes  and  mountains.  Now  we 
are  both  in  better  humour,  I  must  bring  you  to  a  confession 
that  in  your  friend  Wordsworth  there  is  occasionally  a  little 
trash. 

Southey.  A  haunch  or  venison  would  be  trash  to  a 
Brahmin,  a  bottle  of  Burgundy  to  the  xerif  of  Mecca.  We 
are  guided  by  precept,  by  habit,  by  taste,  by  constitution. 
Hitherto  our  sentiments  on  poetry  have  been  delivered 
down  to  us  from  authority  ;  and  if  it  can  be  demonstrated, 
as  I  think  it  may  be,  that  the  authority  is  inadequate,  and 
that  the  dictates  are  often  inapplicable  and  often  misinter- 
preted, you  will  allow  me  to  remove  the  cause  out  of  court. 
Every  man  can  see  what  is  very  bad  in  a  poem  ;  almost 


1 64  IMA  GINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

every  one  can  see  what  is  very  good :  but  you,  Mr.  Porson, 
who  have  turned  over  all  the  volumes  of  all  the  commenta- 
tors, will  inform  me  whether  I  am  right  or  wrong  in  assert- 
ing that  no  critic  hath  yet  appeared  who  hath  been  able  to 
fix  or  to  discern  the  exact  degrees  of  excellence  above  a 
certain  point. 

Porson.     None. 

Southey.  The  reason  is,  because  the  eyes  of  no  one  have 
been  upon  a  level  with  it.  Supposing,  for  the  sake  of 
argument,  the  contest  of  Hesiod  and  Homer  to  have  taken 
place :  the  judges  who  decided  in  favour  of  the  worse,  and 
he,  indeed,  in  the  poetry  has  little  merit,  may  have  been 
elegant,  wise,  and  conscientious  men.  Their  decision  was 
in  favour  of  that  to  the  species  of  which  they  had  been  the 
most  accustomed.  Corinna  was  preferred  to  Pindar  no 
fewer  than  five  times,  and  the  best  judges  in  Greece  gave 
her  the  preference ;  yet  whatever  were  her  powers,  and 
beyond  a  question  they  were  extraordinary,  we  may  assure 
ourselves  that  she  stood  many  degrees  below  Pindar. 
Nothing  is  more  absurd  than  the  report  that  the  judges 
were  prepossessed  by  her  beauty.  Plutarch  tells  us  that 
she  was  much  older  than  her  competitor,  who  consulted  her 
judgment  in  his  earlier  odes.  Now,  granting  their  first 
competition  to  have  been  when  Pindar  was  twenty  years 
old,  and  that  the  others  were  in  the  years  succeeding,  her 
beauty  must  have  been  somewhat  on  the  decline ;  for  in 
Greece  there  are  few  women  who  retain  the  graces,  none 
who  retain  the  bloom  of  youth,  beyond  the  twenty-third 
year.  Her  countenance,  I  doubt  not,  was  expressive :  but 
expression,  although  it  gives  beauty  to  men,  makes  women 
pay  dearly  for  its  stamp,  and  pay  soon.  Nature  seems,  in 
protection  to  their  loveliness,  to  have  ordered  that  they  who 
are  our  superiors  in  quickness  and  sensibility  should  be  little 


SOUTHEY  AND  P ORSON.  165 

disposed  to  laborious  thought,  or  to  long  excursions  in  the 
labyrinths  of  fancy.  We  may  be  convinced  that  the  verdict 
of  the  judges  was  biassed  by  nothing  else  than  the  habitudes 
of  thinking  ;  we  may  be  convinced,  too,  that  living  in  an 
age  when  poetry  was  cultivated  highly,  and  selected  from 
the  most  acute  and  the  most  dispassionate,  they  were  sub- 
ject to  no  greater  errors  of  opinion  than  are  the  learned 
messmates  of  our  English  colleges. 

Porson.  You  are  more  liberal  in  your  largesses  to  the  fair 
Greeks  than  a  friend  of  mine  was,  who  resided  in  Athens 
to  acquire  the  language.  He  assured  me  that  beauty  there 
was  in  bud  at  thirteen,  in  full  blossom  at  fifteen,  losing 
a  leaf  or  two  every  day  at  seventeen,  trembling  on  the 
thorn  at  nineteen,  and  under  the  tree  at  twenty. 

Southey.      Mr.  Porson,   it  does    not    appear  to  me  that 

anything  more  is  necessary,  in  the  first  instance,   than  to 

interrogate    our   hearts   in    what  manner   they  have    been 

affected.     If  the  ear  is  satisfied  ;  if  at  one  moment  a  tumult 

is  aroused  in  the  breast,  and  tranquillised  at  another,  with  a 

perfect  consciousness  of   equal  power  exerted  in  both  cases ; 

if  we  rise  up  from  the  perusal  of  the  work  with  a  strong 

excitement  to  thought,  to  imagination,  to  sensibility  ;  above 

all,  if  we  sat  down  with  some  propensities  toward  evil,  and 

walk  away  with  much  stronger  toward  good,  in  the  midst  of 

a  world   which  we  never  had  entered    and    of   which  we 

never  had  dreamed  before — shall  we  perversely  put  on  again 

the  old  man  of  criticism,  and  dissemble  that  we  have  been 

conducted   by  a  most  beneficent  and   most   potent  genius? 

Nothing  proves  to  me  so  manifestly  in  what  a  pestiferous 

condition  are  its  lazarettos,  as  when  I  observe  how   little 

hath   been   objected   against    those    who    have    substituted 

words  for  things,   and  how  much  against  those  who  have 

reinstated  things  for  words. 


166  IMA GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

Let  Wordsworth  prove  to  the  world  that  there  may  be 
animation  without  blood  and  broken  bones,  and  tender- 
ness remote  from  the  stews.  Some  will  doubt  it;  for 
even  things  the  most  evident  are  often  but  little  perceived 
and  strangely  estimated.  Swift  ridiculed  the  music  of 
Handel  and  the  generalship  of  Marlborough  ;  Pope  the  per- 
spicacity and  the  scholarship  of  Bentley  ;  Gray  the  abilities 
of  Shaftesbury  and  the  eloquence  of  Rousseau.  Shake- 
speare hardly  found  those  who  would  collect  his  tragedies  ; 
Milton  was  read  from  godliness  ;  Virgil  was  antiquated  and 
rustic  ;  Cicero,  Asiatic.  What  a  rabble  has  persecuted  my 
friend  !  An  elephant  is  born  to  be  consumed  by  ants  in 
the  midst  of  his  unapproachable  solitudes  :  Wordsworth  is 
the  prey  of  Jeffrey.  Why  repine  t  Let  us  rather  amuse 
ourselves  with  allegories,  and  recollect  that  God  in  the 
creation  left  his  noblest  creature  at  the  mercy  of  a  serpent. 

Porson.  Wordsworth  goes  out  of  his  way  to  be  attacked  ; 
he  picks  up  a  piece  of  dirt,  throws  it  on  the  carpet  in  the 
midst  of  the  company,  and  cries,  This  is  a  better  man  than 
any  of  you!  He  does  indeed  mould  the  base  material  into 
what  form  he  chooses ;  but  why  not  rather  invite  us  to 
contemplate  it  than  challenge  us  to  condemn  it?  Here 
surely  is  false  taste. 

Southey.  The  principal  and  the  most  general  accusation 
against  him  is,  that  the  vehicle  of  his  thoughts  is  unequal 
to  them.  Now  did  ever  the  judges  at  the  Olympic  games 
say,  "  We  would  have  awarded  to  you  the  meed  of  victory, 
if  your  chariot  had  been  equal  to  your  horses :  it  is  true 
they  have  won ;  but  the  people  are  displeased  at  a  car 
neither  new  nor  richly  gilt,  and  without  a  gryphon  or 
sphinx  engraved  on  the  axle?"  You  admire  simplicity  in 
Euripides  ;   you  censure  it  in  Wordsworth  :  believe  me,  sir, 


ABBE  DE  LILLE  AND  WALTER  LAN  DOR.      167 

it  arises  in  neither  from  penury  of  thought — which  seldom 
has  produced  it — but  from  the  strength  of  temperance,  and 
at  the  suggestion  of  principle. 

Take  up  a  poem  of  Wordsworth's  and  read  it — I  would 
rather  say,  read  them  all ;  and,  knowing  that  a  mind  like 
yours  must  grasp  closely  what  comes  within  it,  I  will  then 
appeal  to  you  whether  any  poet  cf  our  country,  since  Milton, 
hath  exerted  greater  powers  with  less  of  strain  and  less 
of  ostentation.  I  would,  however,  by  his  permission,  lay 
before  you  for  this  purpose  a  poem  which  is  yet  unpublished 
and  incomplete. 

Porson.  Pity,  with  such  abilities,  he  does  not  imitate 
the  ancients  somewhat  more. 

Soulhey.  Whom  did  they  imitate  1  If  his  genius  is 
equal  to  theirs  he  has  no  need  of  a  guide.  He  also  will  be 
an  ancient ;  and  the  very  counterparts  of  those  who  now 
decry  him  will  extol  him  a  thousand  years  hence  in 
malignity  to  the  moderns. 


THE  ABBE  DELILLE  AND  WALTER 
LANDOR. 

The  Abbe  Delille  was  the  happiest  of  creatures,  when  he 
could  weep  over  the  charms  of  innocence  and  the  country 
in  some  crowded  and  fashionable  circle  at  Paris.  We 
embraced  most  pathetically  on  our  first  meeting  there,  as  if 
the  one  were  condemned  to  quit  the  earth,  the  other  to  live 
upon  it. 

Delille.     You  are  reported  to  have  said  that  descriptive 


io8  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

poetry  has  all  the  merits  of  a  handkerchief  that  smells  of 
roses  1 

Landor.  This,  if  I  said  it,  is  among  the  things  which  are 
neither  false  enough  nor  true  enough  to  be  displeasing. 
But  the  Abbe  Delille  has  merits  of  his  own.  To  translate 
Milton  well  is  more  laudable  than  originality  in  trifling 
matters;  just  as  to  transport  an  obelisk  from  Egypt,  and  to 
erect  it  in  one  of  the  squares,  must  be  considered  a  greater 
labour  than  to  build  a  new  chandler's  shop. 

Delille.  Milton  is  indeed  extremely  difficult  to  translate  ; 
for,  however  noble  and  majestic,  he  is  sometimes  heavy,  and 
often  rough  and  unequal. 

Landor.  Dear  Abbe  !  porphyry  is  heavy,  gold  is  heavier; 
Ossa  and  Olmypus  are  rough  and  unequal ;  the  steppes  of 
Tartary,  though  high,  are  of  uniform  elevation :  there  is  not 
a  rock,  nor  a  birch,  nor  a  cytisus,  nor  an  arbutus  upon  them 
great  enough  to  shelter  a  new-dropped  lamb.  Level  the 
Alps  one  with  another,  and  where  is  their  sublimity?  Raise 
up  the  vale  of  Tempe  to  the  downs  above,  and  where 
are  those  sylvan  creeks  and  harbours  in  which  the  imagina- 
tion watches  while  the  soul  reposes  ;  those  recesses  in  which 
the  gods  partook  the  weaknesses  of  mortals,  and  mortals  the 
enjoyments  of  the  gods  1 

You  have  treated  our  poet  with  courtesy  and  distinction  ; 
in  your  trimmed  and  measured  dress,  he  might  be  taken  for 
a  Frenchman.  Do  not  think  me  flattering.  You  have 
conducted  Eve  from  Paradise  to  Paris,  and  she  really  looks 
prettier  and  smarter  than  before  she  tripped.  With  what 
elegance  she  rises  from  a  most  awful  dream  !  You  represent 
her  (I  repeat  your  expression)  as  springing  up  en  sursaut, 
as  if  you  had  caught  her  asleep  and  tickled  the  young 
creature  on  that  sofa. 

Homer   and  Virgil   have  been  excelled  in   sublimity  by 


ABBE  DELILLE  AND   WALTER  LANDOR.     169 

Shakespeare  and  Milton,  as  the  Caucasus  and  Atlas  of  the 
old  world  by  the  Andes  and  Teneriffe  of  the  new ;  but  you 
would  embellish  them  all. 

Delille.  I  owe  to  Voltaire  my  first  sentiment  of  admira- 
tion for  Milton  and  Shakespeare. 

Landor.  He  stuck  to  them  as  a  woodpecker  to  an  old 
forest-tree,  only  for  the  purpose  of  picking  out  what  was 
rotten  :  he  has  made  the  holes  deeper  than  he  found  them, 
and,  after  all  his  cries  and  chatter,  has  brought  home  but 
scanty  sustenance  to  his  starveling  nest. 

Delille.  You  must  acknowledge  that  there  are  fine  verses 
in  his  tragedies. 

Landor.  Whenever  such  is  the  first  observation,  be 
assured,  M.  l'Abb6,  that  the  poem,  if  heroic  or  dramatic,  is 
bad.  Should  a  work  of  this  kind  be  excellent,  we  say, 
"  How  admirably  the  characters  are  sustained !  What 
delicacy  of  discrimination  !  There  is  nothing  to  be  taken 
away  or  altered  without  an  injury  to  the  part  or  to  the 
whole."  We  may  afterward  descend  on  the  versification.  In 
poetry,  there  is  a  greater  difference  between  the  good  and 
the  excellent  than  there  is  between  the  bad  and  the  good. 
Poetry  has  no  golden  mean ;  mediocrity  here  is  of  another 
metal,  which  Voltaire  however  had  skill  enough  to  encrust 
and  polish.  In  the  least  wretched  of  his  tragedies,  what- 
ever is  tolerable  is  Shakespeare's;  but,  gracious  Heaven  ! 
how  deteriorated !  When  he  pretends  to  extol  a  poet  he 
chooses  some  defective  part,  and  renders  it  more  so  whenever 
he  translates  it.  I  will  repeat  a  few  verses  from  Metastasio 
in  support  of  my  assertion.  Metastasio  was  both  a  better 
critic  and  a  better  poet,  although  of  the  second  order  in 
each  quality ;  his  tyrants  are  less  philosophical,  and  his 
chambermaids  less  dogmatic.  Voltaire  was,  however,  a 
man  of  abilities,   and  author    of    many  passable  epigrams, 


1 70  IMA  GINAR  V  CON  VERS  A  T10NS. 

beside  those  which  are  contained  in  his  tragedies  and 
heroics  ;  yet  it  must  be  confessed  that,  like  your  Parisian 
lackeys,  they  are  usually  the  smartest  when  out  of  place. 

Delille.  What  you  call  epigram  gives  life  and  spirit  to 
grave  works,  and  seems  principally  wanted  to  relieve  a  long 
poem.  I  do  not  see  why  what  pleases  us  in  a  star  should 
not  please  us  in  a  constellation. 


DIOGENES  AND  PLATO. 

[This  is  throughout  a  criticism  of  Plato,  Diogenes  gaining  an  easy 
victory  at  every  point.  Landor,  who  loved  concrete  thought  and  hated 
all  forms  of  mysticism,  had  formed  a  very  unfavourable  opinion  of  Plato, 
and  often  goes  out  of  his  way  to  attack  him.  He  frequently  defends 
the  character  and  philosophy  of  Diogenes,  and  speaks  of  him  elsewhere 
as  the  wisest  man  of  his  time.] 

Diogenes.  Stop!  stop!  come  hither!  Why  lookest  thou 
so  scornfully  and  askance  upon  me  1 

Plato.     Let  me  go  !  loose  me  !  I  am  resolved  to  pass. 

Diogenes.  Nay,  then,  by  Jupiter  and  this  tub !  thou 
leavest  three  good  ells  of  Milesian  cloth  behind  thee. 
Whither  wouldst  thou  amble  1 

Plato.     I  am  not  obliged  in  courtesy  to  tell  you. 

Diogenes.     Upon  whose  errand  1     Answer  me  directly. 

Plato.      Upon  my  own. 

Diogenes.  Oh,  then  I  will  hold  thee  yet  awhile.  If  it 
were  upon  another's,  it  might  be  a  hardship  to  a  good 
citizen,  though  not  to  a  good  philosopher. 

Plato.  That  can  be  no  impediment  to  my  release :  you 
do  not  think  me  one. 


DIOGENES  AND  PLATO.  171 

Diogenes.      No,  by  niy  Father  Jove  ! 

Plato.     Your  father ! 

Diogenes.  Why  not  ?  Thou  shoulclst  be  the  last  man  to 
doubt  it.  Hast  not  thou  declared  it  irrational  to  refuse  our 
belief  to  those  who  assert  tliat  they  are  begotten  by  the 
gods,  though  the  assertion  (these  are  thy  words)  be  unfounded 
on  reason  or  probability  1  In  me  there  is  a  chance  of  it : 
whereas  in  the  generation  of  such  people  as  thou  art  fondest 
of  frequenting,  who  claim  it  loudly,  there  are  always  too 
many  competitors  to  leave  it  probable. 

Plato.  Those  who  speak  against  the  great  do  not  usually 
speak  from  morality,  but  from  envy. 

Diogenes.  Thou  hast  a  glimpse  of  the  truth  in  this  place, 
but  as  thou  hast  already  shown  thy  ignorance  in  attempting 
to  prove  to  me  what  a  man  is,  ill  can  I  expect  to  learn  from 
thee  what  is  a  great  man. 

Plato.  No  doubt  your  experience  and  intercourse  will 
afford  me  the  information. 

Diogenes.  Attend,  and  take  it.  The  great  man  is  he 
who  hath  nothing  to  fear  and  nothing  to  hope  from  another. 
It  is  he  who,  while  he  demonstrates  the  iniquity  of  the  laws, 
and  is  able  to  correct  them,  obeys  them  peaceably.  It  is  he 
who  looks  on  the  ambitious  both  as  weak  and  fraudulent. 
It  is  he  who  hath  no  disposition  or  occasion  for  any  kind  of 
deceit,  no  reason  for  being  or  for  appearing  different  from 
what  he  is.  It  is  he  who  can  call  together  the  most  select 
company  when  it  pleases  him. 

Plato.  Excuse  my  interruption.  In  the  beginning  of 
your  definition  I  fancied  that  you  were  designating  your 
own  person,  as  most  people  do  in  describing  what  is 
admirable ;  now  I  find  that  you  have  some  other  in 
contemplation. 

Diogenes.     I  thank  thee  for  allowing  me  what  perhaps  I 


1 72  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

do  possess,  but  what  I  was  not  then  thinking  of  ;  as  is  often 
the  case  with  rich  possessors  :  in  fact,  the  latter  part  of  the 
description  suits  me  as  well  as  any  portion  of  the  former. 

Plato.  You  may  call  together  the  best  company,  by 
using  3'our  hands  in  the  call,  as  you  did  with  me;  otherwise 
I  am  not  sure  that  you  would  succeed  in  it. 

Diogenes.  My  thoughts  are  my  company  ;  I  can  bring 
them  together,  select  them,  detain  them,  dismiss  them. 
Imbecile  and  vicious  men  cannot  do  any  of  these  things. 
Their  thoughts  are  scattered,  vague,  uncertain,  cumbersome  : 
and  the  worst  stick  to  them  the  longest ;  many  indeed  by 
choice,  the  greater  part  by  necessity,  and  accompanied, 
some  by  weak  wishes,  others  by  vain  remorse. 

Plato.  Is  there  nothing  of  greatness,  O  Diogenes  !  in 
exhibiting  how  cities  and  communities  may  be  governed 
best,  how  morals  may  be  kept  the  purest,  and  power  become 
the  most  stable  1 

Diogenes.  Something  of  greatness  does  not  constitute 
the  great  man.  Let  me  however  see  him  who  hath  done 
what  thou  sayest  :  he  must  be  the  most  universal  and  the 
most  indefatigable  traveller,  he  must  also  be  the  oldest 
creature,  upon  earth. 

Plato.     How  so  1 

Diogenes.  Because  he  must  know  perfectly  the  climate, 
the  soil,  the  situation,  the  peculiarities,  of  the  races,  of 
their  allies,  of  their  enemies ;  he  must  have  sounded  their 
harbours,  he  must  have  measured  the  quantity  of  their 
arable  land  and  pasture,  of  their  woods  and  mountains ;  he 
must  have  ascertained  whether  there  are  fisheries  on  their 
coasts,  and  even  w7hat  winds  are  prevalent.  On  these 
causes,  with  some  others,  depend  the  bodily  strength,  the 
numbers,  the  wealth,  the  wants,  the  capacities  of  the 
people. 


DIOGENES  AND  PLATO.  173 

Plato.     Such  are  low  thoughts. 

Diogenes.  The  bird  of  wisdom  flies  low,  and  seeks  her 
food  under  hedges  :  the  eagle  himself  would  he  starved  if 
he  always  soared  aloft  and  against  the  sun.  The  sweetest 
fruit  grows  near  the  ground,  and  the  plants  that  bear  it 
require  ventilation  and  lopping.  Were  this  not  to  be  done 
in  thy  garden,  every  walk  and  alley,  every  plot  and  border, 
would  be  covered  with  runners  and  roots,  with  boughs  and 
suckers.  We  want  no  poets  or  logicians  or  metaphysicians 
to  govern  us  :  we  want  practical  men,  honest  men,  continent 
men,  unambitious  men,  fearful  to  solicit  a  trust,  slow  to 
accept,  and  resolute  never  to  betray  one.  Experimentalists 
may  be  the  best  philosophers :  they  are  always  the  worst 
politicians.  Teach  people  their  duties,  and  they  will  know 
their  interests.  Change  as  little  as  possible,  and  correct  as 
much. 

Philosophers  are  absurd  from  many  causes,  but  principally 
from  laying  out  unthriftily  their  distinctions.  They  set  up 
four  virtues  :  fortitude,  prudence,  temperance,  and  justice. 
Now  a  man  may  be  a  very  bad  one,  and  yet  possess  three 
out  of  the  four.  Every  cut-throat  must,  if  he  has  been  a 
cut-throat  on  many  occasions,  have  more  fortitude  and  more 
prudence  than  the  greater  part  of  those  whom  we  consider 
as  the  best  men.  And  what  cruel  wretches,  both  execu- 
tioners and  judges,  have  been  strictly  just  !  how  little  have 
they  cared  what  gentleness,  what  generosity,  what  genius, 
their  sentence  hath  removed  from  the  earth  !  Temperance 
and  beneficence  contain  all  other  virtues.  Take  them 
home,  Plato ;  split  them,  expound  them ;  do  what  thou  wilt 
with  them,  if  thou  but  use  them. 

Before  I  gave  thee  this  lesson,  which  is  abetter  than  thou 
ever  gavest  any  one,  and  easier  to  remember,  thou  wert 
accusing   me    of    invidiousness    and    malice    against    those 


1 74  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

whom  thou  callest  the  great,  meaning  to  say  the  powerful. 
Thy  imagination,  I  am  well  aware,  had  taken  its  flight 
toward  Sicily,  where  thou  seekest  thy  great  man,  as 
earnestly  and  undoubtingly  as  Ceres  sought  her  Persephone, 
Faith  !  honest  Plato,  I  have  no  reason  to  envy  thy  worthy 
friend  Dionysius.  Look  at  my  nose  !  A  lad  seven  or  eight 
years  old  threw  an  apple  at  me  yesterday,  while  I  was 
gazing  at  the  clouds,  and  gave  me  nose  enough  for  two 
moderate  men.  Instead  of  such  a  godsend,  what  should  I 
have  thought  of  my  fortune  if,  after  living  all  my  lifetime 
among  golden  vases,  rougher  than  my  hand  with  their 
emeralds  and  rubies,  their  engravings  and  embossments ; 
among  Parian  caryatides  and  porphyry  sphinxes ;  among 
philosophers  with  rings  upon  their  fingers  and  linen  next 
their  skin  ;  and  among  singing-boys  and  dancing-girls,  to 
whom  alone  thou  speakest  intelligibly — I  ask  thee  again, 
what  should  I  in  reason  have  thought  of  my  fortune,  if, 
after  these  facilities  and  superfluities,  I  had  at  last  been 
pelted  out  of  my  house,  not  by  one  young  rogue,  but  by 
thousands  of  all  ages,  and  not  with  an  apple  (I  wish  I  could 
say  a  rotten  one),  but  with  pebbles  and  broken  pots  ;  and, 
to  crown  my  deserts,  had  been  compelled  to  become  the 
teacher  of  so  promising  a  generation  1  Great  men,  forsooth  ! 
thou  knowest  at  last  who  they  are. 

Plato.     There  are  great  men  of  various  kinds. 

Diogenes.     No,  by  my  beard,  are  there  not ! 

Plato.  What !  are  there  not  great  captains,  great  geo- 
metricians, great  dialectitians  ? 

Diogenes.  Who  denied  it  ?  A  great  man  was  the 
postulate.     Try  thy  hand  now  at  the  powerful  one. 

Plato.  On  seeing  the  exercise  of  power,  a  child  cannot 
doubt  who  is  powerful,  more  or  less ;  for  power  is 
relative.     All  men  are  weak,  not  only  if  compared  to  the 


DIOGENES  AND  PLATO.  175 

Demiurgos,  but  if  compared  to  the  sea  or  the  earth,  or 
certain  things  upon  each  of  them,  such  as  elephants  and 
whales.  So  placid  and  tranquil  is  the  scene  around  us,  wo 
can  hardly  bring  to  mind  the  images  of  strength  and  force, 
the  precipices,  the  abysses 

Diogenes.  Prythee  hold  thy  loose  tongue,  twinkling  and 
glittering  like  a  serpent's  in  the  midst  of  luxuriance  and 
rankness !  Did  never  this  reflection  of  thine  warn  thee 
that,  in  human  life,  the  precipices  and  abysses  would  be 
much  farther  from  our  admiration  if  we  were  less  incon- 
siderate, selfish,  and  vile  %  I  will  not  however  stop  thee 
long,  for  thou  wert  going  on  quite  consistently.  As  thy 
great  men  are  fighters  and  wranglers,  so  thy  mighty  things 
upon  the  earth  and  sea  are  troublesome  and  intractable 
encumbrances.  Thou  preceivedst  not  what  was  greater 
in  the  former  case,  neither  art  thou  aware  what  is  greater 
in  this.     Didst  thou  feel  the  gentle  air  that  passed  us  1 

Plato.     I  did  not,  just  then. 

Diogenes.  That  air,  so  gentle,  so  imperceptible  to  thee,  is 
more  powerful  not  only  than  all  the  creatures  that  breathe 
and  live  by  it ;  not  only  than  all  the  oaks  of  the  forest, 
which  it  rears  in  an  age  and  shatters  in  a  moment ;  not 
only  than  all  the  monsters  of  the  sea,  but  than  the  sea 
itself,  which  it  tosses  up  into  foam,  and  breaks  against 
every  rock  in  its  vast  circumference  ;  for  it  carries  in  its 
bosom,  with  perfect  calm  and  composure,  the  incontrollable 
ocean  and  the  peopled  earth,  like  an  atom  of  a  feather. 

To  the  world's  turmoils  and  pageantries  is  attracted,  not 
only  the  admiration  of  the  populace,  but  the  zeal  of  the 
orator,  the  enthusiasm  of  the  poet,  the  investigation  of  the 
historian,  and  the  contemplation  of  the  philosopher :  yet 
how  silent  and  invisible  are  they  in  the  depths  of  air  !  Do 
I  say  in  those    depths    and    deserts  ?     No ;  I  sny   in   the 


176  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

distance  of  a  swallow's  flight, — at  the  distance  she  rises 
above  us,  ere  a  sentence  brief  as  this  could  be  uttered. 

What  are  its  mines  and  mountains  ?  Fragments  welded 
up  and  dislocated  by  the  expansion  of  water  from  below  ; 
the  most  part  reduced  to  mud,  the  rest  to  splinters.  After- 
wards sprang  up  fire  in  many  places,  and  again  tore  and 
mangled  the  mutilated  carcass,  and  still  growls  over  it. 

What  are  its  cities  and  ramparts,  and  moles  and  monu- 
ments? Segments  of  a  fragment,  which  one  man  puts 
together  and  another  throws  down.  Here  we  stumble  upon 
thy  great  ones  at  their  work.  Show  me  now,  if  thou  canst, 
in  history,  three  great  warriors,  or  three  great  statesmen, 
who  have  acted  otherwise  than  spiteful  children. 

Plato.  I  will  begin  to  look  for  them  in  history  when  I 
have  discovered  the  same  number  in  the  philosophers  or  the 
poets.  A  prudent  man  searches  in  his  own  garden  after 
the  plant  he  wants,  before  he  casts  his  eyes  over  the  stalls 
in  Kenkrea  or  Keramicos. 

Returning  to  your  observation  on  the  potency  of  the  air, 
I  am  not  ignorant  or  unmindful  of  it.  May  I  venture  to 
express  my  opinion  to  you,  Diogenes,  that  the  earlier  dis- 
coverers and  distributors  of  wisdom  (which  wisdom  lies 
amonf  us  in  ruins  and  remnants,  partly  distorted  and 
partly  concealed  by  theological  allegory)  meant  by  Jupiter 
the  air  in  its  agitated  state ;  by  Juno  the  air  in  its  quiescent. 
These  are  the  great  agents,  and  therefore  called  the  king 
and  queen  of  the  gods.  Jupiter  is  denominated  by  Homer 
the  compeller  of  clouds :  Juno  receives  them,  and  remits 
them  in  showers  to  plants  and  animals. 

I  may  trust  you,  I  hope,  O  Diogenes  1 

Diogenes.  Thou  mayest  lower  the  gods  in  my  presence, 
as  safely  as  men  in  the  presence  of  Timon. 

Plato.     I  would  not  lower  them  =   T  would  exalt  them. 


DIOGENES  AND  PLATO.  177 

Diogenes.     More  foolish  and  presumptuous  still  1 

Plato.  Fair  words,  0  Sinopean !  I  protest  to  you  my 
aim  is  truth. 

Diogenes.  I  cannot  lead  thee  where  of  a  certainty  thou 
mayest  always  find  it ;  but  I  will  tell  thee  what  it  is. 
Truth  is  a  point ;  the  subtilest  and  finest ;  harder  than 
adamant ;  never  to  be  broken,  worn  away,  or  blunted.  Tts 
only  bad  quality  is,  that  it  is  sure  to  hurt  those  who  touch 
it ;  and  likely  to  draw  blood,  perhaps  the  life-blood,  of 
those  who  press  earnestly  upon  it.  Let  us  away  from  this 
narrow  lane  skirted  with  hemlock,  and  pursue  our  road 
again  through  the  wind  and  dust,  toward  the  great  man 
and  the  powerful.  Him  I  would  call  the  powerful  one 
who  controls  the  storms  of  his  mind,  and  turns  to  good 
account  the  worst  accidents  of  his  fortune.  The  great 
man,  I  was  going  on  to  demonstrate,  is  somewhat  more. 
He  must  be  able  to  do  this,  and  he  must  have  an  intellect 
which  puts  into  motion  the  intellect  of  others. 

Plato.     Socrates,  then,  was  your  great  man. 

Diogenes.  He  was  indeed ;  nor  can  all  thou  hast  attri- 
buted to  him  ever  make  me  think  the  contrary.  I  wish  he 
could  have  kept  a  little  more  at  home,  and  have  thought  it 
as  well  worth  his  while  to  converse  with  his  own  children 
as  with  others. 

Plato.  He  knew  himself  born  for  the  benefit  of  the 
human  race. 

Diogenes.  Those  who  are  born  for  the  benefit  of  the 
human  race  co  but  little  into  it :  those  who  are  born  for  its 
curse  are  crowded. 

Plato.  It  was  requisite  to  dispel  the  mists  of  ignorance 
and  error. 

Diogenes.  Has  he  done  it  1  What  doubt  has  he  eluci- 
dated, or  what  fact  has  he  established?     Although  I  was 

32 


178  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

but  twelve  years  old  and  resident  in  another  city  when  he 
died,  I  have  taken  some  pains  in  my  inquiries  about  him 
from  persons  of  less  vanity  and  less  perverseness  than  his 
disciples.  He  did  not  leave  behind  him  any  true  philo- 
sopher among  them ;  any  who  followed  his  mode  of 
argumentation,  his  subjects  of  disquisition,  or  his  course  of 
life ;  any  who  would  subdue  the  malignant  passions  or 
coerce  the  looser  ;  any  who  would  abstain  from  calumny 
or  from  cavil ;  any  who  would  devote  his  days  to  the 
glory  of  his  country,  or,  what  is  easier  and  perhaps  wiser, 
to  his  own  well-founded  contentment  and  well-merited 
repose.  Xenophon,  the  best  of  them,  offered  up  sacrifices, 
believed  in  oracles,  consulted  soothsayers,  turned  pale  at  a 
jay,  and  was  dysenteric  at  a  magpie. 
Plato.     He  had  courage  at  least. 

Diogenes.  His  courage  was  of  so  strange  a  quality,  that 
he  was  ready,  if  jay  or  magpie  did  not  cross  him,  to  fight 
for  Spartan  or  Persian.  Plato,  whom  thou  esteemest  much 
more,  and  knowest  somewhat  less,  careth  as  little  for 
portent  and  omen  as  doth  Diogenes.  What  he  would  have 
done  for  a  Persian  I  cannot  say ;  certain  I  am  that  he 
would  have  no  more  fought  for  a  Spartan  than  he  would 
for  his  own  father  :  yet  he  mortally  hates  the  man  who 
hath  a  kinder  muse  or  a  better  milliner,  or  a  seat  nearer 
the  minion  of  a  king.  So  much  for  the  two  disciples  of 
Socrates  who  have  acquired  the  greatest  celebrity ! 

Plato.  Diogenes!  if  you  must  argue  or  discourse  with 
me,  I  will  endure  your  asperity  for  the  sake  of  your  acute- 
ness ;  but  it  appears  to  me  a  more  philosophical  thing  to 
avoid  what  is  insulting  and  vexatious,  than  to  breast  and 
brave  it. 

Diogenes.     Thou  hast  spoken  well. 


DIOGENES  AND  PLATO.  179 

Plato.  It  belongs  to  the  vulgar,  not  to  us,  to  fly  from  a 
man's  opinions  to  his  actions,  and  to  stab  him  in  his  own 
house  for  having  received  no  wound  in  the  school.  One 
merit  you  will  allow  me  :  I  always  keep  my  temper  ;  which 
you  seldom  do. 

Diogenes.     Is  mine  a  good  or  a  bad  one  1 

Plato.     Now,  must  I  speak  sincerely  ? 

Diogenes.  Dost  thou,  a  philosopher,  ask  such  a  question 
of  me,  a  philosopher  ?     Ay,  sincerely  or  not  at  all. 

Plato.  Sincerely  as  you  could  wish,  I  must  declare,  then, 
your  temper  is  the  worst  in  the  world. 

Diogenes.  I  am  much  in  the  right,  therefore,  not  to  keep 
it.  Embrace  me  :  I  have  spoken  now  in  thy  own  manner. 
Because  thou  sayest  the  most  malicious  things  the  most 
placidly,  thou  thinkest  or  pretendest  thou  art  sincere. 

Plato.  Certainly  those  who  are  most  the  masters  of  their 
resentments  are  likely  to  speak  less  erroneously  than  the 
passionate  and  morose. 

Diogenes.  If  they  would,  they  might ;  but  the  moderate 
are  not  usually  the  most  sincere,  for  the  same  circumspection 
which  makes  them  moderate  makes  them  likewise  retentive 
of  what  could  give  offence  :  they  are  also  timid  in  regard  to 
fortune  and  favour,  and  hazard  little.  There  is  no  mass  of 
sincerity  in  any  place.  What  there  is  must  be  picked  up 
patiently,  a  grain  or  two  at  a  time ;  and  the  season  for  it  is 
after  a  storm,  after  the  overflowing  of  banks,  and  bursting 
of  mounds,  and  sweeping  away  of  landmarks.  Men  will 
always  hold  something  back ;  they  must  be  shaken  and 
loosened  a  little,  to  make  them  let  go  what  is  deepest  in 
them,  and  weightiest  and  purest. 

Plato.  Shaking  and  loosening  as  much  about  you  as  was 
requisite  for  the  occasion,  it  became  you  to  demonstrate 
where  and  in  what  manner  I  had  made  Socrates  appear  less 


r  80  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

sagacious  and  less  eloquent  than  he  was ;  it  became  you 
likewise  to  consider  the  great  difficulty  of  finding  new 
thoughts  and  new  expressions  for  those  who  had  more  of 
them  than  any  other  men,  and  to  represent  them  in  all  the 
brilliancy  of  their  wit  and  in  all  the  majesty  of  their  genius. 
I  do  not  assert  that  I  have  done  it ;  but  if  I  have  not,  what 
man  has  ?  what  man  has  come  so  nigh  to  it  ?  He  who 
could  bring  Socrates,  or  Solon,  or  Diogenes  through  a 
dialogue,  without  disparagement,  is  much  nearer  in  his 
intellectual  powers  to  them,  than  any  other  is  near  to  him. 

Diogenes.  Let  Diogenes  alone,  and  Socrates,  and  Solon. 
None  of  the  three  ever  occupied  his  hours  in  tingeing  and 
curling  the  tarnished  plumes  of  prostitute  Philosophy,  or 
deemed  anything  worth  his  attention,  care,  or  notice,  that 
did  not  make  men  brave  and  independent.  As  thou  callest 
on  me  to  show  thee  where  and  in  what  manner  thou  hast 
misrepresented  thy  teacher,  and  as  thou  seemest  to  set  an 
equal  value  on  eloquence  and  on  reasoning,  I  shall  attend 
to  thee  awhile  on  each  of  these  matters,  first  inquiring  of 
thee  whether  the  axiom  is  Socratic,  that  it  is  never  becoming 
to  get  drunk,  unless  in  the  solemnities  of  Bacchus  ? 

Plato.  This  god  was  the  discoverer  of  the  vine  and  of 
its  uses. 

Diogenes.  Is  drunkenness  one  of  its  uses,  or  the  dis- 
covery of  a  god  1  If  Pallas  or  Jupiter  hath  given  us  reason, 
we  should  sacrifice  our  reason  with  more  propriety  to 
Jupiter  or  Pallas.  To  Bacchus  is  due  a  libation  of  wine ; 
the  same  being  his  gift,  as  thou  preachest. 

Another  and  a  graver  question. 

Did  Socrates  teach  thee  that  "  slaves  are  to  be  scourged, 
and  by  no  means  admonished  as  though  they  were  tho 
children  of  the  master  1 " 

Plato.     He  did  not  argue  upon  government 


DIOGENES  A  ND  PLA  TO.  1 8 1 

Diogenes.  He  argued  upon  humanity,  whereon  all 
government  is  founded  :  whatever  is  beside  it  is  usurpa- 
tion. 

Plato.  Are  slaves  then  never  to  he  scourged,  whatever 
be  their  transgressions  and  enormities  1 

Diogenes.  Whatever  they  be,  they  are  less  than  his  who 
reduced  them  to  their  condition. 

Plato.     What !   though  they  murder  his  whole  family  ? 

Diogenes.     Ay,  and  poison  the  public  fountain  of  the  city. 

What  am  I  saying?  and  to  whom?  Horrible  as  is  this 
crime,  and  next  in  atrocity  to  parricide,  thou  deemest  it  a 
lighter  one  than  stealing  a  fig  or  grape.  The  stealer  of 
these  is  scourged  by  thee  ;  the  sentence  on  the  poisoner  is 
to  cleanse  out  the  receptacle.  There  is,  however,  a  kind  of 
poisoning  which,  to  do  thee  justice,  comes  before  thee  with 
all  its  horrors,  and  which  thou  wouldst  punish  capitally, 
even  in  such  a  sacred  personage  as  an  aruspex  or  diviner  : 
I  mean  the  poisoning  by  incantation.  I,  and  my  whole 
family,  my  whole  race,  my  whole  city,  may  bite  the  dust  in 
agony  from  a  truss  of  henbane  in  the  well ;  and  little  harm 
done  forsooth  !  Let  an  idle  fool  set  an  image  of  me  in  wax 
before  the  fire,  and  whistle  and  caper  to  it,  and  purr  and 
pray,  and  chant  a  hymn  to  Hecate  while  it  melts,  entreating 
and  imploring  her  that  I  may  melt  as  easily, — and  thou 
wouldst,  in  thy  equity  and  holiness,  strangle  him  at  the 
first  stave  of  his  psalmody. 

Plato.     If  this  is  an  absurdity,  can  you  find  another  1 

Diogenes.  Truly,  in  reading  thy  book,  I  doubted  at  first, 
and  for  a  long  continuance,  whether  thou  couldst  have  been 
serious ;  and  whether  it  were  not  rather  a  satire  on  those 
busy-bodies  who  are  incessantly  intermeddling  in  other 
people's  affairs.  It  was  only  on  the  protestation  of  thy  inti- 
mate   friends    that  I  believed  thee   to    have  written  it  in 


1 82  IMA  GINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

earnest.  As  for  thy  question,  it  is  idle  to  stoop  and  pick 
out  absurdities  from  a  mass  of  inconsistency  and  injustice  ; 
but  another  and  another  I  could  throw  in,  and  another  and 
another  afterward,  from  any  page  in  the  volume.  Two  bare, 
staring  falsehoods  lift  their  beaks  one  upon  the  other,  like 
spring  frogs.  Thou  sayest  that  no  punishment  decreed  by 
the  laws  tendeth  to  evil.  What !  not  if  immoderate  1  not 
if  partial  1  Why  then  repeal  any  penal  statute  while  the 
subject  of  its  animadversion  exists  1  In  prisons  the  less 
criminal  are  placed  among  the  more  criminal,  the  inexper- 
ienced in  vice  together  with  the  hardened  in  it.  This  is  part 
of  the  punishment,  though  it  precedes  the  sentence ;  nay, 
it  is  often  inflicted  on  those  whom  the  judges  acquit :  the 
law,  by  allowing  it,  does  it. 

The  next  is,  that  he  who  is  punished  by  the  laws  is  the 
better  for  it,  however  the  less  depraved.  What !  if 
anteriorly  to  the  sentence  he  lives  and  converses  with 
worse  men,  some  of  whom  console  him  by  deadening  the 
sense  of  shame,  others  by  removing  the  apprehension  of 
punishment?  Many  laws  as  certainly  make  men  bad,  as 
bad  men  make  many  laws  ;  yet  under  thy  regimen  they 
take  us  from  the  bosom  of  the  nurse,  turn  the  meat  about 
upon  the  platter,  pull  the  bed-clothes  off,  make  us  sleep 
when  we  would  wake,  and  wake  when  we  would  sleep,  and 
never  cease  to  rummage  and  twitch  us,  until  they  see  us 
safe  landed  at  the  grave.  We  can  do  nothing  (but  be 
poisoned)  with  impunity.  What  is  worst  of  all,  we  must 
marry  certain  relatives  and  connections,  be  they  distorted, 
blear-eyed,  toothless,  carbuncled,  with  hair  (if  any)  eclipsing 
the  reddest  torch  of  Hymen,  and  with  a  hide  outrivalling 
in  colour  and  plaits  his  trimmest  saffron  robe.  At  the 
mention  of  this  indeed,  friend  Plato,  even  thou,  although 
resolved  to  stand  out  of  harm's  way,  beginnest  to  make  a 


DIOGENES  AND  PLATO.  183 

wry  mouth,  and  findest  it  difficult  to  pucker  and  purse  it 
up  again,  without  an  astringent  store  of  moral  sentences. 
Hymen  is  truly  no  acquaintance  of  thine.  We  know  the 
delicacies  of  love  which  thou  wouldst  reserve  for  the 
gluttony  of  heroes  and  the  fastidiousness  of  philosophers. 
Heroes,  like  gods,  must  have  their  own  way ;  but  against 
thee  and  thy  confraternity  of  elders  I  would  turn  the  closet- 
key,  and  your  mouths  might  water  over,  but  your  tongues 
should  never  enter  those  little  pots  of  comfiture.  Seriously, 
you  who  wear  embroidered  slippers  ought  to  be  very 
cautious  of  treading  in  the  mire.  Philosophers  should  not 
only  live  the  simplest  lives,  but  should  also  use  the  plainest 
language.  Poets,  in  employing  magnificent  and  sonorous 
words,  teach  philosophy  the  better  by  thus  disarming 
suspicion  that  the  finest  poetry  contains  and  conveys  the 
finest  philosophy.  You  will  never  let  any  man  hold  his 
right  station  :  you  would  rank  Solon  with  Homer  for  poetry. 
This  is  absurd.  The  only  resemblance  is  in  both  being 
eminently  wise.  Pindar,  too,  makes  even  the  cadences  of 
his  dithyrambics  keep  time  to  the  flute  of  Reason.  My  tub, 
which  holds  fifty-fold  thy  wisdom,  would  crack  at  the 
reverberation  of  thy  voice. 
Plato.      Farewell. 

•  *  •  •  •  •  ■ 

Diogenes.  I  mean  that  every  one  of  thy  whimsies  hath 
been  picked  up  somewhere  by  thee  in  thy  travels  ;  and  each 
of  them  hath  been  rendered  more  weak  and  puny  by  its 
place  of  concealment  in  thy  closet.  What  thou  hast  written 
on  the  immortality  of  the  soul  goes  rather  to  prove  the 
immortality  of  the  body  ;  and  applies  as  well  to  the  body  of 
a  weasel  or  an  eel  as  to  the  fairer  one  of  Agathon  or  of 
Aster.  Why  not  at  once  introduce  a  new  religion,  since 
religions  keep  and  are  relished   in  proportion  as  they  are 


1 84  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

salted  with  absurdity,  inside  and  out  \  and  all  of  them  must 
have  one  great  crystal  of  it  for  the  centre  ;  but  Philosophy 
pines  and  dies  unless  she  drinks  limpid  water.  When 
Pherecydes  and  Pythagoras  felt  in  themselves  the  majesty 
of  contemplation,  they  spurned  the  idea  that  flesh  and 
bones  and  arteries  should  confer  it ;  and  that  what  com- 
prehends the  past  and  the  future  should  sink  in  a  moment 
and  be  annihilated  for  ever.  "  No,"  cried  they,  "  the 
power  of  thinking  is  no  more  in  the  brain  than  in  the  hair, 
although  the  brain  may  be  the  instrument  on  which  it 
plays.  It  is  not  corporeal,  it  is  not  of  this  world ;  its 
existence  is  eternity,  its  residence  is  infinity."  I  forbear  to 
discuss  the  rationality  of  their  belief,  and  pass  on  straight- 
way to  thine ;  if,  indeed,  I  am  to  consider  as  one,  belief  and 
doctrine. 

Plato.     As  you  will. 

Diogenes.  I  should  rather,  then,  regard  these  things  as 
mere  ornaments  ;  just  as  many  decorate  their  apartments 
with  lyres  and  harps,  which  they  themselves  look  at  from 
the  couch,  supinely  complacent,  and  leave  for  visitors  to 
admire  and  play  on. 

Plato.  I  foresee  not  how  you  can  disprove  my  argument 
on  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  which,  being  contained  in  the 
best  of  my  dialogues,  and  being  often  asked  for  among  my 
friends,  I  carry  with  me. 

Diogenes.     At  this  time  ? 

Plato.     Even  so. 

Diogenes.  Give  me  then  a  certain  part  of  it  for  my 
perusal. 

Plato.     Willingly. 

Diogenes.  Hermes  and  Pallas  !  I  wanted  but  a  cubit  of 
it,  or  at  most  a  fathom,  and  thou  art  pulling  it  out  by  the 
plethron. 


DIOGENES  AND  PLATO.  1S5 

Plato.     This  is  the  place  in  question. 

Diogenes.      Read  it. 

Plato  (reads).  "  Sayest  thou  not  that  death  is  the 
opposite  of  life,  and  that  they  spring  the  one  from  the 
other?"  "  Yes."  "What  springs  then  from  the  living  1" 
"  The  dead."  "  And  what  from  the  dead  1 "  "  The  living." 
"  Then  all  things  alive  spring  from  the  dead." 

Diogenes.     Why  thy  repetition  ?  but  go  on. 

Plato  (reads).  "  Souls  therefore  exist  after  death  in  the 
infernal  regions." 

Diogenes.  Where  is  the  there/ore  ?  where  is  it  even  as  to 
existence  ?  As  to  the  infernal  regions,  there  is  nothing  that 
points  toward  a  proof,  or  promises  an  indication.  Death 
neither  springs  from  life,  nor  life  from  death.  Although 
death  is  the  inevitable  consequence  of  life,  if  the  observation 
and  experience  of  ages  go  for  anything,  yet  nothing  shows 
us,  or  ever  hath  signified,  that  life  comes  from  death.  Thou 
mightest  as  well  say  that  a  barley-corn  dies  before  the  germ 
of  another  barley-corn  grows  up  from  it,  than  which  nothing 
is  more  untrue  ;  for  it  is  only  the  protecting  part  of  the 
germ  that  perishes,  when  its  protection  is  no  longer  neces- 
sary. The  consequence,  that  souls  exist  after  death,  cannot 
be  drawn  from  the  corruption  of  the  body,  even  if  it  were 
demonstrable  that  out  of  this  corruption  a  live  one  could 
rise  up.  Thou  hast  not  said  that  the  soul  is  among  those 
dead  things  which  living  things  must  spring  from  ;  thou 
hast  not  said  that  a  living  soul  produces  a  dead  soul,  or  that 
a  dead  soul  produces  a  living  one. 

Plato.     No,  indeed. 

Diogenes.  On  my  faith,  thou  hast  said,  however,  things 
no  less  inconsiderate,  no  less  inconsequent,  no  less  unwise ; 
and  this  very  thing  must  be  said  and  proved,  to  make  thy 
argument  of  any  value.      Do  dead  men  beget  children  1 


1 86  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TJONS. 

Plato.     I  have  not  said  it. 

Diogenes.     Thy  argument  implies  it. 

Plato.  These  are  high  mysteries,  and  to  be  approached 
with  reverence. 

Diogenes.  Whatever  we  cannot  account  for  is  in  the 
same  predicament.  We  may  be  gainers  by  being  ignorant 
if  we  can  be  thought  mysterious.  It  is  better  to  shake  our 
fieads  and  to  let  nothing  out  of  them,  than  to  be  plain  and 
explicit  in  matters  of  difficulty.  I  do  not  mean  in  confes- 
sing our  ignorance  or  our  imperfect  knowledge  of  them,  but 
in  clearing  them  up  perspicuously  :  for,  if  we  answer  with 
ease,  we  may  haply  be  thought  good-natured,  quick,  commu- 
nicative ;  never  deep,  never  sagacious  ;  not  very  defective 
possibly  in  our  intellectual  faculties,  yet  unequal  and 
chinky,  and  liable  to  the  probation  of  every  clown's  knuckle. 

Plato.  The  brightest  of  stars  appear  the  most  unsteady 
and  tremulous  in  their  light ;  not  from  any  quality  inherent 
in  themselves,  but  from  the  vapours  that  float  below,  and 
from  the  imperfection  of  vision  in  the  surveyor. 

Diogenes.  Draw  thy  robe  round  thee ;  let  the  folds  fall 
gracefully,  and  look  majestic.  That  sentence  is  an  admir- 
able one  ;  but  not  for  me.  I  want  sense,  not  stars.  What 
then  1  Do  no  vapours  float  below  the  others  1  and  is  there 
no  imperfection  in  the  vision  of  those  who  look  at  them,  if 
they  are  the  same  men,  and  look  the  next  moment  1  We 
must  move  on  :  I  shall  follow  the  dead  bodies,  and  the 
benighted  driver  of  their  fantastic  bier,  close  and  keen  as 
any  hyena. 

Plato.  Certainly,  O  Diogenes,  you  excel  me  in  eluci- 
dations and  similes  :  mine  was  less  obvious. 

• 

Diogenes.  I  know  the  respect  thou  bearest  to  the  dogly 
character,  and  can  attribute  to  nothing  else  the  complacency 


BARRO  W  AND  NE  WTON.  1 87 

with  which  thou  hast  listened  to  me  since  I  released  thy 
cloak.  If  ever  the  Athenians,  in  their  inconstancy,  should 
issue  a  decree  to  deprive  me  of  the  appellation  they  have 
conferred  on  me,  rise  up,  I  pray  thee,  in  my  defence,  and 
protest  that  I  have  not  merited  so  severe  a  mulct.  Some- 
thing I  do  deserve  at  thy  hands  ;  having  supplied  thee,  first 
with  a  store  of  patience,  when  thou  wert  going  without  any 
about  thee,  although  it  is  the  readiest  viaticum  and  the 
heartiest  sustenance  of  human  life ;  and  then  with  weapons 
from  this  tub,  wherewith  to  drive  the  importunate  cock 
before  thee  out  of  doors  again. 


BARROW  AND  NEWTON. 

Newton.  I  come,  sir,  before  you  with  fear  and  trembling, 
at  the  thoughts  of  my  examination  to-morrow.  If  the 
masters  are  too  hard  upon  me,  I  shall  never  take  my  degree. 
How  I  passed  as  bachelor  I  cannot  tell :  it  must  surely 
have  been  by  especial  indulgence. 

Barrow.  My  dear  Isaac  !  do  not  be  dispirited.  The  less 
intelligent  of  the  examiners  will  break  their  beaks  against 
the  gravel,  in  trying  to  cure  the  indigestions  and  heart- 
burnings your  plenteousness  has  given  them ;  the  more 
intelligent  know  your  industry,  your  abilities,  and  your 
modesty :  they  would  favour  you,  if  there  were  need 
of  favour,  but  you,  without  compliment,  surpass  them  all. 

Newton.     Oh,   sir  !    forbear,  forbear  !  I  fear  I  may  have 
forgotten  a  good  deal  of  what  you  taught  me. 

Barrow.  I  wonder  at  that.  I  am  older  than  you  by 
many  years  ;    I  have   many  occupations  and  distractions  ; 


i88  IMA  G1NAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

my  memory  is  by  nature  less  retentive  :  and  yet  I  have  not 
forgotten  anything  you  taught  me. 

Newton.  Too  partial  tutor,  too  benevolent  friend  !  this 
unmerited  praise  confounds  me.  I  cannot  calculate  the 
powers  of  my  mind,  otherwise  than  by  calculating  the  time 
I  require  to  compass  anything. 

Barrow.  Quickness  is  among  the  least  of  the  mind's 
properties,  and  belongs  to  her  in  almost  her  lowest  state  : 
nay,  it  doth  not  abandon  her  when  she  is  driven  from  her 
home,  when  she  is  wandering  and  insane.  The  mad  often 
retain  it ;  the  liar  has  it,  the  cheat  has  it ;  we  find  it  on  the 
race-course  and  at  the  card-table  :  education  does  not  give 
it,  and  reflection  takes  away  from  it. 

Newton.  I  am  slow;  and  there  are  many  parts  of 
ordinary  learning  yet  unattained  by  me. 

Barrow.  I  had  an  uncle,  a  sportsman,  who  said  that  the 
li"ht  dos  beats  over  most  ground,  but  the  heavier  finds  the 
covey. 

Newton.  Oftentimes  indeed  have  I  submitted  to  you 
problems  and  possibilities 

Barrow.     And  I  have  made  you  prove  them. 

Newton.     You  were  contented  with  me  ;  all  may  not  be. 

Barrow.  All  will  not  be  :  many  would  be  more  so  if  you 
could  prove  nothing.  Men,  like  dogs  and  cats,  fawn  upon 
you  while  you  leave  them  on  the  ground  ;  if  you  lift  them 
up  they  bite  and  scratch  ;  and  if  you  show  them  their  own 
features  in  the  glass,  they  would  fly  at  your  throat  and  tear 
your  eyes  out.  This  between  ourselves  ;  for  we  must  not 
indulge  in  unfavourable  views  of  mankind,  since  by  doing 
it  we  make  bad  men  believe  that  they  are  no  worse  than 
others,  and  we  teach  the  good  that  they  are  good  in  vain. 
Philosophers  have  taken  this  side  of  the  question  to  show 
their  ingenuity  ;  but  sound  philosophers  are  not  ingenious.- 


BARRO  W  AND  NE  WTON.  1 89 

If  philosophy  can  render  us  no  better  and  no  happier,  away 
with  it  1     There  are  things  that  can  ;  and  let  us  take  them. 

What  dost  thou  sigh  at,  Isaac  % 

Newton.  At  my  ignorance,  in  some  degree,  of  their 
writings. 

Barrow.  At  your  ignorance  of  the  ignorant  ?  No  man 
ever  understood  the  things  that  are  most  admired  in  Plato 
and  Aristoteles.  In  Plato  there  are  incoherencies  that  fall 
to  pieces  at  a  touch  ;  and  Aristoteles  lost  himself  in  the 
involutions  of  his  own  web.  What  must  we  think  of  a 
philosopher,  who  promised  to  teach  one  pupil  that  which  he 
withheld  from  the  rest,  although  these  were  more  familiar 
with  him,  and  more  instructed  ?  And  what  must  we  think 
of  a  pupil,  who  was  indignant  that  any  others  should 
partake  in  his  sentiments  and  his  knowledge  1  Yet  such 
men  have  guided  the  scientific,  such  men  have  ruled  the 
world. 

Newton.     Not  such  was  Bacon. 

Barrow.  No,  indeed.  I  told  you,  and  I  repeat  it,  I 
think  the  small  volume  of  Essays  in  your  hand  contains 
more  wisdom  and  more  genius  than  we  can  find  in  all  the 
philosophers  of  antiquity  ;  with  one  exception,  Cicero.  On 
which  I  desired  you  to  peruse  it  attentively,  and  to  render 
me  an  account  of  it  according  to  your  opinion. 

Nevoton.  Sir,  I  have  been  induced  to  believe,  but  rather 
from  the  authority  of  my  elders  than  from  my  own  inves- 
tigation, that  Bacon  is  the  more  profound  of  the  two, 
although  not  the  more  eloquent. 

Barrow.  If  Bacon  had  written  as  easily  and  harmon- 
iously as  Cicero,  he  would  have  lost  a  portion  of  his  weight 
with  the  generality  of  the  learned,  who  are  apt  to  conceive 
that  in  easy  movement  there  is  a  want  of  solidity  and 
strength.     We  must  confess  that  antiquity   has  darkened 


1 90  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

colleges  and  has  distorted  criticism.  Very  wise  men,  and 
very  wary  and  inquisitive,  walk  over  the  earth,  and  are 
ignorant  not  only  what  minerals  lie  beneath,  but  what  herbs 
and  foliage  they  are  treading.  Some  time  afterward,  and 
probably  some  distant  time,  a  specimen  of  ore  is  extracted 
and  exhibited  ;  then  another ;  lastly  the  bearing  and 
diameter  of  the  vein  are  observed  and  measured.  Thus  it 
is  with  writers  who  are  to  have  a  currency  through  ages. 
In  the  beginning  they  are  confounded  with  most  others ; 
soon  they  fall  into  some  secondary  class  ;  next,  into  one 
rather  less  obscure  and  humble  ;  by  degrees  they  are  liber- 
ated from  the  dross  and  lumber  that  hamper  them  ;  and, 
being  once  above  the  heads  of  contemporaries,  rise 
slowly  and  waveringly,  then  regularly  and  erectly,  then 
rapidly  and  majestically,  till  the  vision  strains  and  aches  as 
it  pursues  them  in  their  ethereal  elevation. 

Neither  you  nor  I  have  wasted  our  time  in  the  cultiva- 
tion of  poetry :  but  each  of  us  hath  frequently  heard  it 
discoursed  on  by  those  who  have  ;  and,  if  it  serves  for 
nothing  else,  it  serves  for  an  illustration.  In  my  early  days, 
lie  would  have  been  scoffed  out  of  countenance  who  should 
have  compared  the  Lycidas,  or  the  Allegro  and  Penseroso, 
of  Mr.  John  Milton  to  the  sterling  poetry  (as  it  was  called) 
of  Dr.  John  Donne  :  and  yet  much  may  be  said  in  favour 
of  the  younger  ;  and  there  are  those,  and  not  only  under- 
graduates, but  bachelors  and  masters,  who  venture  even  to 
prefer  him  openly.  Who  knows  but  we  may  see  him  extolled 
to  the  level  of  Lucan  and  Statius,  strong  as  is  the  sense  of 
the  University  against  all  sorts  of  supplanters  !  There  are 
eyes  that  cannot  see  print  when  near  them ;  there  are  men 
that  cannot  see  merit. 

Newton.  The  Latin  secretary  may  be  pardoned  for 
many  defects   in    his    poetry,   and    even    for    many  in    his 


BARROW  AND  NEWTON.  191 

politics,  in  consideration  of  the  reverence  he  bore  toward 
the  Apocalypse.  I  cannot  think  him  a  very  irreligious  man, 
although  he  does  not  attend  divine  service,  we  are  told,  so 
regularly  as  we  could  have  wished. 

Barrow.  Let  us  talk  no  more  about  him.  I  opposed 
his  principles :  nevertheless  he  may  have  acted  con- 
scientiously ;  and  even  his  principles  are  now  coming 
again  into  fashion,  and  among  the  sons  of  those  very 
cavaliers  who  would  have  hanged  him.  Perhaps  the  most 
dangerous  of  his  doctrines,  the  lawfulness  of  setting  aside 
God's  anointed  for  misconduct,  may  soon  be  the  leading 
one  in  the  front  of  our  Constitution.  Well  !  we  are  not 
met  for  politics  :  only  it  would  be  salutary  to  consider,  if 
God's  anointed  will  not  be  set  aside,  what  must  be  done — 
how  avoid  the  commission  of  a  diabolical  act. 

Newton.  Could  we  rightly  understand  the  Revelation,  I 
question  not  but  every  difficulty  of  this  nature  would  be 
solved. 

Barrow.     May  be  :  let  us  trust  in  God. 

Newton.  We  must  have  certain  data  for  everything 
upon  which  we  reason  :  the  greater  part  of  reasoners  begin 
without  them. 

Barrow.  I  wish  the  event  may  answer  your  expec- 
tations; that  the  Apocalypse,  the  Argonantic  Expedition,  and 
the  Siege  of  Troy,  form  the  trident  which  is  to  push  away 
our  difficulties  in  navigating  through  all  the  rocks  and 
shoals  of  time — all  those  of  religion,  and  all  those  of  history. 
Happen  what  may,  I  doubt  nothing  of  your  surpassing  the 
foremost  of  your  competitors — of  your  very  soon  obtaining  a 
name  in  the  University  little  below  Doctor  Spry's  of 
Caius,  Doctor  Brockhouse's  of  St.  John's,  Doctor  Cockburn's 
of  Emanuel,  Doctor  Turnbull's  of  Peter  House,  or  Doctor 
Cruikshank's  of  Bennet ;  nay,  a  name  which,  within  a  few 


i92  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

years,  may  reach  even  to  Leyden  and  Paris,  as  that  of  a  most 
studious  young  man,  distinguished  alike  for  application  and 
invention. 

Newton.  Although  I  could  not  in  conscience  disclaim 
the  small  merit  there  may  be  in  application,  since  I  owe  it 
to  the  encouragement  of  my  tutor,  I  surely  have  no  right  or 
title  to  invention. 

Barrow.  You  have  already  given  proofs  of  it  beyond 
any  man  I  know.  Your  questions  lead  to  great  discoveries  ; 
whether  it  please  God  that  you  hereafter  make  them,  or 
some  one  following  you,  is  yet  uncertain.  We  are  silly 
enough  to  believe  that  the  quality  of  invention,  as  applied 
to  literature,  lies  in  poetry  and  romance,  mostly  or 
altogether.  I  dare  to  speculate  on  discoveries  in  the 
subjects  of  your  studies,  every  one  far  greater,  every  one 
far  more  wonderful,  than  all  that  lie  within  the  range 
of  fiction.  In  our  days,  the  historian  is  the  only  inventor ; 
and  it  is  ludicrous  to  see  how  busily  and  lustily  he  beats 
about,  with  his  string  and  muzzle  upon  him.  I  wish  we 
could  drag  him  for  a  moment  into  philosophical  life :  it 
would  be  still  more  amusing  to  look  at  him,  as  he  runs  over 
this  loftier  and  dryer  ground,  throwing  up  his  nose  and 
whimpering  at  the  prickles  he  must  pass  through. 

Few  men  are  contented  with  what  is  strictly  true  con- 
cerning the  occurrences  of  the  world  :  it  neither  heats  nor 
soothes.  The  body  itself,  when  it  is  in  perfect  health,  is 
averse  to  a  state  of  rest.  We  wish  our  prejudices  to  be 
supported,  our  animosities  to  be  increased ;  as  those  who 
are  inflamed  by  liquor  would  add  materials  to  the  inflam- 
mation. 

Newton.  The  simple  verities,  important  perhaps  in  their 
consequences,  which  I  am  exploring,  not  only  abstract  me 
from  the  daily  business  of  society,  but  exempt  me  from  the 


BARROW  AND  NEWTON.  193 

hatred  and  persecution  to  which  every  other  kind  of  study 
is  exposed.  In  poetry,  a  good  pastoral  would  raise  against 
one  as  vehement  enemies  as  a  good  satire.  A  great  poet  in 
our  country,  like  the  great  giant  in  Sicily,  can  never  move 
without  shaking  the  whole  island  ;  while  the  mathematician 
and  astronomer  may  pursue  their  occupations,  and  rarely  be 
hissed  or  pelted  from  below.  You  spoke  of  historians :  it 
would  ill  become  a  person  of  my  small  experience  to 
discourse  on  them  after  you. 

Barrow.  Let  me  hear,  however,  what  you  have  to  say, 
since  at  least  it  will  be  dispassionate. 

Newton.  Those  who  now  write  history  do  certainly  write 
it  to  gratify  a  party,  and  to  obtain  notoriety  and  money. 
The  materials  lie  in  the  cabinet  of  the  statesman,  whose 
actions  and  their  consequences  are  to  be  recorded.  If  you 
censure  them,  you  are  called  ungrateful  for  the  facilities  he 
has  afforded  you  ;  and,  if  you  commend  them,  venal.  No 
man,  both  judicious  and  honest,  will  subject  himself  to 
either  imputation. 

Barrow.  Not  only  at  the  present  day,  but  always,  the 
indulgence  of  animosity,  the  love  of  gain,  and  the  desire  of 
favour  have  been  the  inducements  of  an  author  to  publish 
in  his  lifetime  the  history  of  his  contemporaries.  But  there 
have  been,  and  let  us  hope  there  may  be,  judicious  and 
virtuous  men,  so  inflamed  by  the  glory  of  their  country  in 
their  days,  that,  leaving  all  passions  and  prejudices,  they 
follow  this  sole  guide,  and  are  crowned  by  universal  consent 
for  commemorating  her  recent  exploits. 

Newton.  Here  are  reasons  enough  for  me  rather  to 
apply  my  mind  as  you  direct  it,  than  to  the  examination  of 
facts  which  never  can  be  collected  by  one  person  ;  or  to 
poetry,  for  which  I  have  no  call ;  or  to  the  composition  of 
essays,  such  as  those  of  Montaigne  and  Bacon ;  or  dialogues, 

33 


194  IMA  GTNA  R  V  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

such  as  those  of  Cicero  and  Plato,  and,  nearer  our  times,  of 
Erasmus  and  Galileo.  You  had  furnished  me  before  with 
arguments  in  abundance,  convincing  me  that,  even  if  I 
could  write  as  well  as  they  did,  the  reward  of  my  labours 
would  be  dilatory  and  posthumous. 

Barrow.  T  should  entertain  a  mean  opinion  of  myself,  if 
all  men  or  the  most  part  praised  and  admired  me :  it  would 
prove  me  to  be  somewhat  like  them.  Sad  and  sorrowful  is 
it  to  stand  near  enough  to  people  for  them  to  see  us  wholly  ; 
for  them  to  come  up  to  us  and  walk  round  us  leisurely  and 
idly,  and  pat  us  when  they  are  tired  and  going  off.  That 
lesson  which  a  dunce  can  learn  at  a  glance,  and  likes 
mightily,  must  contain  little,  and  not  good.  Unless  it  can 
be  proved  that  the  majority  are  not  dunces — are  not  wilful, 
presumptuous,  and  precipitate — it  is  a  folly  to  care  for 
popularity.  There  are  indeed  those  who  must  found  their 
fortunes  upon  it:  but  not  with  books  in  their  hands.  After 
the  first  start,  after  a  stand  among  the  booths  and  gauds 
and  prostitutes  of  party,  how  few  have  lived  contentedly,  or 
died  calmly  !  One  hath  fallen  the  moment  when  he  had 
reached  the  last  step  of  the  ladder,  having  undersawed  it 
for  him  who  went  before,  and  forgotten  that  knavish  act ; 
another  hath  wasted  away  more  slowly,  in  the  fever  of  a  life 
externally  sedentary,  internally  distracted  ;  a  third,  unable 
to  fulfil  the  treason  he  had  stipulated,  and  haunted  by  the 
terrors  of  detection,  snaps  the  thread  under  the  shears  of 
the  Fates,  and  makes  even  those  who  frequented  him  believe 
in  Providence. 

Isaac  !  Isaac  !  the  climbing  plants  are  slender  ones.  Men 
of  genius  have  sometimes  been  forced  away  from  the  service 
of  society  into  the  service  of  princes  ;  but  they  have  soon 
been  driven  out,  or  have  retired.  When  shall  we  see  again, 
in    the    administration    of    any    country,   so    accomplished 


BARROW  AND  NEWTON.  195 

a  creature  as  Wentworth,  the  favourite  of  Charles  1  Only 
light  men  recover  false  steps;  his  greatness  crushed 
him.  Aptitude  for  serving  princes  is  no  proof  or  signifi- 
cation of  genius,  nor  indeed  of  any  elevated  or  extensive 
knowledge.  The  interests  of  many  require  a  multiplicity 
of  talents  to  comprehend  and  accomplish  them.  Mazarin 
and  Richelieu  were  as  little  able  as  they  were  little 
disposed  to  promote  the  well-being  of  the  community  ;  both 

of  them  had   keen  eyes,  and  kept   them  on  one  object 

aggrandisement.  We  find  the  most  trivial  men  in  the 
streets  pursuing  an  object  through  as  many  intricacies,  and 
attaining  it;  and  the  schemes  of  children,  though  sooner 
dropped,  are  frequently  as  ingenious  and  judicious.  No 
person  can  see  more  clearly  than  you  do  the  mortifications 
to  which  the  ambitious  are  subject ;  but  some  may  fall  into 
the  snares  of  ambition  whose  nature  was  ever  averse  to  it, 
and  whose  wisdom  would  almost  reach  anything,  and  only 
seems  too  lofty  to  serve  them  watchfully  as  a  guard.  It 
may  thus  happen  to  such  as  have  been  accustomed  to  study 
and  retirement,  and  fall  unexpectedly  on  the  political  world 
by  means  of  recommendations.  There  are  those,  I  doubt 
not,  who  would  gladly  raise  their  name  and  authority  in 
the  State  by  pushing  you  forward,  as  the  phrase  is,  into 
Parliament.  They  seize  any  young  man  who  has  gained 
some  credit  at  college,  no  matter  for  what,  whether  for 
writing  an  epigram  or  construing  a  passage  in  Lycophron  ; 
and,  if  he  succeeds  to  power,  they  and  their  family  divide 
the  patronage.  The  ambitious  heart  is  liable  to  burst  in 
the  emptiness  of  its  elevation :  let  yours,  which  is  sounder, 
lie  lower  and  quieter.  Think  how  much  greater  is  the 
glory  you  may  acquire  by  opening  new  paths  to  science, 
than  by  widening  old  ones  to  corruption.  T  would  not 
whisper  a  syllable  in  the  ear  of  faction ;  but  the  words  of 


196  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

the  intelligent,  in  certain  times  and  on  certain  occasions,  do 
not  vary  with  parties  and  systems.  The  royalist  and 
republican  meet ;  the  difference  lies  merely  in  the  intent, 
the  direction,  and  the  application.  Do  not  leave  the  wise 
for  the  unwise,  the  lofty  for  the  low,  the  retirement  of  a 
college  for  the  turbulence  of  a  House  of  Commons.  Rise, 
but  let  no  man  lift  you  :  leave  that  to  the  little  and  to  the 
weak.  Think  within  yourself,  I  will  not  say  how  impure 
are  the  sources  of  election  to  our  Parliament,  but  how  in- 
considerable a  distinction  is  conferred  on  the  representative, 
even  where  it  is  not  an  individual  who  nominates,  or  only 
a  few  who  appoint  him,  but  where  several  hundreds  are 
the  voters.  For  who  are  they,  and  who  direct  them  1 — the 
roughest  bear-guard,  the  most  ferocious  bull-baiter,  the 
most  impudent  lawyer,  the  tinker  that  sings  loudest,  and 
the  parson  that  sits  latest  at  the  ale-house,  hitting  them  all 
by  turns  with  his  tobacco-pipe,  calling  them  all  sad  dogs, 
and  swearing  till  he  falls  asleep  he  will  hear  no  more  filthy 
toasts.  Show  me  the  borough  where  such  people  as  these 
are  not  the  most  efficient  in  returning  a  candidate  to 
Parliament ;  and  then  tell  me  which  of  them  is  fit  to  be 
the  associate — it  would  be  too  ludicrous  to  say  the  patron 
— of  a  Euclid  or  an  Archimedes  ?  My  dear  Newton  !  the 
best  thing  is  to  stand  above  the  world ;  the  next  is  to 
stand  apart  from  it  on  any  side.  You  may  attain  the 
first ;  in  trying  to  attain  it,  you  are  certain  of  the  second. 

Newton.  1  am  not  likely  to  be  noticed  by  the  great,  nor 
favoured  by  the  popular.  I  have  no  time  for  visiting :  ] 
detest  the  strife  of  tongues  ;  all  noises  discompose  me. 

Barrow.  We  will  then  lay  aside  the  supposition.  The 
haven  of  philosophy  itself  is  not  free  at  all  seasons  from  its 
gusts  and  swells.  Let  me  admonish  you  to  confide  your 
secrets  to  few :  I  mean  the  secrets  of  science.     In  every 


BARROW  AND  NEWTON.  197 

great  mind  there  are  some :  every  deep  inquirer  hath  dis- 
covered more  than  he  thought  it  prudent  to  avow,  as 
almost  every  shallow  one  throws  out  more  than  he  hath 
well  discovered.  Among  our  learned  friends,  we  may  be 
fully  and  unreservedly  philosophical ;  in  the  company  of 
others  we  must  remember,  first  and  chiefly,  that  discretion 
is  a  part  of  philosophy,  and  we  must  let  out  only  some 
glimpses  of  the  remainder. 

Newton.  Surely  no  harm  can  befall  us  from  following  a 
chain  of  demonstrations  in  geometry,  or  any  branch  of  the 
mathematics. 

Barrow.  Let  us  hope  there  may  be  none ;  nevertheless 
we  cannot  but  recollect  how  lately  Galileo  was  persecuted 
and  imprisoned  for  his  discoveries. 

Newton.     He  lived  under  a  popish  government. 

Barrow.  My  friend  !  my  friend  !  all  the  most  eminently 
scientific,  all  the  most  eminently  brave  and  daring  in  the 
exercise  of  their  intellects,  live,  and  have  ever  lived,  under 
a  popish  government.  There  are  popes  in  all  creeds,  in  all 
countries,  in  all  ages.  Political  power  is  jealous  of  in- 
tellectual ;  often  lest  it  expose  and  mar  its  plans  and 
projects,  and  oftener  lest  it  attract  an  equal  share  of 
celebrity  and  distinction.  Whenever  the  literary  man  is 
protected  by  the  political,  the  incitement  to  it  is  the  pride 
of  patronage  ;  not  the  advancement  of  letters,  nor  the 
honour  they  confer  on  the  cultivator  or  the  country. 

Newton.  That  is  rational  in  England  which  beyond  the 
Alps  is  monstrous.  By  God's  blessing,  I  firmly  believe  in 
the  Holy  Scriptures  ;  yet,  under  your  discretion  and  guid- 
ance, I  would  be  informed  if  the  sun's  rays  in  Syria  could 
ever  be  above  the  horizon  for  twenty-four  hours,  without  a 
material  alteration,  without  an  utter  derangement,  of  our 
whole  mundane  system  1 


1 98  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

Barrow.  Reserve  that  question  for  a  future  time  and  a 
wiser  teacher.  At  present,  I  would  only  remark  to  you  that 
our  mundane  system  has  been  materially  altered  ;  and  that 
its  alterations  may  have  been  attributed  to  other  causes  than 
the  true,  and  laid  down  by  different  nations  as  having  taken 
place  at  different  epochs  and  on  different  occasions,  some- 
times to  gratify  their  pride,  sometimes  to  conceal  their 
ignorance. 

Newton.     I  am  not  quite  satisfied. 

Barrow.  Those  who  are  quite  satisfied  sit  still  and  do 
nothing ;  those  who  are  not  quite  satisfied  are  the  sole 
benefactors  of  the  world. 

Newton.  And  are  driven  out  of  it  for  their  pains. 
Barrow.  Men  seldom  have  loved  their  teachers. 
Newton.  How  happens  it,  then,  that  you  are  loved  so 
generally  ;  for  who  is  there,  capable  of  instruction,  that  you 
have  not  taught  1  Never,  since  I  have  been  at  the  Univer- 
sity, have  I  heard  of  anyone  being  your  enemy  who  was 
not  a  Calvinist — a  sect  wherein  good-humoured  and  grace- 
fully-minded men  are  scanty. 

Barrow.  Do  not  attribute  the  failing  to  the  sect,  which 
hath  many  strong  texts  of  Scripture  for  its  support ;  but 
rather  think  that  the  doctrines  are  such  as  are  most  con- 
sentaneous to  the  malignant  and  morose.  There  are  acrid 
plants  that  attract  as  many  insects  as  the  sweeter,  but 
insects  of  another  kind.  All  substances  have  their  com- 
modities, all  opinions  their  partisans.  1  have  been  happy 
in  my  pupils ;  but  in  none  of  them  have  1  observed  such  a 
spirit  of  investigation  as  in  you.  Keep  it,  however,  within 
the  precincts  of  experimental  and  sure  philosophy,  which 
are  spacious  enough  for  the  excursions  of  the  most  vigorous 
mind,  and  varied  enough  for  the  most  inconstant  and  flighty. 
Never  hate,  never  dislike  men,   for  difference  of   religion. 


BARROW  AND  NEWTON.  199 

Some  receive  baleful  impressions  in  it  more  easily  than 
others,  as  they  do  diseases.  We  do  not  hate  a  child  for 
catching  the  small-pox,  but  pity  its  sores  and  blemishes. 
Let  the  Calvinist  hate  us  :  he  represents  his  God  as  a  hater, 
he  represents  him  as  capricious.  I  wish  he  would  love  us, 
even  from  caprice  ;  but  he  seems  to  consider  this  part  of  the 
Divine  nature  as  a  weakness. 

Come,  unroll  your  paper  ;  let  me  hear  what  you  have  to 
say  on  Bacon's  Essays, — a  volume  I  place  in  the  hand  of 
those  only  who  appear  to  me  destined  to  be  great. 

Newton.  Bacon,  seen  only  in  his  Essays,  would  have 
appeared  to  me  (fresh  as  I  come  from  the  study  of  the 
ancients,  and  captivated  as  I  confess  I  am  by  the  graces  of 
their  language)  the  wisest  and  most  instructive  of  writers. 

Barrow,  in  calling  him  the  wisest  of  writers,  you  must 
except  those  who  wrote  from  inspiration. 

Newton.     Ha  !  that  is  quite  another  thing. 

Barrow.  Henceforward  I  would  advise  you  to  follow 
the  bent  of  your  genius,  in  examining  those  matters 
principally  which  are  susceptible  of  demonstration.  Every 
young  man  should  have  some  proposed  end  for  his  studies : 
let  yours  be  philosophy  ;  and  principally  those  parts  of  it 
in  which  the  ancients  have  done  little  and  the  moderns  less. 
And  never  be  dejected,  my  dear  Isaac,  though  it  should 
enable  you  to  throw  but  a  scarcity  of  light  on  the  Revelation, 
The  Rape  of  Helen,  and  The  Golden  Fleece. 

Newton.  I  hope  by  my  labours  1  uiay  find  a  clew  to 
them  in  the  process  of  time.  But  perhaps  my  conjectures 
may  turn  out  wrong,  as  these  on  the  book  before  me 
have. 

Barrow.     How  1 

Newton.      I  should  always  have  imagined,  if  you  had  not 


200  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

taught  me  the  contrary,  that  there  is  more  of  genius  and 
philosophy  in  Bacon's  Essays  than  in  all  Cicero's  works, 
however    less   there   be   of   the   scholastic  and   oratorical. 

Perhaps  I,  by  being  no  estimator  of  style 

Barrow.  Peace,  peace  !  my  modest  Newton  !  Perhaps 
I,  by  being  too  much  an  estimator  of  it,  have  overvalued 
the  clearest  head  and  the  purest  tongue  of  antiquity.  My 
Lord  Justice  Coke,  and  probably  the  more  learned  Seldon, 
would  have  ridiculed  or  reproved  us,  had  we  dared  entertain 
in  their  presence  a  doubt  of  Cicero's  superiority  over  Bacon. 
No  very  great  man  ever  reached  the  standard  of  his  great- 
ness in  the  crowd  of  his  contemporaries.  This  hath  always 
been  reserved  for  the  secondary.  There  must  either  be 
something  of  the  vulgar,  something  in  which  the  common- 
alty can  recognise  their  own  features,  or  there  must  be 
a  laxity,  a  jealousy,  an  excitement  stimulating  a  false 
appetite.  Your  brief  review  of  the  Essays  hath  brought 
back  to  my  recollection  so  much  of  shrewd  judgment,  so 
much  of  rich  imagery,  such  a  profusion  of  truths  so  plain, 
as  (without  his  manner  of  exhibiting  them)  to  appear  almost 
unimportant  that,  in  the  various  high  qualities  of  the 
human  mind,  I  must  acknowledge  not  only  Cicero,  but  every 
prose-writer  among  the  Greeks,  to  stand  far  below  him. 
Cicero  is  least  valued  for  his  highest  merits,  his  fulness, 
and  his  perspicuity.  Bad  judges  (and  how  few  are  not  so  !) 
desire  in  composition  the  concise  and  the  obscure,  not 
knowing  that  the  one  most  frequently  arises  from  paucity 
of  materials,  and  the  other  from  inability  to  manage 
and  dispose  them.  Have  you  never  observed  that,  among 
the  ignorant  in  painting,  dark  pictures  are  usually  called 
the  finest  in  the  collection,  and  greybearded  heads,  fit  only 
for  the  garret,  are  preferred  to  the  radiance  of  light 
and  beauty  ?     Have  you  yourself  never  thought,  before  you 


BARROW  AND  NEWTON.  201 

could  well  measure  and  calculate,  that  books  and  furniture 
thrown  about  a  room  appeared  to  be  in  much  greater 
quantities  than  when  they  were  arranged  1  At  every  step 
we  take  to  gain  the  approbation  of  the  wise,  we  lose  some- 
thing in  the  estimation  of  the  vulgar.  Look  within :  cannot 
we  afford  it  1 

The  minds  of  few  can  take  in  the  whole  of  a  great  author, 
and  fewer  can  draw  him  close  enough  to  another  for  just 
commensuration.  A  fine  passage  may  strike  us  less  forcibly 
than  one  beneath  it  in  beauty,  from  less  sensibility  in  us  at 
the  moment ;  whence  less  enthusiasm,  less  quickness  of 
perception,  less  capacity,  less  hold.  You  have  omitted  to 
remark  some  of  the  noblest  things  in  Bacon,  often  I  believe 
because  there  is  no  power  of  judgment  to  be  shown  in  the 
expression  of  admiration,  and  perhaps,  too,  sometimes  from 
the  repetition  and  intensity  of  delight. 

Newton.  Sir,  I  forbore  to  lift  up  my  hands  as  a  mark  of 
admiration.  You  ordered  me  to  demonstrate,  if  I  could, 
the  defects  of  this  wonderful  man,  unnoticed  hitherto. 

Barrow.  You  have  done  it  to  my  satisfaction.  Cicero 
disdained  not  in  the  latter  days  of  his  life,  when  he 
was  highest  in  reputation  and  dignity,  to  perform  a  similar 
office  in  regard  to  Epicurus  :  and  I  wish  he  had  exhibited 
the  same  accuracy  and  attention,  the  same  moderation  and 
respect.  The  objections  of  your  friend  and  visitor  are  not 
altogether  frivolous  ;  take  care,  however,  lest  he,  by  his 
disceptations,  move  you  from  your  faith.  If  you  hold  the 
faith,  the  faith  will  support  you  ;  as,  if  you  make  your  bed 
warm  by  lying  in  it,  your  bed  will  keep  you  so  :  never  mind 
what  the  ticking  or  the  wadding  may  be  made  of.  There 
are  few  things  against  which  I  see  need  to  warn  you,  and 
not  many  on  which  you  want  advice.  You  are  not  profuse 
in  your  expenditure  ;  yet  as  you,  like  most  of  the  studious, 


202  IMA  GIN  A  R  V  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

are  inattentive  to  money-affairs,  let  me  guard  you  against 
evils  following  on  this  negligence,  worse  than  the  negligence 
itself.  Whenever  a  young  man  is  remarked  for  it,  a  higher 
price  is  fixed  on  what  he  purchases  ;  and  dishonest  men  of 
every  description  push  themselves  into  his  service,  and 
often  acquire  his  confidence,  not  only  to  the  injury  of 
his  fortune,  but  likewise  of  his  credit  and  respectability. 
Let  a  gentleman  be  known  to  have  been  cheated  of  twenty 
pounds,  and  it  costs  him  forty  a-year  for  the  remainder  of 
his  life.  Therefore,  if  you  detect  the  cheat,  the  wisest 
thing  is  to  conceal  it ;  both  for  fear  of  the  rogues  about 
your  sideboard,  and  of  those  more  dexterous  ones  round  the 
green  cloth,  under  the  judge,  in  your  county  assize-room. 

You  will  become  an  author  ere  long  ;  and  every  author 
must  attend  to  the  means  of  conveying  his  information. 
The  plainness  of  your  style  is  suitable  to  your  manners  and 
your  studies.  Avoid,  which  many  grave  men  have  not 
done,  words  taken  from  sacred  subjects  and  from  elevated 
poetry  \  these  we  have  seen  vilely  prostituted.  Avoid,  too, 
the  society  of  the  barbarians  who  misemploy  them  : 
they  are  vain,  irreverent,  and  irreclaimable  to  right  feel- 
ings. The  dialogues  of  Galileo,  which  you  have  been 
studying,  are  written  with  much  propriety  and  precision. 
I  do  not  urge  you  to  write  in  dialogue,  although  the  best 
writers  of  every  age  have  done  it ;  the  best  parts  of 
Homer  and  Milton  are  speeches  and  replies ;  the  best 
parts  of  every  great  historian  are  the  same  :  the 
wisest  men  of  Athens  and  of  Rome  converse  together  in 
this  manner,  as  they  are  shown  to  us  by  Xenophon,  by 
Plato,  and  by  Cicero.  Whether  you  adopt  such  a  form  of 
composition — which,  if  your  opinions  are  new,  will  protect 
you  in  part  from  the  hostility  all  novelty  (unless  it  is 
vicious)  excites — or  whether  you  choose   to   go    along  the 


BARROW  AND  NE W TON.  203 

unbroken  surface  of  the  didactic,  never  look  abroad  for  any 
kind  of  ornament.  Apollo,  either  as  the  god  of  day  or  the 
slayer  of  Python,  had  nothing  about  him  to  obscure  his 
clearness  or  to  impede  his  strength.  To  one  of  your  mild 
manners,  it  would  be  superfluous  to  recommend  equanimity 
in  competition,  and  calmness  in  controversy.  How  easy  is 
it  for  the  plainest  things  to  be  misinterpreted  by  men  not 
unwise,  which  a  calm  disquisition  sets  right  ! — and  how 
fortunate  and  opportune  is  it  to  find  in  ourselves  that  calm- 
ness which  almost  the  wisest  have  wanted,  on  urgent  and 
grave  occasions  !  If  others  for  a  time  are  preferred  to  you, 
let  your  heart  lie  sacredly  still ;  and  you  will  hear  from  it 
the  true  and  plain  oracle,  that  not  for  ever  will  the 
magistracy  of  letters  allow  the  rancid  transparencies  of 
coarse  colourmen  to  stand  before  your  propylaea.  It  is  time 
that  Philosophy  should  have  her  share  in  our  literature ; 
that  the  combinations  and  appearances  of  matter  be 
scientifically  considered  and  luminously  displayed.  Frigid 
conceits  on  theological  questions,  heaps  of  snow  on  barren 
crags,  compose  at  present  the  greater  part  of  our  domain : 
volcanoes  of  politics  burst  forth  from  time  to  time,  and 
vary,  without  enlivening,  the  scene. 

Do  not  fear  to  be  less  rich  in  the  productions  of  your 
mind  at  one  season  than  at  another.  Marshes  are  always 
marshes,  and  pools  are  pools ;  but  the  sea,  in  those  places 
where  we  admire  it  most,  is  sometimes  sea  and  sometimes 
dry  land ;  sometimes  it  brings  ships  into  port,  and  some- 
times it  leaves  them  where  they  can  be  refitted  and 
equipped.  The  capacious  mind  neither  rises  nor  sinks, 
neither  labours  nor  rests,  in  vain.  Even  in  those  intervals 
when  it  loses  the  consciousness  of  its  powers,  when  it  swims 
as  it  were  in  vacuity,  and  feels  not  what  is  external  nor 
internal,  it  acquires  or  recovers  stiength,  as  the  body  does 


204  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

by  sleep.  Never  try  to  say  things  admirably ;  try  only  to 
say  them  plainly  ;  for  your  business  is  with  the  considerate 
philosopher,  and  not  with  the  polemical  assembly.  If  a 
thing  can  be  demonstrated  two  ways,  demonstrate  it  in 
both :  one  will  please  this  man  best,  the  other  that ;  and 
pleasure,  if  obvious  and  unsought,  is  never  to  be  neglected 
by  those  appointed  from  above  to  lead  us  into  knowledge. 
Many  will  readily  mount  stiles  and  gates  to  walk  along  a 
footpath  in  a  field,  whom  the  very  sight  of  a  bare  public 
road  would  disincline  and  weary  ;  and  yet  the  place  whereto 
they  travel  lies  at  the  end  of  each.  Your  studies  are  of  a 
nature  unsusceptible  of  much  decoration :  otherwise  it 
would  be  my  duty  and  my  care  to  warn  you  against  it, 
not  merely  as  idle  and  unnecessary,  but  as  obstructing  your 
intent.  The  fond  of  wine  are  little  fond  of  the  sweet  or  of 
the  new :  the  fond  of  learning  are  no  fonder  of  its  must 
than  of  its  dregs.  Something  of  the  severe  hath  always 
been  appertaining  to  order  and  to  grace  ;  and  the  beauty 
that  is  not  too  liberal  is  sought  the  most  ardently  and  loved 
the  longest.  The  Graces  have  their  zones,  and  Venus  her 
cestus.  In  the  writings  of  the  philosopher  are  the  frivolities 
of  ornament  the  most  ill-placed ;  in  you  would  they  be 
particularly,  who,  promising  to  lay  open  before  us  an 
infinity  of  worlds,  should  turn  aside  to  display  the  petals  of 
a  double  pink. 

It  is  dangerous  to  have  any  intercourse  or  dealing  with 
small  authors.  They  are  as  troublesome  to  handle,  as  easy 
to  discompose,  as  difficult  to  pacify,  and  leave  as  unpleasant 
marks  on  you,  as  small  children.  Cultivate  on  the  other 
hand  the  society  and  friendship  of  the  higher;  first,  that 
you  may  learn  to  reverence  them,  which  of  itself  is  both  a 
pleasure  and  a  virtue ;  and  then,  that  on  proper  occasions 
you  may  defend  them  against  the  malevolent,  which  is  a 


BARROW  AND  NEWTON.  205 

duty.     And    this    duty    cannot  be  well   and   satisfactorily 
performed    with    an    imperfect    knowledge,    or    with    an 
inadequate  esteem.     Habits  of  respect  to  our  superiors  are 
among  the  best  we  can  attain,  if  we  only  remove  from  our 
bosom  the  importunate  desire  of  unworthy  advantages  from 
them.     They  belong  to  the  higher  department  of  justice, 
and    will    procure  for  us   in  due  time  our  portion  of   it. 
Beside,    O    Isaac !    in  this  affair  our  humanity  is    deeply 
concerned.     Think  how  gratifying,   how   consolatory,  how 
all-sufficient,  are  the  regards  and  attentions  of  such  wise 
and  worthy  men  as  you  to  those  whom  inferior  but  more 
powerful  ones,  some  in  scarlet,  some  in  purple,  some  (it  may 
be)  in  ermine,  vilify  or  neglect !    Many  are  there  to  whom  we 
are  now  indifferent,  or  nearly,  whom,  if  we  had  approached 
them  as  we  ought  to  have  done,  we  should  have  cherished, 
loved,  and  honoured.    Let  not  this  reflection,  which  on  rude 
and  unequal  minds  may  fall  without  form  and  features  and 
pass  away  like  the  idlest  cloud-shadow,  be  lost  on  you.     Old 
literary  men,  beside  age  and  experience,  have  another  quality 
in  common  with  Nestor  :  they,  in  the  literature  of  the  coun- 
try, are  praisers  of  times  past,  partly  from  moroseness,  and 
partly  from  custom  and  conviction.     The  illiterate,  on  the 
contrary,  raise  higher  than  the  steeples,  and  dress  up  in  the 
gaudiest  trim,  a  maypole  of  their  own,  and  dance  round  it 
while  any  rag  flutters.     So  tenacious  are  Englishmen  of  their 
opinions,  that  they  would  rather  lose  their  franchises  and 
almost  their  lives.     And  this  tenacity  hath  not  its  hold  upon 
letters  only,  but  likewise  upon  whatever  is  public.     I  have 
witnessed  it  in  men  guilty  of  ingratitude,  of  fraud,  of  pecula- 
tion, of  prevarication,  of  treachery  to  friends,  of  insolence  to 
patrons,  of  misleading  of  colleagues,  of  abandonment  of  party, 
of  renunciation  of  principles,  of  arrogance  to  honester  men 
and  wiser,  of  humiliation  to  strumpets  for  the  obtainment  of 


206  IMA  GIN  A  R  V  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

place  and  profit,  of  every  villainy  in  short  which  unfits  not 
only  for  the  honours  of  public,  but  rejects  from  the  confidence 
of  private  life.  And  there  have  been  people  so  maddened  by 
faction,  that  they  would  almost  have  erected  a  monument  to 
such  persons,  hoping  to  spite  and  irritate  their  adversaries, 
and  unconscious  or  heedless  that  the  inscription  must  be 
their  own  condemnation.  Those  who  have  acted  in  this 
manner  will  repent  of  it ;  but  they  will  hate  you  for  ever  if 
you  foretell  them  of  their  repentance.  It  is  not  the  fact  nor 
the  consequence,  it  is  the  motive,  that  turns  and  pinches 
them  ;  and  they  would  think  it  straight  for  ward  and  natural 
to  cry  out  against  you,  and  a  violence  and  a  malady  to  cry 
out  against  themselves.  The  praises  they  have  given  they 
will  maintain,  and  more  firmly  than  if  they  were  due;  as  per- 
jurers stick  to  perjury  more  hotly  than  the  veracious  to  truth. 
Supposing  there  should  be  any  day  of  your  life  unoccupied 
by  study,  there  will  not  be  one  without  an  argument  why 
parties,  literary  or  political,  should  be  avoided.  You  are 
too  great  to  be  gregarious  ;  and  were  you  to  attempt  it,  the 
gregarious  in  a  mass  would  turn  their  heads  against  you. 
The  greater  who  enter  into  public  life  are  disposed  at  last 
to  quit  it:  retirement  with  dignity  is  their  device;  the  mean- 
ing of  which  is,  retirement  with  as  much  of  the  public 
property  as  can  be  amassed  and  carried  away.  This  race  of 
great  people  is  very  numerous.  I  want  before  I  die  to  see 
one  or  two  ready  to  believe,  and  to  act  on  the  belief,  that 
there  is  as  much  dignity  in  retiring  soon  as  late,  with  little 
as  with  loads,  with  quiet  minds  and  consciences  as  with 
ulcerated  or  discomposed.  I  have  already  seen  some  hundred 
sectaries  of  that  pugnacious  pope,  who,  being  reminded  that 
Christ  commanded  Peter  to  put  up  his  sword,  replied,  "Yes, 
when  he  had  cut  the  ear  off." 

To  be  in  right  harmony,  the  soul  not  only  must  be  never 


BARROW  A ND  NE WTON.  207 

out  of  time,  but  must  never  lose  sight  of  the  theme  its 
Creator's  hand  hath  noted. 

Why  are  you  peeping  over  your  forefinger  into  those  pages 
near  the  beginning  of  the  volume  1 

Newton.     I  have  omitted  the  notice  of  several  Essays. 

Barrow.  There  are  many  that  require  no  observation  for 
peculiarities  ;  though  perhaps  there  is  not  one  that  any  other 
man  could  have  written. 

Newton.  I  had  something  more,  sir,  to  say — or  rather — 
I  had  something  more,  sir,  to  ask — about  Friendship. 

Barrow.  All  men,  but  the  studious  above  all,  must 
beware  in  the  formation  of  it.  Advice  or  caution  on  this 
subject  comes  immaturely  and  ungracefully  from  the  young, 
exhibiting  a  proof  either  of  temerity  or  suspicion  ;  but  when 
you  hear  it  from  a  man  of  my  age,  who  has  been  singularly 
fortunate  in  the  past,  and  foresees  the  same  felicity  in  those 
springing  up  before  him,  you  may  accept  it  as  the  direction 
of  a  calm  observer,  telling  you  all  he  has  remarked  on  the 
greater  part  of  a  road  which  he  has  nearly  gone  through,  and 
which  you  have  but  just  entered.  Never  take  into  your 
confidence,  or  admit  often  into  your  company,  any  man  who 
does  not  know,  on  some  important  subject,  more  than  you 
do.  Be  his  rank,  be  his  virtues,  what  they  may,  he  will  be 
a  hindrance  to  your  pursuits,  and  an  obstruction  to  your 
sreatness.  If  indeed  the  greatness  were  such  as  courts  can 
bestow,  and  such  as  can  be  laid  on  the  shoulders  of  a  groom 
and  make  him  look  like  the  rest  of  the  company,  my  advice 
would  be  misplaced  ;  but  since  all  transcendent,  all  true  and 
genuine  greatness  must  be  of  a  man's  own  raising,  and  only 
on  the  foundation  that  the  hand  of  God  has  laid,  do  not  let 
any  touch  it :  keep  them  off  civilly,  but  keep  them  off. 
Affect  no  stoicism  ;  display  no  indifference  :  let  their  coin 
pass  current ;  but  do  not  you  exchange  for  it  the  purer  ore 


2o8  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

you  carry,  nor  think  the  milling  pays  for  the  alloy.  Greatly 
favoured  and  blessed  by  Providence  will  you  be,  if  you 
should  in  your  lifetime  be  known  for  what  you  are  :  the 
contrary,  if  you  should  be  transformed. 

Newton.  Better  and  more  decorous  would  it  be,  perhaps, 
if  I  filled  up  your  pause  with  my  reflections  :  but  you 
always  have  permitted  me  to  ask  you  questions  ;  and  now, 
unless  my  gratitude  misleads  me,  you  invite  it. 

Barrow.  Ask  me  anything  :  I  will  answer  it,  if  I  can  ; 
and  I  will  pardon  you,  as  I  have  often  done,  if  you  puzzle 
me. 

Newton.  Is  it  not  a  difficult  and  a  painful  thing  to 
repulse,  or  to  receive  ungraciously,  the  advances  of  friend- 
ship? 

Barrow.  It  withers  the  heart,  if  indeed  his  heart  were 
ever  sound  who  doth  it.  Love,  serve,  run  into  danger, 
venture  life,  for  him  who  would  cherish  you  :  give  him 
everything  but  your  time  and  your  glory.  Morning 
recreations,  convivial  meals,  evening  walks,  thoughts, 
questions,  wishes,  wants,  partake  with  him.  Yes,  Isaac  ! 
there  are  men  born  for  friendship ;  men  to  whom  the 
cultivation  of  it  is  nature,  is  necessity,  as  the  making  of 
honey  is  to  bees.  Do  not  let  them  suffer  for  the  sweets 
they  would  gather;  but  do  not  think  to  live  upon  those 
sweets.  Our  corrupted  state  requires  robuster  food,  or 
must  grow  more  and  more  unsound. 

Newton.  I  would  yet  say  something  ;  a  few  words ;  on 
this  subject — or  one  next  to  it. 

Barrow.  On  Expense,  then  :  that  is  the  next.  I  have 
given  you  some  warning  about  it,  and  hardly  know  what 
else  to  say.     Cannot  you  find  the  place  1 

Newton.  I  had  it  under  my  hand.  If — that  is,  provided 
— your  time,  sir  !— 


SCIPIO,  POLYBIUS  AND  PANMTIUS.  209 

Barrow,  Speak  it  out,  man  !  Are  you  in  a  ship  of 
Marcellus  under  the  mirror  of  Archimedes,  that  you  fume 
and  redden  so  ?  Cry  to  him  that  you  are  his  scholar,  and 
went  out  only  to  parley. 

Newton.  Sir  !  in  a  word — ought  a  studious  man  to  think 
of  matrimony  ? 

Barrow.  Painters,  poets,  mathematicians,  never  ought  : 
other  studious  men,  after  reflecting  for  twenty  years  upon 
it,  may.  Had  I  son  of  your  age,  I  would  not  leave  him  in 
a  grazing  country.  Many  a  man  hath  been  safe  among 
corn-fields,  who  falls  a  victim  on  the  grass  under  an  elm. 
There  are  lightnings  very  fatal  in  such  places. 

Newton.  Supposing  me  no  mathematician,  I  must  reflect 
then  for  twenty  years  ! 

Barrow.  Begin  to  reflect  on  it  after  the  twenty  ;  and 
continue  to  reflect  on  it  all  the  remainder  :  I  mean  at 
intervals,  and  quite  leisurely.  It  will  save  to  you  many 
prayers,  and  may  suggest  to  you  one  thanksgiving. 


SCIPIO,  POLYBIUS,  AND  PAN^TIUS. 


Polybius.  I  wish  I  could  as  easily  make  you  smile  to-day, 
O  .iEmilianus,  as  I  shall  our  good-tempered  and  liberal 
Pansetius — a  philosopher,  as  we  have  experienced,  less 
inclined  to  speak  ill  or  ludicrously  of  others,  be  the  sect 
what  it  may,  than  any  I  know  or  have  heard  of. 

In  my  early  days,  one  of  a  different  kind,  and  whose 
alarms  at  luxury  were  (as  we  discovered)  subdued  in  some 

34 


2  io  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

degree,  in  some  places,  was  invited  by  Critolaus  to  dine 
with  a  party  of  us,  all  then  young  officers,  on  our  march 
from  Achaia  into  Elis.  His  florid  and  open  countenance 
made  his  company  very  acceptable :  and  the  more  so,  as  we 
were  informed  by  Critolaus  that  he  never  was  importunate 
with  his  morality  at  dinner-time. 

Philosophers,  if  they  deserve  the  name,  are  by  no  means 
indifferent  as  to  the  places  in  which  it  is  their  intention  to 
sow  the  seeds  of  virtue.  They  choose  the  ingenuous,  the 
modest,  the  sensible,  the  obedient.  We  thought  rather  of 
where  we  should  place  our  table.  Behind  us  lay  the  forest 
of  Pholoe,  with  its  many  glens  opening  to  the  plain  ; 
before  us  the  Temple  of  Olympian  Zeus,  indistinctly  dis- 
cernible, leaned  against  the  azure  heavens ;  and  the  rivulet 
of  Selinus  ran  a  few  stadions  from  us,  seen  only  where 
it  received  a  smaller  streamlet,  originating  at  a  fountain 
close  by. 

The  cistus,  the  pomegranate,  the  myrtle,  the  serpolet, 
bloomed  over  our  heads  and  beside  us ;  for  we  had  chosen 
a  platform  where  a  projecting  rock,  formerly  a  stone-quarry, 
shaded  us,  and  where  a  little  rill,  of  which  the  spring  was 
there,  bedimmed  our  goblets  with  the  purest  water.  The 
awnings  we  had  brought  with  us  to  protect  us  from  the  sun 
were  unnecessary  for  that  purpose  :  we  rolled  them  there- 
fore into  two  long  seats,  filling  them  with  moss,  which 
grew  profusely  a  few  paces  below.  "  When  our  guest 
arrives,"  said  Critolaus,  "every  one  of  these  flowers  will 
serve  him  for  some  moral  illustration  ;  every  shrub  will  be 
the  rod  of  Mercury  in  his  hands."  We  were  impatient  for 
the  time  of  his  coming.  Thelymnia,  the  beloved  of  Critolaus, 
had  been  instructed  by  him  in  a  stratagem,  to  subvert,  or 
shake  at  least  and  stagger,  the  philosophy  of  Euthymedes. 
Has  the  name  escaped  me  1  no  matter — perhaps  he  is  dead 


SCIPIO,  POLYBTUS,  AND  PANjETIUS.         211 

— if  living,  he  would  smile  at  a  recoverable  lapse  as  easily 
as  we  did. 

Thelymnia  wore  a  dress  like  ours,  and  acceded  to  every 
advice  of  Oritolaus,  excepting  that  she  would  not  consent 
readily  to  entwine  her  head  with  ivy.  At  first  she  objected 
that  there  was  not  enough  of  it  for  all.  Instantly  two  or 
three  of  us  pulled  down  (for  nothing  is  more  brittle)  a  vast 
quantity  from  the  rock,  which  loosened  some  stones,  and 
brought  down  together  with  them  a  bird's  nest  of  the 
last  year.  Then  she  said,  "  I  dare  not  use  this  ivy  ;  the 
omen  is  a  bad  one." 

"Do  you  mean  the  nest,  Thelymnia?"  said  Oritolaus. 
"  No,  not  the  nest  so  much  as  the  stones,"  replied  she, 
faltering. 

"  Ah  !  those  signify  the  dogmas  of  Euthymedes,  which 
you,  my  lovely  Thelymnia,  are  to  loosen  and  throw  down." 

At  this  she  smiled  faintly  and  briefly,  and  began  to  break 
off  some  of  the  more  glossy  leaves ;  and  we  who  stood 
around  her  were  ready  to  take  them  and  place  them  in  her 
hair  ;  when  suddenly  she  held  them  tighter,  and  let  her  hand 
drop.  On  her  lover's  asking  her  why  she  hesitated,  she 
blushed  deeply,  and  said,  "Phoroneus  told  me  I  looked 
best  in  myrtle." 

Innocent  and  simple  and  most  sweet  (I  remember)  was 
her  voice ;  and,  when  she  had  spoken,  the  traces  of  it  were 
remaining  on  her  lips.  Her  beautiful  throat  itself  changed 
colour ;  it  seemed  to  undulate ;  and  the  roseate  predom- 
inated in  its  pearly  hue.  Phoroneus  had  been  her  admirer  : 
she  gave  the  preference  to  Oritolaus ;  yet  the  name  of 
Phoroneus  at  that  moment  had  greater  effect  upon  him 
than  the  recollection  of  his  defeat. 

Thelymnia  recovered  herself  sooner.      We  ran  wherever 


212  IMAGINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

we  saw  myrtles,  and  there  were  many  about,  and  she  took 
a  part  of  her  coronal  from  every  one  of  us,  smiling  on  each  ; 
but  it  was  only  of  Critolaus  that  she  asked  if  he  thought  that 
myrtle  became  her  best.  "  Phoroneus,"  answered  he,  not 
without  melancholy,  "is  infallible  as  Paris."  There  was 
something  in  the  tint  of  the  tender  sprays  resembling  that 
of  the  hair  they  encircled  :  the  blossoms,  too,  were  white  as 
her  forehead.  She  reminded  me  of  those  ancient  fables 
which  represent  the  favourites  of  the  gods  as  turning  into 
plants  ;  so  accordant  and  identified  was  her  beauty  with 
the  flowers  and  foliage  she  had  chosen  to  adorn  it. 

In  the  midst  of  our  felicitations  to  her  we  heard  the 
approach  of  horses,  for  the  ground  was  dry  and  solid  ;  and 
Euthymedes  was  presently  with  us.  The  mounted  slave 
who  led  off  his  master's  charger,  for  such  he  appeared  to  be 
in  all  points,  suddenly  disappeared  :  I  presume  lest  the 
sight  of  luxury  should  corrupt  him.  1  know  not  where  the 
groom  rested,  nor  where  the  two  animals  (no  neglected 
ones  certainly,  for  they  were  plump  and  stately)  found 
provender. 

Euthymedes  was  of  lofty  stature,  had  somewhat  passed 
the  middle  age ;  but  the  Graces  had  not  left  his  person,  as 
they  usually  do  when  it  begins  to  bear  an  impression  of 
authority.  He  was  placed  by  the  side  of  Thelymnia. 
Gladness  and  expectation  sparkled  from  every  eye :  the 
beauty  of  Thelymnia  seemed  to  be  a  light  sent  from  heaven 
for  the  festival — a  light  the  pure  radiance  of  which  cheered 
and  replenished  the  whole  heart.  Desire  of  her  was 
chastened,  I  may  rather  say  was  removed,  by  the  confidence 
of  Critolaus  in  our  friendship. 

Pancetius.  Well  said  !  The  story  begins  to  please 
and  interest  me.  Where  love  finds  the  soul  he  neglects 
the  body,   and  only  turns   to  it  in   his  idleness  a3  to  an 


SCIPIO,  POLYBIUS,  AND  PANAZTIUS.         213 

after-thought.  Its  best  allurements  are  but  the  nuts  and 
figs  of  the  divine  repast. 

Polybius.  We  exulted  in  the  felicity  of  our  friend,  and 
wished  for  nothing  which  even  he  would  not  have  granted. 
Happy  was  the  man  from  whom  the  glancing  eye  of 
Thelymnia  seemed  to  ask  some  advice,  how  she  should  act 
or  answer :  happy  he  who,  offering  her  an  apple  in  the 
midst  of  her  discourse,  fixed  his  keen  survey  upon  the 
next,  anxious  to  mark  where  she  had  touched  it.  For  it 
was  a  calamity  to  doubt  upon  what  streak  or  speck, 
while  she  was  inattentive  to  the  basket,  she  had  placed  her 
finger. 

Pancetius.  I  wish,  iEmilianus,  you  would  look  rather 
more  severely  than  you  do — upon  my  life !  I  cannot — and 
put  an  end  to  these  dithyrambics.  The  ivy  runs  about  us, 
and  may  infuriate  us. 

Scipio.  The  dithyrambics,  I  do  assure  you,  Pansetius, 
are  not  of  my  composing.  We  are  both  in  danger  from  the 
same  thyrsus :  we  will  parry  it  as  well  as  we  can,  or  bend 
our  heads  before  it. 

Pancetius.  Come,  Polybius,  we  must  follow  you  then,  I 
see,  or  fly  you. 

Polybius.  Would  you  rather  hear  the  remainder  another 
time? 

Pancetius.  By  Hercules !  I  have  more  curiosity  than 
becomes  me. 

Polybius.  No  doubt,  in  the  course  of  the  conversation, 
Euthymedes  had  made  the  discovery  we  hoped  to  obviate. 
Never  was  his  philosophy  more  amiable  or  more  impressive. 
Pleasure  was  treated  as  a  friend,  not  as  a  master ;  many 
things  were  found  innocent  that  had  long  been  doubtful : 
excesses  alone  were  condemned.  Thelymnia  was  enchanted 
by  the  frankness  and  liberality  of  her  philosopher,  although, 


214  IMAGINAR Y  CONVERSA  T10NS. 

in  addressing  her,  more  purity  on  his  part  and  more  rigour 
were  discernible.  His  delicacy  was  exquisite.  When  his 
eyes  met  hers,  they  did  not  retire  with  rapidity  and  con- 
fusion, but  softly  and  complacently,  and  as  though  it  were 
the  proper  time  and  season  of  reposing  from  the  splendours 
they  had  encountei'ed.  Hers  from  the  beginning  were  less 
governable  :  when  she  found  that  they  were  so,  she  con- 
trived scheme  after  scheme  for  diverting  them  from  the 
table,  and  entertaining  his  unobservedly. 

The  higher  part  of  the  quarry,  which  had  protected  us 
always  from  the  western  sun,  was  covered  with  birch  and 
hazel ;  the  lower  with  innumerable  shrubs,  principally  the 
arbutus  and  myrtle.  "Look  at  those  goats  above  us,"  said 
Thelymnia.  "What  has  tangled  their  hair  so?  they 
seem  wet." 

"  They  have  been  lying  on  the  cistus  in  the  plain," 
replied  Euthymedes :  "  many  of  its  broken  flowers  are 
sticking  upon  them  yet,  resisting  all  the  efforts,  as  you  see, 
of  hoof  and  tongue." 

"  How  beauteous,"  said  she,  "  are  the  flexible  and  crimson 
branches  of  this  arbutus,"  taking  it  in  one  hand  and  beat- 
ing with  it  the  back  of  the  other.  "  It  seems  only  to  have 
come  out  of  its  crevice  to  pat  my  shoulder  at  dinner,  and 
twitch  my  myrtle  when  my  head  leaned  back.  I  wonder 
how  it  can  grow  in  such  a  rock." 

"  The  arbutus,"  answered  he,  "  clings  to  the  Earth  with 
the  most  fondness  where  it  finds  her  in  the  worst  poverty, 
and  covers  her  bewintered  bosom  with  leaves,  berries,  and 
flowers.  On  the  same  branch  is  unripe  fruit  of  the  most 
vivid  green  ;  ripening,  of  the  richest  orange ;  ripened,  of 
perfect  scarlet.  The  maidens  of  Tyre  could  never  give  so 
brilliant  and  sweet  a  lustre  to  the  fleeces  of  Miletus  ;  nor 
did  they  ever    string    such    even    and    graceful  pearls    as 


SCI P 10,  POLYBIUS,  AND  PAN&TIUS.         215 

the  blossoms  are,   for   the  brides  of    Assyrian  or   Persian 
kings." 

"  And  yefc  the  myrtle  is  preferred  to  the  arbutus,"  said 
Thelymnia,  with  some  slight  uneasiness. 

"  I  know  why,"  replied  he  :  "  may  I  tell  it  1 "  She 
bowed  and  smiled,  perhaps  not  without  the  expectation  of 
some  compliment.  He  continued:  "The  myrtle  has  done 
what  the  arbutus  comes  too  late  for. 

"  The  myrtle  has  covered  with  her  starry  crown  the 
beloved  of  the  reaper  and  vintager  ;  the  myrtle  was  around 
the  head  of  many  a  maiden  celebrated  in  song,  when  the 
breezes  of  autumn  scattered  the  first  leaves,  and  rustled 
among  them  on  the  gi-ound ;  and  when  she  cried  timidly, 
Rise,  rise  !  people  are  coming  !  here  1  there  !   many  !  " 

Thelymnia  said,  "  That  now  is  not  true.  Where  did  you 
hear  it  1 "  and  in  a  softer  and  lower  voice,  if  I  may  trust 
Androcles,   "  0  Euthymedes,  do  not  believe  it !  " 

Either  he  did  not  hear  her,  or  dissembled  it ;  and  went 
on  :  "  This  deserves  preference  ;  this  deserves  immortality  ; 
this  deserves  a  place  in  the  Temple  of  Venus  ;  in  her  hand 
in  her  hair,  in  her  breast :  Thelymnia  herself  wears  it." 

We  laughed  and  applauded  ;  she  blushed  and  looked  grave 
and  sighed — for  she  had  never  heard  any  one,  I  imagine, 
talk  so  long  at  once.  However  it  was,  she  sighed  :  I  saw 
and  heard  her.  Critolaus  gave  her  some  glances  :  she  did 
not  catch  them.  One  of  the  party  clapped  his  hands  longer 
than  the  rest,  whether  in  approbation  or  derision  of  this 
rhapsody  delivered  with  glee  and  melody,  and  entreated  the 
philosopher  to  indulge  us  with  a  few  of  his  adventures. 

"  You  deserve,  young  man,"  said  Euthymedes  gravely, 
"  to  have  as  few  as  I  have  had — you  whose  idle  curiosity 
would  thus  intemperately  reveal  the  most  sacred  mysteries. 
Poets  and   philosophers    may   reason  on   love,   and   dream 


2 1 6  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

about  it,  but  rarely  do  they  possess  the  object ;  and,  when- 
ever they  do,  that  object  is  the  invisible  deity  of  a  silent 
worshipper." 

"  Reason,  then,  or  dream,"  replied  the  other,  breathing 
an  air  of  scorn  to  soothe  the  soreness  of  the  reproof. 

"  When  we  reason  on  love,"  said  Euthymedes,  "  we  often 
talk  as  if  we  were  dreaming  :  let  me  try  whether  the  recital 
of  my  dream  can  make  you  think  I  talk  as  if  I  were 
reasoning.  You  may  call  it  a  dream,  a  vision,  or  what 
you  will 

"  I  was  in  a  place  not  very  unlike  this,  my  head  lying 
back  against  a  rock,  where  its  crevices  were  tufted  with  soft 
and  odoriferous  herbs,  and  where  vine  leaves  protected  my 
face  from  the  sun,  and  from  the  bees  ;  which,  however,  were 
less  likely  to  molest  me,  being  busy  in  their  first  hours  of 
honey-making  among  the  blossoms.  Sleep  soon  fell  upon 
me,  for  of  all  philosophers  I  am  certainly  the  drowsiest, 
though  perhaps  there  are  many  quite  of  equal  ability  in 
communicating  the  gift  of  drowsiness.  Presently  I  saw 
three  figures,  two  of  which  were  beautiful ;  very  differently, 
but  in  the  same  degree  :  the  other  was  much  less  so.  The 
least  of  the  three,  at  the  first  glance,  I  recognised  to  be 
Love  ;  although  I  saw  no  wings,  nor  arrows,  nor  quiver,  nor 
torch,  nor  emblem  of  any  kind  designating  his  attributes. 
The  next  was  not  Venus,  nor  a  grace,  nor  a  nymph,  nor 
goddess  of  whom  in  worship  or  meditation  I  had  ever  con- 
ceived an  idea ;  and  yet  my  heart  persuaded  me  she  was  a 
goddess,  and  from  the  manner  in  which  she  spoke  to  Love, 
and  he  again  to  her,  I  was  convinced  she  must  be.  Quietly 
and  unmovedly  as  she  was  standing,  her  figure,  I  perceived, 
was  adapted  to  the  perfection  of  activity.  With  all  the 
succulence  and  suppleness  of  early  youth,  scarcely  beyond 
puberty,  it  however  gave  me  the  idea,  from  its  graceful  and 


SCIPIO,  POLYBIUS,  AND  PANAZTIUS.         217 

easy  languor,  of  its  being  possessed  by  a  fondness  for  repose. 
Her  eyes  were  large  and  serene,  and  of  a  quality  to  exhibit 
the  intensity  of  thought,  or  even  the  habitude  of  reflection, 
but  incapable  of  expressing  the  plenitude  of  joy  ;  and  her 
countenance  was  tinged  with  so  delicate  a  colour,  that  it 
appeared  an  effluence  from  an  irradiated  cloud  passing  over 
it  in  the  heavens.  The  third  figure — who  sometimes  stood 
in  one  place  and  sometimes  in  another,  and  of  whose  coun- 
tenance I  could  only  distinguish  that  it  was  pale,  anxious, 
and  mistrustful — interrupted  her  perpetually.  I  listened 
attentively  and  with  curiosity  to  the  conversation,  and  by 
degrees  I  caught  the  appellations  they  interchanged.  The 
one  I  found  was  Hope — and  I  wondered  I  did  not  find  it 
out  sooner ;  the  other  was  Fear,  which  I  should  not  have 
found  out  at  all ;  for  she  did  not  look  terrible  nor  aghast, 
but  more  like  Sorrow  or  Despondency.  The  first  words  I 
could  collect  of  Hope  were  these,  spoken  very  mildly,  and 
rather  with  a  look  of  appeal  than  of  accusation  :  '  Too  surely 
you  have  forgotten — for  never  was  child  more  forgetful  or 
more  ungrateful — how  many  times  I  have  carried  you  in 
my  bosom,  when  even  your  mother  drove  you  from  her, 
and  when  you  could  find  no  other  resting-place  in  heaven 
or  earth.' 

"  '  0  unsteady,  unruly  Love  ! '  cried  the  pale  goddess  with 
much  energy ;  '  it  has  often  been  by  my  intervention  that 
thy  wavering  authority  was  fixed.  For  this  I  have  thrown 
alarm  after  alarm  into  the  heedless  breast  that  Hope  had 
once  beguiled,  and  that  was  growing  insensible  and  torpid 
under  her  feebler  influence.  I  do  not  upbraid  thee  ;  and  it 
never  was  my  nature  to  caress  thee  ;  but  I  claim  from  thee 
my  portion  of  the  human  heart — mine,  ever  mine,  abhorrent 
as  it  may  be  of  me.  Let  Hope  stand  on  one  side  of  thy 
altars,  but  let  my  place  be  on  the  other  ;  or,  I  swear  by  all 


2 1 8  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERSA  T10NS. 

the   gods !    not   any    altars   shalt   thou    possess    upon    the 
globe.' 

"  She  ceased — and  Love  trembled.  He  turned  his  eyes 
upon  Hope,  as  if  in  his  turn  appealing  to  her.  She  said — 
'  It  must  be  so ;  it  was  so  from  the  beginning  of  the  world  : 
only  let  me  never  lose  you  from  my  sight.'  She  clasped  her 
hands  upon  her  breast  as  she  said  it,  and  he  looked  on  her 
with  a  smile,  and  was  going  up  (I  thought)  to  kiss  her,  when 
he  was  recalled,  and  stopped. 

"  '  Where  Love  is,  there  will  I  be  also,'  said  Fear ;  'and 
even  thou,  0  Hope !  never  shalt  be  beyond  my  power.' 

"  At  these  words  I  saw  them  both  depart.  I  then  looked 
toward  Love :  I  did  not  see  him  go ;  but  he  was  gone." 

The  narration  being  ended,  there  were  some  who  remarked 
what  very  odd  things  dreams  are ;  but  Thelymnia  looked 
almost  as  if  she  herself  was  dreaming ;  and  Alcimus,  who 
sat  opposite,  and  fancied  she  was  pondering  on  what  the 
vision  could  mean,  said  it  appeared  to  him  a  thing  next  to 
certainty,  that  it  signified  how  love  cannot  exist  without 
hope    or  without    fear.       Euthymedes  nodded  assent,  and 
assured   him   that  a  soothsayer  in  great  repute  had  given 
him    the   same  interpretation.      Upon   which  the  younger 
friends  of  Alcimus  immediately  took  the  ivy  from  his  fore- 
head,  and  crowned   him  with  laurel,   as  being  worthy  to 
serve   Apollo.     But   they  did  it  with  so  much  noise  and 
festivity,    that,    before    the    operation    was   completed,    he 
began  to  suspect  they  were  in  jest.    Thelymnia  had  listened 
to  many  stories  in  her  lifetime,  yet  never  had  she  heard 
one  from  any  man  before  who  had  been  favoured  by  the 
deities   with   a  vision.      Hope   and   Love,   as   her   excited 
imagination  represented  them  to  her,  seemed  still  to  be  with 
Euthymedes.     She  thought  the  tale  would  have  been  better 
without  the  mention  of   Fear ;  but  perhaps  this  part  was 


SCIPIO,  POLYBIUS,  AND  PANMTIUS.         219 

only  a  dream,  all  the  rest  a  really  true  vision.  She  had 
many  things  to  ask  him :  she  did  not  know  when,  nor 
exactly  what,  for  she  was  afraid  of  putting  too  hard  a 
question  to  him  in  the  presence  of  so  many,  lest  it  might 
abash  him  if  he  could  not  answer  it ;  but  she  wished  to  ask 
him  something,  anything.  She  soon  did  it,  not  without 
faltering,  and  was  enchanted  by  the  frankness  and  liberality 
of  her  philosopher. 

"  Did  you  ever  love  1 "  said  she,  smiling,  though  not 
inclined  to  smile,  but  doing  it  to  conceal  (as  in  her  simplicity 
she  thought  it  would)  her  blushes ;  and  looking  a  little 
aside,  at  the  only  cloud  in  the  heavens,  which  crossed  the 
moon,  as  if  adorning  her  for  a  festival,  with  a  fillet  of  pale 
sapphire  and  interlucent  gold. 

"  I  thought  I  did,"  replied  he,  lowering  his  eyes  that  she 
might  lower  hers  to  rest  upon  him. 

"Do,  then,  people  ever  doubt  this  1 "  she  asked  in  wonder, 
looking  full  in  his  face  with  earnest  curiosity. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  he  softly,  "  until  a  few  hours  ago,  until 
Thelymnia  was  placed  beside  me,  until  an  ungenerous  heart 
exposed  the  treasure,  that  should  have  dwelt  within  it,  to  the 
tarnish  of  a  stranger,  if  that  stranger  had  the  baseness  to 
employ  the  sophistry  that  was  in  part  expected  from  him, 
never  should  I  have  known  that  I  had  not  loved  before. 
We  may  be  uncertain  if  a  vase  or  an  image  be  of  the 
richest  metal,  until  the  richest  metal  be  set  right  against  it. 
Thelymnia  !  if  I  thought  it  possible  at  any  time  hereafter, 
that  you  should  love  me  as  I  love  you,  I  would  exert  to 
the  uttermost  my  humble  powers  of  persuasion  to  avert  it." 

"  Oh  !  there  is  no  danger,"  said  she,  disconcerted ;  "  I 
did  not  love  anyone :  I  thought  I  did,  just  like  you  ;  but 
indeed,  indeed,  Euthymedes,  I  was  equally  in  an  error. 
Women  have   dropped  into   the  grave  from   it,   and  have 


220  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

declared  to  the  last  moment  that  they  never  loved  :  men 
have  sworn  they  should  die  with  desperation,  and  have 
lived  merrily,  and  have  dared  to  run  into  the  peril  fifty 
times.  They  have  hard,  cold  hearts,  incommunicative  and 
distrustful." 

"  Have  I,  too,  Thelymnia  1 "  gently  he  expostulated. 

"  No,  not  you,"  said  she  ;  "  you  may  believe  I  was  not 
thinking  of  you  when  I  was  speaking.  But  the  idea  does 
really  make  me  smile  and  almost  laugh,  that  you  should  fear 
me,  supposing  it  possible,  if  you  could  suppose  any  such 
thing.     Love  does  not  kill  men,  take  my  word  for  it." 

He  looked  rather  in  sorrow  than  in  doubt,  and  answered — 
"  Unpropitious  love  may  not  kill  us  always,  may  not 
deprive  us  at  once  of  what  at  their  festivals  the  idle  and 
inconsiderate  call  life ;  but,  O  Thelymnia  !  our  lives  are 
truly  at  an  end  when  we  are  beloved  no  longer.  Existence 
may  be  continued,  or  rather  may  be  renewed,  yet  the 
agonies  of  death  and  the  chilliness  of  the  grave  have 
been  passed  through  ;  nor  are  there  Elysian  fields,  nor  the 
sports  that  delighted  in  former  times,  awaiting  us — nor 
pleasant  converse,  nor  walks  with  linked  hands,  nor 
intermitted  songs,  nor  vengeful  kisses  for  leaving  them  off 
abruptly,  nor  looks  that  shake  us  to  assure  us  afterward, 
nor  that  bland  inquietude,  as  gently  tremulous  as  the 
expansion  of  buds  into  blossoms,  which  hurries  us  from 
repose  to  exercise  and  from  exercise  to  repose." 

"  Oh  !  I  have  been  very  near  loving  !  "  sighed  Thelymnia. 
"  Where  in  the  world  can  a  philosopher  have  learned  all 
this  about  it !  " 

The  beauty  of  Thelymnia,  her  blushes,  first  at  the  deceit, 
afterward  at  the  encouragement  she  received  in  her  replies, 
and  lastly  from  some  other  things  which  we  could  not 
penetrate,   highly   gratified    Critolaus.     Soon   however   (for 


S CIPIO,  POLVB/US,  AND  PANAZTIUS.        221 

wine  always  brings  back  to  us  our  last  strong  feeling)  he 
thought  again  of  Phoroneus,  as  young,  as  handsome,  and 
once  (is  that  the  word  ?)  as  dear  to  her.  He  saddened  at 
the  myrtle  on  the  head  of  his  beloved  ;  it  threw  shadows 
and  gloom  upon  his  soul :  her  smiles,  her  spirits,  her  wit, 
and,  above  all,  her  nods  of  approbation  wounded  him.  He 
sighed  when  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hand  ;  when  she 
disclosed  it  he  sighed  again.  Every  glance  of  pleasure, 
every  turn  of  surprise,  every  movement  of  her  body,  pained 
and  oppressed  him.  He  cursed  in  his  heart  whoever  it  was 
who  had  stuffed  that  portion  of  the  couch  :  there  was  so 
little  moss,  thought  he,  between  Thelymnia  and  Euthy- 
medes.  He  might  have  seen  Athos  part  them,  and  would 
have  murmured  still. 

The  rest  of  us  were  in  admiration  at  the  facility  and  grace 
with  which  Thelymnia  sustained  her  part,  and  observing 
less  Critolaus  than  we  did  in  the  commencement,  when 
he  acknowledged  and  enjoyed  our  transports,  indifferently 
and  contentedly  saw  him  rise  from  the  table  and  go  away, 
thinking  his  departure  a  preconcerted  section  of  the 
stratagem.  He  retired,  as  he  told  us  afterward,  into  a 
grot.  So  totally  was  his  mind  abstracted  from  the  enter- 
tainment, he  left  the  table  athirst,  covered  as  it  was  with 
fruit  and  wine,  and  abundant  as  ran  beside  us  the  clearest 
and  sweetest  and  most  refreshing  rill.  He  related  to  me 
that,  at  the  extremity  of  the  cavern,  he  applied  his  parched 
tongue  to  the  dripping  rock,  shunning  the  light  of  day,  the 
voice  of  friendship,  so  violent  was  his  desire  of  solitude  and 
concealment ;  and  he  held  his  forehead  and  his  palms 
against  it  when  his  lips  had  closed.  We  knew  not  and 
suspected  not  his  feelings  at  the  time,  and  rejoiced  at  the 
anticipation  of  the  silly  things  a  philosopher  should  have 
whispered,  which  Thelymnia  in  the  morning  of  the  festival 


222  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

had  promised  us  to  detail  the  next  day.  Love  is  apt  to 
get  entangled  and  to  trip  and  stumble  when  he  puts  on  the 
garb  of  Friendship  :  it  is  too  long  and  loose  for  him  to  walk 
in,  although  he  sometimes  finds  it  convenient  for  a  covering. 
Euthymedes  the  philosopher  made  this  discovery,  to  which 
perhaps  others  may  lay  equal  claim. 

After  the  lesson  he  had  been  giving  her,  which  amused 
her  in  the  dictation,  she  stood  composed  and  thoughtful, 
and  then  said  hesitatingly,  "  But  would  it  be  quite  proper  % 
would  there  be  nothing  of  insincerity  and  falsehood  in  it,  to 
my  Critolaus  1 "  He  caught  her  up  in  his  arms,  and,  as  in 
his  enthusiasm  he  had  raised  her  head  above  his,  he  kissed 
her  bosom.  She  reproved  and  pardoned  him,  making  him 
first  declare  and  protest  he  would  never  do  the  like  again. 
"  0  soul  of  truth  and  delicacy ! "  cried  he  aloud ;  and 
Thelymnia,  no  doubt,  trembled  lest  her  lover  should  in  a 
moment  be  forsworn  ;  so  imminent  and  inevitable  seemed 
the  repetition  of  his  offence.  But  he  observed  on  her 
eyelashes,  what  had  arisen  from  his  precipitation  in  our 
presence — 

"  A  hesitating,  long-suspended  tear, 
Like  that  which  hangs  upon  the  vine  fresh-pruned, 
Until  the  morning  kisses  it  away." 

The  nymphs,  who  often  drive  men  wild  (they  tell  us), 
have  led  me  astray  :  I  must  return  with  you  to  the  grot. 
We  gave  every  facility  to  the  stratagem.  One  slipped  away 
in  one  direction,  another  in  another ;  but,  at  a  certain 
distance,  each  was  desirous  of  joining  some  comrade,  and 
of  laughing  together  ;  yet  each  reproved  the  laughter,  even 
when  far  off,  lest  it  should  do  harm,  reserving  it  for  the 
morrow.  While  they  walked  along,  conversing,  the  words 
of  Euthymedes   fell   on   the  ears    of    Thelymnia   softly   as 


SCIP/O,  POLYBIUS,  AND  PANMTIUS.  223 

eistus-petals,  fluttering  and  panting  for  a  moment  in  the 
air,  fall  on  the  thirsty  sand.  She,  in  a  voice  that  makes 
the  brain  dizzy  as  it  plunges  into  the  breast,  replied  to 
him  — 

"  0  Euthymedes  !  you  must  have  lived  your  whole  life- 
time in  the  hearts  of  women,  to  know  them  so  thoroughly  : 
I  never  knew  mine  before  you  taught  me." 

Euthymedes  now  was  silent,  being  one  of  the  few  wise 
men  whom  love  ever  made  wiser.  But,  in  his  silence  and 
abstraction,  he  took  especial  care  to  press  the  softer  part 
of  her  arm  against  his  heart,  that  she  might  be  sensible  of 
its  quick  pulsation  ;  and,  as  she  rested  her  elbow  within 
the  curvature  of  his,  the  slenderest  of  her  fingers  solicited, 
first  one,  then  another,  of  those  beneath  them,  but  timidly, 
briefly,  inconclusively,  and  then  clung  around  it  pressingly 
for  countenance  and  support.  Pansetius,  you  have  seen  the 
mountains  on  the  left  hand,  eastward,  when  you  are  in 
Olympia,  and  perhaps  the  little  stream  that  runs  from  the 
nearest  of  them  into  the  Alpheus.  Could  you  have  seen 
them  that  evening !  the  moon  never  shone  so  calmly,  so 
brightly,  upon  Latmos,  nor  the  torch  of  Love  before  her. 
And  yet  many  of  the  stars  were  visible  ;  the  most  beautiful 
were  among  them  ;  and  as  Euthymedes  taught  Thelymnia 
their  names,  their  radiance  seemed  more  joyous,  more 
effulgent,  more  beneficent.  If  you  have  ever  walked  forth 
into  the  wilds  and  open  plains  upon  such  moonlight  nights, 
cautious  as  you  are,  I  will  venture  to  say,  Pana^tius,  you 
have  often  tripped,  even  though  the  stars  were  not  your 
study.  There  was  an  arm  to  support  or  to  catch  Thelymnia  : 
yet  she  seemed  incorrigible.  Euthymedes  was  patient :  at 
last  he  did  I  know  not  what,  which  was  followed  by  a 
reproof,  and  a  wonder  how  he  could  have  done  so,  and 
another  how  he  could  answer  for  it.     He  looked  ingenuously 


224  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

and  apologetically,  forgetting  to  correct  his  fault  in  the 
meanwhile.  She  listened  to  him  attentively,  pushing  his 
hand  away  at  intervals,  yet  less  frequently  and  less  reso- 
lutely in  the  course  of  his  remonstrance,  particularly  whrn 
he  complained  to  her  that  the  finer  and  more  delicate  part 
of  us,  the  eye,  may  wander  at  leisure  over  what  is  in  its 
way  ;  yet  that  its  dependents  in  the  corporeal  system  must 
not  follow  it ;  that  they  must  hunger  and  faint  in  the 
service  of  a  power  so  rich  and  absolute.  "  This  being  hard, 
unjust,  and  cruel,"  said  he,  "  never  can  be  the  ordinance  of 
the  gods.  Love  alone  feeds  the  famishing  ;  Love  alone 
places  all  things,  both  of  matter  and  of  mind,  in  perfect 
harmony  :  Love  hath  less  to  learn  from  Wisdom  than 
Wisdom  hath  to  learn  from  Love." 

"  Modest  man  ! "  said  she  to  herself,  "  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  truth  in  what  he  says,  considering  he  is  a  philo- 
sopher." She  then  asked  him,  after  a  pause,  why  he  had 
not  spoken  so  in  the  conversation  on  love,  which  appeared 
to  give  animation,  mirth,  and  wit  to  the  dullest  of  the 
company,  and  even  to  make  the  wines  of  Chios,  Crete,  and 
Lesbos  sparkle  with  fresh  vivacity  in  their  goblets. 

"  I  who  was  placed  by  the  fountain-head,"  replied  he, 
"had  no  inclination  to  follow  the  shallow  and  slender 
stream,  taking  its  course  towards  streets  and  lanes,  and 
dipped  into  and  muddled  by  unhallowed  and  uncleanly 
hands.  After  dinner  such  topics  are  usually  introduced, 
when  the  objects  that  ought  to  inspire  our  juster  sentiments 
are  gone  away.  An  indelicacy  worse  than  Thracian  !  The 
purest  gales  of  heaven,  in  the  most  perfect  solitudes,  should 
alone  lift  up  the  aspiration  of  our  souls  to  the  divinities  all 
men  worship." 

"  Sensible  creature !  "  sighed  Thelymnia  in  her  bosom, 
"  how  rightly  he  does  think  1 " 


SCIPIO,  POLYBIUS,  AND  PAN^TJUS.         225 

"  Come,  fairest  of  wanderers,"  whispered  he,  softly  and 
persuasively,  "such  will  I  call  you,  though  the  stars  hear 
me,  and  though  the  gods  too  in  a  night  like  this  pursue 
their  loves  upon  earth — the  moon  has  no  little  pools  filled 
with  her  light  under  the  rock  yonder  ;  she  deceives  us  in 
the  depth  of  these  hollows,  like  the  limpid  sea.  Beside,  we 
are  here  among  the  pinks  and  sand-roses :  do  they  never 
prick  your  ankles  with  their  stems  and  thorns  \  Even 
their  leaves  at  this  late  season  are  enough  to  hurt  you." 

"  I  think  they  do,"  replied  she,  and  thanked  him,  with  a 
tender,  timid  glance,  for  some  fresh  security  his  arm  or 
hand  had  given  her  in  escaping  from  them.  "  Oh,  now  we 
are  quite  out  of  them  all !  How  cool  is  the  saxifrage  ! 
how  cool  the  ivy-leaves  !  " 

"  I  fancy,  my  sweet  scholar — or  shall  I  rather  say  (for 
you  have  been  so  oftener)  my  sweet  teacher — they  are  not 
ivy  leaves  :  to  me  they  appear  to  be  periwinkles." 

"I  will  gather  some  and  see,"  said  Thelymnia. 

Periwinkles  cover  wide  and  deep  hollows  :  of  what  are 
they  incapable  when  the  convolvulus  is  in  league  with 
them  !  She  slipped  from  the  arm  of  Euthymedes,  and  in 
an  instant  had  disappeared.  In  an  instant  too  he  had 
followed. 

Pancetius.  These  are  mad  pranks,  and  always  end  ill. 
Moonlights !  cannot  we  see  them  quietly  from  the  tops  of 
our  houses,  or  from  the  plain  pavement?  Must  we  give 
challenges  to  mastiffs,  make  appointments  with  wolves,  run 
after  asps,  and  languish  for  stone-quarries  1  Unwary 
philosopher  and  simple  girl !     Were  they  found  again  1 

Polybius.     Yea,  by  Castor !  and  most  unwillingly. 

Scipio.  I  do  not  wonder.  When  the  bones  are  broken, 
without  the  consolation  of  some  great  service  rendered  in 
such  misfortune,  and  when  beauty  must  become  deformity, 

35 


226  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

I    can    well   believe    that    they   both    would    rather    have 
perished. 

Polybius.  Amaranth  on  the  couch  of  Jove  and  Hebe 
was  never  softer  than  the  bed  they  fell  on.  Critolaus  had 
ad  vanced  to  the  opening  of  the  cavern :  he  had  heard  the 
exclamation  of  Thelynmia  as  she  was  falling — he  forgave 
her — he  ran  to  her  for  her  forgiveness — he  heard  some  low 
sounds — he  smote  his  heart,  else  it  had  fainted  in  him — he 
stopped. 

Euthymedes  was  raising  up  Thelynmia,  forgetful  (as  was 
too  apparent)  of  himself.  "  Traitor,"  exclaimed  the  fiery 
Critolaus,  "thy  blood  shall  pay  for  this.  Impostor!  whose 
lesson  this  very  day  was,  that  luxury  is  the  worst  of 
poisons." 

"  Critolaus,"  answered  he  calmly,  drawing  his  robe  about 
him  (for,  falling  in  so  rough  a  place,  his  vesture  was  a  little 
disordered),  "  we  will  not  talk  of  blood  ;  but  as  for  my 
lesson  of  to-day,  I  must  defend  it.  In  a  few  words,  then, 
since  I  think  we  are  none  of  us  disposed  for  many, 
hemlock  does  not  hurt  goats,  nor  luxury  philosophers." 

Thelynmia  had  risen  more  beautiful  from  her  confusion  ; 
but  her  colour  soon  went  away,  and,  if  any  slight  trace  of  it 
were  remaining  on  her  cheeks,  the  modest  moonlight  and 
the  severer  stars  would  let  none  show  itself.  She  looked 
as  the  statue  of  Pygmalion  would  have  looked,  had  she 
been  destined  the  hour  after  animation  to  return  into  her 
inanimate  state.  Offering  no  excuse,  she  was  the  worthier 
of  pardon  :  but  there  is  one  hour  in  which  pardon  never 
entered  the  human  breast,  and  that  hour  was  this. 
Critolaus,  who  always  had  ridiculed  the  philosophers,  now 
hated  them  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart.  Every  sect  was 
detestable  to  him — the  Stoic,  the  Platonic,  the  Epicurean — 
all  equally;  but  especially  those  hypocrites  and  impostors 


DAVID  HUME  AND  JOHN  HOME.  227 

in  each,  who,  under  the  cloak  of  philosophy,  come  forward 
with  stately  figures,  prepossessing  countenances,  and  bland 
discourse. 

Pancetius.  "We  do  not  desire  to  hear  what  such  foolish 
men  think  of  philosophers,  true  or  false ;  but  pray  tell  us 
how  he  acted  on  his  own  notable  discovery  :  for  I  opine  he 
was  the  unlikeliest  of  the  three  to  grow  quite  calm  on  a 
sudden. 

Polybius.  He  went  away  ;  not  without  fierce  glances  at 
the  stars,  reproaches  to  the  gods  themselves,  and  serious  and 
sad  reflections  upon  destiny.  Being,  however,  a  pious  man 
by  constitution  and  education,  he  thought  he  had  spoken  of 
the  omens  unadvisedly,  and  found  other  interpretations  for 
the  stones  we  had  thrown  down  with  the  ivy.  "  And,  ah  !  " 
said  he,  sighing,  "  the  bird's  nest  of  last  year  too  !  I  now 
know  what  that  is  !  " 

Pan&tius.  Polybius,  I  considered  you  too  grave  a  man 
to  report  such  idle  stories.  The  manner  is  not  yours  :  I 
rather  think  you  have  torn  out  a  page  or  two  from  some 
love-feast  (not  generally  known)  of  Plato. 


DAVID  HUME  AND  JOHN  HOME. 

Hume.  We  Scotchmen,  sir,  are  somewhat  proud  of  our 
families  and  relationships  :  this  is,  however,  a  nationality 
which  perhaps  I  should  not  have  detected  in  myself,  if  I 
had  not  been  favoured  with  the  flattering  present  of  your 
tragedy.  Our  names,  as  often  happens,  are  spelled  differ- 
ently ;  but  I  yielded  with  no  reluctance  to  the  persuasion 
that  we  are,  and  not  very  distantly,  of  the  same  stock. 


228  IMA GINAR  V  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

Home.  I  hope,  sir,  our  mountains  will  detain  you  among 
them  some  time,  and  I  presume  to  promise  you  that  you 
will  find  in  Edinburgh  a  society  as  polished  and  literate  as 
in  Paris. 

Hume.  As  literate  I  can  easily  believe,  my  cousin,  and 
perhaps  as  polished,  if  you  reason  upon  the  ingredients  of 
polish ;  but  there  is  certainly  much  more  amenity  and 
urbanity  at  Paris  than  anywhere  else  in  the  world,  and 
people  there  are  less  likely  to  give  and  take  offence.  All 
topics  may  be  discussed  without  arrogance  and  supercilious- 
ness :  an  atheist  would  see  you  worship  a  stool  or  light  a 
candle  at  noon  without  a  sneer  at  you  ;  and  a  bishop,  if  you 
were  well-dressed  and  perfumed,  would  argue  with  you 
calmly  and  serenely,  though  you  doubted  the  whole  Athan- 
asian  creed. 

Home.  So  much  the  worse  :  God  forbid  we  should  ever 
experience  this  lukewarmness  in  Scotland  ! 

Hume.  God,  it  appears,  has  forbidden  it ;  for  which 
reason,  to  show  my  obedience  and  submission,  I  live  a9 
much  as  possible  in  France,  where  at  present  God  has 
forbidden  no  such  thing. 

Home.  Religion,  my  dear  sir,  can  alone  make  men  happy 
and  keep  them  so. 

Hume.  Nothing  is  better  calculated  to  make  men  happy 
than  religion,  if  you  will  allow  them  to  manage  it  according  to 
their  minds ;  in  which  case  the  strong  men  hunt  down 
others  until  they  can  fold  them,  entrap  them,  or  noose  them. 
Here,  however,  let  the  discussion  terminate.  Both  of  us 
have  been  in  a  cherry  orchard,  and  have  observed  the 
advantage  of  the  jacket,  hat,  and  rattle. 

Home.  Our  reformed  religion  does  not  authorise  any  line 
of  conduct  diverging  from  right  reason :  we  are  commanded 
by  it  to  speak  the  truth  to  all  men. 


DA  VID  HUME  AND  JOHN  HOME.  229 

Hume.  Are  you  likewise  commanded  to  hear  it  from  all 
men? 

Home.     Yes,  let  it  only  be  proved  to  be  truth. 

Hume.  I  doubt  the  fact :  on  the  contrary,  you  will  not 
even  let  it  be  proved  ;  you  resist  the  attempt ;  you  blockade 
the  preliminaries.  Religion,  as  you  practise  it  in  Scotland, 
in  some  cases  is  opposite  to  reason  and  subversive  of 
happiness. 

Home.     In  what  instance  1 

Hxime.  If  you  had  a  brother  whose  wife  was  unfaithful 
to  him  without  his  suspicion ;  if  he  lived  with  her  happily ; 
if  he  had  children  by  her ;  if  others  of  which  he  was  fond 
could  be  proved  by  you,  and  you  only,  not  to  be  his — what 
would  you  do  % 

Home.     Oh  the  strumpet !  we  have  none  such  here. 

•  •••••  a 

Hume.  Come  now,  if  you  had  a  brother,  I  was  supposing, 
whose  wife 

Home.  Out  upon  her  1  should  my  brother  cohabit  with 
her  1  Should  my  nephews  be  defrauded  of  their  patrimony 
by  bastards  1 

Hume.  You  would  then  destroy  his  happiness  and  his 
children's ;  for,  supposing  that  you  preserved  to  them  a 
scanty  portion  more  of  fortune  (which  you  could  not  do), 
still  the  shame  they  would  feel  from  their  mother's  infamy 
would  much  outweigh  it. 

Home.  I  do  not  see  clearly  that  this  is  a  question  of 
religion. 

Hume.  All  the  momentous  actions  of  religious  men  are 
referable  to  their  religion,  more  or  less  nearly ;  all  the 
social  duties,  and  surely  these  are  implicated  here,  are 
connected  with  it.     Suppose,  again,  that  you  knew  a  brother 


230  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

and  sister,    who,   born  in   different  countries,  met  at  last, 
ignorant  of  their  affinity,  and  married. 

Home.  Poor,  blind,  sinful  creatures !  God  be  merciful 
to  them  ! 

Hume.  I  join  you  heartily  in  the  prayer,  and  would 
only  add  to  it,  Man  be  merciful  to  them  also  !  Imagine 
them  to  have  lived  together  ten  years,  to  have  a  numerous 
and  happy  family,  to  come  and  reside  in  your  parish,  and 
the  attestation  of  their  prior  relationship  to  be  made 
indubitable  to  you  by  some  document  which  alone  could 
establish  and  record  it :  w  hat  would  you  do  1 

Home.  I  would  snap  asunder  the  chain  that  the  devil 
had  ensared  them  in,  even  if  he  stood  before  me ;  I  would 
implore  God  to  pardon  them,  and  to  survey  with  an  eye  of 
mercy  their  unoffending  bairns. 

Hume.  And  would  not  you  be  disposed  to  behold  them 
with  an  eye  of  the  same  materials'? 

Home.  Could  I  leave  them  in  mortal  sin,  and  pray  to 
the  ensnarer  of  souls  1  No,  I  would  rush  between  them  as 
with  a  flaming  sword ;  I  would  rescue  them  by  God's  help 
from  perdition. 

Hume.  What  misery  and  consternation  would  this 
rescue  bring  with  it ! 

Home.  They  would  call  upon  the  hills  to  cover  them,  to 
crush  and  extinguish  their  shame. 

Hume.  Those  who  had  lived  together  in  love  and  inno- 
cence  and  felicity  1  A  word  spoken  to  them  by  their  pastor 
brings  them  into  irremediable  guilt  and  anguish.  And  you 
would  do  this? 

Home.     The  laws  of  God  are  above  all  other  laws  :  his 
ways  are  inscrutable  :  thick  darkness  covers  his  throne. 
Hume.     My  cousin,  you  who  have  written  so  elegant  and 


DA  VID  HUME  AND  JOHN  HOME.  231 

pathetic  a  tragedy,  cannot  but  have  read  the  best-contrived 
one  in  existence,  the  (Edipus  of  Sophocles. 

Home.  It  has  wrung  my  heart ;  it  has  deluged  my  eyes 
with  weeping. 

Hume.  Which  would  you  rather  do — cause  and  excite 
those  sufferings,  or  assuage  and  quell  them  1 

Home.  Am  I  a  Scotchman  or  an  islander  of  the  Red 
Sea,  that  a  question  like  this  should  be  asked  me  1 

Hume.  You  would  not,  then,  have  given  to  (Edipus  that 
information  which  drove  him  and  Jocasta  to  despair  1 

Home.  As  a  Christian  and  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  I 
am  commanded  to  defy  the  devil,  and  to  burst  asunder  the 
bonds  of  sin. 

Hume.  I  am  certain  you  would  be  greatly  pained  in 
doing  it. 

Home.  I  should  never  overcome  the  grief  and  anxiety  so 
severe  a  duty  would  cause  me. 

Hume.  You  have  now  proved,  better  than  I  could  have 
done  in  twenty  Essays,  that,  if  morality  is  not  religion, 
neither  is  religion  morality.  Either  of  them,  to  be  good 
(and  the  one  must  be  and  the  other  should  be  so),  will 
produce  good  effects  from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  and  be 
followed  by  no  remorse  or  repentance. 

It  would  be  presumptuous  in  me  to  quote  the  Bible  to 
you,  who  are  so  much  more  conversant  in  it ;  yet  I  cannot 
refrain  from  repeating,  for  my  own  satisfaction,  the  beauti- 
ful sentence  on  holiness:  that  "all  her  ways  are  pleasantness, 
and  all  her  paths  are  peace."  It  says,  not  one  or  two  paths, 
but  all:  for  vice  hath  one  or  two  passably  pleasant  in  the 
season,  if  we  could  forget  that,  when  we  would  return,  the 
road  is  difficult  to  find,  and  must  be  picked  out  in  the  dark. 
Imagine  anything  in  the  semblance  of  a  duty  attended  by 
regret  and   sorrow,  and  be  assured  that    holiness    has    no 


132  IMA  GIN  A  R  V  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

concern  in  it.  Admonition,  it  is  true,  is  sometimes  of  such  a 
nature,  from  that  of  the  irregularity  it  would  correct,  as  to 
occasion  a  sigh  or  a  blush  to  him  who  gives  it :  in  this  case, 
the  sensation  so  manifested  adds  weight  to  the  reproof  and 
indemnifies  the  reprover.  He  is  happy  to  have  done  what 
from  generosity  and  tenderness  of  heart  he  was  sorry  and 
slow  to  do ;  and  the  person  in  whose  behalf  he  acted  must 
be  degraded  beneath  the  dignity  of  manhood,  if  he  feels 
less  for  himself  than  another  has  felt  for  him.  The  regret 
is  not  at  the  performance  of  his  duty,  but  at  the  failure  of 
its  effect. 

To  produce  as  much  happiness  as  we  can,  and  to  prevent 
as  much  misery,  is  the  proper  aim  and  end  of  true  morality 
and  true  religion.  Only  give  things  their  right  direction : 
there  is  room,  do  but  place  and  train  them  well. 

Home.     What !  room  for  vice  and  wickedness  ? 

Hume.  There  was  a  time  when  what  is  wine  was  not 
wine,  when  what  is  vinegar  was  not  vinegar,  when  what  is 
corruption  was  not  corruption.  That  which  would  turn  into 
vice  may  not  only  not  turn  into  it,  but  may,  by  discreet 
and  attentive  management,  become  the  ground-work  of 
virtue.  A  little  watchfulness  over  ourselves  will  save  us 
a  great  deal  of  watchfulness  over  others,  and  will  permit 
the  kindliest  of  religions  to  drop  her  inconvenient  and  un- 
seemly talk  of  enmity  and  strife,  cuirasses  and  breastplates, 
battles  and  exterminations. 

Home.  These  carnal  terms  are  frequent  in  the  books  of 
the  Old  Testament. 

Hume.  Because  the  books  of  the  Old  Testament  were 
written  when  the  world  was  much  more  barbarous  and 
ferocious  than  it  is  at  present ;  and  legislators  must  accom- 
modate their  language  to  the  customs  and  manners  of  the 
country. 


DA  VID  HUME  AND  JOHN  HOME.  233 

Home.  Apparently  you  would  rather  abolish  the  forcible 
expressions  of  our  pious  reformers,  than  the  abominations  at 
which  their  souls  revolted.  I  am  afraid  you  would  hesitate 
as  little  to  demolish  kirks  as  convents,  to  drive  out  ministers 
as  monks. 

Hume.  I  would  let  ministers  and  their  kirks  alone.  I 
would  abolish  monasteries,  but  gradually  and  humanely ; 
and  not  until  I  had  discovered  how  and  where  the  studious 
and  pious  could  spend  their  time  better.  I  hold  religion  in 
the  light  of  a  medal  which  has  contracted  rust  from  ages. 
This  rust  seems  to  have  been  its  preserver  for  many  centuries, 
but  after  some  few  more  will  certainly  be  its  consumer,  and 
leave  no  vestige  of  effigy  or  superscription  behind  :  it  should 
be  detached  carefully  and  patiently,  not  ignorantly  and 
rudely  scoured  off.  Happiness  may  be  taken  away  from 
many  with  the  design  of  communicating  it  to  more :  but 
that  which  is  a  grateful  and  refreshing  odour  in  a  limited 
space  would  be  none  whatever  in  a  larger ;  that  which  is 
comfortable  warmth  to  the  domestic  circle  would  not  awaken 
the  chirping  of  a  cricket,  or  stimulate  the  flight  of  a  butter- 
fly, in  the  forest;  that  which  satisfies  a  hundred  poor  monks 
would,  if  thrown  open  to  society  at  large,  contribute  not  an 
atom  to  its  benefit  and  emolument.  Placid  tempers,  regu- 
lated habitudes,  consolatory  visitations,  are  suppressed  and 
destroyed,  and  nothing  rises  from  their  ruins.  Better  let 
the  cell  be  standing,  than  level  it  only  for  the  thorn  and 
nettle. 

Home.  What  good  do  these  idlers  with  their  cords  and 
wallets,  or,  if  you  please,  with  their  regularities  ? 

Hume.  These  have  their  value,  at  least  to  the  possessor 
and  the  few  about  him.  Ask  rather,  what  is  the  worth  of 
his  abode  to  the  prince  or  to  the  public  ?  Who  is  the  wiser 
for  his  cowl,  the  warmer  for  his  frock,  the  more  contented 


234  IMA  GINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

for  his  cloister,  when  they  are  taken  from  him  %  Monks,  it 
is  true,  are  only  as  stars  that  shine  upon  the  desert ;  but 
tell  me,  I  beseech  you,  who  caused  such  a  desert  in  the 
moral  world,  and  who  rendered  so  faint  a  light,  in  some  of 
its  periods,  a  blessing  1  Ignorant  rulers,  must  be  the 
answer,  and  inhuman  laws.  They  should  cease  to  exist 
some  time  before  their  antidotes,  however  ill-compounded, 
are  east  away. 

If  we  had  lived  seven  or  eight  centuries  ago,  John  Home 
would  probably  have  been  saying  Mass  at  the  altar,  and 
David  Hume,  fatter  and  lazier,  would  have  been  pursuing 
his  theological  studies  in  the  convent.  We  are  so  much  the 
creatures  of  times  and  seasons,  so  modified  and  fashioned  by 
them,  that  the  very  plants  upon  the  wall,  if  they  were  as 
sensible  as  some  suppose  them  to  be,  would  laugh  at  us. 

Home.  Fantastic  forms  and  ceremonies  are  rather  what 
the  philosopher  will  reprehend.  Strip  away  these,  reduce 
things  to  their  primitive  state  of  purity  and  holiness,  and 
nothing  can  alter  or  shake  us,  clinging,  as  we  should,  to  the 
anchor  of  faith. 

Hume.  People  clung  to  it  long  ago  ;  but  many  lost  their 
grasp,  benumbed  by  holding  too  tightly.  The  Church  of 
Scotland  brings  close  together  the  objects  of  veneration  and 
abhorrence.  The  evil  principle,  or  devil,  was,  in  my  opinion, 
hardly  worth  the  expense  of  his  voyage  from  Persia;  but, 
since  you  have  him,  you  seem  resolved  to  treat  him  nobly, 
hating  him,  defying  him,  and  fearing  him  nevertheless.  I 
would  not,  however,  place  him  so  very  near  the  Creator, 
let  his  pretensions,  from  custom  and  precedent,  be  what 
they  may. 

Home.  He  is  always  marring  the  fair  works  of  our 
Heavenly  Father  :  in  this  labour  is  his  only  proximity. 

Hume.       You    represent    him    as    spurring    men    on    to 


DA  VI D  HUME  AND  JOHN  HOME.  235 

wickedness,  from  no  other  motive  than  the  pleasure  he 
experiences  in  rendering  them  miserable. 

Home.  He  has  no  other,  excepting  his  inveterate  spite 
and  malice  against  God  ;  from  which,  indeed,  to  speak  more 
properly,  this  desire  originates. 

Hume.  Has  he  lost  his  wits,  as  well  as  his  station,  that 
he  fancies  he  can  render  God  unhappy  by  being  spiteful  and 
malicious  1  You  wrong  him  greatly;  but  you  wrong  God 
more.  Fur  in  all  Satan's  attempts  to  seduce  men  into  wicked- 
ness, he  leaves  every  one  his  free  will  either  to  resist  or 
yield ;  but  the  Heavenly  Father,  as  you  would  represent 
him,  predestines  the  greater  part  of  mankind  to  everlasting 
pains  and  torments,  antecedently  to  corruption  or  temptation. 
There  is  no  impiety  in  asking  you  which  is  the  worst :  for 
impiety  most  certainly  does  not  consist  in  setting  men  right 
on  what  is  demonstrable  in  their  religion,  nor  in  proving  to 
them  that  God  is  greater  and  better  than,  with  all  their  zeal 
for  him,  they  have  ever  thought  him. 

Home.  This  is  to  confound  religion  with  philosophy,  the 
source  of  nearly  every  evil  in  conduct  and  of  every  error  in 
ethics. 

Hume.  Religion  is  the  eldest  sister  of  Philosophy  :  on 
whatever  subjects  they  may  differ,  it  is  unbecoming  in  either 
to  quarrel,  and  most  so  about  their  inheritance. 

Home.  And  have  you  nothing,  sir,  to  say  against  the 
pomps  and  vanities  of  other  worships,  that  you  should  assail 
the  institutions  of  your  native  country?  To  fear  God,  I 
must  suppose,  then,  is  less  meritorious  than  to  build  steeples, 
and  embroider  suplices,  and  compose  chants,  and  blow  the 
bellows  of  organs. 

Hume.  My  dear  sir,  it  is  not  because  God  is  delighted 
with  hymns  and  instruments  of  music,  or  perfers  bass  to 
tenor  or  tenor  to  bass,  or  Handel   to  Giles   Halloway,  that 


236  IMA  G1NAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TJONS. 

nations  throng  to  celebrate  in  their  churches  his  power  and 
his  beneficence ;  it  is  not  that  Inigo  Jones  or  Christopher 
Wren  could  erect  to  him  a  habitation  more  worthy  of  his 
presence  than  the  humblest  cottage  on  the  loneliest  moor  : 
it  is  that  the  best  feelings,  the  highest  faculties,  the  greatest 
wealth,  should  be  displayed  and  exercised  in  the  patrimonial 
palace  of  every  family  united.  For  such  are  churches  both 
to  the  rich  and  poor. 

Home.  Your  hand,  David  !  Pardon  me,  sir :  the  senti- 
ment carried  me  beyond  custom ;  for  it  recalled  to  me  the 
moments  of  blissful  enthusiasm  when  I  was  writing  my 
tragedy,  and  charmed  me  the  more  as  coming  from  you. 

Hume.     I  explain  the  causes  of  things,  and  leave  them. 

Home.  Go  on,  sir,  pray  go  on ;  for  here  we  can  walk 
together.  Suppose  that  God  never  heard  us,  never  cared 
for  us  :  do  those  care  for  you  or  hear  you  whose  exploits 
you  celebrate  at  public  dinners — our  Wallaces  and  Bruces  ? 
Yet  are  not  we  thence  the  braver,  the  more  generous,  the 
more  grateful  1 

Hume.  I  do  not  see  clearly  how  the  more  grateful ;  but 
I  would  not  analyse  by  reducing  to  a  cinder  a  loftfy 
sentiment. 

Home.  Every  act  of  gratitude  is  rewarded  by  reproduc- 
tion. Justice  is  often  pale  and  melancholy  ;  but  Gratitude, 
her  daughter,  is  constantly  in  the  flow  of  spirits  and  the 
bloom  of  loveliness.  You  call  out  to  her  when  you  fancy 
she  is  passing  ;  you  want  her  for  your  dependants,  your 
domestics,  your  friends,  your  children.  The  ancients,  as 
you  know,  habitually  asked  their  gods  and  goddesses  by 
which  of  their  names  it  was  most  agreeable  to  them  to  be 
invoked :  now  let  Gratitude  be,  what  for  the  play  of  our 
fancy  we  have  just  imagined  her,  a  sentient  living  power; 
I  cannot  think  of  any  name  more  likely  to  be  pleasing  to 


DA  VI D  HUME  AND  JOHN  HOME.  237 

her  than  Religion.  The  simplest  breast  often  holds  more 
reason  in  it  than  it  knows  of,  and  more  than  Philosophy 
looks  for  or  suspects.  We  almost  as  frequently  despise 
what  is  not  despicable  as  we  admire  and  reverence  what  is. 
No  nation  in  the  world  was  ever  so  enlightened,  and  in  all 
parts  and  qualities  so  civilised,  as  the  Scotch.  "Why  would 
you  shake  or  unsettle  or  disturb  those  principles  which  have 
rendered  us  peaceable  and  contented  ? 
Hume.     I  would  not  by  any  means. 

Home.     Many  of  your  writings   have  evidently  such  a 
tendency. 

Hume.  Those  of  my  writings  to  which  you  refer  will  be 
read  by  no  nation  :  a  few  speculative  men  will  take  them  ; 
but  none  will  be  rendered  more  gloomy,  more  dissatisfied,  or 
more  unsocial  by  them.  Rarely  will  you  find  one  who,  five 
minutes  together,  can  fix  his  mind  even  on  the  surface  : 
some  new  tune,  some  idle  project,  some  light  thought,  some 
impracticable  wish,  will  generally  run,  like  the  dazzling 
haze  of  summer  on  the  dry  heath,  betwixt  them  and  the 
reader.  A  bagpipe  will  swallow  them  up,  a  strathspey  will 
dissipate  them,  or  Romance  with  the  death-rattle  in  her 
throat  will  drive  them  away  into  dark  staircases  and 
charnel-houses. 

You  and  I,  in  the  course  of  our  conversation,  have  been 
at  variance,  as  much  as  discreet  and  honest  men  ought  to 
be  :  each  knows  that  the  other  thinks  differently  from  him, 
yet  each  esteems  the  other.  I  cannot  but  smile  when  I 
reflect  that  a  few  paces,  a  glass  of  wine,  a  cup  of  tea,  con- 
ciliate those  whom  Wisdom  would  keep  asunder. 

Home.  No  wonder  you  scoff  emphatically,  as  you  pro- 
nounce the  word  wisdom. 

Hume.  If  men  would  permit  their  minds  like  their 
children  to  associate  freely  together,  if  they  would  agree  to 


238  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

meet  one  another  with  smiles  and  frankness,  instead  of 
suspicion  and  defiance,  the  common  stock  of  intelligence 
and  of  happiness  would  be  centupled.  Probably  those  two 
men  who  hate  each  other  most,  and  whose  best  husbandry- 
is  to  sow  burs  and  thistles  in  each  other's  path,  would,  if 
they  had  ever  met  and  conversed  familiarly,  have  been 
ardent  and  inseparable  friends.  The  minister  who  may 
order  my  book  to  be  burned  to-morrow  by  the  hangman,  if 
I,  by  any  accident,  had  been  seated  yesterday  by  his  side  at 
dinner,  might  perhaps  in  another  fortnight  recommend  me 
to  his  master,  for  a  man  of  such  gravity  and  understanding 
as  to  be  worthy  of  being  a  privy  councillor,  and  might 
conduct  me  to  the  treasury  bench. 


ALFIERI  AND   SALOMON   THE 
FLORENTINE  JEW. 

AJJleri.  Let  us  walk  to  the  window,  signor  Salomon. 
And  now,  instead  of  the  silly,  simpering  compliments 
repeated  at  introductions,  let  me  assure  you  that  you  are 
the  only  man  in  Florence  with  whom  I  would  willingly 
exchange  a  salutation. 

Salomon.  I  must  think  myself  highly  flattered,  signor 
Conte,  having  always  heard  that  you  are  not  only  the 
greatest  democrat,  but  also  the  greatest  aristocrat,  in 
Europe. 

Aljieri.  These  two  things,  however  opposite,  which  your 
smile  would  indicate,  are  not  so  irreconcilable  a3  you 
imagine.  Let  us  first  understand  the  words,  and  then  talk 
about  them.     The  democrat  is  he  who  wishes  the  people  to 


ALFIERI  AND  SALOMON.  239 

have  a  due  share  in  the  government,  and  this  share  if  you 
please  shall  be  the  principal  one.  The  aristocrat  of  our 
days  is  contented  with  no  actual  share  in  it ;  but  if  a  man 
of  family  is  conscious  of  his  dignity,  and  resentful  that 
another  has  invaded  it,  he  may  be,  and  is  universally, 
called  an  aristocrat.  The  principal  difference  is,  that  one 
carries  outward  what  the  other  carries  inward.  I  am 
thought  an  aristocrat  by  the  Florentines  for  conversing 
with  few  people,  and  for  changing  my  shirt  and  shaving 
my  beard  on  other  days  than  festivals  ;  which  the  most 
aristocratical  of  them  never  do,  considering  it,  no  doubt,  as 
an  excess.  I  am,  however,  from  my  soul  a  republican,  if 
prudence  and  modesty  will  authorise  any  man  to  call  him- 
self so ;  and  this,  I  trust,  I  have  demonstrated  in  the  most 
valuable  of  my  works,  the  Treatise  on  Tyranny  and  the 
Dialogue  with  my  friends  at  Siena.  The  aristocratical  part 
cf  me,  if  part  of  me  it  must  be  called,  hangs  loose  and  keeps 
off  insects.  I  see  no  aristocracy  in  the  children  of  sharpers 
from  behind  the  counter,  nor,  placing  the  matter  in  the 
most  favourable  point  of  view,  in  the  descendants  of  free 
citizens  who  accepted  from  any  vile  enslaver — French, 
Spanish,  German,  or  priest,  or  monk  (represented  with  a 
piece  of  buffoonery,  like  a  beehive  on  his  head  and  a  pick- 
lock key  at  his  girdle) — the  titles  of  counts  and  marquises. 
In  Piedmont  the  matter  is  different  :  we  must  either  have 
been  the  rabble  or  the  lords  ;  we  were  military,  and  we 
retain  over  the  populace  the  same  rank  and  spirit  as  our 
ancestors  held  over  the  soldiery, 

Salomon.  Signor  Conte,  I  have  heard  of  levellers,  but  I 
have  never  seen  one:  all  are  disposed  to  level  down,  but 
nobody  to  level  up.  As  for  nobility,  there  is  none  in  Europe 
beside  the  Venetian.  Nobility  must  be  self-constituted  and 
independent :  the  free  alone  are  noble ;  slavery,  like  death, 


240  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

levels   all.     The  English  comes  nearest  to   the  Venetian: 
they  are  independent,  but  want  the  main  characteristic,  the 
self-constituted.     You  have  been  in  England,  signor  Conte, 
and  can  judge  of  them  better  than  I  can. 
....  .... 

Aljieri.  It  is  among  those  who  stand  between  the 
peerage  and  the  people  that  there  exists  a  greater  mass 
of  virtue  and  of  wisdom  than  in  the  rest  of  Europe.  Much 
of  their  dignified  simplicity  may  be  attributed  to  the  plain- 
ness of  their  religion,  and,  what  will  always  be  imitated,  to 
the  decorous  life  of  their  king :  for  whatever  may  be  the 
defects  of  either,  if  we  compare  them  with  others  round  us, 
they  are  excellent. 

Salomon.  A  young  religion  jumps  upon  the  shoulders  of 
an  older  one,  and  soon  becomes  like  her,  by  mockery  of  her 
tricks,  her  cant,  and  her  decrepitude.  Meanwhile  the  old 
one  shakes  with  indignation,  and  swears  there  is  neither 
relationship  nor  likeness.  Was  there  ever  a  religion  in  the 
world  that  was  not  the  true  religion,  or  was  there  ever  a 
king  that  was  not  the  best  of  kings  1 

Aljieri.  In  the  latter  case  we  must  have  arrived  nigh 
perfection ;  since  it  is  evident  from  the  authority  of  the 
gravest  men — theologians,  presidents,  judges,  corporations, 
universities,  senates — that  every  prince  is  better  than  his 
father,  "of  blessed  memory,  now  with  God."  If  they 
continue  to  rise  thus  transcendently,  earth  in  a  little  time 
will  be  incapable  of  holding  them,  and  higher  heavens 
must  be  raised  upon  the  highest  heavens  for  their  reception. 
The  lumber  of  our  Italian  courts,  the  most  crazy  part  of 
which  is  that  which  rests  upon  a  red  cushion  in  a  gilt  chair, 
with  stars  and  sheep  and  crosses  dangling  from  it,  must  be 
approached  as  Artaxerxes  and  Domitian.  These  auto- 
matons, we  are  told  nevertheless,  are  very  condescending. 


ALFIERI  AND  SALOMON.  241 

Poor  fools  who  tell  us  it !  ignorant  that  where  on  one  side 
is  condescension,  on  the  other  side  must  be  baseness.  The 
rascals  have  ruined  my  physiognomy.  I  wear  an  habitual 
sneer  upon  my  face,  God  confound  them  for  it !  even  when 
I  whisper  a  word  of  love  in  the  prone  ear  of  my  donna. 

Salomon.     This  temper  or  constitution   of  mind   I    am 
afraid  may  do  injury  to  your  works. 

Alfieri.  Surely  not  to  all :  my  satire  at  least  must  be 
the  better  for  it. 

Salomon.  I  think  differently.  No  satire  can  be  excel- 
lent where  displeasure  is  expressed  with  acrimony  and 
vehemence.  When  satire  ceases  to  smile,  it  should  be 
momentarily,  and  for  the  purpose  of  inculcating  a  moral. 
Juvenal  is  hardly  more  a  satirist  than  Lucan  :  he  is  indeed 
a  vigorous  and  bold  declaimer,  but  he  stamps  too  often,  and 
splashes  up  too  much  filth.  We  Italians  have  no  delicacy 
in  wit :  we  have  indeed  no  conception  of  it ;  we  fancy  we 
must  be  weak  if  we  are  not  offensive.  The  scream  of 
Pulcinello  is  imitated  more  easily  than  the  masterly  strokes 
of  Plautus,  or  the  sly  insinuations  of  Catullus  and  of 
Flaccus. 

Alfieri.  We  are  the  least  witty  of  men  because  we  are 
the  most  trifling. 

Salomon.  You  would  persuade  me  then  that  to  be  witty 
one  must  be  grave  :  this  is  surely  a  contradiction. 

Alfieri.  I  would  persuade  you  only  that  banter,  pun, 
and  quibble  are  the  properties  of  light  men  and  shallow 
capacities;  that  genuine  humour  and  true  wit  require  a 
sound  and  capacious  mind,  which  is  always  a  grave  one. 
Contemptuousness  is  not  incompatible  with  them  :  worth- 
less is  that  man  who  feels  no  contempt  for  the  worthless, 
and  weak  who  treats  their  emptiness  as  a  thing  of  weight. 
At  first  it  may  seem  a  paradox,  but  it  is  perfectly  true,  that 

36 


242  IMA  GINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

the  gravest  nations  have  been  the  wittiest ;  and  in  those 
nations  some  of  the  gravest  men.  In  England  Swift  and 
Addison,  in  Spain  Cervantes.  Rabelais  and  La  Fontaine 
are  recorded  by  their  countrymen  to  have  been  reveurs. 
Few  men  have  been  graver  than  Pascal ;  few  have  been 
wittier. 

That  Shakespeare  was  gay  and  pleasurable  in  conversation 
I  can  easily  admit ;  for  there  never  was  a  mind  at  once  so 
plastic  and  so  pliant :  but  without  much  gravity,  could 
there  have  been  that  potency  and  comprehensiveness  of 
thought,  that  depth  of  feeling,  that  creation  of  imperishable 
ideas,  that  sojourn  in  the  souls  of  other  men  1  He  was 
amused  in  his  workshop  :  such  was  society.  But  when  he 
left  it,  he  meditated  intensely  upon  those  limbs  and  muscles 
on  which  he  was  about  to  bestow  new  action,  grace,  and 
majesty ;  and  so  great  an  intensity  of  meditation  must 
have  strongly  impressed  his  whole  character. 

Salomon.  Certainly  no  race  of  men  upon  earth  ever  was 
bo  unwarlike,  so  indifferent  to  national  dignity  and  to  per- 
sonal honour,  as  the  Florentines  are  now  :  yet  in  former 
days  a  certain  pride,  arising  from  a  resemblance  in  their 
government  to  that  of  Athens,  excited  a  vivifying  desire  of 
approximation  where  no  danger  or  loss  accompanied  it ;  and 
Genius  was  no  less  confident  of  his  security  than  of  his 
power.  Look  from  the  window.  That  cottage  on  the 
declivity  was  Dante's  :  that  square  and  large  mansion,  with 
a  circular  garden  before  it  elevated  artificially,  was  the  first 
scene  of  Boccaccio's  Decameron.  A  boy  might  stand  at  an 
eaual  distance  between  them,  and  break  the  windows  of 
each  with  his  sling.  What  idle  fabricators  of  crazy  systems 
will    tell  me   that   climate   is   the  creator  of  genius?     The 


ALFIERI  AND  SALOMON.  243 

climate  of  Austria  is  more  regular  and  more  temperate  than 
ours,  which  I  am  inclined  to  believe  is  the  most  variable  in 
the  whole  universe,  subject,  as  you  have  perceived,  to  heavy 
fogs  for  two  months  in  winter,  and  to  a  stifling  heat,  con- 
centrated within  the  hills,  for  five  more.  Yet  a  single  man 
of  genius  hath  never  appeared  in  the  whole  extent  of  Austria, 
an  extent  several  thousand  times  greater  than  our  city  ;  and 
this  very  street  has  given  birth  to  fifty. 

Alfieri.  Since  the  destruction  of  the  republic,  Florence 
has  produced  only  one  great  man,  Galileo,  and  abandoned 
him  to  every  indignity  that  fanaticism  and  despotism  could 
invent.  Extraordinary  men,  like  the  stones  that  are  formed 
in  the  higher  regions  of  the  air,  fall  upon  the  earth  only  to 
be  broken  and  cast  into  the  furnace.  The  precursor  of 
Newton  lived  in  the  deserts  of  the  moral  world,  drank 
water,  and  ate  locusts  and  wild  honey.  It  was  for- 
tunate that  his  head  also  was  not  lopped  off:  had  a  singer 
asked  it,  instead  of  a  dancer,  it  would  have  been. 

Salomon.  In  fact  it  was  ;  for  the  fruits  of  it  were  shaken 
down  and  thrown  away :  he  was  forbidden  to  publish  the 
most  important  of  his  discoveries,  and  the  better  part  of  his 
manuscripts  was  burned  after  his  death. 

Aljieri.  Yes,  signor  Salomon,  those  things  may  rather  be 
called  our  heads  than  this  knob  above  the  shoulder,  of 
which  (as  matters  stand)  we  are  rather  the  porters  than  the 
proprietors,  and  which  is  really  the  joint  concern  of  barber 
and  dentist. 

Salomon.  Our  thoughts,  if  they  may  not  rest  at  home, 
may  wander  freely.  Delighting  in  the  remoter  glories  of  my 
native  city,  I  forget  at  times  its  humiliation  and  ignominy. 
A  town  so  little  that  the  voice  of  a  cabbage-girl  in  the 
midst  of  it  may  be  heard  at  the  extremities,  reared  within 
three    centuries    a    greater    number    of    citizens   illustrious 


244  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

for  their  genius  than  all  the  remainder  of  the  conti- 
nent (excepting  her  sister  Athens)  in  six  thousand  years. 
My  ignorance  of  the  Greek  forbids  me  to  compare  our  Dante 
with  Homer.  The  propriety  and  force  of  language  and  the 
harmony  of  verse  in  the  glorious  Grecian  are  quite  lost  to 
me.  Dante  had  not  only  to  compose  a  poem,  but  in  great 
part  a  language.  Fantastical  as  the  plan  of  his  poem  is, 
and,  I  will  add,  uninteresting  and  uninviting  ;  unimportant, 
mean,  contemptible,  as  are  nine-tenths  of  his  characters  and 
his  details,  and  wearisome  as  is  the  scheme  of  his  versifica- 
tion— there  are  more  thoughts  highly  poetical,  there  is  more 
reflection,  and  the  nobler  properties  of  mind  and  intellect 
are  brought  into  more  intense  action,  not  only  than  in  the 
whole  course  of  French  poetry,  but  also  in  the  whole  of  con- 
tinental ;  nor  do  I  think  (I  must  here  also  speak  with  hesi- 
tation) that  any  one  drama  of  Shakespeare  contains  so  many. 
Smile  as  you  will,  signor  Conte,  what  must  I  think  of  a 
city  where  Michel  Angelo,  Frate  Bartolomeo,  Ghiberti  (who 
formed  them),  Guicciardini,  and  Machiavelli  were  secondary 
men  ?  And  certainly  such  were  they,  if  we  compare  them 
with  Galileo  and  Boccaccio  and  Dante. 

Alfieri.  I  smiled  from  pure  delight,  which  I  rarely  do ; 
for  I  take  an  interest  deep  and  vital  in  such  men,  and  in 
those  who  appreciate  them  rightly  and  praise  them  unre- 
servedly. These  are  my  fellow-citizens  :  I  acknowledge  no 
other ;  we  are  of  the  same  tribe,  of  the  same  household ;  I 
bow  to  them  as  being  older  than  myself,  and  I  love  them  as 
being  better. 

Salomon.  Let  us  hope  that  our  Italy  is  not  yet  effete. 
Filangieri  died  but  lately  :  what  think  you  of  him  1 

Alfieri.  If  it  were  possible  that  I  could  ever  see  his 
statue  in  a  square  at  Constantinople,  though  I  should  be 
scourged  for  an   idolater,  I  would  kiss  the   pedestal.     As 


ALFIERI  AND  SALOMON  245 

this,  however,  is  less  likely  than  that  I  should  suffer  for 
writing  satirically,  and  as  criticism  is  less  likely  to  mislead 
me  than  speculation,  I  will  revert  to  our  former  subject. 

Indignation  and   contempt  may  be    expressed    in   other 
poems  than  such  as  are  usually  called  satires.     Filicaia,  in 
his  celebrated  address  to  Italy,  steers  a  middle  course. 
•  •••••• 

A  perfect  piece  of  criticism  must  exhibit  where  a  work  is 
good  or  bad  ;  why  it  is  good  or  bad ;  in  what  degree  it  is 
good  or  bad  ;  must  also  demonstrate  in  what  manner,  and 
to  what  extent  the  same  ideas  or  reflections  have  come  to 
others,  and,  if  they  be  clothed  in  poetry,  why  by  an 
apparently  slight  variation,  what  in  one  author  is  mediocrity, 
in  another  is  excellence.  I  have  never  seen  a  critic  of 
Florence,  or  Pisa,  or  Milan,  or  Bologna,  who  did  not  com- 
mend and  admire  the  sonnet  of  Cassiani  on  the  rape  of 
Proserpine,  without  a  suspicion  of  its  manifold  and  grave 
defects. 

Does  not  this  describe  the  devils  of  our  carnival,  rather 
than  the  majestic  brother  of  Jupiter,  at  whose  side  upon 
asphodel  and  amaranth  the  sweet  Persephone  sits  pensively 
contented,  in  that  deep  motionless  quiet  which  mortals  pity 
and  which  the  gods  enjoy ;  rather  than  him  who,  under  the 
umbrage  of  Etysium,  gazes  at  once  upon  all  the  beauties 
that  on  earth  were  separated — Helena  and  Eriphyle, 
Polyxena  and  Hermione,  Deidamia  and  Deianira,  Leda  and 
Omphale,  Atalanta  and  Cydippe,  Laodamia,  with  her  arm 
round  the  neck  of  a  fond  youth  whom  she  still  seems  afraid 
of  losing,  and,  apart,  the  daughters  of  Niobe  clinging  to 
their  parent  1 

Salomon.  These  images  are  better  than  satires  ;  but  con- 
tinue, in  preference  to  other  thoughts  or  pursuits,  the  noble 


246  IMA GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

career  you  have  entered.  Be  contented,  signor  Conte,  with 
the  glory  of  our  first  great  dramatist,  and  neglect  altogether 
any  inferior  one.  Why  vex  and  torment  yourself  about  the 
French?  They  buzz  and  are  troublesome  while  they  are 
sw arming ;  but  the  master  will  soon  hive  them.  Is  the 
whole  nation  worth  the  worst  of  your  tragedies  1  All  the 
present  race  of  them,  all  the  creatures  in  the  world  which 
excite  your  indignation,  will  lie  in  the  grave,  while  young 
and  old  are  clapping  their  hands  or  beating  their  bosoms  at 
your  Bruto  Primo.  Consider  also  that  kings  and  emperors 
should  in  your  estimation  be  but  as  grasshoppers  and 
beetles :  let  them  consume  a  few  blades  of  your  clover  with- 
out molesting  them,  without  bringing  them  to  crawl  on  you 
and  claw  you.  The  difference  between  them  and  men  of 
genius  is  almost  as  great  as  between  men  of  genius  and 
those  higher  intelligences  who  act  in  immediate  subordina- 
tion  to  the  Almighty.  Yes,  I  assert  it,  without  flattery 
and  without  fear,  the  angels  are  not  higher  above  mortals 
than  you  are  above  the  proudest  that  trample  on  them. 

Aljieri.  I  believe,  sir,  you  were  the  first  in  commending 
my  tragedies. 

Salomon.  He  who  first  praises  a  good  book  becomingly 
is  next  in  merit  to  the  author. 

Aljieri.  As  a  writer  and  as  a  man  I  know  my  station  : 
if  I  found  in  the  world  five  equal  to  myself,  I  would  walk 
out  of  it,  not  to  be  jostled. 

I  must  now,  signor  Salomon,  take  my  leave  of  you  ;  for 
his  Eminence  my  coachman  and  their  Excellencies  my  horses 
are  waiting. 


ROUSSEAU  AND  MALESHERBES.  247 


ROUSSEAU  AND  MALESHERBES. 

Rousseau.  I  am  ashamed,  sir,  of  my  countrymen  :  let 
my  humiliation  expiate  their  offence.  I  wish  it  had  not 
been  a  minister  of  the  gospel  who  received  you  with  such 
inhospitality. 

Malesherbes.  Nothing  can  be  more  ardent  and  more 
cordial  than  the  expressions  with  which  you  greet  me, 
M.  Rousseau,  on  my  return  from  your  lakes  and  mountains. 

Rousseau.  If  the  pastor  took  you  for  a  courtier,  I 
reverence  him  for  his  contemptuousness. 

Malesherbes.  Why  so  ?  Indeed  you  are  in  the  wrong, 
my  friend.  No  person  has  a  right  to  treat  another  with 
contemptuousnes-s  unless  he  knows  him  to  deserve  it.  When 
a  courtier  enters  the  house  of  a  pastor  in  preference  to  the 
next,  the  pastor  should  partake  in  the  sentiment  that 
induced  him,  or  at  least  not  be  offended  to  be  preferred. 
A  courtier  is  such  at  court  :  in  the  house  of  a  clergyman 
be  is  not  a  courtier,  but  a  guest.  If  to  be  a  courtier  is 
offensive,  remember  that  we  punish  offences  where  they  are 
committed,  where  they  can  be  examined,  where  pleadings 
can  be  heard  for  and  against  the  accused,  and  where  nothing 
is  admitted  extraneous  from  the  indictment,  excepting  what 
may  be  adduced  in  his  behalf  by  witnesses  to  the  general 
tenor  of  his  character. 

Rousseau.  Is  it  really  true  that  the  man  told  you  to 
mount  the  hay-loft  if  you  wished  a  night's  lodging  1 

Malesherbes.  He  did  ;  a  certain  proof  that  he  no  more 
took  me  to  be  a  courtier  than  I  took  him  to  be.  I  accepted 
his  offer,  and  never  slept  so  soundly.     Moderate  fatigue,  the 


248  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

Alpine  air,  the  blaze  of  a  good  fire  (for  I  was  admitted  to  it 
some  moments),  and  a  profusion  of  odoriferous  hay,  below 
which  a  cow  was  sleeping,  subdued  my  senses,  and  protracted 
my  slumbers  beyond  the  usual  hour. 

Rousseau.  You  have  no  right,  sir,  to  be  the  patron  and 
remunerator  of  inhospitality.  Three  or  four  such  men  as 
you  would  coirupt  all  Switzerland,  and  prepare  it  for  the 
fangs  of  France  and  Austria.  Kings,  like  hyenas,  will 
always  fall  upon  dead  carcasses,  although  their  bellies  are 
full,  and  although  they  are  conscious  that  in  the  end  they 
will  tear  one  another  to  pieces  over  them.  Why  should 
you  prepare  their  prey  %  Were  your  fire  and  effulgence 
given  you  for  this?  Why,  in  short,  did  you  thank  this 
churl  1  Why  did  you  recommend  him  to  his  superiors  for 
perferment  on  the  next  vacancy  1 

Malesherbes.  I  must  adopt  your  opinion  of  his  behaviour 
in  order  to  answer  you  satisfactorily.  You  suppose  him 
inhospitable :  what  milder  or  more  effectual  mode  of 
reproving  him,  than  to  make  every  dish  at  his  table  ad- 
monish him  1  If  he  did  evil,  have  I  no  authority  before  me 
which  commands  me  to  render  him  good  for  it?  Believe 
me,  M.  Rousseau,  the  execution  of  this  command  is  always 
accompanied  by  the  heart's  applause,  and  opportunities  of 
obedience  are  more  frequent  here  than  anywhere.  Would 
not  you  exchange  resentment  for  the  contrary  feeling,  even 
if  religion  or  duty  said  nothing  about  the  matter  1  I  am 
afraid  the  most  philosophical  of  us  are  sometimes  a  little 
perverse,  and  will  not  be  so  happy  as  they  might  be,  be- 
cause the  path  is  pointed  out  to  them,  and  because  he  who 
points  it  out  is  wise  and  powerful.  Obstinacy  and  jealousy, 
the  worst  parts  of  childhood  and  of  manhood,  have  range 
enough  for  their  ill  humours  without  the  heavens. 

Rousseau.    Sir,  I  perceive  you  are  among  my  enemies.    I 


ROUSSEAU  AND  MALESHERBES.  249 

did  not  think  it;    for,  whatever  may  be  my  faults,   I  am 
totally  free  from  suspicion. 

Malesherbes.  And  do  not  think  it  now,  I  entreat  you, 
my  good  friend. 

Rousseau.     Courts  and  society  have  corrupted  the  best 
heart  in  France,  and  have  perverted  the  best  intellect. 
Malesherbes.     They  have  done  much  evil  then. 
Rousseau.     Answer  me,  and  your  own  conscience  :  how 
could  you  choose  to  live  among  the  perfidies  of  Paris  and 
Versailles  1 

Malesherbes.  Lawyers,  and  advocates  in  particular,  must 
live  there  ;  philosophers  need  not.  If  every  honest  man 
thought  it  requisite  to  leave  those  cities,  would  the  inhab- 
itants be  the  better  1 

Rousseau.     You  have  entered  into  intimacies  with   the 
members  of  various  administrations,  opposite  in  plans  and 
sentiments,  but  alike  hostile  to  you,  and   all  of  whom,  if 
they  could  have  kept  your  talents  down,  would  have  dono 
it.     Finding  the  thing  impossible,  they  ceased  to  persecute, 
and  would  gladly  tempt  you  under  the  semblance  of  friend- 
ship and  esteem  to  supplicate    for  some  office,   that   they 
might  indicate  to  the  world  your  unworthiness  by  refusing 
you  :  a  proof,  as  you  know,  quite  sufficient  and  self-evident. 
Malesherbes.     They    will   never  tempt  me  to  supplicate 
for  anything  but  justice,  and  that  in  behalf  of  others.     I 
know    nothing  of  parties.     If  I   am  acquainted  with  two 
persons  of  opposite  sides  in  politics,  I  consider  them  as  you 
consider  a  watchmaker  and  a  cabinet-maker  :  one  desires  to 
rise  by  one  way,  the  other  by  another.     Administrations  and 
systems  of  government  would  be  quite  indifferent  to  those 
very  functionaries    and  their  opponents,  who   appear    the 
most  zealous  partisans,  if  their  fortunes  and  consequence 
were  not    affixed    to    them.      Several    of    these   men  seem 


250  IMA  GINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

consistent,  and  indeed  are  ;  the  reason  is,  versatility  would 
loosen  and  detach  from  them  the  public  esteem  and 
confidence 

Rousseau.  By  which  their  girandoles  are  lighted,  their 
dinners  served,  their  lacqueys  liveried,  and  their  opera-girls 
vie  in  benefit-nights.  There  is  no  State  in  Europe  where 
the  least  wise  have  not  governed  the  most  wise.  We  find 
the  light  and  foolish  keeping  up  with  the  machinery  of 
government  easily  and  leisurely,  just  as  we  see  butterflies 
keep  up  with  carriages  at  full  speed.  This  is  owing  in  both 
cases  to  their  levity  and  their  position  :  the  stronger  and 
the  more  active  are  left  behind.  I  am  resolved  to  prove 
that  farmers-general  are  the  main  causes  of  the  defects  in 
our  music. 

Malesherbes.  Prove  it,  or  anything  else,  provided  that 
the  discussion  does  not  irritate  and  torment  you. 

Rousseau.     Truth  is  the  object  of  philosophy. 

Malesherbes.  Not  of  philosophers  :  the  display  of  ingen- 
uity, for  the  most  part,  is  and  always  has  been  it.  I  must 
here  offer  you  an  opinion  of  my  own,  which,  if  you  think 
well  of  me,  you  will  pardon,  though  you  should  disbelieve 
its  solidity.  My  opinion  then  is,  that  truth  is  not  reason- 
ably the  main  and  ultimate  object  of  philosophy  ;  but  that 
philosophy  should  seek  truth  merely  as  the  means  of 
acquiring  and  of  propagating  happiness.  Truths  are  simple; 
wisdom,  which  is  formed  by  their  apposition  and  application, 
is  concrete  :  out  of  this,  in  its  vast  varieties,  open  to  our 
wants  and  wishes,  comes  happiness.  But  the  knowledge  of 
all  the  truths  ever  yet  discovered  does  not  lead  immediately 
to  it,  nor  indeed  will  ever  reach  it,  unless  you  make  the 
more  important  of  them  bear  upon  your  heart  and  intellect, 
and  form,  as  it  were,  the  blood  that  moves  and  nurtures 
them. 


ROUSSEAU  AND  MALESHERBES.  251 

Rousseau.  I  never  until  now  entertained  a  doubt  that 
truth  is  the  ultimate  aim  and  object  of  philosophy :  no 
writer  has  denied  it,  I  think. 

Malesherbes.  Designedly  none  may :  but  when  it  is 
agreed  that  happiness  is  the  chief  good,  it  must  also  be 
agreed  that  the  chief  wisdom  will  pursue  it ;  and  I  have 
already  said,  what  your  own  experience  cannot  but  have 
pointed  out  to  you,  that  no  truth,  or  series  of  truths,  hypo- 
thetically,  can  communicate  or  attain  it.  Come,  M. 
Rousseau,  tell  me  candidly,  do  you  derive  no  pleasure  from 
a  sense  of  superiority  in  genius  and  independence  ? 

Rousseau.  The  highest,  sir.  from  a  consciousness  of 
independence. 

Malesherbes.  Ingenuous  is  the  epithet  we  affix  to 
modesty,  but  modesty  often  makes  men  act  otherwise  than 
ingenuously :  you,  for  example,  now.  You  are  angry  at 
the  servility  of  people,  and  disgusted  at  their  obtuseness 
and  indifference,  on  matters  of  most  import  to  their  wel- 
fare. If  they  were  equal  to  you,  this  anger  would  cease  ; 
but  the  fire  would  break  out  somewhere  else,  on  ground 
which  appears  at  present  sound  and  level.  Voltaire,  for 
instance,  is  less  eloquent  than  you  :  but  Voltaire  is  wittier 
than  any  man  living.      This  quality ■ 

Rousseati.  Is  the  quality  of  a  buffoon  and  a  courtier. 
But  the  buffoon  should  have  most  of  it,  to  support  his 
higher  dignity. 

Malesherbes.     Voltaire's  is  Attic. 

Rousseau.  If  malignity  is  Attic.  Petulance  is  not  wit, 
although  a  few  grains  of  wit  may  be  found  in  petulance  : 
quartz  is  not  gold,  although  a  few  grains  of  gold  may  be 
found  in  quartz.  Voltaire  is  a  monkey  in  mischief,  and  a 
spaniel  in  obsequiousness.  He  declaims  against  the  cruel 
and  tyrannical  ;  and  he  kisses  the  hands  of  adultresses  who 


252  IMA GINARY  CONVERSA TIONS. 

murder  their  husbands,  and  of  robbers  who  decimate  their 


crancj. 


Malesherbes.  I  will  not  discuss  with  you  the  character 
of  the  man,  and  only  that  part  of  the  author's  on  which  I 
spoke.  There  may  be  malignity  in  wit,  there  cannot  be 
violence.  You  may  irritate  and  disquiet  with  it ;  but  it 
must  be  by  means  of  a  flower  or  a  feather.  Wit  and 
humour  stand  on  one  side,  irony  and  sarcasm  on  the  other. 

Rousseau.     They  are  in  near  neighbourhood. 

Malesherbes.     So  are  the  Elysian  fields  and  Tartarus. 

Rousseau.  Pray,  go  on  :  teach  me  to  stand  quiet  in  my 
stall,  while  my  masters  and  managers  pass  by. 

Malesherbes.  Well  then — Pascal  argues  as  closely  and 
methodically ;  Bossuet  is  as  scientific  in  the  structure  of 
his  sentences ;  Demosthenes,  many  think,  has  equal  fire, 
vigour,  dexterity  :  equal  selection  of  topics  and  equal  temper- 
ance in  treating  them,  immeasurably  as  he  falls  short  of 
you  in  appeals  to  the  sensibility,  and  in  everything  which 
by  way  of  excellence  we  usually  call  genius. 

Rousseau.  Sir,  I  see  no  resemblance  between  a  pleader 
at  the  bar,  or  a  haranguer  of  the  populace,  and  me. 

Malesherbes.  Certainly  his  questions  are  occasional :  but 
one  great  question  hangs  in  the  centre,  and  high  above  the 
rest ;  and  this  is,  whether  the  Mother  of  liberty  and  civilisa- 
tion shall  exist,  or  whether  she  shall  be  extinguished  in  the 
bosom  of  her  family.  As  we  often  apply  to  Eloquence  and 
her  parts  the  terms  we  apply  to  Architecture  and  hers,  let 
me  do  it  also,  and  remark  that  nothing  can  be  more  simple, 
solid,  and  symmetrical,  nothing  more  frugal  in  decoration 
or  more  appropriate  in  distribution,  than  the  apartments  of 
Demosthenes.  Yours  excel  them  in  space  and  altitude ; 
your  ornaments  are  equally  chaste  and  beautiful,  with  more 
variety  and  invention,  more  airiness  and  light.     But  why, 


ROUSSEAU  AND  MALESHERBES.  253 

among  the  Loves  and  Graces,  does  Apollo  flay  Marsyas  \ — 
and  why  may  not  the  tiara  still  cover  the  ears  of  Midas  1 
Cannot  you,  who  detest  kings  and  courtiers,  keep  away 
from  them  ?  If  I  must  be  with  them,  let  me  be  in  good 
humour  and  good  spirits.  If  I  will  tread  upon  a  Persian 
carpet,  let  it  at  least  be  in  clean  shoes. 

As  the  raciest  wine  makes  the  sharpest  vinegar,  so  the 
richest  fancies  turn  the  most  readily  to  acrimony.  Keep 
yours,  my  dear  M.  Rousseau,  from  the  exposure  and  heats 
that  genei^ate  it.  Be  contented  ;  enjoy  your  fine  imagina- 
tion ;  and  do  not  throw  your  salad  out  of  window,  nor 
shove  your  cat  off  your  knee,  on  hearing  it  said  that 
Shakespeare  has  a  finer,  or  that  a  minister  is  of  opinion 
that  you  know  more  of  music  than  of  state.  My  friend  ! 
the  quarrels  of  ingenious  men  are  generally  far  less  reason- 
able and  just,  less  placable  and  moderate,  than  those  of  the 
stupid  and  ignorant.  We  ought  to  blush  at  this :  and  we 
should  blush  yet  more  deeply  if  we  bring  them  in  as  parties 
to  our  differences.  Let  us  conquer  by  kindness  ;  which  w 
cannot  do  easily  or  well  without  communication. 

Rousseau.  The  minister  would  expel  me  from  his  ante- 
chamber, and  order  his  valets  to  buffet  me,  if  I  offered  him 
any  proposal  for  the  advantage  of  mankind. 

Malesherbes.  Call  to  him,  then,  from  this  room,  where 
the  valets  are  civiler.  Nature  has  given  you  a  speaking- 
trumpet,  which  neither  storm  can  drown  nor  enemy  can 
silence.  If  you  esteem  him,  instruct  him ;  if  you  despise 
him,  do  the  same.  Surely,  you  who  have  much  benevolence 
would  not  despise  any  one  willingly  or  unnecessarily. 
Contempt  is  for  the  incorrigible  :  now,  where  upon  earth  is 
he  whom  your  genius,  if  rightly  and  temperately  exerted, 
would  not  influence  and  correct  1 

I  never   was  more   flattered  or  honoured  than  by  your 


254  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

patience  in  listening  to  me.  Consider  me  as  an  old  woman 
who  sits  by  the  bedside  in  your  infirmity,  who  brings  you 
no  savoury  viand,  no  exotic  fruit,  but  a  basin  of  whey  or  a 
basket  of  strawberries  from  your  native  hills ;  assures  you 
that  what  oppressed  you  was  a  dream,  occasioned  by  the 
wrong  position  in  which  you  lay  ;  opens  the  window,  gives 
you  fresh  air,  and  entreats  you  to  recollect  the  features  of 
Nature,  and  to  observe  (which  no  man  ever  did  so 
accurately)  their  beauty.  In  your  politics  you  cut  down 
a  forest  to  make  a  toothpick,  and  cannot  make  even  that 
out  of  it !  Do  not  let  us  in  jurisprudence  be  like  critics  in 
the  classics,  and  change  whatever  can  be  changed,  right  or 
wrong.  No  statesman  will  take  your  advice.  Supposing 
that  any  one  is  liberal  in  his  sentiments  and  clear-sighted 
in  his  views,  nevertheless  love  of  power  is  jealous,  and  he 
would  rejoice  to  see  you  fleeing  from  persecution  or  turning 
to  meet  it.  The  very  men  whom  you  would  benefit  will 
treat  you  worse.  As  the  ministers  of  kings  wish  their 
masters  to  possess  absolute  power  that  the  exercise  of  it 
may  be  delegated  to  them,  which  it  naturally  is  from  the 
violence  and  sloth  alternate  with  despots  as  with  wild 
beasts,  and  that  they  may  apprehend  no  check  or  control 
from  those  who  discover  their  misdemeanours,  in  like 
manner  the  people  places  more  trust  in  favour  than  in 
fortune,  and  hopes  to  obtain  by  subserviency  what  it  never 
might  by  election  or  by  chance.  Else  in  free  governments, 
so  some  are  called  (for  names  once  given  are  the  last  things 
lost),  all  minor  offices  and  employments  would  be  assigned 
by  ballot.  Each  province  or  canton  would  present  a  list 
annually  of  such  persons  in  it  as  are  worthy  to  occupy  the 
local  administrations. 

To  avoid  any  allusion  to  the  country  in  which  we  live, 
let    us    take    England    for    example.       Is    it    not    absurd, 


ROUSSEAU  AND  MALESHERBES.  255 

iniquitous,  and  revolting,  that  the  minister  of  a  church  in 
Yorkshire  should  be  appointed  by  a  lawyer  in  London,  who 
never  knew  him,  never  saw  him,  never  heard  from  a  single 
one  of  the  parishioners  a  recommendation  of  any  kind  1  Is 
it  not  more  reasonable  that  a  justice  of  the  peace  should  be 
chosen  by  those  who  have  always  been  witnesses  of  his 
integrity  1 

Rousseau.  The  king  should  appoint  his  ministers,  and 
should  invest  them  with  power  and  splendour ;  but  those 
ministers  should  not  appoint  to  any  civil  or  religious  place 
of  trust  or  profit  which  the  community  could  manifestly  fill 
better.  The  greater  part  of  offices  and  dignities  should  be 
conferred  for  a  short  and  stated  time,  that  all  might  hope 
to  attain  and  strive  to  deserve  them.  Embassies  in 
particular  should  never  exceed  one  year  in  Europe,  nor 
consulates  two.  To  the  latter  office  I  assign  this  duration 
as  the  more  difficult  to  fulfil  properly,  from  requiring  a 
knowledge  of  trade,  although  a  slight  one,  and  because  those 
who  possess  any  such  knowledge  are  inclined  for  the  greater 
part  to  turn  it  to  their  own  account,  which  a  consul  ought 
by  no  means  to  do.  Frequent  election  of  representatives 
and  of  civil  officers  in  the  subordinate  employments  would 
remove  most  causes  of  discontent  in  the  people,  and  of 
instability  in  kingly  power.  Here  is  a  lottery  in  which 
every  one  is  sure  of  a  prize,  if  not  for  himself,  at  least  for 
somebody  in  his  family  or  among  his  friends ;  and  the 
ticket  would  be  fairly  paid  for  out  of  the  taxes. 

Malesherbes.  So  it  appears  to  me.  What  other  system 
can  present  so  obviously  to  the  great  mass  of  the  people 
the  two  principal  piers  and  buttresses  of  government, 
tangible  interest  and  reasonable  hope  1  No  danger  of  any 
kind  can  arise  from  it,  no  antipathies,  no  divisions,  no 
imposture  of  demagogues,    no  caprice  of  despots.      On  the 


256  IMAGINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

contrary,  many  and  great  advantages  in  places  which  at 
the  first  survey  do  not  appear  to  border  on  it,  At  present, 
the  best  of  the  English  juridical  institutions,  that  of 
justices  of  the  peace,  is  viewed  with  diffidence  and  distrust. 
Elected  as  they  would  be,  and  increased  in  number,  the 
whole  judicature,  civil  and  criminal,  might  be  confided  to 
them,  and  their  labours  be  not  only  not  aggravated  but 
diminished.  Suppose  them  in  four  divisions  to  meet  at 
four  places  in  every  county  once  in  twenty  days,  and  to 
possess  the  power  of  imposing  a  fine  not  exceeding  two 
hundred  francs  on  every  cause  implying  oppression,  and  one 
not  exceeding  fifty  on  such  as  they  should  unanimously 
declare  frivolous. 

Rousseau.  Few  would  become  attorneys,  and  those  from 
among  the  indigent. 

Malesherbes.  Almost  the  greatest  evil  that  exists  in  the 
world,  moral  or  physical,  would  be  removed.  A  second 
appeal  might  be  made  in  the  following  session  ;  a  third 
could  only  come  before  Parliament,  and  this  alone  by 
means  of  attorneys,  the  number  of  whom  altogether  would 
not  exceed  the  number  of  coroners  ;  for  in  England  there 
are  as  many  who  cut  their  own  throats  as  who  would  cut 
their  own  purses. 

Rousseau.  The  famous  trial  by  jury  would  cease  :  this 
would  disgust  the  English. 

Malesherbes.  The  number  of  justices  would  be  much 
augmented  :  nearly  all  those  who  now  are  jurymen  would 
enjoy  this  rank  and  dignity,  and  would  be  flattered  by 
sitting  on  the  same  bench  with  the  first  gentlemen  of  the  land. 

Rousseau.     What  number  would  sit  ? 

Malesherbes.  Three  or  five  in  the  first  instance ;  five 
or  seven  in  the  second — as  the  number  of  causes  should 
permit. 


ROUSSEAU  AND  MALESHERBES.  257 

Rousseau.  The  laws  of  England  are  extremely  intricate 
and  perplexed  :  such  men  would  be  puzzled. 

Malesherbes.  Such  men  having  no  interest  in  the  per- 
plexity, but  on  the  contrary  an  interest  in  unravelling  it, 
would  see  such  laws  corrected.  Intricate  as  they  are,  ques- 
tions on  those  which  are  the  most  so  are  usually  referred  by 
the  judges  themselves  to  private  arbitration ;  of  which  my 
plan,  I  conceive,  has  all  the  advantages,  united  to  those  of 
open  and  free  discussion  among  men  of  unperverted  sense, 
and  unbiassed  by  professional  hopes  and  interests.  The 
different  courts  of  law  in  England  cost  about  seventy  mil- 
lions of  francs  annually.  On  my  system,  the  justices  or 
judges  would  receive  five-and -twenty  francs  daily  ;  as  the 
special  jurymen  do  now,  without  any  sense  of  shame  or 
impropriety,  however  rich  they  may  be :  such  being  the 
established  practice. 

Rousseau.     Seventy  millions  !  seventy  millions  ! 
Malesherbes.     There  are  attorneys  and  conveyancers  in 
London  who  gain  one  hundred  thousand  francs  a-year,  and 

advocates  more.     The  chancellor 

Rousseau.     The  Celeno  of  these  harpies 

Malesherbes.  Nets  above  one  million,  and  is  greatly  more 
than  an  archbishop  in  the  church,  scattering  preferment  in 
Cumberland  and  Cornwall  from  his  bench  at  Westminster. 

Rousseau.  Absurdities  and  enormities  are  great  in 
proportion  to  custom  or  insuetude.  If  we  had  lived  from 
childhood  with  a  boa  constrictor,  we  should  think  it  no 
more  a  monster  than  a  canary-bird.  The  sum  you 
mentioned,  of  seventy  millions,  is  incredible. 

Malesherbes.  In  this  estimate  the  expense  of  letters  by 
the  post,  and  of  journeys  made  by  the  parties,  is  not  and 
cannot  be  included. 

Rousseau.     The  whole  machine  of  government,  civil  and 

37 


2  5  8  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

religious,  ought  never  to  bear  upon  the  people  with  a  weight 
so  oppressive.  I  do  not  add  the  national  defence,  which 
being  principally  naval  is  more  costly,  nor  institutions  for 
the  promotion  of  the  arts,  which  in  a  country  like  England 
ought  to  be  liberal.  But  such  an  expenditure  should  nearly 
suffice  for  these  also,  in  time  of  peace.  Religion  and  law  in- 
deed should  cost  nothing :  at  present  the  one  hangs  property, 
the  other  quarters  it.  I  am  confounded  at  the  profusion.  I 
doubt  whether  the  Romans  expended  so  much  in  that  year's 
war  which  dissolved  the  Carthaginian  empire,  and  left  them 
masters  of  the  universe.  What  is  certain,  and  what  is  better, 
it  did  not  cost  a  tenth  of  it  to  colonise  Pennsylvania,  in 
whose  forests  the  cradle  of  freedom  is  suspended,  and  where 
the  eye  of  philanthropy,  tired  with  tears  and  vigils,  may 
wander  and  may  rest.  Your  system,  or  rather  your  arrange- 
ment of  one  already  established,  pleases  me.  Ministers 
would  only  lose  thereby  that  portion  of  their  possessions 
which  they  give  away  to  needy  relatives,  unworthy  depend- 
ants, or  the  requisite  supporters  of  their  authority  and 
power. 

Malesherbes.  On  this  plan,  no  such  supporters  would 
be  necessary,  no  such  dependants  could  exist,  and  no  such 
relatives  could  be  disappointed.  Beside,  the  conflicts  of 
their  opponents  must  be  periodical,  weak,  and  irregular. 

Rousseau.  The  craving  for  the  rich  carrion  would  be  less 
keen ;  the  zeal  of  opposition,  as  usual,  would  be  measured 
by  the  stomach,  whereon  hope  and  overlooking  have  always 
a  strong  influence. 

Malesherbes.  My  excellent  friend,  do  not  be  offended 
with  me  for  an  ingenuous  and  frank  confession :  promise 
me  your  pardon. 

Rousseau.     You  need  none. 

Malesherbes.     Promise  it,  nevertheless. 


ROUSSEAU  AND  MALESHERBES.  259 

Rousseau.  You  have  said  nothing,  done  nothing,  which 
could  in  any  way  displease  me. 

Malesherbes.  You  grant  me,  then,  a  bill  of  indemnity  for 
what  I  may  have  undertaken  with  a  good  intention  since 
we  have  been  together  ? 

Rousseau.     Willingly. 

Malesherbes.  I  fell  into  your  views,  I  walked  along 
with  you  side  by  side,  merely  to  occupy  your  mind,  which  I 
perceived  was  agitated. 

In  compliance  with  your  humour,  to  engage  your 
fancy,  to  divert  it  awhile  from  Switzerland,  by  which  you 
appear  and  partly  on  my  account  to  be  offended,  I  began 
with  reflections  upon  England :  I  raised  up  another  cloud 
in  the  region  of  them,  light  enough  to  be  fantastic  and 
diaphanous,  and  to  catch  some  little  irradiation  from  its 
western  sun.  Do  not  run  after  it  farther ;  it  has  vanished 
already.     Consider  :  the  three  great  nations 

Rousseau.     Pray,  which  are  those? 

Malesherbes.  T  cannot  in  conscience  give  the  palm  to  the 
Hottentots,  the  Greenlanders,  or  the  Hurons :  I  meant  to 
designate  those  who  united  to  empire  the  most  social  virtue 
and  civil  freedom.  Athens,  Rome,  and  England  have 
received  on  the  subject  of  government  elaborate  treatises 
from  their  greatest  men.  You  have  reasoned  more  dispas- 
sionately and  profoundly  on  it  then  Plato  has  done,  or 
probably  than  Cicero,  led  away  as  he  often  is  by  the 
authority  of  those  who  are  inferior  to  himself  :  but  do  you 
excel  Aristoteles  in  calm  and  patient  investigation  ?  Or, 
think  you,  are  your  reading  and  range  of  thought  more 
extensive  than  Harrington's  and  Milton's?  Yet  what 
effect  have  the  political  works  of  these  marvellous  men 
produced  upon  the  world  ? — what  effect  upon  any  one  State, 
any   one   city,    any    one   hamlet?     A   clerk    in   office,    an 


260  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TI0N5. 

accountant,  a  gauger  of  small-beer,  a  song-writer  for  a 
tavern  dinner,  produces  more.  He  thrusts  his  rags  into 
the  hole  whence  the  wind  comes,  and  sleeps  soundly. 
While  you  and  I  are  talking  about  elevations  and  propor- 
tions, pillars  and  pilasters,  architraves  and  friezes,  the 
buildings  we  should  repair  are  falling  to  the  earth,  and  the 
materials  for  their  restoration  are  in  the  quarry. 

Rousseau.  I  could  answer  you  :  but  my  mind  has  certain 
moments  of  repose,  or  rather  of  oscillation,  which  I  would 
not  for  the  world  disturb.  Music,  eloquence,  friendship, 
bi'ing  and  prolong  them. 

Malesherbes.  Enjoy  them,  my  dear  friend,  and  convert 
them  if  possible  to  months  and  years.  It  is  as  much  at 
your  arbitration  on  what  theme  you  shall  meditate,  as  in 
what  meadow  you  shall  botanise ;  and  you  have  as  much  at 
your  option  the  choice  of  your  thoughts,  as  of  the  keys  in 
your  harpsichord. 

Rousseau.     If  this  were  true,  who  could  be  unhappy  1 

Malesherbes.  Those  of  whom  it  is  not  true.  Those  who 
from  want  of  practice  cannot  manage  their  thoughts,  who 
have  few  to  select  from,  and  who,  because  of  their  sloth  or 
of  their  weakness,  do  not  roll  away  the  heaviest  from  before 
them. 


LUCULLUS  AND  CvESAR. 

Ccesar.  Lucius  Lucullus,  T  come  to  you  privately  and 
unattended  for  reasons  which  you  will  know  ;  confiding,  I 
dare  not  say  in  your  friendship,  since  no  service  of  mine 
toward  you  hath  deserved  it,  but  in  your  generous  and 


LUCULLUS  AND  CAESAR.  261 

disinterested  love  of  peace.  Hear  me  on.  Cneius  Pompeius, 
according  to  the  report  of  my  connections  in  the  city,  had, 
on  the  instant  of  my  leaving  it  for  the  province,  begun 
to  solicit  his  dependants  to  strip  me  ignominiously  of 
authority.  Neither  vows  nor  affinity  can  bind  him.  He 
would  degrade  the  father  of  hi3  wife ;  he  would  humiliate 
his  own  children,  the  unoffending,  the  unborn  ;  he  would 
poison  his  own  nascent  love — at  the  suggestion  of  Ambition. 
Matters  are  now  brought  so  far,  that  either  he  or  I  must 
submit  to  a  reverse  of  fortune  ;  since  no  concession  can 
assuage  his  malice,  divert  his  envy,  or  gratify  his  cupidity. 
No  sooner  could  I  raise  myself  up,  from  the  consternation 
and  stupefaction  into  which  the  certainty  of  these  reports 
had  thrown  me,  than  I  began  to  consider  in  what  manner 
my  own  private  afflictions  might  become  the  least  noxious 
to  the  republic.  Into  whose  arms,  then,  could  I  throw  my- 
self more  naturally  and  more  securely,  to  whose  bosom 
could  I  commit  and  consign  more  sacredly  the  hopes  and 
destinies  of  our  beloved  country,  than  his  who  laid  down 
power  in  the  midst  of  its  enjoyments,  in  the  vigour  of  youth, 
in  the  pride  of  triumph,  when  Dignity  solicited,  when 
Friendship  urged,  entreated,  supplicated,  and  when  Liberty 
herself  invited  and  beckoned  to  him  from  the  senatorial 
order  and  from  the  curule  chair  ?  Betrayed  and  abandoned 
by  those  we  had  confided  in,  our  next  friendship,  if  ever  our 
hearts  receive  any,  or  if  any  will  venture  in  those  places  of 
desolation,  flies  forward  instinctively  to  what  is  most  con- 
trary and  dissimilar.  Cresar  is  hence  the  visitant  of  Lucullus. 
Lucullus.  I  had  always  thought  Pompeius  more  mode- 
rate and  more  reserved  than  you  represent  him,  Caius 
Julius ;  and  yet  I  am  considered  in  general,  and  surely  you 
also  will  consider  me,  but  little  liable  to  be  prepossessed  by 
him. 


262  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

Ccesar.  Unless  he  may  have  ingratiated  himself  with 
you  recently,  by  the  administration  of  that  worthy  whom 
last  winter  his  partisans  dragged  before  the  Senate,  and 
forced  to  assert  publicly  that  you  and  Cato  had  instigated  a 
party  to  circumvent  and  murder  hiui  ;  and  whose  carcass,  a 
few  days  afterward,  when  it  had  been  announced  that  he 
had  died  by  a  natural  death,  was  found  covered  with  bruises, 
stabs,  and  dislocations. 

Lucullus.  You  bring  much  to  my  memory  which  had 
quite  slipped  out  of  it,  and  I  wonder  that  it  could  make 
such  an  impression  on  yours.  A  proof  to  me  that  the 
interest  you  take  in  my  behalf  began  earlier  than  your 
delicacy  will  permit  you  to  acknowledge.  You  are  fatigued, 
which  I  ought  to  have  perceived  before. 

Ccesar.  Not  at  all ;  the  fresh  air  has  given  me  life  and 
alertness  :  I  feel  it  upon  my  cheek  even  in  the  room. 

Lucullus.  After  our  dinner  and  sleep,  we  will  spend  the 
remainder  of  the  day  on  the  subject  of  your  visit. 

Ccesar.  Those  Ethiopian  slaves  of  yours  shiver  with  cold 
upon  the  mountain  here ;  and  truly  I  myself  was  not 
insensible  to  the  change  of  climate,  in  the  way  from  Mutina 

What  white  bread  !  1  never  found  such  even  at  Naples 
or  Capua.  This  Formian  wine  (which  I  prefer  to  the 
Chian),  how  exquisite ! 

Lucullus.  Such  is  the  urbanity  of  Caesar,  even  while  he 
bites  his  lip  with  displeasure.  How  !  surely  it  bleeds  ! 
Permit  me  to  examine  the  cup. 

Ccesar.  I  believe  a  jewel  has  fallen  out  of  the  rim  in  the 
carriage  :  the  gold  is  rough  there. 

Lucullus.  Marcipor,  let  me  never  see  that  cup  again  ! 
No  answer,  I  desire.  My  guest  pardons  heavier  faults. 
Mind  that  dinner  be  prepared  for  us  shortly. 

Ccesar.       In    the    meantime,    Lucullus,    if    your    health 


LUCULLUS  AND  CAESAR.  263 

permits  it,  shall  we  walk  a  few  paces  round  the  villa  1  for  I 
have  not  seen  anything  of  the  kind  before. 

Lucullus.  The  walls  are  double ;  the  space  between 
them  two  feet :  the  materials  for  the  most  part  earth  and 
straw.  Two  hundred  slaves,  and  about  as  many  mules  and 
oxen,  brought  the  beams  and  rafters  up  the  mountain ;  my 
architects  fixed  them  at  once  in  their  places  :  every  part 
was  ready,  even  the  wooden  nails.  The  roof  is  thatched, 
you  see. 

Ccesar.     Is    there    no    danger    that  so  light  a   material 
should  be  carried  off  by  the  winds,  on  such  an  eminence  1 
Lucullus.     None  resists  them  equally  well. 
Ccesar.     On  this  immensely  high  mountain,  I  should  be 
apprehensive  of  the  lightning,  which  the  poets,  and  I  think 
the  philosophers  too,  have  told  us  strikes  the  highest. 

Lucullus.  The  poets  are  right ;  for  whatever  is  received 
as  truth  is  truth  in  poetry  ;  and  a  fable  may  illustrate  like 
a  fact.  But  the  philosophers  are  wrong,  as  they  generally 
are,  even  in  the  commonest  things ;  because  they  seldom 
look  beyond  their  own  tenets,  unless  through  captiousness, 
and  because  they  argue  more  than  they  meditate,  and  display 
more  than  they  examine.  Archimedes  and  Euclid  are,  in 
my  opinion,  after  our  Epicurus,  the  worthiest  of  the  name, 
having  kept  apart  to  the  demonstrable,  the  practical,  and  the 
useful.  Many  of  the  rest  are  good  writers  and  good  dis- 
putants ;  but  unfaithful  suitors  of  simple  science,  boasters 
of  their  acquaintance  with  gods  and  goddesses,  plagiarists 
and  impostors.  I  had  forgotten  my  roof,  although  it  is 
composed  of  much  the  same  materials  as  the  philosophers'. 
Let  the  lightning  fall  ;  one  handful  of  silver,  or  less,  repairs 
the  damage. 

Ccesar.  Impossible !  nor  indeed  one  thousand,  nor 
twenty,  if  those  tapestries  and  pictures  are  consumed. 


264  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

Lucullus.  True  ;  but  only  the  thatch  would  burn.  For, 
before  the  baths  were  tessellated,  I  filled  the  area  with  alum 
and  water,  and  soaked  the  timbers  and  laths  for  many 
months,  and  covered  them  afterward  with  alum  in  powder, 
by  means  of  liquid  glue.  Mithridates  taught  me  this. 
Having  in  vain  attacked  with  combustibles  a  wooden  tower, 
I  took  it  by  stratagem,  and  found  within  it  a  mass  of  alum, 
which,  if  a  great  hurry  had  not  been  observed  by  us  among 
the  enemy  in  the  attempt  to  conceal  it,  would  have  escaped 
our  notice.  I  never  scrupled  to  extort  the  truth  from  my 
prisoners  ;  but  my  instruments  were  purple  robes  and  plate, 
and  the  only  wheel  in  my  armoury  destined  to  such 
purposes  was  the  wheel  of  Fortune. 

Caesar.  I  wish,  in  my  campaigns,  I  could  have  equalled 
your  clemency  and  humanity;  but  the  Gauls  are  more 
uncertain,  fierce,  and  perfidious  than  the  wildest  tribes  of 
Caucasus ;  and  our  policy  cannot  be  carried  with  us,  it 
must  be  formed  upon  the  spot.  They  love  you,  not  for 
abstaining  from  hurting  them,  but  for  ceasing;  and  they 
embrace  you  only  at  two  seasons — when  stripes  are  fresh, 
or  when  stripes  are  imminent.  Elsewhere,  I  hope  to  become 
the  rival  of  Lucullus  in  this  admirable  part  of  virtue. 

I  shall  never  build  villas,  because — but  what  are  your 
proportions  1     Surely  the  edifice  is  extremely  low. 

Lucullus.  There  is  only  one  floor  ;  the  height  of  the 
apartments  is  twenty  feet  to  the  cornice,  five  above  it ;  the 
breadth  is  twenty-five,  the  length  forty.  The  building,  as 
you  perceive,  is  quadrangular :  three  sides  contain  four 
rooms  each ;  the  other  has  many  partitions  and  two  stories, 
for  domestics  and  offices.     Here  is  my  salt-bath. 

Ccesar.  A  bath,  indeed,  for  all  the  Nereids  named  by 
Hesiod,  with  room  enough  for  the  Tritons  and  their  herds 
and  horses. 


LUCULLUS  AND  CjESAR.  265 

Lucullus.  Here  stand  my  two  cows.  Their  milk  is 
brought  to  me  with  its  warmth  and  froth ;  for  it  loses  its 
salubrity  both  by  repose  and  by  motion.  Pardon  me, 
Caesar :  I  shall  appear  to  you  to  have  forgotten  that  I  am 
not  conducting  Marcus  Varro. 

Ccesar.  You  would  convert  him  into  Cacus :  he  would 
drive  them  off.  What  beautiful  beasts!  how  sleek  and 
white  and  cleanly  !  I  never  saw  any  like  them,  excepting 
when  we  sacrifice  to  Jupiter  the  stately  leader  from  the 
pastures  of  the  Clitumnus. 

Lucullus.  Often  do  I  make  a  visit  to  these  quiet 
creatures,  and  with  no  less  pleasure  than  in  former  days  to 
my  horses.  Nor  indeed  can  I  much  wonder  that  whole 
nations  have  been  consentaneous  in  treating  them  as  objects 
of  devotion :  the  only  thing  wonderful  is  that  gratitude 
seems  to  have  acted  as  powerfully  and  extensively  as  fear ; 
indeed,  more  extensively,  for  no  object  of  worship  whatever 
has  attracted  so  many  worshippers.  Where  Jupiter  has 
one,  the  cow  has  ten :  she  was  venerated  before  he  was 
born,  and  will  be  when  even  the  carvers  have  forgotten 
him. 

Ccesar.  Unwillingly  should  I  see  it;  for  the  character  of 
our  gods  hath  formed  the  character  of  our  nation.  Serapis 
and  Isis  have  stolen  in  among  them  within  our  memory,  and 
others  will  follow,  until  at  last  Saturn  will  not  be  the  only 
one  emasculated  by  his  successor.  What  can  be  more 
august  than  our  rites  1  The  first  dignitaries  of  the  republic 
are  emulous  to  administer  them  :  nothing  of  low  or  venal 
has  any  place  in  them ;  nothing  pusillanimous,  nothing 
unsocial  and  austere.  I  speak  of  them  as  they  were;  before 
Superstition  woke  up  again  from  her  slumber,  and  caught 
to  her  bosom  with  maternal  love  the  alluvial  monsters  of 
the  Nile.     Philosophy,  never  fit  for  the  people,  had  entered 


266  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

the  best  houses,  and  the  image  of  Epicurus  had  taken  the 
place  of  the  Leniures.  But  men  cannot  bear  to  be  deprived 
long  together  of  anything  they  are  used  to,  not  even  of 
their  fears ;  and,  by  a  reaction  of  the  mind  appertaining  to 
our  nature,  new  stimulants  were  looked  for,  not  on  the  side 
of  pleasure,  where  nothing  new  could  be  expected  or 
imagined,  but  on  the  opposite.  Irreligion  is  followed  by 
fanaticism,  and  fanaticism  by  irreligion,  alternately  and 
perpetually. 

Lucullus.  The  religion  of  our  country,  as  you  observe,  is 
well  adapted  to  its  inhabitants.  Our  progenitor,  Mars,  hath 
Yenus  recumbent  on  his  breast  and  looking  up  to  him, 
teaching  us  that  pleasure  is  to  be  sought  in  the  bosom  of 
valour  and  by  the  means  of  war.  No  great  alteration,  I 
think,  will  ever  be  made  in  our  rites  and  ceremonies — the 
best  and  most  imposing  that  could  be  collected  from  all 
nations,  and  uniting  them  to  us  by  our  complacence  in 
adopting  them.  The  gods  themselves  may  change  names, 
to  natter  new  power  :  and,  indeed,  as  we  degenerate, 
Religion  will  accommodate  herself  to  our  propensities  and 
desires.  Our  heaven  is  now  popular :  it  will  become 
monarchal ;  not  without  a  crowded  court,  as  befits  it,  of 
apparitors  and  satellites  and  minions  of  both  sexes,  paid 
and  caressed  for  carrying  to  their  stern,  dark-bearded 
master  prayers  and  supplications.  Altars  must  be  strown 
with  broken  minds,  and  incense  rise  amid  abject  aspirations. 
Gods  will  be  found  unfit  for  their  places;  and  it  is  not 
impossible  that,  in  the  ruin  imminent  from  our  contentions 
for  power,  and  in  the  necessary  extinction  both  of  ancient 
families  and  of  generous  sentiments,  our  consular  fasces 
may  become  the  water-sprinklers  of  some  upstart  priesthood, 
and  that  my  son  may  apply  for  lustration  to  the  son  of  my 
groom.     The  interest  of  such  men  requires  that  the  spirit 


LU CULL  US  AND  CAESAR.  267 

of  arms  and  of  arts  be  extinguished.  They  will  predicate 
peace,  that  the  people  may  be  tractable  to  them ;  but  a  reli- 
gion altogether  pacific  is  the  fomenter  of  wars  and  the  nurse 
of  crimes,  alluring  Sloth  from  within  and  Violence  from 
afar.  If  ever  it  should  prevail  among  the  Romans,  it  must 
prevail  alone  :  for  nations  more  vigorous  and  energetic  will 
invade  them,  close  upon  them,  trample  them  under  foot ; 
and  the  name  of  Roman,  which  is  now  the  most  glorious, 
will  become  the  most  opprobrious  upon  earth. 

Ccesar.  The  time,  I  hope,  may  be  distant ;  for  next  to 
my  own  name  I  hold  my  country's. 

Lucullus.  Mine,  not  coming  from  Troy  or  Ida,  is  lower 
in  my  estimation  :  I  place  my  country's  first. 

You  are  surveying  the  little  lake  beside  us.  It  contains 
no  fish,  birds  never  alight  on  it,  the  water  is  extremely  pure 
and  cold ;  the  walk  round  is  pleasant,  not  only  because 
there  is  always  a  gentle  breeze  from  it,  but  because  the  turf 
is  fine,  and  the  surface  of  the  mountain  on  this  summit  is 
perfectly  on  a  level  to  a  great  extent  in  length — not  a 
trifling  advantage  to  me,  who  walk  often  and  am  weak.  I 
have  no  alley,  no  garden,  no  enclosure ;  the  park  is  in  the 
vale  below,  where  a  brook  supplies  the  ponds,  and  where 
my  servants  are  lodged  ;  for  here  I  have  only  twelve  in 
attendance. 

Ccesar.     What  is  that  so  white,  towards  the  Adriatic  1 
Lucullus.     The  Adriatic  itself.     Turn  round  and  you  may 
descry  the  Tuscan  Sea.       Our  situation   is  reported  to  be 
among  the  highest  of  the  Apennines. — Marcipor  has  made 
the  sign  to  me  that  dinner  is  ready.     Pass  this  way. 

Ccesar.  What  a  library  is  here  !  Ah,  Marcus  Tullius  ! 
I  salute  thy  image.  Why  frownest  thou  upon  me — collect- 
ing the  consular  robe  and  uplifting  the  right  arm,  as  when 
Rome  stood  firm  again,  and  Catiline  fled  before  thee  1 


268  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

Lucullus.  Just  so ;  such  was  the  action  the  statuary 
chose,  as  adding  a  new  endearment  to  the  memory  of  my 
absent  friend. 

Ccesar.  Sylla,  who  honoured  you  above  all  men,  is  not 
here. 

Lucullus.  1  have  his  Commentaries :  he  inscribed  them, 
as  you  know,  to  me.  Something  even  of  our  benefactors 
may  be  forgotten,  and  gratitude  be  unreproved. 

Ccesar.  The  impression  on  that  couch,  and  the  two  fresh 
honeysuckles  in  the  leaves  of  those  two  books,  would  show, 
even  to  a  stranger,  that  this  room  is  peculiarly  the  master's. 
Are  they  sacred  1 

Lucullus.     To  me  and  Caesar. 

Ccesar.     I  would  have  asked  permission 

Lucullus.  Caius  JuHus,  you  have  nothing  to  ask  of 
Polybius  and  Thucydides ;  nor  of  Xenophon,  the  next 
to  them  on  the  table. 

Ccesar.  Thucydides  !  the  most  generous,  the  most  unpre- 
judiced, the  most  sagacious,  of  historians.  Now,  Lucullus, 
you  whose  judgment  in  style  is  more  accurate  than  any 
other  Roman's,  do  tell  me  whether  a  commander,  desirous 
of  writing  his  Commentaries,  could  take  to  himself  a  more 
perfect  model  than  Thucydides  1 

Lucullus.  Nothing  is  more  perfect,  nor  ever  will  be  : 
the  scholar  of  Pericles,  the  master  of  Demosthenes,  the 
equal  of  the  one  in  military  science,  and  of  the  other 
not  the  inferior  in  civil  and  forensic ;  the  calm  dispas- 
sionate judge  of  the  general  by  whom  he  was  defeated, 
his  defender,  his  encomiast.  To  talk  of  such  men  is 
conducive  not  only  to  virtue  but  to  health. 

This  other  is  my  dining-room.     You  expect  the  dishes. 
Ccesar.     I  misunderstood — I  fancied 


LUCULLUS  AND  CAESAR.  269 

Lucullus.  Repose  yourself,  and  touch  with  the  ebony 
wand,  beside  you,  the  sphynx  on  either  of  those  obelisks, 
right  or  left. 

Ccesar.     Let  me  look  at  them  first. 

Lucullus.  The  contrivance  was  intended  for  one  person, 
or  two  at  most,  desirous  of  privacy  and  quiet.  The  blocks 
of  jasper  in  my  pair,  and  of  porphyry  in  yours,  easily  yield 
in  their  groves,  each  forming  one  partition.  There  are 
four,  containing  four  platforms.  The  lower  holds  four 
dishes,  such  as  sucking  forest-boars,  venison,  hares,  tunnies, 
sturgeons,  which  you  will  find  within  ;  the  upper  three, 
eight  each,  but  diminutive.  The  confectionery  is  brought 
separately,  for  the  steam  would  spoil  it,  if  any  should 
escape.  The  melons  are  in  the  snow,  thirty  feet  under  us  : 
they  came  early  this  morning  from  a  place  in  the  vicinity  of 
Luni,  travelling  by  night. 

Ccesar.  I  wonder  not  at  anything  of  refined  elegance  in 
Lucullus ;  but  really  here  Antiochia  and  Alexandria  seem 
to  have  cooked  for  us,  and  magicians  to  be  our  attendants. 

Lucullus.  The  absence  of  slaves  from  our  repast  is  the 
luxury,  for  Marcipor  alone  enters,  and  he  only  when  I  press 
a  spring  with  my  foot  or  wand.  When  you  desire  his 
appearance,  touch  that  chalcedony  just  before  you. 

Ccesar.  I  eat  quick  and  rather  plentifully ;  yet  the 
valetudinarian  (excuse  my  rusticity,  for  I  rejoice  at  seeing 
it)  appears  to  equal  the  traveller  in  appetite,  and  to  be 
contented  with  one  dish. 

Lucullus.  It  is  milk :  such,  with  strawberries,  which 
ripen  on  the  Apennines  many  months  in  continuance,  and 
some  other  berries  of  sharp  and  grateful  flavour,  has  been 
my  only  diet  since  my  first  residence  here.  The  state  of 
my  health  requires  it ;  and  the  habitude  of  nearly  three 
months  renders  this  food  not  only  more  commodious  to  my 


270  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

studies  and  more  conducive  to  my  sleep,  but  also  more 
agreeable  to  my  palate  than  any  other. 

Ccesar.  Returning  to  Rome  or  Baia?,  you  must  domesti- 
cate and  tame  them.  The  cherries  you  introduced  from 
Pontus  are  now  growing  in  Cisalpine  and  Transalpine  Gaul ; 
and  the  largest  and  best  in  the  world,  perhaps,  are  upon 
the  more  sterile  side  of  Lake  Larius. 

Lucullus.  There  are  some  fruits,  and  some  virtues,  which 
require  a  harsh  soil  and  bleak  exposure  for  their  perfection. 

Ccesar.  In  such  a  profusion  of  viands,  and  so  savoury,  T 
perceive  no  odour. 

Lucullus.  A  flue  conducts  heat  through  the  compart- 
ments of  the  obelisks  ;  and,  if  you  look  up,  you  may  observe 
that  those  gilt  roses,  between  the  astragals  in  the  cornice, 
are  prominent  from  it  half  a  span.  Here  is  an  aperture  in 
the  wall,  between  which  and  the  outer  is  a  perpetual  current 
of  air.  We  are  now  in  the  dog-days  ;  and  I  have  never  felt 
in  the  whole  summer  more  heat  than  at  Rome  in  many 
clays  of  March. 

Ccesar.  Usually  you  are  attended  by  troops  of  domestics 
and  of  dinner-friends,  not  to  mention  the  learned  and  scien- 
tific, nor  your  own  family,  your  attachment  to  which,  from 
youth  upward,  is  one  of  the  higher  graces  in  your  character. 
Your  brother  was  seldom  absent  from  you. 

Lucullus.  Marcus  was  coming  ;  but  the  vehement  heats 
along  the  Arno,  in  which  valley  he  has  a  property  he  never 
saw  before,  inflamed  his  blood,  and  he  now  is  resting  for  a 
few  days  at  Foesulse,  a  little  town  destroyed  by  Sylla  within 
our  memory,  who  left  it  only  air  and  water,  the  best  in 
Tuscany.  The  health  of  Marcus,  like  mine,  has  been 
declining  for  several  months  :  we  are  running  our  last  race 
against  each  other,  and  never  was  I,  in  youth  along  the 
Tiber,  so  anxious  of  first  reaching  the  goal.     I  would  not 


LUCULLUS  AND  CAESAR.  271 

outlive  him  :  I  should  reflect  too  painfully  on  earlier  days, 
and  look  forward  too  despondently  on  future.  As  for 
friends,  lampreys  and  turbots  beget  them,  and  they  spawn 
not  amid  the  solitude  of  the  Apennines.  To  dine  in  com- 
pany with  more  than  two  is  a  Gaulish  and  German  thing. 
I  can  hardly  bring  myself  to  believe  that  I  have  eaten  in 
concert  with  twenty ;  so  barbarous  and  herdlike  a  practice 
does  not  now  appear  to  me — such  an  incentive  to  drink 
much  and  talk  loosely  ;  not  to  add,  such  a  necessity  to 
speak  loud,  which  is  clownish  and  odious  in  the  extreme. 
On  this  mountain  summit  T  hear  no  noises,  no  voices,  not 
even  of  salutation  ;  we  have  no  flies  about  us,  and  scarcely 
an  insect  or  reptile. 

Ccesar.  Your  amiable  son  is  probably  with  his  uncle  :  is 
he  well  ? 

Lucullus.  Perfectly.  He  was  indeed  with  my  brother 
in  his  intended  visit  to  me ;  but  Marcus,  unable  to  accom- 
pany him  hither,  or  superintend  his  studies  in  the  present 
state  of  his  health,  sent  him  directly  to  his  Uncle  Cato  at 
Tusculum — a  man  fitter  than  either  of  us  to  direct  his 
education,  and  preferable  to  any,  excepting  yourself  and 
Marcus  Tullius,  in  eloquence  and  urbanity. 

Ccesar.  Cato  is  so  great,  that  whoever  is  greater  must 
be  the  happiest  and  first  of  men. 

Lucullus.  That  any  such  be  still  existing,  O  Julius, 
ought  to  excite  no  groan  from  the  breast  of  a  Roman 
citizen.  But  perhaps  I  wrong  you  ;  perhaps  your  mind 
was  forced  reluctantly  back  again,  on  your  past  animosities 
and  contests  in  the  Senate. 

Ccesar.     I  revere  him,  but  cannot  love  him. 

Lucullus.  Then,  Caius  Julius,  you  groaned  with  reason; 
and  I  would  pity  rather  than  reprove  you. 

On  the  ceiling  at  which  you   are   looking,  there    is  no 


272  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

gilding,  and  little  painting — a  mere  trellis  of  vines  bearing 
grapes,  and  the  heads,  shoulders,  and  arms  rising  from  the 
cornice  only,  of  boys  and  girls  climbing  up  to  steal  them, 
and  scrambling  for  them  :  nothing  overhead  ;  no  giants 
tumbling  down,  no  Jupiter  thundering,  no  Mars  and  Venus 
caught  at  mid-day,  no  river-gods  pouring  out  their  urns 
upon  us ;  for,  as  I  think  nothing  so  insipid  as  a  flat  ceiling, 
I  think  nothing  so  absurd  as  a  storied  one.  Before  T  was 
aware,  and  without  my  participation,  the  painter  had 
adorned  that  of  my  bed-chamber  with  a  golden  shower, 
bursting  from  varied  and  irradiated  clouds.  On  my  ex- 
postulation, his  excuse  was  that  he  knew  the  Danae  of 
Scopas,  in  a  recumbent  posture,  was  to  occupy  the  centre 
of  the  room.  The  walls,  behind  the  tapestry  and  pictures, 
are  quite  rough.  In  forty-three  days  the  whole  fabric  was 
put  together  and  habitable. 

The  wine  has  probably  lost  its  freshness  :  will  you  try 
some  other  1 

Ccesar.  Its  temperature  is  exact ;  its  flavour  exquisite. 
Latterly  I  have  never  sat  long  after  dinner,  and  am 
curious  to  pass  through  the  other  apartments,  if  you  will 
trust  me. 

Lucullus.     I  attend  you. 

Ccesar.  Lucullus,  who  is  here  ?  What  figure  is  that  on 
the  poop  of  the  vessel  1     Can  it  be 

Lucullus.  The  subject  was  dictated  by  myself;  you 
gave  it. 

Ccesar.  Oh  how  beautifully  is  the  water  painted  !  How 
vividly  the  sun  strikes  against  the  snows  on  Taurus !  The 
grey  temples  and  pier-head  of  Tarsus  catch  it  differently, 
and  the  monumental  mound  on  the  left  is  half  in  shade. 
In  the  countenance  of  those  pirates  I  did  not  observe  such 


LUCULLUS  AND  CAESAR.  273 

diversity,  nor  that  any  boy  pulled  his  father  back  :  I  did 
not  indeed  mark  them  or  notice  them  at  all. 

Lucullus.  The  painter  in  this  fresco,  the  last  work 
finished,  had  dissatisfied  me  in  one  particular.  "  That 
beautiful  young  face,"  said  I,  "appears  not  to  threaten 
death." 

"Lucius,"  he  replied,  "if  one  muscle  were  moved  it 
were  not  Caesar's :  beside,  he  said  it  jokingly,  though 
resolved." 

"  I  am  contented  with  your  apology,  Antipho  ;  but  what 
are  you  doing  now  1  for  you  never  lay  down  or  suspend 
your  pencil,  let  who  will  talk  and  argue.  The  lines  of  that 
smaller  face  in  the  distance  are  the  same." 

"  Not  the  same,"  replied  he,  "  nor  very  different :  it 
smiles,  as  surely  the  goddess  must  have  done  at  the  first 
heroic  act  of  her  descendant." 

Ccesar.  In  her  exultation  and  impatience  to  press 
forward  she  seems  to  forget  that  she  is  standing  at  the 
extremity  of  the  shell,  which  rises  up  behind  out  of  the 
water;  and  she  takes  no  notice  of  the  terror  on  the  counten- 
ance of  this  Cupid  who  would  detain  her,  nor  of  this  who 
is  flying  off  and  looking  back.  The  reflection  of  the  shell 
has  given  a  warmer  hue  below  the  knee  ,-  a  long  streak  of 
yellow  light  in  the  horizon  is  on  the  level  of  her  bosom, 
some  of  her  hair  is  almost  lost  in  it ;  above  her  head  on 
every  side  is  the  pure  azure  of  the  heavens. 

Oh  !  and  you  would  not  have  shown  me  this  1  You, 
among  whose  primary  studies  is  the  most  perfect  satisfac 
tion  of  your  guests  ! 

Lucullus.  In  the  next  apartment  are  seven  or  eight 
other  pictures  from  our  history. 

There  are  no  more :  what  do  you  look  for  ? 

Ccesar.     I  find   not  among   the  rest  any  descriptive  of 

38 


274  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

your  own  exploits.  Ah,  Lucullus !  there  is  no  surer  way 
of  making  them  remembered. 

This,  I  presume  by  the  harps  in  the  two  corners,  is  the 
music-room. 

Lucullus.  No,  indeed ;  nor  can  I  be  said  to  have  ono 
here ;  for  I  love  best  the  music  of  a  single  instrument,  and 
listen  to  it  willingly  at  all  times,  but  most  willingly 
while  I  am  reading.  At  such  seasons  a  voice  or  even 
a  whisper  disturbs  me  ;  but  music  refreshes  my  brain  when 
I  have  read  long,  and  strengthens  it  from  the  beginning.  I 
find  also  that  if  I  write  anything  in  poetry  (a  youthful 
propensity  still  remaining),  it  gives  rapidity  and  variety 
and  brightness  to  my  ideas.  On  ceasing,  I  command  a 
fresh  measure  and  instrument,  or  another  voice  ;  which  is 
to  the  mind  like  a  change  of  posture,  or  of  air  to  the  body. 
My  health  is  benefited  by  the  gentle  play  thus  opened  to 
the  most  delicate  of  the  fibres. 

Ccesar.  Let  me  augur  that  a  disorder  so  tractable  may 
be  soon  removed.     What  is  it  thought  to  be  ? 

Lucullus.  I  am  inclined  to  think,  and  my  physician  did 
not  long  attempt  to  persuade  me  of  the  contrary,  that  the 
ancient  realms  of  .iEtetes  have  supplied  me  with  some  other 
plants  than  the  cherry,  and  such  as  I  should  be  sorry  to  see 
domesticated  here  in  Italy. 

Ccesar.  The  gods  forbid  !  Anticipate  better  things  !  The 
reason  of  Lucullus  is  stronger  than  the  medicaments  of 
Mithridates  ;  but  why  not  use  them  too  1  Let  nothing  be 
neglected.  You  may  reasonably  hope  for  many  years  of 
life:    your  mother  still  enjoys  it. 

Lucullus.  To  stand  upon  one's  guard  against  Death 
exasperates  her  malice  and  protracts  our  sufferings. 

Ccesar.  Rightly  and  gravely  said  :  but  your  country  at 
this  time  cannot  do  well  without  you, 


LUCULLUS  AND  CAESAR.  275 

Lucullus.  The  bowl  of  milk,  which  to-day  is  presented 
to  me,  will  shortly  be  presented  to  my  Manes. 

Ccesar.     Do  you  suspect  the  hand  1 

Lucullus.  I  will  not  suspect  a  Roman :  let  us  converse 
no  more  about  it. 

Ccesar.  It  is  the  only  subject  on  which  I  am  resolved 
never  to  think,  as  relates  to  myself.  Life  may  concern  us, 
death  not ;  for  in  death  we  neither  can  act  nor  reason,  we 
neither  can  persuade  nor  command  ;  and  our  statues  are 
worth  more  than  we  are,  let  them  be  but  wax. 

Lucullus.  From  being  for  ever  in  action,  for  ever  in 
contention,  and  from  excelling  in  them  all  other  mortals, 
what  advantage  derive  we  ?  I  would  not  ask  what  satisfac- 
tion, what  glory?  The  insects  have  more  activity  than 
ourselves,  the  beasts  more  strength,  even  inert  matter  more 
firmness  and  stability ;  the  gods  alone  more  goodness.  To 
the  exercise  of  this  every  country  lies  open  ;  and  neither  I 
eastward  nor  you  westward  have  found  any  exhausted  by 
contests  for  it. 

Must  we  give  men  blows  because  they  will  not  look  at 
us  1  or  chain  them  to  make  them  hold  the  balance  evener  'I 

Do  not  expect  to  be  acknowledged  for  what  you  are, 
much  less  for  what  you  would  be ;  since  no  one  can  well 
measure  a  great  man  but  upon  the  bier.  There  was  a  time 
when  the  most  ardent  friend  to  Alexander  of  Macedon 
would  have  embraced  the  partisan  for  his  enthusiasm,  who 
should  have  compared  him  with  Alexander  of  Pherse.  It 
must  have  been  at  a  splendid  feast,  and  late  at  it,  when 
Scipio  should  have  been  raised  to  an  equality  with 
Romulus,  or  Cato  with  Curius.  It  has  been  whispered  in 
my  ear,  after  a  speech  of  Cicero,  "  If  he  goes  on  so,  he  will 
tread  down  the  sandal  of  Marcus  Antonius  in  the  long  run, 


276  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

and  perhaps  leave  Hortensius  behind."  Officers  of  mine, 
speaking  about  you,  have  exclaimed  with  admiration,  "  He 
fights  like  Cinna."  Think,  Caius  Julius  (for  you  have  been 
instructed  to  think  both  as  a  poet  and  as  a  philosopher), 
that  among  the  hundred  hands  of  Ambition,  to  whom  we 
may  attribute  them  more  properly  than  to  Briareus,  there 
is  not  one  which  holds  anything  firmly.  In  the  precipitancy 
of  her  course,  what  appears  great  is  small,  and  what 
appears  small  is  great.  Our  estimate  of  men  is  apt  to 
be  as  inaccurate  and  inexact  as  that  of  things,  or  more. 
Wishing  to  have  all  on  our  side,  we  often  leave  those 
we  should  keep  by  us,  run  after  those  we  should  avoid, 
and  call  importunately  on  others  who  sit  quiet  and  will 
not  come.  We  cannot  at  once  catch  the  applause  of 
the  vulgar  and  expect  the  approbation  of  the  wise.  What 
are  parties  1  Do  men  really  great  ever  enter  into  them  ? 
Are  they  not  ball-courts,  where  ragged  adventurers 
strip  and  strive,  and  where  dissolute  youths  abuse  one 
another,  and  challenge  and  game  and  wager  1  If  you 
and  I  cannot  quite  divest  ourselves  of  infirmities  and 
passions,  let  us  think  however  that  there  is  enough  in  us  to 
be  divided  into  two  portions,  and  let  us  keep  the  upper 
undisturbed  and  pure.  A  part  of  Olympus  itself  lies  in 
dreariness  and  in  clouds,  variable  and  stormy  ;  but  it  is  not 
the  highest :  there  the  gods  govern.  Your  soul  is  large 
enough  to  embrace  your  country :  all  other  affection  is  for 
less  objects,  and  les3  men  are  capable  of  it.  Abandon,  0 
Cresar !  such  thoughts  and  wishes  as  now  agitate  and  propel 
you :  leave  them  to  mere  men  of  the  marsh,  to  fat  hearts 
and  miry  intellects.  Fortunate  may  we  call  ourselves  to 
have  been  born  in  an  age  so  productive  of  eloquence,  so  rich 
in  erudition.  Keither  of  us  would  be  excluded,  or  hooted 
at,   on  canvassing  for  these  honours.      He  who  can  think 


LUCULLUS  AND  CESAR.  277 

dispassionately  and  deeply  as  I  do,  is  great  as  I  am  ;  none 
other.  But  his  opinions  are  at  freedom  to  diverge  from 
mine,  as  mine  are  from  his ;  and  indeed,  on  recollection,  I 
never  loved  those  most  who  thought  with  me,  but  those 
rather  who  deemed  my  sentiments  worth  discussion,  and 
who  corrected  me  with  frankness  and  affability. 

Ccesar.  Lucullus,  you  perhaps  have  taken  the  wiser  and 
better  part,  certainly  the  pleasanter.  I  cannot  argue  with 
you  :  I  would  gladly  hear  one  who  could,  but  you  again 
more  gladly.  I  should  think  unworthily  of  you  if  I 
thought  you  capable  of  yielding  or  receding.  T  do  not  even 
ask  you  to  keep  our  conversation  long  a  secret,  so  greatly 
does  it  preponderate  in  your  favour ;  so  much  more  of 
gentleness,  of  eloquence,  and  of  argument.  I  came  hither 
with  one  soldier,  avoiding  the  cities,  and  sleeping  at  the 
villa  of  a  confidential  friend.  To-night  I  sleep  in  yours, 
and,  if  your  dinner  does  not  disturb  me,  shall  sleep  soundly. 
You  go  early  to  rest  I  know. 

Lucullus.  Not,  however,  by  daylight.  Be  assured,  Caius 
Julius,  that  greatly  as  your  discourse  afflicts  me,  no  part  of 
it  shall  escape  my  lips.  If  you  approach  the  city  with 
arms,  with  arms  I  meet  you  ;  then  your  denouncer  and 
enemy,  at  present  your  host  and  confidant. 

Ccesar.     I  shall  conquer  you. 

Lucullus.  That  smile  would  cease  upon  it :  you  sigh 
already. 

Ccesar.  Yes,  Lucullus,  if  I  am  oppressed  I  shall  over- 
come my  oppressor :  I  know  my  army  and  myself.  A  sigh 
escaped  me,  and  many  more  will  follow  ;  but  one  transport 
will  rise  amid  them,  when,  vanquisher  of  my  enemies  and 
avenger  of  my  dignity,  I  press  again  the  hand  of  Lucullus, 
mindful  of  this  day. 


278  IMA  GINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA. 

[The  philosopher  discourses,  sometimes  playfully,  sometimes  seri- 
ously, with  his  girl-pupils — the  playful  passages  being  by  far  the  least 
happy.  Thi3  was  Landor's  own  favourite  among  the  Conversations. 
He  desired  to  walk  "with  Epicurus  on  the  right  hand  and  Epictetus 
on  the  left ; "  and  he  has  here  placed  his  owu  mature  philosophy  in 
the  mouth  of  Epicurus.] 


Ternissa.  The  broad  and  billowy  summits  of  yon 
monstrous  trees,  one  would  imagine,  were  made  for  the 
storms  to  rest  upon  when  they  are  tired  of  raving.  And 
what  bark  !  It  occurs  to  me,  Epicurus,  that  I  have  rarely 
seen  climbing  plants  attach  themselves  to  these  trees,  as  they 
do  to  the  oak,  the  maple,  the  beech,  and  others. 

Leontion.  If  your  remark  be  true,  perhaps  the  resinous 
are  not  embraced  by  them  so  frequently  because  they  dislike 
the  odour  of  the  resin,  or  some  other  property  of  the  juices ; 
for  they,  too,  have  their  affections  and  antipathies  no  less 
than  countries  and  their  climes. 

Ternissa.     For  shame  !  what  would  you  with  me  1 

Epicurus.  I  would  not  interrupt  you  while  you  were 
speaking,  nor  while  Leontion  was  replying ;  this  is  against 
my  rules  and  practice.  Having  now  ended,  kiss  me,  Ter- 
nissa ! 

Ternissa.  Impudent  man  !  in  the  name  of  Pallas,  why 
should  I  kiss  you  1 

Epicurus.     Because  you  expressed  hatred. 

Ternissa.      Do  we  kiss  when  we  hate  1 

Epicurus.  There  is  no  better  end  of  hating.  The  senti- 
ment should  not  exist  one  moment ;  and  if  the  hater  gives 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA.      279 

a  kiss  on  being  ordered  to  do  it,  even  to  a  tree  or  a  stone, 
that  tree  or  stone  becomes  the  monument  of  a  fault 
extinct. 

Ternissa.     I  promise  you  I  never  wfll  hate  a  tree  again. 

Epicurus.     I  told  you  so. 

Leontion.  Nevertheless,  I  suspect,  my  Ternissa,  you  will 
often  be  surprised  into  it.  I  was  very  near  saying,  "I  hate 
these  rude  square  stones  !  "  Why  did  you  leave  them  here, 
Epicurus  1 

Epicurus.  It  is  true,  they  are  the  greater  part  square,  and 
seem  to  have  been  cut  out  in  ancient  times  for  plinths  and 
columns  ;  they  are  also  rude.  Removing  the  smaller,  that 
I  might  plant  violets  and  cyclamens  and  convolvuluses  and 
strawberries,  and  such  other  herbs  as  grow  willingly  in  dry 
places,  I  left  a  few  of  these  for  seats,  a  few  for  tables  and 
for  couches. 

Leontion.     Delectable  couches  ! 

Epicurus.  Laugh  as  you  may,  they  will  become  so  when 
they  are  covered  with  moss  and  ivy,  and  those  other  two 
sweet  plants  whose  names  I  do  not  remember  to  have  found 
in  any  ancient  treatise,  but  which  I  fancy  I  have  heard 
Theophrastus  call  "Leontion"  and  "Ternissa." 

Ternissa.     The  bold,  insidious,  false  creature  ! 

Epicurus.  What  is  that  volume,  may  I  venture  to  ask, 
Leontion  ?     Why  do  you  blush  1 

Leontion.      I  do  not  blush  about  it. 

Epicurus.     You  are  offended,  then,  my  dear  girl. 

Leontion.  No,  nor  offended.  I  will  tell  you  presently 
what  it  contains.  Account  to  me  first  for  your  choice  of  so 
strange  a  place  to  walk  in  :  a  broad  ridge,  the  summit  and 
one  side  barren,  the  other  a  wood  of  rose-laurels  impossible 
to  penetrate.  The  worst  of  all  is,  we  can  see  nothing  of  the 
city  or  the  Parthenon,  unless  from  the  very  top. 


28o  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

Epicurus.  The  place  commands,  in  my  opinion,  a  most 
perfect  view. 

Leontion.     Of  what,  pray  1 

Epicurus.  Of  itself ;  seeming  to  indicate  that  we,  Leon- 
tion, who  philosophise,  should  do  the  same. 

Leontion.  Go  on,  go  on !  say  what  you  please :  I  will 
not  hate  anything  yet.  Why  have  you  torn  up  by  the 
root  all  these  little  mountain  ash-trees  1  This  is  the  season 
of  their  beauty  :  come,  Ternissa,  let  us  make  ourselves 
necklaces  and  armlets,  such  as  may  captivate  old  Sylvanus 
and  Pan  ;  you  shall  have  your  choice.  But  why  have  you 
torn  them  up  1 

Epicurus.  On  the  contrary,  they  were  brought  hither 
this  morning.  Sosimenes  is  spending  large  sums  of  money 
on  an  olive-ground,  and  has  uprooted  some  hundreds  of 
them,  of  all  ages  and  sizes.  I  shall  cover  the  rougher  part 
of  the  hill  with  them,  setting  the  clematis  and  vine  and 
honeysuckle  against  them,  to  unite  them. 

Ternissa.  Oh,  what  a  pleasant  thing  it  is  to  walk  in  the 
green  light  of  the  vine  trees,  and  to  breathe  the  sweet  odour 
of  their  invisible  flowers  ! 

Epicurus.  The  scent  of  them  is  so  delicate  that  it 
requires  a  sigh  to  inhale  it ;  and  this,  being  accompanied 
and  followed  by  enjoyment,  renders  the  fragrance  so 
exquisite.  Ternissa,  it  is  this,  my  sweet  friend,  that  made 
you  remember  the  green  light  of  the  foliage,  and  think  of 
the  invisible  flowers  as  you  would  of  some  blessing  from 
heaven. 

Ternissa.  I  see  feathers  flying  at  certain  distances  just 
above  the  middle  of  the  promontory  :  what  can  they  mean  1 

Epicurus.  Cannot  you  imagine  them  to  be  the  feathers 
from  the  wings  of  Zethes  and  Calais,  who  came  hither  out 
of  Thrace  to  behold  the  favourite  haunts  of  their  mother 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNTSSA.      281 

Oreithyia  ?  From  the  precipice  that  hangs  over  the  sea  a 
few  paces  from  the  pinasters  she  is  reported  to  have  been 
carried  off  by  Boreas  ;  and  these  remains  of  the  primeval 
forest  have  always  been  held  sacred  on  that  belief. 

Leontion.     The  story  is  an  idle  one. 

Ternissa.     O  no,  Leontion  !  the  story  is  very  true. 

Leontion.     Indeed  1 

Ternissa.  I  have  heard  not  only  odes,  but  sacred  and 
most  ancient  hymns  upon  it ;  and  the  voice  of  Boreas  is 
often  audible  here,  and  the  screams  of  Oreithyia. 

Leontion.  The  feathers,  then,  really  may  belong  to  Calais 
and  Zethes. 

Ternissa.  I  don't  believe  it ;  the  winds  would  have 
carried  them  away. 

Leontion.  The  gods,  to  manifest  their  power,  as  they 
often  do  by  miracles,  could  as  easily  fix  a  feather  eternally 
on  the  most  tempestuous  promontory,  as  the  mark  of  their 
feet  upon  the  flint. 

Ternissa.  They  could  indeed  ;  but  we  know  the  one  to  a 
certainty,  and  have  no  such  authority  for  the  other.  I  have 
seen  these  pinasters  from  the  extremity  of  the  Piraeus,  and 
have  heard  mention  of  the  altar  raised  to  Boreas  :  where  is 
it? 

Epicurus.  As  it  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  platform, 
we  cannot  see  it  from  hence ;  there  is  the  only  piece  of 
level  ground  in  the  place. 

Leontion.  Ternissa  intends  the  altar  to  prove  the  truth 
of  the  story. 

Epicurus.  Ternissa  is  slow  to  admit  that  even  the  young 
can  deceive,  much  less  the  old  ;  the  gay,  much  less  the 
serious. 

Leontion.  It  is  as  wise  to  moderate  our  belief  as  our 
desires. 


282  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

Epicurus.  Some  minds  require  much  belief,  some  thrive 
on  little.  Esther  an  exuberance  of  it  is  feminine  and 
beautiful.  It  acts  differently  on  different  hearts;  it  troubles 
some,  it  consoles  others  ;  in  the  generous  it  is  the  nurse  of 
tenderness  and  kindness,  of  heroism  and  self-devotion ;  in 
the  ungenerous  it  fosters  pride,  impatience  of  contradiction 
and  appeal,  and,  like  some  waters,  what  it  finds  a  dry  stick 
or  hollow  straw,  it  leaves  a  stone. 

Temissa.  We  want  it  chiefly  to  make  the  way  of  death 
an  easy  one. 

Epicurus.  There  is  no  easy  path  leading  out  of  life,  and 
few  are  the  easy  ones  that  lie  within  it.  I  would  adorn  and 
smoothen  the  declivity,  and  make  my  residence  as  commo- 
dious as  its  situation  and  dimensions  may  allow;  but 
principally  I  would  cast  underfoot  the  empty  fear  of  death. 

Temissa.     Oh  !  how  can  you  1 

Epicurus.  By  many  arguments  already  laid  down  :  then 
by  thinking  that  some  perhaps,  in  almost  every  age,  have 
been  timid  and  delicate  as  Ternissa ;  and  yet  have  slept 
soundly,  have  felt  no  parent's  or  friend's  tear  upon  their 
faces,  no  throb  against  their  breasts :  in  short,  have  been  in 
the  calmest  of  all  possible  conditions,  while  those  around 
were  in  the  most  deplorable  and  desperate. 

Ternissa.  It  would  pain  me  to  die,  if  it  were  only  at  the 
idea  that  any  one  I  love  would  grieve  too  much  for  me. 

Epicurus.  Let  the  loss  of  our  friends  be  our  only  grief, 
and  the  apprehension  of  displeasing  them  our  only  fear. 

Leontion.  No  apostrophes  !  no  interjections  !  Your 
argument  was  unsound  ;  your  means  futile. 

Epicurus.  Tell  me,  then,  whether  the  horse  of  a  rider 
on  the  road  should  not  be  spurred  forward  if  he  started  at  a 
shadow. 

Leontion.     Yes. 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA.      283 

Epicurus.  I  thought  so  :  it  would  however  he  better  to 
guide  him  quietly  up  to  it,  and  to  show  him  that  it  was  one. 
Death  is  less  than  a  shadow  :  it  represents  nothing,  even 
imperfectly. 

Leontion.  Then  at  the  best  what  is  it  1  why  care  about 
it,  think  about  it,  or  remind  us  that  it  must  befall  us  ? 
Would  you  take  the  same  trouble,  when  you  see  my  hair 
entwined  with  ivy,  to  make  me  remember  that,  although  the 
leaves  are  green  and  pliable,  the  stem  is  fragile  and  rough, 
and  that  before  I  go  to  bed  I  shall  have  many  knots  and 
entanglements  to  extricate  1  Let  me  have  them  ;  but  let 
me  not  hear  of  them  until  the  time  is  come. 

Epicurus.  I  would  never  think  of  death  as  an  embarrass- 
ment, but  as  a  blessing. 

Ternissa.     How  ?  a  blessing  1 

Epicurus.  What,  if  it  makes  our  enemies  cease  to  hate 
us  %  what,  if  it  makes  our  friends  love  us  the  more  % 

Leontion.  Us  1  According  to  your  doctrine  we  shall  not 
exist  at  all. 

Epicurus.  I  spoke  of  that  which  is  consolatory  while  we 
are  here,  and  of  that  which  in  plain  reason  ought  to  render 
us  contented  to  stay  no  longer.  You,  Leontion,  would 
make  others  better ;  and  better  they  certainly  will  be, 
when  their  hostilities  languish  in  an  empty  field,  and  their 
rancour  is  tired  with  treading  upon  dust.  The  generous 
affections  stir  about  us  at  the  dreary  hour  of  death,  as  the 
blossoms  of  the  Median  apple  swell  and  diffuse  their 
fragrance  in  the  cold. 

Ternissa.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  passing  the  Styx, 
lest  Charon  should  touch  me  ;  he  is  so  old  and  wilful,  so 
cross  and  ugly. 

Epicurus.  Ternissa  !  Ternissa  !  I  would  accompany  you 
thither,  and  stand  between.     Would  you  not  too,  Leontion  1 


284  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

Leontion.      I  don't  know. 

Temissa.     Oh  !   that  we  could  go  together  ! 

Leontion.     Indeed ! 

Temissa.  All  three,  I  mean— I  said — or  was  going  to 
say  it.  How  ill-natured  you  are,  Leontion,  to  misinterpret 
me  ;  I  could  almost  cry. 

Leontion.  Do  not,  do  not,  Ternissa !  Should  that  tear 
drop  from  your  eyelash  you  would  look  less  beautiful. 

Epicurus.  If  it  is  well  to  conquer  a  world,  it  is  better 
to  conquer  two. 

Ternissa.  That  is  what  Alexander  of  Macedon  wept 
because  he  could  not  accomplish. 

Ejncurus.  Ternissa !  we  three  can  accomplish  it ;  or 
any  one  of  us. 

Ternissa.     How  1  pray  ! 

Epicurus.  We  can  conquer  this  world  and  the  next ;  for 
you  will  have  another,  and  nothing  should  be  refused  you. 

Ternissa.     The  next  by  piety:  but  this,  in  what  manner  1 

Epicurus.  By  indifference  to  all  who  are  indifferent  to 
us  ;  by  taking  joyfully  the  benefit  that  comes  spontaneously  ; 
by  wishing  no  more  intensely  for  what  is  a  hair's  breadth 
beyond  our  reach  than  for  a  draught  of  water  from  the 
Ganges  ;  and  by  fearing  nothing  in  another  life. 

Ternissa.     This,  O  Epicurus  !  is  the  grand  impossibility. 

Epicurus.  Do  you  believe  the  gods  to  be  as  benevolent 
and  good  as  you  are  1  or  do  you  not  ? 

Ternissa.     Much  kinder,  much  better  in  every  way. 

Epicurus.  Would  you  kill  or  hurt  the  sparrow  that  you 
keep  in  your  little  dressing-room  with  a  string  around  the 
leg,  because  he  hath  flown  where  you  did  not  wish  him  to 

fly? 

Ternissa.  No  !  it  would  be  cruel ;  the  string  about  the 
leg  of  so  little  and  weak  a  creature  is  enough. 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNTSSA.      285 

Epicurus.  You  think  so  ;  T  think  so  ;  God  thinks  so. 
This  I  may  say  confidently;  for  whenever  there  is  a  senti- 
ment in  which  strict  justice  and  pure  benevolence  unite,  it 
must  be  his. 

Ternissa.     0  Epicurus  !  when  you  speak  thus 

Leontion.     Well,  Ternissa,  what  then  ? 

Ternissa.  When  Epicurus  teaches  us  such  sentiments  as 
these,  I  am  grieved  that  he  has  not  so  great  an  authority 
with  the  Athenians  as  some  others  have. 

Leontion.  You  will  grieve  more,  I  suspect,  my  Ternissa, 
when  he  possesses  that  authority. 

Ternissa.     What  will  he  do  ? 

Leontion.  Why  turn  pale  1  I  am  not  about  to  answer 
that  he  will  forget  or  leave  you.  No ;  but  the  voice  comes 
deepest  from  the  sepulchre,  and  a  great  name  hath  its  root 
in  the  dead  body.  If  you  invited  a  company  to  a  feast, 
you  might  as  well  place  round  the  table  live  sheep  and  oxen 
and  vases  of  fish  and  cages  of  quails,  as  you  would  invite  a 
company  of  friendly  hearers  to  the  philosopher  who  is  yet 
living.  One  would  imagine  that  the  iris  of  our  intellectual 
eye  were  lessened  by  the  glory  of  his  presence,  and  that, 
like  eastern  kings,  he  could  be  looked  at  near  only  when  his 
limbs  are  stiff*,  by  waxlight,  in  close  curtains. 

Epicurus.  One  of  whom  we  know  little  leaves  us  a  ring 
or  other  token  of  remembrance,  and  we  express  a  sense  of 
pleasure  and  of  gratitude ;  one  of  whom  we  know  nothing 
writes  a  book,  the  contents  of  which  might  (if  we  would  let 
them)  have  done  us  more  good  and  might  have  given  us 
more  pleasure,  and  we  revile  him  for  it.  The  book  may  do 
what  the  legacy  cannot ;  it  may  be  pleasurable  and  service- 
able to  others  as  well  as  ourselves :  we  would  hinder  this 
too.  In  fact,  all  other  love  is  extinguished  by  self-love : 
beneficence,   humanity,  justice,   philosophy,  sink   under  it. 


286  IMA  GINAR  V  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

While  we  insist  that  we  are  looking  for  Truth,  we  commit 
a  falsehood.  It  never  was  the  first  object  with  any  one, 
and  with  few  the  second. 

Feed  unto  replenishment  your  quieter  fancies,  my 
sweetest  little  Ternissa  !  and  let  the  gods,  both  youthful  and 
aged,  both  gentle  and  boisterous,  administer  to  them  hourly 
on  these  sunny  downs  :  what  can  they  do  better  t 

Leontion.  But  those  feathers,  Ternissa,  what  god's  may 
they  be  1  since  you  will  not  pick  them  up,  nor  restore  them 
to  Calais  nor  to  Zethes. 

Ternissa.  I  do  not  think  they  belong  to  any  god  what- 
ever; and  shall  never  be  persuaded  of  it  unless  Epicurus 
says  it  is  so. 

Leontion.  0  unbelieving  creature  !  do  you  reason  against 
the  immortals  ? 

Ternissa.  It  was  yourself  who  doubted,  or  appeared  to 
doubt,  the  flight  of  Oreithyia.  By  admitting  too  much  we 
endanger  our  religion.  Beside,  I  think  I  discern  some 
upright  stakes  at  equal  distances,  and  am  pretty  sure  the 
feathers  are  tied  to  them  by  long  strings. 

Epicurus.     You  have  guessed  the  truth. 

Ternissa.      Of  what  use  are  they  there  ? 

Epicurus.  If  you  have  ever  seen  the  foot  of  a  statue 
broken  off  just  below  the  ankle,  you  have  then,  Leontion 
and  Ternissa,  seen  the  form  of  the  ground  about  us.  The 
lower  extremities  of  it  are  divided  into  small  ridges,  as  you 
will  perceive  if  you  look  around ;  and  these  are  covered 
with  corn,  olives,  and  vines.  At  the  upper  part,  where 
cultivation  ceases,  and  where  those  sheep  and  goats  are 
grazing,  begins  my  purchase.  The  ground  rises  gradually 
unto  near  the  summit,  where  is  grows  somewhat  steep,  and 
terminates  in  a  precipice.  Across  the  middle  I  have 
traced  a  line,  denoted  by  those   feathers,  from   one  dingle 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA.      287 

to  the  other ;  the  two  terminations  of  ray  intended 
garden.  The  distance  is  nearly  a  thousand  paces,  and  the 
path,  perfectly  on  a  level,  will  be  two  paces  broad,  so  that  I 
may  walk  between  you  ;  but  another  could  not  join  us  con- 
veniently. From  this  there  will  be  several  circuitous  and 
spiral,  leading  by  the  easiest  ascent  to  the  summit ;  and 
several  more,  to  the  road  along  the  cultivation  underneath : 
here  will,  however,  be  but  one  entrance.  Among  the 
projecting  fragments  and  the  massive  stones  yet  standing  of 
the  boundary-wall,  which  old  pomegranates  imperfectly 
defend,  and  which  my  neighbour  has  guarded  more  effectively 
against  invasion,  there  are  hillocks  of  crumbling  mould, 
covered  in  some  places  with  a  variety  of  moss  ;  in  others  are 
elevated  tufts,  or  dim  labyrinths  of  eglantine. 

Ternissa.  Where  will  you  place  the  statues  1  for 
undoubtedly  you  must  have  some. 

Epicurus.  I  will  have  some  models  for  statues.  Pygma- 
lion prayed  the  gods  to  give  life  to  the  image  he  adored  :  I 
will  not  pray  them  to  give  marble  to  mine.  Never  may  I 
lay  my  wet  cheek  upon  the  foot  under  which  is  inscribed 
the  name  of  Leontion  or  Ternissa  ! 

Leontion.  Do  not  make  us  melancholy ;  never  let  us 
think  that  the  time  can  come  when  we  shall  lose  our  friends. 
Glory,  literature,  philosophy  have  this  advantage  over 
friendship  :  remove  one  object  from  them,  and  others  fill 
the  void  ;  remove  one  from  friendship,  one  only,  and  not  the 
earth  nor  the  universality  of  worlds,  no,  nor  the  intellect  that 
soars  above  and  comprehends  them,  can  replace  it ! 

Epicurus.  Dear  Leontion !  always  amiable,  always 
graceful !  How  lovely  do  you  now  appear  to  me  !  what 
beauteous  action  accompanied  your  words  ! 

Leontion.     I  used  none  whatever. 

Epicurus.     That  white  arm  was  then,  as  it  is  now,  over 


288  IMAGINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

the  shoulder  of  Ternissa  ;  and  her  breath  imparted  a  fresh 
bloom  to  your  cheek,  a  new  music  to  your  voice.  No 
friendship  is  so  cordial  or  so  delicious  as  that  of  girl  for 
girl ;  no  hatred  so  intense  and  immovable  as  that  of  woman 
for  woman.  In  youth  you  love  one  above  the  others  of 
your  sex ;  in  riper  age  you  hate  all,  more  or  less,  in  pro- 
portion to  similarity  of  accomplishments  and  pursuits — 
which  sometimes  (I  wish  it  were  oftener)  are  bonds  of  union 
to  man.  In  us  you  more  easily  pardon  faults  than  excel- 
lences in  each  other.  Your  tempers  are  such,  my  beloved 
scholars,  that  even  this  truth  does  not  ruffle  them  ;  and 
such  is  your  affection,  that  T  look  with  confidence  to  its 
unabated  ardour  at  twenty. 

Leoniion.  Oh,  then  I  am  to  love  Ternissa  almost  fifteen 
months  ! 

Ternissa.  And  I  am  destined  to  survive  the  loss  of  it 
three  months  above  four  years  ! 

Epicurus.  Incomparable  creatures  !  may  it  be  eternal ! 
In  loving  ye  shall  follow  no  example ;  ye  shall  step  securely 
over  the  iron  rule  laid  down  for  others  by  the  Destinies, 
and  you  forever  be  Leontion,  and  you  Ternissa. 

Leoniion.     Then  indeed  we  should  not  want  statues. 

Ternissa.  But  men,  who  are  vainer  creatures,  would  be 
good  for  nothing  without  them  :  they  must  be  flattered, 
even  by  the  stones. 

Epicurus.  Very  true.  Neither  the  higher  arts  nor  the 
civic  virtues  can  flourish  extensively  without  the  statues  of 
illustrious  men.  But  gardens  are  not  the  places  for  them. 
Sparrows  wooing  on  the  general's  truncheon  (unless  he  be 
such  a  general  as  one  of  ours  in  the  last  war),  and  snails  be- 
sliming  the  emblems  of  the  poet,  do  not  remind  us  worthily 
of  their  characters.  Porticos  are  their  proper  situations, 
and  those  the  most  frequented.     Even  there  they  may  lose 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND   TERNISSA.      289 

all  honour  and  distinction,  whether  from  the  thoughtlessness 
of  magistrates  or  from  the  malignity  of  rivals.  Our  own 
city,  the  least  exposed  of  any  to  the  effects  of  either,  pre- 
sents us  a  disheartening  example.  When  the  Thebans  in 
their  jealousy  condemned  Pindar  to  the  payment  of  a  fine 
for  having  praised  the  Athenians  too  highly,  our  citizens 
erected  a  statue  of  bronze  to  him. 

Leontion.  Jealousy  of  Athens  made  the  Thebans  fine 
him  ;  and  jealousy  of  Thebes  made  the  Athenians  thus 
record  it. 

Epicurus.  And  jealousy  of  Pindar,  I  suspect,  made 
some  poet  persuade  the  archons  to  render  the  distinction  a 
vile  and  worthless  one,  by  placing  his  effigy  near  a  king's — 
one  Evagoras  of  Cyprus. 

Ternissa.  Evagoras,  I  think  I  remember  to  have  read  in 
the  inscription,  was  rewarded  in  this  manner  for  his  recep- 
tion of  Conon,  defeated  by  the  Lacedemonians. 

Epicurus.  Gratitude  was  due  to  him,  and  some  such 
memorial  to  record  it.  External  reverence  should  be  paid 
unsparingly  to  the  higher  magistrates  of  every  country  who 
perform  their  offices  exemplarily  ;  yet  they  are  not  on  this 
account  to  be  placed  in  the  same  degree  with  men  of  primary 
genius.  They  never  exalt  the  human  race,  and  rarely  benefit 
it ;  and  their  benefits  are  local  and  transitory,  while  those 
of  a  great  writer  are  universal  and  eternal. 

If  the  gods  did  indeed  bestow  on  us  a  portion  of  their 
fire,  they  seem  to  have  lighted  it  in  sport  and  left  it ;  the 
harder  task  and  the  nobler  is  performed  by  that  genius  who 
raises  it  clear  and  glowing  from  its  embers,  and  makes  it 
applicable  to  the  purposes  that  dignify  or  delight  our  nature. 
I  have  ever  said,  "  Reverence  the  rulers."  Let,  then,  his 
image  stand ;  but  stand  apart  from  Pindar's.  Pallas  and 
Jove  1  defend  me  from  being  carried  down  the  stream  of 

39 


2qo  IMA  GINAR  V  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

time  among  a  shoal  of  royalets,  and  the  rootless  weeds  they 
are  hatched  on  ! 

Ternissa.  So  much  piety  would  deserve  the  exemption, 
even  though  your  writings  did  not  hold  out  the  decree. 

Leontion.  Child,  the  compliment  is  ill  turned :  if  you 
are  ironical,  as  you  must  be  on  the  piety  of  Epicurus, 
Atticism  requires  that  you  should  continue  to  be  so,  at  least 
to  the  end  of  the  sentence. 

Ternissa.  Irony  is  my  abhorrence.  Epicurus  may  ap- 
pear less  pious  than  some  others,  but  I  am  certain  he  is 
more;  otherwise  the  gods  would  never  have  given  him 

Leontion.     What  ?  what  1  let  us  hear  ! 

Ternissa.     Leontion ! 

Leontion.  Silly  girl  !  Were  there  any  hibiscus  or 
broom  growing  near  at  hand,  I  would  send  him  away  and 
whip  you. 

Epicurus.     There  is  fern,  which  is  better. 

Leontion.  I  was  not  speaking  to  you  :  but  now  you 
shall  have  something  to  answer  for  yourself.  Although 
you  admit  no  statues  in  the  country,  you  might  at  least, 
methinks,  have  discovered  a  retirement  with  a  fountain  in 
it :  here  I  see  not  even  a  spring. 

Epicurus.  Fountain  I  can  hardly  say  there  is ;  but  on 
the  left  there  is  a  long  crevice  or  chasm,  which  we  have 
never  yet  visited,  and  which  we  cannot  discern  until  we 
reach  it.  This  is  full  of  soft  mould,  very  moist,  and  many 
high  reeds  and  canes  are  growing  there ;  and  the  rock  itself 
too  drips  with  humidity  along  it,  and  is  covered  with  more 
tufted  moss  and  more  variegated  lichens.  This  crevice, 
with  its  windings  and  sinuosities,  is  about  four  hundred 
paces  long,  and  in  many  parts  eleven,  twelve,  thirteen  feet 
wide,  but  generally  six  or  seven.  I  shall  plant  it  wholly 
with  lilies  of  the  valley,  leaving  the  irises  which  occupy  the 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA.      291 

sides  as  well  as  the  clefts,  and  also  those  other  flowers  of 
paler  purple,  from  the  autumnal  cups  of  which  we  collect 
the  saffron  ;  and  forming  a  narrow  path  of  such  turf  as  I 
can  find  there,  or  rather  following  it  as  it  creeps  among  the 
bays  and  hazels  and  sweet-briar,  which  had  fallen  at 
different  times  from  the  summit  and  are  now  grown  old, 
with  an  infinity  of  primroses  at  the  roots.  There  are 
nowhere  twenty  steps  without  a  projection  and  a  turn,  nor 
in  any  ten  together  is  the  chasm  of  the  same  width  or  figure. 
Hence  the  ascent  in  its  windings  is  easy  and  imperceptible 
quite  to  the  termination,  where  the  rocks  are  somewhat 
high  and  precipitous ;  at  the  entrance  they  lose  themselves 
in  privet  and  elder,  and  you  must  make  your  way  between 
theni  through  the  canes.  Do  not  you  remember  where 
I  carried  you  both  across  the  muddy  hollow  in  the  foot- 
path 1 

Ternissa.     Leontion  does. 

Epicurus.  That  place  is  always  wet ;  not  only  in  this 
month  of  Puanepsion,  which  we  are  beginning  to-day,  but 
in  midsummer.  The  water  that  causes  it  comes  out  a  little 
way  above  it.  but  originates  from  the  crevice,  which  I  will 
cover  at  top  with  rose-laurel  and  mountain-ash,  with 
clematis  and  vine ;  and  I  will  intercept  the  little  rill  in  its 
wandering,  draw  it  from  its  concealment,  and  place  it  like 
Bacchus  under  the  protection  of  the  nymphs,  who  will 
smile  upon  it  in  its  marble  cradle,  which  at  present  I  keep 
at  home. 

Temissa.  Leontion,  why  do  you  turn  away  your  face  1 
have  the  nymphs  smiled  upon  you  in  it  t 

Leontion.  I  bathed  in  it  once,  if  you  must  know, 
Ternissa !  Why  now,  Ternissa,  why  do  you  turn  away 
yours  1  have  the  nymphs  frowned  upon  you  for  invading 
their  secrets  ? 


292  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

Ternissa.  Epicurus,  you  are  in  the  right  to  bring  it 
away  from  Athens,  from  under  the  eye  of  Pallas :  she 
might  be  angry. 

Epicurus.  You  approve  of  its  removal  then,  my  lovely 
friend  ? 

Ternissa.  Mightily.  (Aside.)  I  wish  it  may  break  in 
pieces  on  the  road. 

Epicurus.     What  did  you  say  ? 

Ternissa.  I  wish  it  were  now  on  the  road,  that  I  might 
try  whether  it  would  hold  me — I  mean  with  my  clothes  on. 

Epicurus.  It  would  hold  you,  and  one  a  span  longer.  I 
have  another  in  the  house  ;  but  it  is  not  decorated  with 
fauns  and  satyrs  and  foliage,  like  this. 

Leontion.  I  remember  putting  my  hand  upon  the  fright- 
ful satyr's  head,  to  leap  in  :  it  seems  made  for  the  purpose. 
But  the  sculptor  needed  not  to  place  the  naiad  quite  so 
noar — he  must  have  been  a  very  impudent  man ;  it  is 
impossible  to  look  for  a  moment  at  such  a  piece  of 
workmanship. 

Ternissa.  For  shame  !  Leontion  ! — why,  what  was  it  1 
I  do  not  desire  to  know. 

Epicurus.     I  don't  remember  it. 
Leontion.     Nor  I  neither  ;  only  the  head. 

Epicurus.  I  shall  place  the  satyr  toward  the  rock,  that 
you  may  never  see  him,  Ternissa. 

Ternissa.     Very  right ;  he  cannot  turn  round. 

Leontion.     The  poor  naiad  had  done  it,  in  vain. 

Ternissa.  All  these  labourers  will  soon  finish  the 
plantation,  if  you  superintend  them,  and  are  not  appointed 
to  some  magistrature. 

Epicurus.  Those  who  govern  us  are  pleased  at  seeing  a 
philosopher  out  of   the  city,  and   more   still  at  finding  ic-  4 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA.      293 

season   of  scarcity  forty  poor  citizens,  who  might  become 
seditious,  made  happy  and  quiet  by  such  employment. 

Two  evils,  of  almost  equal  weight,  may  befall  the  man  of 
erudition :  never  to  be  listened  to,  and  to  be  listened  to 
always.  Aware  of  these,  I  devote  a  large  portion  of  my 
time  and  labours  to  the  cultivation  of  such  minds  as  flourish 
best  in  cities,  where  my  garden  at  the  gate,  although 
smaller  than  this,  we  find  sufficiently  capacious.  There  I 
secure  my  listeners ;  here  my  thoughts  and  imaginations 
have  their  free  natural  current,  and  tarry  or  wander  as  the 
will  invites :  may  it  ever  be  among  those  dearest  to  me ! 
— those  whose  hearts  possess  the  rarest  and  divinest 
faculty,  of  retaining  or  forgetting  at  option  what  ought  to 
be  forgotten  or  retained. 

Leontion.  The  whole  ground  then  will  be  covered  with 
trees  and  shrubs  1 

Epicurus.  There  are  some  protuberances  in  various  parts 
of  the  eminence,  which  you  do  not  perceive  till  you  are  upon 
them  or  above  them.  They  are  almost  level  at  the  top,  and 
overgrown  with  fine  grass ;  for  they  catch  the  better  soil 
brought  down  in  small  quantities  by  the  rains.  These  are 
to  be  left  unplanted  :  so  is  the  platform  under  the  pinasters, 
whence  there  is  a  prospect  of  the  city,  the  harbour,  the  isle 
of  Salamis,  and  the  territory  of  Megara.  "  What  then  ! " 
cried  Sosimenes,  "you  would  hide  from  your  view  my  young 
olives,  and  the  whole  length  of  the  new  wall  I  have  been 
building  at  my  own  expense  between  us  !  and,  when  you 
might  see  at  once  the  whole  of  Attica,  you  will  hardly  see 
more  of  it  than  I  could  buy." 

Leontion.     I  do   not    perceive  the  new  wall,  for  which 
Sosimenes,  no  doubt,  thinks  himself  another  Pericles. 
Epicurus.     Those  old  junipers  quite  conceal  it. 
Ternissa.      They  look   warm   and  sheltering  ;    but  I  like 


294  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

the  rose-laurels  much  better :    and  what  a  thicket  of  them 
here  is  ! 

Epicurus.  Leaving  all  the  larger,  I  shall  remove  many 
thousands  of  them  ;  enough  to  border  the  greater  part  of 
the  walk,  intermixed  with  roses. 

There  is  an  infinity  of  other  plants  and  flowers,  or  weeds 
as  Sosimenes  calls  them,  of  which  he  has  cleared  his  olive- 
yard,  and  which  I  shall  adopt.  Twenty  of  his  slaves  came 
in  yesterday,  laden  with  hyacinths  and  narcissuses,  anemones 
and  jonquils.  "  The  curses  of  our  vineyards,"  cried  he,  "  and 
good  neither  for  man  nor  beast.  I  have  another  estate 
infested  with  lilies  of  the  valley  :  I  should  not  wonder  if  you 
accepted  these  too." 

"  And  with  thanks,"  answered  I. 

The  whole  of  his  remark  I  could  not  collect :  he  turned 
aside,  and  (I  believe)  prayed.  I  only  heard  "Pallas"— 
"  Father  " — "  sound  mind  " — "  inoffensive  man  "  —  "  good 
neighbour."  As  we  walked  together  I  perceived  him  look- 
ing grave,  and  I  could  not  resist  my  inclination  to  smile  as 
I  turned  my  eyes  toward  him.  He  observed  it,  at  first  with 
unconcern,  but  by  degrees  some  doubts  arose  within  him,  and 
he  said,  "Epicurus,  you  have  been  throwing  away  no  less  than 
half  a  talent  on  this  sorry  piece  of  mountain,  and  I  fear  you 
are  about  to  waste  as  much  in  labour  :  for  nothing  was  ever 
so  terrible  as  the  price  we  are  obliged  to  pay  the  workman, 
since  the  conquest  of  Persia  and  the  increase  of  luxury  in 
our  city.  Under  three  obols  none  will  do  his  day's  work. 
But  what,  in  the  name  of  all  the  deities,  could  induce  you 
to  plant  those  roots,  which  other  people  dig  up  and  throw 
away  ? " 

"I  have  been  doing,"  said  I,  "the  same  thing  my  whole 
life  through,  Sosimenes  ! " 

"  How  !  "  cried  he  ;   "  I  never  knew  that." 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA.      29$ 

"Those  very  doctrines,"  added  I,  "which  others  hate  and 
extirpate,  I  inculcate  and  cherish.  They  bring  no  riches, 
and  therefore  are  thought  to  bring  no  advantage  ;  to  me, 
they  appear  the  more  advantageous  for  that  reason.  They 
give  us  immediately  what  we  solicit  through  the  means  of 
wealth.  We  toil  for  the  wealth  first  ;  and  then  it  remains 
to  be  proved  whether  we  can  purchase  with  it  what  we  look 
for.  Now,  to  carry  our  money  to  the  market,  and  not  to 
find  in  the  market  our  money's  worth,  is  great  vexation  ; 
yet  much  greater  has  already  preceded,  in  running  up  and 
down  for  it  among  so  many  competitors,  and  through 
so  many  thieves." 

After  a  while  he  rejoined,  "  You  really,  then,  have  not 
overreached  me?" 

"  In  what,  my  friend  1 "  said  I. 

"  These  roots,"  he  answered,  "  may  perhaps  be  good  and 
saleable  for  some  purpose.  Shall  you  send  them  into 
Persia1?  or  whither  1 " 

"Sosimenes,  I  shall  make  love-potions  of  the  flowers." 

Leontion.  O  Epicurus !  should  it  ever  be  known  iu 
Athens  that  they  are  good  for  this,  you  will  not  have,  with 
all  your  fences  of  prunes  and  pomegranates,  and  precipices 
with  briar  upon  them,  a  single  root  left  under  ground  after 
the  month  of  Elaphebolion. 

Epicurus.  It  is  not  everyone  that  knows  the  prepara- 
tion. 

Leontion.     Everybody  will  try  it. 

Epicurus.     And  you,  too,  Ternissa  1 

Ternissa.     Will  you  teach  me? 

Epicurus.  This,  and  anything  else  I  know.  We  must 
walk  together  when  they  are  in  flower. 

Ternissa.     And  can  you  teach  me,  then  ? 

Epicurus.     I  teach  by  degrees. 


296  IMA  GINA  R  Y  CONVERSA  TJONS. 

Leontion.  By  very  slow  ones,  Epicurus !  I  have  no 
patience  with  you  ;  tell  us  directly. 

Epicurus.  It  is  very  material  what  kind  of  recipient  you 
bring  with  you.  Enchantresses  use  a  brazen  one  ;  silver 
and  gold  are  employed  in  other  arts. 

Leontion.     I  will  bring  any. 

Ternissa.  My  mother  has  a  fine  golden  one.  She  will 
lend  it  me  ;  she  allows  me  everything. 

Epicurus.  Leontion  and  Ternissa,  those  eyes  of  yours 
brighten  at  inquiry,  as  if  they  carried  a  light  within  them 
for  a  guidance. 

Leontion.     No  flattery  ! 

Ternissa.     No  flattery  !     Come,  teach  us  ! 

Epicurus.     Will  you  hear  me  through  in  silence  ? 

Leontion.     We  promise. 

Epicurus.  Sweet  girls  !  the  calm  pleasures,  such  as 
I  hope  you  will  ever  find  in  your  walks  among  these 
gardens,  will  improve  your  beauty,  animate  your  discourse, 
and  correct  the  little  that  may  hereafter  rise  up  for 
correction  in  your  dispositions.  The  smiling  ideas  left  in 
our  bosoms  from  our  infancy,  that  many  plants  are  the 
favourites  of  the  gods,  and  that  others  were  even  the 
objects  of  their  love — having  once  been  invested  with  the 
human  form,  beautiful  and  lively  and  happy  as  yourselves 
— give  them  an  interest  beyond  the  vision ;  yes,  and  a 
station — let  me  say  it — on  the  vestibule  of  our  affections. 
Resign  your  ingenuous  hearts  to  simple  pleasures ;  and 
there  is  none  in  man,  where  men  are  Attic,  that  will  not 
follow  and  outstrip  their  movements. 

Ternissa.     O  Epicurus  ! 

Epicurus.     What  said  Ternissa  1 

Leontion.  Some  of  those  anemones,  I  do  think,  must  be 
still  in  blossom.      Ternissa's  golden  cup  is  at  home  ;  but  she 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA.      297 

has  brought  with  her  a  little  vase  for  the  filter — and  has 
filled  it  to  the  brim. — Do  not  hide  your  head  behind  my 
shoulder,  Ternissa  ;  no,  nor  in  my  lap. 

Epicurus.  Yes,  there  let  it  lie — the  lovelier  for  that 
tendril  of  sunny  brown  hair  upon  it.  How  it  falls  and 
rises  !     Which  is  the  hair  1  which  the  shadow  1 

Leontion.     Let  the  hair  rest. 

Epicurus.     I  must  not,  perhaps,  clasp  the  shadow  ! 

Leontion.  You  philosophers  are  fond  of  such  unsubstan- 
tial things.  Oh,  you  have  taken  my  volume !  This  is 
deceit. 

You  live  so  little  in  public,  and  entertain  such  a  con- 
tempt for  opinion,  as  to  be  both  indifferent  and  ignorant 
what  it  is  that  people  blame  you  for. 

Epicurus  I  know  what  it  is  I  should  blame  myself  for, 
if  I  attended  to  them.  Prove  them  to  be  wiser  and  more 
disinterested  in  their  wisdom  than  I  am,  and  I  will  then 
go  down  to  them  and  listen  to  them.  When  I  have  well 
considered  a  thing,  I  deliver  it — regardless  of  what  those 
think  who  neither  take  the  time  nor  possess  the  faculty  of 
considering  anything  well,  and  who  have  always  lived 
far  remote  from  the  scope  of  our  speculations. 

Leontion.  In  the  volume  you  snatched  away  from  me  so 
slily,  I  have  defended  a  position  of  yours  which  many 
philosophers  turn  into  ridicule — namely,  that  politeness  is 
among  the  virtues.  I  wish  you  yourself  had  spoken  more 
at  large  upon  the  subject. 

Epicurus.  It  is  one  upon  which  a  lady  is  likely  to 
display  more  ingenuity  and  discernment.  If  philosophers 
have  ridiculed  my  sentiment,  the  reason  is,  it  is  among 
those  virtues  which  in  general  they  find  most  difficult  to 
assume  or  counterfeit. 

Leontion.     Surely   life    runs    on    the    smoother   for   this 


298  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

equability  and  polish  ;  and  the  gratification  it  affords  is 
more  extensive  than  is  afforded  even  by  the  highest  virtue. 
Courage,  on  nearly  all  occasions,  inflicts  as  much  of  evil  as 
it  imparts  of  good.  It  may  be  exerted  in  defence  of  our 
country,  in  defence  of  those  who  love  us,  in  defence  of  the 
harmless  and  the  helpless;  but  those  against  whom  it  is 
thus  exerted  may  possess  an  equal  share  of  it.  If  they 
succeed,  then  manifestly  the  ill  it  produces  is  greater 
than  the  benefit ;  if  they  succumb,  it  is  nearly  as  great. 
For  many  of  their  adversaries  are  first  killed  and  maimed, 
and  many  of  their  own  kindred  are  left  to  lament  the 
consequences  of  the  aggression. 

Epicurus.  You  have  spoken  first  of  courage,  as  that 
virtue  which  attracts  your  sex  principally. 

Ternissa.  Not  me  ;  I  am  always  afraid  of  it.  I  love 
those  best  who  can  tell  me  the  most  things  I  never  knew 
before,  and  who  have  patience  with  me,  and  look  kindly 
while  they  teach  me,  and  almost  as  if  they  were  waiting  for 
fresh  questions.  Now  let  me  hear  directly  what  you  were 
about  to  say  to  Leontion. 

Epicurus.  I  was  proceeding  to  remark  that  temperance 
comes  next ;  and  temperance  has  then  its  highest  merit 
when  it  is  the  support  of  civility  and  politeness.  So  that  I 
think  I  am  right  and  equitable  in  attributing  to  politeness 
a  distinguished  rank,  not  among  the  ornaments  of  life,  but 
among  the  virtues.  And  you,  Leontion  and  Ternissa,  will 
have  leaned  the  more  propensely  toward  this  opinion,  if 
you  considered,  as  I  am  sure  you  did,  that  the  peace  and 
concord  of  families,  friends,  and  cities  are  preserved  by  it ; 
in  other  terms,  the  harmony  of  the  world. 

Ternissa.  Leontion  spoke  of  courage,  you  of  temperance  ; 
the  next  great  virtue,  in  the  division  made  by  the  philo- 
sophers, is  justice. 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA.      299 

Epicurus.  Temperance  includes  it  ;  for  temperance  is 
imperfect  if  it  is  only  an  abstinence  from  too  much  food, 
too  much  wine,  too  much  conviviality  or  other  luxury.  It 
indicates  every  kind  of  forbearance.  Justice  is  forbearance 
from  what  belongs  to  another.  Giving  to  this  one  rightly 
what  that  one  would  hold  wrongfully  is  justice  in  magistra- 
ture  not  in  the  abstract,  and  is  only  a  part  of  its  office.  The 
perfectly  temperate  man  is  also  the  perfectly  just  man ; 
but  the  perfectly  just  man  (as  philosophers  now  define  him) 
may  not  be  the  perfectly  temperate  one.  I  include  the  less 
in  the  greater. 

Leontion.  We  hear  of  judges,  and  upright  ones  too, 
being  immoderate  eaters  and  drinkers. 

Epicurus.  The  Lacedemonians  are  temperate  in  food  and 
courageous  in  battle  ;  but  men  like  these,  if  they  existed  in 
sufficient  numbers,  would  devastate  the  universe.  We 
alone,  we  Athenians,  with  less  military  skill  perhaps,  and 
certainly  less  rigid  abstinence  from  voluptuousness  and 
luxury,  have  set  before  it  the  only  grand  example  of  social 
government  and  of  polished  life.  From  us  the  seed  is 
scattered  ;  from  us  flow  the  streams  that  irrigate  it ;  and 
ours  are  the  hands,  O  Leontion,  that  collect  it,  cleanse  it, 
deposit  it,  and  convey  and  distribute  it  sound  and  weighty 
through  every  race  and  age.  Exhausted  as  we  are  by  war, 
^e  can  do  nothing  better  than  lie  down  and  doze  while  the 
weather  is  fine  overhead,  and  dream  (if  we  can)  that  we  are 
affluent  and  free. 

O  sweet  sea-air  !  how  bland  art  thou  and  refreshing ! 
Breathe  upon  Leontion  !  breathe  upon  Ternissa !  bring 
them  health  and  spirits  and  serenity,  many  springs  and  many 
summers,  and  when  the  vine-leaves  have  reddened  and 
rustle  under  their  feet ! 

These,  my  beloved  girls,    are  the   children  of  Eternity  : 


3oo  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

they  played  around  Theseus  and  the  beauteous  Amazon  ; 
they  gave  to  Pallas  the  bloom  of  Yenus,  and  to  Venus  the 
animation  of  Pallas.  Is  it  not  better  to  enjoy  by  the  hour 
their  soft,  salubrious  influence,  than  to  catch  by  fits  the 
rancid  breath  of  demagogues  ;  than  to  swell  and  move  under 
it  without  or  against  our  will ;  than  to  acquire  the  semblance 
of  eloquence  by  the  bitterness  of  passion,  the  tone  of  philo- 
sophy by  disappointment,  or  the  credit  of  prudence  by 
distrust?  Can  fortune,  can  industry,  can  desert  itself, 
bestow  on  us  anything  we  have  not  here  1 

Leontion.  And  when  shall  those  three  meet  ?  The  gods 
have  never  united  them,  knowing  that  men  would  put 
them  asunder  at  the  first  appearance. 

Epicurus.  I  am  glad  to  leave  the  city  as  often  as 
possible,  full  as  it  is  of  high  and  glorious  reminiscences,  and 
am  inclined  much  rather  to  indulge  in  quieter  scenes, 
whither  the  Graces  and  Friendship  lead  me.  I  would  not 
contend  even  with  men  able  to  contend  with  me.  You, 
Leontion,  I  see,  think  differently,  and  have  composed  at 
last  your  long-meditated  work  against  the  philosophy  of 
Theophrastus. 

Leontion.     Why   not?    he    has   been    praised    above   his 

merits. 

Epicurus.  My  Leontion  !  you  have  inadvertently  given 
me  the  reason  and  origin  of  all  controversial  writings. 
They  flow  not  from  a  love  of  truth  or  a  regard  for  science, 
but  from  envy  and  ill-will.  Setting  aside  the  evil  of 
malignity — always  hurtful  to  ourselves,  not  always  to 
others — there  is  weakness  in  the  argument  you  have 
adduced.  When  a  writer  is  praised  above  his  merits  in 
his  own  times,  he  is  certain  of  being  estimated  below 
them  in  the  times  succeeding.  Paradox  is  dear  to  most 
people:     it    bears    the    appearance    of    originality,    but    is 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND   TERNISSA.      301 

usually  the  talent  of  the  superficial,  the  preverse,  and  the 
obstinate. 

Nothing  is  more  gratifying  than  the  attention  you  are 
bestowing  on  me,  which  you  always  apportion  to  the 
seriousness  of  my  observations. 

Leontion.  I  dislike  Theophrastus  for  hi3  affected 
contempt  of  your  doctrines. 

Epicurus.  Unreasonably,  for  the  contempt  of  them ; 
reasonably,  if  affected.  Good  men  may  differ  widely  from 
me,  and  wiser  ones  misunderstand  me  ;  for,  their  wisdom 
having  raised  up  to  them  schools  of  their  own,  they  have 
not  found  leisure  to  converse  with  me  ;  and  from  others 
they  have  received  a  partial  and  inexact  report.  My 
opinion  is,  that  certain  things  are  indifferent  and  unworthy 
of  pursuit  or  attention,  as  lying  beyond  our  research  and 
almost  our  conjecture ;  which  things  the  generality  of 
philosophers  (for  the  generality  are  speculative)  deem  of  the 
first  importance.  Questions  relating  to  them  I  answer 
evasively,  or  altogether  decline.  Again,  there  are  modes  of 
living  which  are  suitable  to  some  and  unsuitable  to  others. 
What  I  myself  follow  and  embrace,  what  I  recommend  to 
the  studious,  to  the  irritable,  to  the  weak  in  health,  would 
ill  agree  with  the  commonality  of  citizens.  Yet  my  adver- 
saries cry  out,  "  Such  is  the  opinion  and  practice  of 
Epicurus  ! "  For  instance,  I  have  never  taken  a  wife,  and 
never  will  take  one  ;  but  he  from  among  the  mass,  who 
should  avow  his  imitation  of  my  example,  would  act  as 
wisely  and  more  religiously  in  saying  that  he  chose  celibacy 
because  Pallas  had  done  the  same. 

Leontion.  If  Pallas  had  many  such  votaries  she  would 
soon  have  few  citzens  to  supply  them. 

Epicurus.  And  extremely  bad  ones,  if  all  followed  me  in 
retiring  from  the  offices  of  magistracy  and  of  war.     Having 


3o2  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

seen  that  the  most  sensible  men  are  the  most  unhappy,  I 
could  not  but  examine  the  causes  of  it ;  and,  finding  that 
the  same  sensibility  to  which  they  are  indebted  for  the 
activity  of  their  intellect  is  also  the  restless  mover  of  their 
jealousy  and  ambition,  I  would  lead  them  aside  from  what- 
ever operates  upon  these,  and  throw  under  their  feet  the 
terrors  their  imagination  has  created.  My  philosophy  is 
not  for  the  populace  nor  for  the  proud  :  the  ferocious  will 
never  attain  it ;  the  gentle  will  embrace  it,  but  will  not  call 
it  mine.  I  do  not  desire  that  they  should  :  let  them  rest 
their  heads  upon  that  part  of  the  pillow  which  they  find  the 
softest,  and  enjoy  their  own  dreams  unbroken. 

Leontion.  The  old  are  all  against  you,  Epicurus,  the 
name  of  pleasure  is  an  affront  to  them  :  they  know  no  other 
kind  of  it  than  that  which  has  flowered  and  seeded,  and  of 
which  the  withered  stems  have  indeed  a  rueful  look. 

Epicurus.  Unhappily  the  aged  are  retentive  of  long- 
acquired  maxims,  and  insensible  to  new  impressions, 
whether  from  fancy  or  from  truth  :  in  fact,  their  eyes 
blend  the  two  together.      Well  might  the  poet  tell  us — 

"Fewer  the  gifts  that  gnarled  Age  presents 
To  elegantly-handed  Infancy, 
Than  elegantly-handed  Infancy 
Presents  to  gnarled  Age.     From  both  they  drop ; 
The  middle  course  of  life  receives  them  all, 
Save  the  light  few  that  laughing  Youth  runs  off  with, 
Unvalued  as  a  mistress  or  a  flower." 

Leontion.  Since,  in  obedience  to  your  institutions,  O 
Epicurus,  I  must  not  say  I  am  angry,  I  am  offended  at 
least  with  Theophrastus  for  having  so  misrepresented  your 
opinions,  on  the  necessity  of  keeping  the  mind  composed 
and   tranquil,   and    remote    from    every  object    and    every 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND   TERNISSA.      30? 

sentiment  by  which  a  painful  sympathy  may  be  excited. 
In  order  to  display  his  elegance  of  language,  he  runs 
wherever  he  can  lay  a  censure  on  you,  whether  he  believes 
in  its  equity  or  not. 

Epicurus.  This  is  the  case  with  all  eloquent  men,  and 
all  disputants.  Truth  neither  warms  nor  elevates  them, 
neither  obtains  for  them  profit  nor  applause. 

Ternissa.  I  have  heard  wise  remarks  very  often  and 
very  warmly  praised. 

Epicurus.  Not  for  the  truth  in  them,  but  for  the  grace, 
or  because  they  touched  the  spring  of  some  preconception 
or  some  passion.  Man  is  a  hater  of  truth,  a  lover  of 
fiction. 

Theophrastus  is  a  writer  of  many  acquirements  and  some 
shrewdness,  usually  judicious,  often  somewhat  witty,  always 
elegant ;  his  thoughts  are  never  confused,  his  sentences  are 
never  incomprehensible.  If  Aristoteles  thought  more  highly 
of  him  than  his  due,  surely  you  ought  not  to  censure  Theo- 
phrastus with  severity  on  the  supposition  of  his  rating  me 
below  mine  ;  unless  you  argue  that  a  slight  error  in  a  short 
sum  is  less  pardonable  than  in  a  longer.  Had  Aristoteles 
been  living,  and  had  he  given  the  same  opinion  of  me,  your 
friendship  and  perhaps  my  self  love  might  have  been 
wounded  ;  for,  if  on  one  occasion  he  spoke  too  favourably, 
he  never  spoke  unfavourably  but  with  justice.  This  is 
among  the  indications  of  orderly  and  elevated  minds  ;  and 
here  stands  the  barrier  that  separates  them  from  the  com- 
mon and  the  waste.  Is  a  man  to  be  angry  because  an 
infant  is  fretful  1  Is  a  philosopher  to  unpack  and  throw- 
away  his  philosophy,  because  an  idiot  has  tried  to  over- 
turn it  on  the  road,  and  has  pursued  it  with  gibes  and 
ribaldry  ? 

Leontion.        Theophrastus      would     persuade     us     that, 


3°4 


IMA  GINA  R  Y  CON  I  'EKSA  TIONS. 


according  to  your  system,  we  not  only  should  decline  the  sue 
cour  of  the  wretched,  but  avoid  the  sympathies  that  poets  and 
historians  would  awaken  in  us.  Probably  for  the  sake  of 
introducing  some  idle  verses,  written  by  a  friend  of  his,  he 
says  that,  following  the  guidance  of  Epicurus,  we  should 
altogether  shun  the  theatre  ;  and  not  only  when  Prometheus 
and  (Edipus  and  Philoctetes  are  introduced,  but  even  when 
generous  and  kindly  sentiments  are  predominant,  if  they 
partake  of  that  tenderness  which  belongs  to  pity.  I  know 
not  what  Thracian  lord  recovers  his  daughter  from  her 
ravisher  ;  such  are  among  the  words  they  exchange  : — 

Father.     Insects  that  dwell  in  rotten  reeds,  inert 
Upon  the  surface  of  a  stream  or  pool, 
Then  rush  into  the  air  on  meshy  vans, 
Are  not  so  different  in  their  varying  lives 
As  we  are. — Oh  !  what  father  on  this  earth, 
Holding  his  child's  cool  cheek  within  his  palms 
And  kissing  his  fair  front,  would  wish  him  man  ? — 
Inheritor  of  wants  and  jealousies, 
Of  labour,  of  ambition,  of  distress, 
And,  cruellest  of  all  the  passions,  lust. 
Who  that  beholds  me,  persecuted,  scorned, 
A  wanderer,  e'er  could  think  what  friends  were  mine 
How  numerous,  how  devoted  ?  with  what  glee 
Smiled  my  old  house,  with  what  acclaim  my  courts 
Rang  from  without  whene'er  my  war-horse  neighed  ? 


Daughter.     Thy  fortieth  birthday  is  not  shouted  yet 
By  the  young  peasantry,  with  rural  gifts 
And  nightly  fires  along  the  pointed  hills, 
Yet  do  thy  temples  glitter  with  grey  hair 
Scattered  not  thinly  :  ah,  what  sudden  change  1 
Only  thy  voice  and  heart  remain  the  same : 
No  J  that  voice  trembles,  and  that  heart  (I  feel), 
While  it  would  comfort  and  console  me,  breaks. 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA.      305 

Epicurus.  I  would  never  close  ray  bosom  against  the 
feelings  of  humanity  ;  but  I  would  calmly  and  well  consider 
by  what  conduct  of  life  they  may  enter  it  with  the  least 
importunity  and  violence.  A  consciousness  that  we  have 
promoted  the  happiness  of  others,  to  the  uttermost  of  our 
power,  is  certain  not  only  to  meet  them  at  the  threshold, 
but  to  bring  them  along  with  us,  and  to  render  them  accu- 
rate and  faithful  prompters,  when  we  bend  perplexedly  over 
the  problem  of  evil  figured  by  the  tragedians.  If  there 
were  more  of  pain  than  of  pleasure  in  the  exhibitions  of  the 
dramatist,  no  man  in  his  senses  would  attend  them  twice. 
All  the  imitative  arts  have  delight  for  the  principal  object : 
the  first  of  these  is  poetry ;  the  highest  of  poetry  is  tragic. 

Leontion.     The  epic  has  been  called  so. 

Epicurus.  Improperly  ;  for  the  epic  has  much  more  in 
it  of  what  is  prosaic.  Its  magnitude  is  no  argument.  An 
Egyptian  pyramid  contains  more  materials  than  an  Ionic 
temple,  but  requires  less  contrivance,  and  exhibits  less 
beauty  of  design.  My  simile  is  yet  a  defective  one  ;  for  a 
tragedy  must  be  carried  on  with  an  unbroken  interest,  and, 
undecorated  by  loose  foliage  or  fantastic  branches,  it  must 
rise,  like  the  palm-tree,  with  a  lofty  unity.  On  these 
matters  I  am  unable  to  argue  at  large,  or  perhaps  correctly ; 
on  those,  however,  which  I  have  studied  and  treated,  my 
terms  are  so  explicit  and  clear,  that  Theophrastus  can 
never  have  misunderstood  them.  Let  me  recall  to  your 
attention  but  two  axioms. 

Abstinence  from  low  pleasures  is  the  only  means  of 
meriting  or  of  obtaining  the  higher. 

Kindness  in  ourselves  is  the  honey  that  blunts  the  sting 
of  unkindness  in  another. 

Leontion,  Explain  to  me  then,  0  Epicurus,  why  we 
suffer  so  much  from  ingratitudo. 

40 


306  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

Epicurus.  We  fancy  we  suffer  from  ingratitude,  while 
in  reality  we  suffer  from  self-love.  Passion  weeps  while  she 
says,  "  I  did  not  deserve  this  from  him ; "  Reason,  while 
she  says  it,  smoothens  her  brow  at  the  clear  fountain  of  the 
heart.  Permit  me  also,  like  Theophrastus,  to  borrow  a 
few  words  from  a  poet. 

Ternissa.  Borrow  as  many  such  as  any  one  will  entrust 
to  you,  and  may  Hermes  prosper  your  commerce  !  Leontion 
may  go  to  the  theatre  then ;  for  she  loves  it. 

Epicurus.  Girls !  be  the  bosom  friends  of  Antigone  and 
Ismene  ;  and  you  shall  enter  the  wood  of  the  Eumenides 
without  shuddering,  and  leave  it  without  the  trace  of  a 
tear.  Never  did  you  appear  so  graceful  to  me,  O  Ternissa — 
no,  not  even  after  this  walk  do  you — as  when  I  saw  you 
blow  a  fly  from  the  forehead  of  Philoctetes  in  the  propylea. 
The  wing,  with  which  Sophocles  and  the  statuary  represent 
him,  to  drive  away  the  summer  insects  in  his  agony,  had 
wearied  his  flaccid  arm,  hanging  down  beside  him. 

Ternissa.  Do  you  imagine,  then,  I  thought  him  a  living 
man1? 

Epicurus.  The  sentiment  was  both  more  delicate  and 
more  august  from  being  indistinct.  You  would  have  done 
it,  even  if  he  had  been  a  living  man  ;  even  if  he  could  have 
clasped  you  in  his  arms,  imploring  the  deities  to  resemble 
you  in  gentleness,  you  would  have  done  it. 

Ternissa.  He  looked  so  abandoned  by  all,  and  so  heroic, 
yet  so  feeble  and  so  helpless  !  I  did  not  think  of  turning 
around  to  see  if  any  one  was  near  me ;  or  else,  perhaps 

Epicurus.  If  you  could  have  thought  of  looking  around, 
you  would  no  longer  have  been  Ternissa.  The  gods  would 
have  transformed  you  for  it  into  some  tree. 

Leontion.  And  Epicurus  had  been  walking  under  it  this 
day,  perhaps. 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA.      307 

Epicurus.  With  Leontion,  the  partner  of  his  sentiments. 
But  the  walk  would  have  been  earlier  or  later  than  the 
present  hour  ;  since  the  middle  of  the  day,  like  the  middle 
of  certain  fruits,  is  good  for  nothing. 

Leontion.      For  dinner,  surely  1 

Epicurus.  Dinner  is  a  less  gratification  to  me  than  to 
many  :  I  dine  alone. 

Ternissa.     Why  1 

Epicurus.  To  avoid  the  noise,  the  heat,  and  the  inter- 
mixture both  of  odours  and  of  occupations.  I  cannot  bear 
the  indecency  of  speaking  with  a  mouth  in  which  there  is 
food.  I  careen  my  body  (since  it  is  always  in  want  of 
repair)  in  as  unobstructed  a  space  as  I  can,  and  I  lie  down 
and  sleep  awhile  when  the  work  is  over. 

Leontion.  Epicurus  !  although  it  would  be  very  interest- 
ing, no  doubt,  to  hear  more  of  what  you  do  after  dinner — 
(aside  to  him)  now  don't  smile  :  I  shall  never  forgive  you  if 
you  say  a  single  word — yet  I  would  rather  hear  a  little  about 
the  theatre,  and  whether  you  think  at  last  that  women 
should  frequent  it ;  for  you  have  often  said  the  contrary. 

Epicurus.  I  think  they  should  visit  it  rarely ;  not 
because  it  excites  their  affections,  but  because  it  deadens 
them.  To  me  nothing  is  so  odious  as  to  be  at  once  among 
the  rabble  and  among  the  heroes,  and,  while  I  am  receiving 
into  my  heart  the  most  exquisite  of  human  sensations,  to 
feel  upon  my  shoulder  the  hand  of  some  inattentive  and 
insensible  young  officer. 

Leontion.      Oh  very  bad  indeed  !  horrible  ! 

Ternissa.      You  quite  fire  at  the  idea. 

Leontion.     Not  I :  I  don't  care  about  it. 

Ternissa.  Not  about  what  is  very  bad  indeed  1  quite 
horrible1? 

Leontion.      I  seldom  go  thither. 


3c8  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

Epicurus.  The  theatre  is  delightful  when  we  erect  it 
in  our  own  house  or  arbour,  and  when  there  is  but  one 
spectator. 

Leontion.  You  must  lose  the  illusion  in  great  part,  if 
you  only  read  the  tragedy,  which  I  fancy  to  be  your 
meaning. 

Epicurus.  I  lose  the  less  of  it.  Do  not  imagine  that 
the  illusion  is,  or  can  be,  or  ought  to  be,  complete.  If  it 
were  possible,  no  Pludaris  or  Perillus  could  devise  a  crueller 
torture.  Here  are  two  imitations  :  first,  the  poet's  of  the 
sufferer  ;  secondly,  the  actor's  of  both  :  poetry  is  superin- 
duced. No  man  in  pain  ever  uttered  the  better  part  of  the 
language  used  by  Sophocles.  We  admit  it,  and  willingly, 
and  are  at  least  as  much  illuded  by  it  as  by  anything  else 
we  hear  or  see  upon  the  stage.  Poets  and  statuaries  and 
painters  give  us  an  adorned  imitation  of  the  object,  so 
skilfully  treated  that  we  receive  it  for  a  correct  one.  This 
is  the  only  illusion  they  aim  at  :  this  is  the  perfection  of 
their  arts. 

Leontion.  Do  you  derive  no  pleasure  from  the  repre- 
sentation of  a  consummate  actor? 

Epicurus.  High  pleasure;  but  liable  to  be  overturned 
in  an  instant  :  pleasure  at  the  mercy  of  anyone  who  sits 
beside  me. 

•  ■  •  »  »  •  ■ 

Leontion.  In  my  treatise  I  have  only  defended  your 
tenets  against  Theophrastus. 

Epicurus.  I  am  certain  you  have  done  it  with  spirit  and 
eloquence,  dear  Leontion  ;  and  there  are  but  two  words  in 
it  I  would  wish  you  to  erase. 

Leontion.     Which  are  they  1 

Epicurus.  Theophrastus  and  Epicurus.  If  you  love  me, 
you  will   do  nothing  that  may  make  you  uneasy  when  you 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA.      309 

grow  older ;  nothing  that  may  allow  my  adversary  to  say, 
"  Leontion  soon  forgot  her  Epicurus."  My  maxim  is,  never 
to  defend  my  systems  or  paradoxes ;  if  you  undertake  it, 
the  Athenians  will  insist  that  I  impelled  you  secretly,  or 
that  my  philosophy  and  my  friendship  were  ineffectual  on 
you. 

Leontion.     They  shall  never  say  that. 

Epicurus.  I  am  not  unmoved  by  the  kindness  of  your 
intentions.  Most  people,  and  philosophers  too  among  the 
rest,  when  their  own  conduct  or  opinions  are  questioned, 
are  admirably  prompt  and  dexterous  in  the  science  of 
defence ;  but  when  another's  are  assailed,  they  parry  with 
as  ill  a  grace  and  faltering  a  hand  as  if  they  never  had  taken 
a  lesson  in  it  at  home.  Seldom  will  they  see  what  they 
profess  to  look  for ;  and,  finding  it,  they  pick  up  with  it  a 
thorn  under  the  nail.  They  canter  over  the  solid  turf,  and 
complain  that  there  is  no  corn  upon  it ;  they  canter  over 
the  corn,  and  curse  the  ridges  and  furrows.  All  schools  of 
philosophy,  and  almost  all  authors,  are  rather  to  be 
frequented  for  exercise  than  for  freight ;  but  this  exercise 
ought  to  acquire  us  health  and  strength,  spirits  and  good- 
humour.  There  is  none  of  them  that  does  not  supply  some 
truth  useful  to  every  man,  and  some  untruth  equally  so  to 
the  few  that  are  able  to  wrestle  with  it.  If  there  were  no 
falsehood  in  the  world,  there  would  be  no  doubt ;  if  there 
were  no  doubt,  there  would  be  no  inquiry  ;  if  no  inquiry,  no 
wisdom,  no  knowledge,  no  genius  :  and  Fancy  herself  would 
lie  muffled  up  in  her  robe,  inactive,  pale,  and  bloated.  I 
wish  we  could  demonstrate  the  existence  of  utility  in  some 
other  evils  as  easily  as  in  this. 

Leontion.  My  remarks  on  the  conduct  and  on  the  style 
of  Theophrastus  are  not  confined  to  him  solely.  I  have 
taken  at  last  a  general  view  of  our  literature,  and  traced  as 


3 1  o  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

far  as  I  am  able  its  deviation  and  decline.  In  ancient 
works  we  sometimes  see  the  mark  of  the  chisel ;  in  modern 
we  might  almost  suppose  that  no  chisel  was  employed  at  all, 
and  that  everything  was  done  by  grinding  and  rubbing. 
There  is  an  ordinariness,  an  indistinctness,  a  generalisation, 
not  even  to  be  found  in  a  flock  of  sheep.  As  most  reduce 
what  is  sand  into  dust,  the  few  that  avoid  it  run  to  a  con- 
trary extreme,  and  would  force  us  to  believe  that  what  is 
original  must  be  unpolished  and  uncouth. 

Epicurus.  There  have  been  in  all  ages,  and  in  all  there 
will  be,  sharp  and  slender  heads  made  purposely  and  pecu- 
liarly for  creeping  into  the  crevices  of  our  nature.  While  we 
contemplate  the  magniGcence  of  the  universe,  and  mensurate 
the  fitness  and  adaptation  of  one  part  to  another,  the  small 
philosopher  hangs  upon  a  hair  or  creeps  within  a  wrinkle, 
and  cries  out  shrilly  from  his  elevation  that  we  are  blind 
and  superficial.  He  discovers  a  wart,  he  prys  into  a  pore ; 
and  he  calls  it  knowledge  of  man.  Poetry  and  criticism, 
and  all  the  fine  arts,  have  generated  such  living  things, 
which  not  only  will  be  co-existent  with  them  but  will  (I  fear) 
survive  them.  Hence  history  takes  alternately  the  form  of 
reproval  and  of  panegyric ;  and  science  in  its  pulverised 
state,  in  its  shapeless  and  colourless  atoms,  assumes  the 
name  of  metaphysics.  We  find  no  longer  the  rich  succulence 
of  Herodotus,  no  longer  the  strong  filament  of  Thucydides, 
but  thoughts  fit  only  for  the  slave,  and  language  for  the 
rustic  and  the  robber.  These  writings  can  never  reach 
posterity,  nor  serve  better  authors  near  us ;  for  who  would 
receive  as  documents  the  perversions  of  venality  and  party  1 
Alexander  we  know  was  intemperate,  and  Philip  both 
intemperate  and  perfidious:  we  require  not  a  volume  of 
dissertation  on  the  thread  of  history,  to  demonstrate  that 
one  or  other  left  a  tailor's  bill  unpaid,  and  the  immorality 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA.      311 

of  doing  so  ;  nor  a  supplement  to  ascertain  on  the  best 
authorities  which  of  the  two  it  was.  History  should 
explain  to  us  how  nations  rose  and  fell,  what  nurtured 
them  in  their  growth,  what  sustained  them  in  their 
maturity ;  not  which  orator  ran  swiftest  through  the 
crowd  from  the  right  hand  to  the  left,  which  assassin 
was  too  strong  for  manacles,  or  which  felon  too  opulent  for 
crucifixion. 

Leontion.  It  is  better,  I  own  it,  that  such  writers  should 
amuse  our  idleness  than  excite  our  spleen. 

Ternissa.     What  is  spleen  1 

Epicurus.  Do  not  ask  her ;  she  cannot  tell  you.  The 
spleen,  Ternissa,  is  to  the  heart  what  Arimanes  is  to 
Oro  mazes. 

Ternissa.  I  am  little  the  wiser  yet.  Does  he  ever  use 
such  hards  words  with  you? 

Leontion.  He  means  the  evil  Genius  and  the  good 
Genius,  in  the  theogony  of  the  Persians  :  and  would  per- 
haps tell  you,  as  he  hath  told  me,  that  the  heart  in  itself  is 
free  from  evil,  but  very  capable  of  receiving  and  too 
tenacious  of  holding  it. 

Epicurus.  In  our  moral  system,  the  spleen  hangs  about 
the  heart  and  renders  it  sad  and  sorrowful,  unless  we 
continually  keep  it  in  exercise  by  kind  offices,  or  in  its 
proper  place  by  serious  investigation  and  solitary  question- 
ings. Otherwise,  it  is  apt  to  adhere  and  to  accumulate, 
until  it  deadens  the  principles  of  sound  action,  and  obscures 
the  sight. 

Ternissa.     It  must  make  us  very  ugly  when  we  grow  old. 

Leontion.  In  youth  it  makes  us  uglier,  as  not  apper- 
taining to  it :  a  little  more  or  less  ugliness  in  decrepitude  is 
hardly  worth  considering,  there  being  quite  enough  of  it 
from  other  quarters :  I  would  stop  it  here,  however. 


3  i  2  IMA  GINAR  V  CONFERS  A  T70NS. 

Ternissa.     Oh,  what  a  thing  is  age  ! 

Leontion.     Death  without  death's  quiet. 

Ternissa.  Leontion  said  that  even  bad  writers  may 
amuse  our  idle  hours  :  alas !  even  good  ones  do  not  much 
amuse  mine,  unless  they  record  an  action  of  love  or 
generosity.  As  for  the  graver,  why  cannot  they  come  among 
us  and  teach  us,  just  as  you  do  1 

Epicurus.     Would  you  wish  it  1 

Ternissa.  No,  no !  I  do  not  want  them :  only  I  was 
imagining  how  pleasant  it  is  to  converse  as  we  are  doing, 
and  how  sorry  I  should  be  to  pore  over  a  book  instead  of  it. 
Books  always  makes  me  sigh,  and  think  about  other  things. 
Why  do  you  laugh,  Leontion  1 

Epicttrus.  She  was  mistaken  in  saying  bad  authors  may 
amuse  our  idleness.  Leontion  knows  not  then  how  sweet 
and  sacred  idleness  is. 

Leontion.  To  render  it  sweet  and  sacred,  the  heart  must 
have  a  little  garden  of  its  own,  with  its  umbrage  and 
fountains  and  perennial  flowers — a  careless  company ! 
Sleep  is  called  sacred  as  well  as  sweet  by  Homer ;  and 
idleness  is  but  a  step  from  it.  The  idleness  of  the  wise  and 
virtuous  should  be  both,  it  being  the  repose  and  refresh- 
ment necessary  for  past  exertions  and  for  future ;  it 
punishes  the  bad  man,  it  rewards  the  good  ;  the  deities 
enjoy  it,  and  Epicurus  praises  it.  I  was  indeed  wrong  in 
my  remark  ;  for  we  should  never  seek  amusement  in  the 
foibles  of  another,  never  in  coarse  language,  never  in  low 
thoughts.  When  the  mind  loses  its  feeling  for  elegance,  it 
grows  corrupt  and  grovelling,  and  seeks  in  the  crowd  what 
ought  to  be  found  at  home. 

Epicurus.  Aspasia  believed  so,  and  bequeathed  to 
Leontion,  with  every  other  gift  that  Nature  had   bestowed 


EPICURUS,  LEONTION,  AND  TERNISSA.      313 

upon  her,  the  power  of  delivering  her  oracles  from  diviner 
lips. 

Leontion.  Fie  !  Epicurus  !  It  is  well  you  hide  my  face 
for  me  with  your  hand.  Now  take  it  away  ;  we  cannot 
walk  in  this  manner. 

Epicurus.  No  word  could  ever  fall  from  you  without 
its  weight ;  no  breath  from  you  ought  to  lose  itself  in  the 
common  air. 

Leontion.     For  shame!      What  would  you  have? 

Ternissa.  He  knows  not  what  he  would  have  nor  what 
he  would  say.  I  must  sit  down  again.  I  declare  I  scarcely 
understand  a  single  syllable.  Well,  he  is  very  good,  to 
tease  you  no  longer.  Epicurus  has  an  excellent  heart ;  he 
would  give  pain  to  no  one ;  least  of  all  to  you. 

Leontion.  I  have  pained  him  by  this  foolish  book,  and 
he  would  only  assure  me  that  he  does  not  for  a  moment 
bear  me  malice.  Take  the  volume  ;  take  it,  Epicurus  !  tear 
it  in  pieces. 

Epicurus.  No,  Leontion  !  I  shall  often  look  with 
pleasure  on  this  trophy  of  brave  humanity  ;  let  me  kiss 
the  hand  that  raises  it  ! 

Ternissa.  I  am  tired  of  sitting  :  I  am  quite  stiff :  when 
shall  we  walk  homeward  1 

Epicurus.     Take  my  arm,  Ternissa  ! 

Ternissa.  Oh !  I  had  forgotten  that  I  proposed  to 
myself  a  trip  as  far  up  as  the  pinasters,  to  look  at  the 
precipice  of  Oreithyia.  Come  along !  come  along !  how 
alert  does  the  sea-air  make  us  !  I  seem  to  feel  growing  at 
my  feet  and  shoulders  the  wings  of  Zethes  or  Calais. 

Epicurus.      Leontion  walks  the  nimblest  to-day. 

Ternissa.  To  display  her  activity  and  strength,  she  runs 
before   us.       Sweet  Leontion,   how  good    she   is !    but    she 


3 1 4  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

should  have  stayed  for  us  :  it  would  be  in  vain  to  try  to 
overtake  her. 

No,  Epicurus !  Mind  !  take  care !  you  are  crushing 
these  little  oleanders — and  now  the  strawberry  plants — the 
whole  heap.  Not  I,  indeed.  What  would  my  mother  say, 
if  she  knew  it  ?  And  Leontion  %  she  will  certainly  look 
back. 

Epicurus.  The  fairest  of  the  Eudaimones  never  look 
back :  such  are  the  Hours  and  Love,  Opportunity  and 
Leontion. 

Ternissa.  How  could  you  dare  to  treat  me  in  this 
manner1?  I  did  not  say  again  I  hated  anything. 

Epicurus.     Forgive  me  ! 

Ternissa.     Violent  creature  ! 

Epicurus.  If  tenderness  is  violence.  Forgive  me  ;  and 
say  you  love  me. 

Ternissa.     All  at  once  1  could  you  endure  such  boldness  1 

Epicurus.     Pronounce  it !  whisper  it 

Ternissa.     Go,  go.     Would  it  be  proper? 

Epicurus.  Is  that  sweet  voice  asking  its  heart  or 
me  1  let  the  worthier  give  the  answer. 

Ternissa.  0  Epicurus  !  you  are  very,  very  dear  to  me  ; 
and  are  the  last  in  the  world  that  would  ever  tell  you  were 
called  so. 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.  315 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QUINCTUS 
CICERO. 

[Cicero,  towards  the  close  of  his  life,  discourses  with  his  brother 
Quinctus  concerning  life  and  death.  In  this  dialogue  Laudor  has  pre- 
sented the  more  Stoic  side  of  his  philosophy.  The  Allegory  of  Truth 
Mr.  Colvin  pronounces  the  most  perfect  in  the  English  language  with 
one  exception,  also  by  Landor — the  Allegory  of  Love,  Sleep,  and  Death 
La  the  Pentameron.] 

Marcus.  The  last  calamities  of  our  country,  my  brother 
Quinctus,  have  again  united  us ;  and  something  like  the 
tenderness  of  earlier  days  appears  to  have  returned,  in  the 
silence  of  ambition  and  in  the  subsidence  of  hope.  It  has 
frequently  occurred  to  me  how  different  we  are  from  the 
moment  when  the  parental  roof  bursts  asunder,  as  it  were, 
and  the  inmates  are  scattered  abroad,  and  build  up  her6 
and  there  new  families.  Many,  who  before  lived  in  amity 
and  concord,  are  then  in  the  condition  of  those  who, 
receiving  intelligence  of  a  shipwreck,  collect  at  once  for 
plunder,  and  quarrel  on  touching  the  first  fragment. 

Quinctus.  We  never  disagreed  on  the  division  of  any 
property,  unless  indeed  the  State  and  its  honours  may  be 
considered  as  such  ;  and  although,  in  regard  to  Cresar,  our 
fortune  drew  us  different  ways  latterly,  and  my  gratitude 
made  me,  until  your  remonstrances  and  prayers  prevailed, 
reluctant  to  abandon  him,  you  will  remember  my  anxiety  to 
procure  you  the  consulate  and  the  triumph.  You  cannot 
and  never  could  suppose  me  unmindful  of  the  signal  benefits 
and  high  distinctions  I  have  received  from  Caesar,  or  quite 
unreluctant  to  desert  an  army,  for  my  services  in  which  he 
often  praised  me  to  you,  while  I  was   in   Britain  and  in 


316  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

Gaul.  Such  moreover  was  his  generosity,  he  did  not  erase 
my  name  from  his  Commentaries  for  having  abandoned  and 
opposed  his  cause.  My  joy,  therefore,  ought  not  to  be 
unmingled  at  his  violent  death,  to  -whom  I  am  indebted  not 
only  for  confidence  and  command,  not  only  for  advance- 
ment and  glory,  but  also  for  immortality.  When  you 
yourself  had  resolved  on  leaving  Italy  to  follow  Cneius 
Pompeius,  you  were  sensible,  as  you  told  me,  that  my 
obligations  to  Caesar  should  at  least  detain  me  in  Italy. 
Our  disputes,  which  among  men  who  reason  will  be  frequent, 
were  always  amicable  ;  our  political  views  have  always  been 
similar,  and  generally  the  same.  You  indeed  were  some- 
what more  aristocratical  and  senatorial  ;  and  this  prejudice 
hath  ruined  both.  As  if  the  immortal  gods  took  a  pleasure 
in  confounding  us  by  the  difficulty  of  our  choice,  they 
placed  the  best  men  at  the  head  of  the  worst  cause. 
Decimus  Brutus  and  Porcius  Cato  held  up  the  train  of 
Sylla  ;  for  the  late  civil  wars  were  only  a  continuation  of 
those  which  the  old  dictator  seemed,  for  a  time,  to  have 
extinguished  in  blood  and  ruins.  His  faction  was  in 
authority  when  you  first  appeared  at  Rome  ;  and  although, 
among  your  friends  and  sometimes  in  public,  you  have 
spoken  as  a  Roman  should  speak  of  Caius  Marius,  a  respect 
for  Pompeius  (the  most  insincere  of  mortals)  made  you 
silent  on  the  merits  of  Sertorius — than  whom  there  never 
was  a  better  man  in  private  life,  a  magistrate  more  upright, 
a  general  more  vigilant,  a  citizen  more  zealous  for  the 
prerogative  of  our  republic.  Caius  Csesar,  the  later  cham- 
pion of  the  same  party,  overcame  difficulties  almost  equally 
great,  and,  having  acted  upon  a  more  splendid  theatre,  may 
perhaps  appear  a  still  greater  character. 

Marcus.      He    will    seem    so   to    those  only    who   place 
temperance    and    prudence,    fidelity   and    patriotism,    aside 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.  317 

from  the  component  parts  of  greatness.  Csesar,  of  all  men, 
knew  best  when  to  trust  Fortune  :  Sertorius  never  trusted 
her  at  all,  nor  ever  marched  a  step  along  a  path  he  had  not 
patiently  and  well  explored.  The  best  of  Romans  slew  the 
one,  the  worst  the  other.  The  death  of  Cresar  was  that 
which  the  wise  and  virtuous  would  most  deprecate  for 
themselves  and  for  their  children ;  that  of  Sertorious  what 
they  would  most  desire.  And  since,  Quinctus,  we  have 
seen  the  ruin  of  our  country,  and  her  enemies  are  intent  on 
ours,  let  us  be  grateful  that  the  last  years  of  life  have 
neither  been  useless  nor  inglorious,  and  that  it  is  likely  to 
close,  not  under  the  condemnation  of  such  citizens  as  Cato 
and  Brutus,  but  as  Lepidus  and  Antonius.  It  is  with  more 
sorrow  than  asperity  that  I  reflect  on  Caius  Cresar.  Oh  ! 
had  his  heart  been  unambitious  as  his  style,  had  he  been  as 
prompt  to  succour  his  country  as  to  enslave  her,  how  great, 
how  incomparably  great,  were  he  !  Then  perhaps  at  this 
hour,  O  Quinctus,  and  in  this  villa,  we  should  have  enjoyed 
his  humorous  and  erudite  discourse  ;  for  no  man  ever 
tempered  so  seasonably  and  so  justly  the  materials  of  con- 
versation. How  graceful  was  he!  how  unguarded  !  His 
whole  character  was  uncovered  ;  as  we  represent  the  bodies 
of  heroes  and  of  gods.  Two  years  ago,  at  this  very  season, 
on  the  third  of  the  Saturnalia,  he  came  hither  spontaneously 
and  unexpectedly  to  dine  with  me ;  and  although  one  of  his 
attendants  read  to  him,  as  he  desired  while  he  was  bathino- 
the  verses  on  him  and  Mamurra,  he  retained  his  usual  good- 
humour,  and  discoursed  after  dinner  on  many  points  of 
literature,  with  admirable  ease  and  judgment.  Him  I  shall 
see  again ;  and,  while  he  acknowledges  my  justice,  I  shall 
acknowledge  his  virtues,  and  contemplate  them  unclouded. 
I  shall  see  again  our  father,  and  Mutius  Scsevola,  and  you, 
and  our  sons,   and   the  ingenuous  and  faithful  Tyro.      He 


3 1 8  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

alone  has  power  over  my  life,  if  any  has  ;  for  to  him  I 
confide  my  writings.  And  our  worthy  Marcus  Brutus  will 
meet  me,  whom  I  would  embrace  among  the  first ;  for,  if  I 
have  not  done  him  an  injury,  I  have  caused  him  one.  Had 
I  never  lived,  or  had  I  never  excited  his  envy,  he  might 
perhaps  have  written  as  I  have  done ;  but  for  the  sake  of 
avoiding  me  he  caught  both  cold  and  fever.  Let  us  pardon 
him  ;  let  us  love  him.  With  a  weakness  that  injured  his 
eloquence,  and  with  a  softness  of  soul  that  sapped  the  con- 
stitution of  our  State,  he  is  no  unworthy  branch  of  that 
family  which  will  be  remembered  the  longest  among  men. 

Oh  happy  day,  when  I  shall  meet  my  equals,  and  when 
my  inferiors  shall  trouble  me  no  more  ! 

Man  thinks  it  miserable  to  be  cut  off"  in  the  midst  of  his 
projects  :  he  should  rather  think  it  miserable  to  have  formed 
them.  For  the  one  is  his  own  action,  the  other  is  not ;  the 
one  was  subject  from  the  beginning  to  disappointments  and 
vexations,  the  other  ends  them.  And  what  truly  is  that 
period  of  life  in  which  we  are  not  in  the  midst  of  our  pro- 
jects 1  They  spring  up  only  the  more  rank  and  wild,  year 
after  year,  from  their  extinction  or  change  of  form,  as 
herbage  from  the  corruption  and  dying  down  of  herbage. 

Quinclus.  Do  you  believe  that  the  Marian  faction  would 
have  annulled  your  Order  ? 

Marcus.  I  believe  that  their  safety  would  have  required 
its  ruin,  and  that  their  vengeance,  not  to  say  their  equity, 
would  have  accomplished  it.  The  civil  war  was  of  the 
Senate  against  the  Equestrian  Order  and  the  people,  and 
was  maintained  by  the  wealth  of  the  patricians,  accumulated 
in  the  time  of  Sylla,  from  the  proscription  of  all  whom  vio- 
lence made,  or  avarice  called,  its  adversaries.  It  would  have 
been  necessary  to  confiscate  the  whole  property  of  the 
Order,  and  to  banish  its  members  from  Italy.     Any  measure 


MARCUS  1ULLIUS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.  319 

short  of  these  would  have  been  inadequate  to  compensate 
the  people  for  their  losses ;  nor  would  there  have  been  a 
sufficient  pledge  for  the  maintenance  of  tranquillity.  The 
exclusion  of  three  hundred  families  from  their  estates, 
which  they  had  acquired  in  great  part  by  rapine,  and  their 
expulsion  from  a  country  which  they  had  inundated  with 
blood,  would  have  prevented  that  partition-treaty,  whereby 
are  placed  in  the  hands  of  three  men  the  properties  and 
lives  of  all. 

There  should  in  no  government  be  a  contrariety  of 
interests.  Checks  are  useful ;  but  it  is  better  to  stand  in 
no  need  of  them.  Bolts  and  bars  are  good  things  ;  but 
would  you  establish  a  college  of  thieves  and  robbers  to  try 
how  good  they  are"?  Misfortune  has  taught  me  many 
truths,  which  a  few  years  ago  I  should  have  deemed 
suspicious  and  dangerous.  The  fall  of  Rome  and  of 
Carthage,  the  form  of  whose  governments  was  almost  the 
same,  has  been  occasioned  by  the  divisions  of  the  ambitious 
in  their  Senates :  for  we  Conscript  Fathers  call  that 
ambition  which  the  lower  ranks  call  avarice.  In  fact,  the 
only  difference  is  that  the  one  wears  fine  linen,  the  other 
coarse  ;  one  covets  the  government  of  Asia,  the  other  a  cask 
of  vinegar.  The  people  were  indifferent  which  side  pre- 
vailed, until  their  houses  in  that  country  were  reduced  to 
ashes  ;  in  this,  were  delivered  to  murderers  and  gamesters. 

Quinctus.  Painful  is  it  to  reflect,  that  the  greatness  of 
most  men  originates  from  what  has  been  taken  by  fraud  or 
violence  out  of  the  common  stock.  The  greatness  of  States, 
on  the  contrary,  depends  on  the  subdivision  of  property, 
chiefly  of  the  landed,  in  moderate  portions ;  on  the  frugal 
pay  of  functionaries,  chiefly  of  those  who  possess  a  property ; 
and  on  unity  of  interests  and  designs.  Where  provinces  are 
allotted,  not  for  the  public  service,  but  for  the  enrichment 


320  IMA  GINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

of  private  families ;  where  consuls  wish  one  thing,  and 
tribunes  wish  another — how  can  there  be  prosperity  or 
safety  ?  If  Carthage,  whose  government  (as  you  observe) 
much  resembled  ours,  had  allowed  the  same  rights  generally 
to  the  inhabitants  of  Africa ;  had  she  been  as  zealous  in 
civilisinsj  as  in  coercing  them — she  would  have  ruined  our 
Commonwealth  and  ruled  the  world.  Rome  found  the  rest 
of  Italy  more  cultivated  than  herself,  but  corrupted  for  the 
greater  part  by  luxury,  ignorant  of  military  science,  and 
more  patient  of  slavery  than  of  toil.  She  conquered ;  and 
in  process  of  time  infused  into  them  somewhat  of  her 
spirit,  and  imparted  to  them  somewhat  of  her  institutions. 
Nothing  was  then  wanting  to  her  policy,  but  only  to  grant 
voluntarily  what  she  might  have  foreseen  they  would  unite 
to  enforce,  and  to  have  constituted  a  social  body  in  Italy. 
This  would  have  rendered  her  invincible.  Ambition  would 
not  permit  our  senators  to  divide  with  others  the  wealth 
and  aggrandisement  arising  from  authority  :  and  hence  our 
worst  citizens  are  become  our  rulers.  The  same  error  was 
committed  by  Sertorius,  from  purer  principles,  when  he 
created  a  Senate  in  Spain,  but  admitted  no  Spaniard. 
The  practice  of  disinterestedness,  the  force  of  virtue,  in 
despite  of  so  grievous  an  affront,  united  to  him  the  bravest 
and  most  honourable  of  nations.  If  he  had  granted  to 
them  what  was  theirs  by  nature,  and  again  due  for  bene- 
fits, he  would  have  had  nothing  else  to  regret,  than  that 
they  had  so  often  broken  our  legions,  and  covered  our 
commanders  with  shame. 

What  could  be  expected  in  our  country,  where  the  aris- 
tocracy possessed  in  the  time  of  Sylla  more  than  half  the 
land,  and  disposed  of  all  the  revenues  and  offices  arising 
from  our  conquests  1  It  would  be  idle  to  remark  that  the 
armies  were  paid  out  of  them,  when  those  armies  were  but 


MARCUS  TULLWS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.  321 

the  household  of  the  rich,  and  necessary  to  their  safety. 
On  such  reasoning  there  is  no  clear  profit,  no  property,  no 
possession ;  we  cannot  eat  without  a  cook,  without  a 
husbandman,  without  a  butcher :  these  take  a  part  of  our 
money.  The  armies  were  no  less  the  armies  of  the  aris- 
tocracy than  the  money  that  paid  and  the  provinces  that 
supplied  them ;  no  less,  in  short,  than  their  beds  and 
bolsters. 

Why  could  not  we  have  done  from  policy  and  equity  what 
has  been  and  often  will  be  done,  under  another  name,  by 
favour  and  injustice  %  On  the  agrarian  law  we  never  were 
unanimous ;  yet  Tiberius  Gracchus  had  among  the  upholders 
of  his  plan  the  most  prudent,  the  most  equitable,  and  the 
most  dignified  in  the  republic — Lselius,  the  friend  of  Scipio, 
whose  wisdom  and  moderation  you  have  lately  extolled  in 
your  dialogue;  Crassus,  then  Pontifex  Maxirnus;  and 
Appius  Claudius,  who  resolved  by  this  virtuous  and 
patriotic  deed  to  wipe  away  the  stain  left  for  ages  on  his 
family,  by  its  licentiousness,  pride,  and  tyranny.  To  these 
names  another  must  be  added  ;  a  name  which  we  have  been 
taught  from  our  youth  upward  to  hold  in  reverence — the 
greatest  of  our  jurists,  Mutius  Scsevola.  The  adversaries  of 
the  measure  cannot  deny  the  humanity  and  liberality  of  its 
provisions,  by  which  those  who  might  be  punished  for 
violating  the  laws  should  be  indemnified  for  the  loss  of  the 
possessions  they  held  illegally,  and  these  possessions  should 
be  distributed  among  the  poorer  families;  not  for  the 
purpose  of  corrupting  their  votes,  but  that  they  should  have 
no  temptation  to  sell  them. 
You  smile,  Marcus  ! 

Marcus.  For  this  very  thing  the  Conscript  Fathers  were 
inimical  to  Tiberius  Gracchus,  and  accused  him  of  an 
attempt  to  introduce  visionary  and   impracticable  changes 

41 


322  IMA  GINAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

into  the  Commonwealth.  Among  the  elder  of  his  partisans 
some  were  called  ambitious,  some  prejudiced ;  among  the 
younger,  some  were  madmen,  the  rest  traitors — just  as  they 
were  protected  or  unprotected  by  the  power  of  their  families 
or  the  influence  of  their  friends. 

Quinctus.  The  most  equitable  and  necessary  law  promul- 
gated of  latter  times  in  our  republic  was  that  by  Caius 
Gracchus,  who,  finding  all  our  magistratures  in  the  disposal 
of  the  Senate,  and  witnessing  the  acquittal  of  all  criminals 
whose  peculations  and  extortions  had  ruined  our  provinces 
and  shaken  our  dominion,  transferred  the  judicial  power  to 
the  Equestrian  Order.  Cepio's  law,  five-and-twenty  years 
afterward,  was  an  infringement  of  this  ;  and  the  oration  of 
Lucius  Crassus  in  its  favour,  bearing  with  it  the  force  of 
genius  and  the  stamp  of  authority,  formed  in  great  measure, 
as  you  acknowledge,  both  your  politics  and  your  eloquence. 
The  intimacy  of  Crassus  with  Aculeo,  the  husband  of  our 
maternal  aunt,  inclined  you  perhaps  to  follow  the  more 
readily  his  opinions,  and  to  set  a  higher  value  than  you 
might  otherwise  have  clone  on  his  celebrated  oration. 

Marcus.  You  must  remember,  my  brother,  that  I 
neither  was  nor  professed  myself  to  be  adverse  to  every 
agrarian  law,  though  I  opposed  with  all  my  energy  and 
authority  that  agitated  by  Rullus.  On  which  occasion  I 
represented  the  two  Gracchi  as  most  excellent  men,  in- 
flamed by  the  purest  love  of  the  Roman  people,  in  their 
proposal  to  divide  among  the  citizens  what  was  unquestion- 
ably their  due.  I  mentioned  them  as  those  on  whose 
wisdom  and  institutions  many  of  the  solider  parts  in  our 
government  were  erected  ;  and  I  opposed  the  particular  law 
at  that  time  laid  before  the  people,  as  leading  to  the 
tyranny  of  a  decemvirate.  The  projects  of  Ca?sar  and 
Pompeius  on   this    business   were    unjust   and    pernicious ; 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.  323 

those  of  Gracchus  I  now  acknowledge  to  have  been  equit- 
able to  the  citizens  and  salutary  to  the  State.  Unless  I 
made  you  this  concession,  how  could  I  defend  my  own 
conduct,  a  few  months  ago,  in  persuading  the  Senate  to 
distribute  among  the  soldiers  of  the  fourth  legion  and  the 
legion  of  Mars,  for  their  services  to  the  republic,  those  lands 
in  Campania  which  Csesar  and  Pompeius  would  have 
allotted  in  favour  of  their  partisans  in  usurpation  1  Caius 
Gracchus  on  the  contrary  would  look  aside  to  no  advantage 
or  utility ;  and  lost  the  most  powerful  of  his  friends, 
adherents,  and  relatives,  by  his  inflexible  rectitude. 

Quinctus.  The  attempt  to  restore  the  best  and  wisest 
of  our  ancient  customs  was  insolently  and  falsely  called 
innovation.  For  from  the  foundation  of  our  city,  a  part  of 
the  conquered  lands  was  sold  by  auction  under  the  spear — 
an  expression  which  hath  since  been  used  to  designate  the 
same  transaction  within  the  walls  ;  another  part  was  holden 
in  common ;  a  third  was  leased  out  at  an  easy  rate  to  the 
poorer  citizens.  So  that  formerly  the  lower  and  inter- 
mediate class  possessed  by  right  the  exclusive  benefit  of 
two-thirds,  and  an  equal  chance  (wherever  there  was  in- 
dustry and  frugality)  of  the  other.  Latterly,  by  various 
kinds  of  vexation  and  oppression,  they  have  been  deprived 
of  nearly  the  whole. 

Cornelia  was  not  a  woman  of  a  heart  so  sickly  tender  as 
to  awaken  its  sympathies  at  all  hours,  and  to  excite  and 
pamper  in  it  a  false  appetite.  Like  the  rest  of  her  family, 
she  cared  little  or  nothing  for  the  applauses  and  opinions  of 
the  people  :  she  loved  justice  ;  and  it  was  on  justice  that 
she  wished  her  children  to  lay  the  foundation  of  their  glory. 
This  ardour  was  inextinguished  in  her  by  the  blood  of  her 
eldest  son.     She  saw  his  name  placed  where  she  wished  it ; 


324  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

and  she  pointed  it  out  to  Caius.  Scandalous  words  may  be 
written  on  the  wall  under  it,  by  dealers  in  votes  and 
traffickers  in  loyalty :  but  little  is  the  worth  of  a  name  that 
perishes  by  chalk  or  charcoal. 

Marcus.  The  moral,  like  the  physical  body,  hath  not 
always  the  same  wants  in  the  same  degree.  We  put  off  or  on 
a  greater  or  less  quantity  of  clothes  according  to  the  season  ; 
and  it  is  to  the  season  that  we  must  accommodate  ourselves 
in  government,  wherein  there  are  only  a  few  leading  prin- 
ciples which  are  never  to  be  disturbed.  I  now  perceive  that 
the  laws  of  society  in  one  thing  resemble  the  laws  of  per- 
spective :  they  require  that  what  is  below  should  rise 
gradually,  and  that  what  is  above  should  descend  in  the 
same  proportion,  but  not  that  they  should  touch.  Still 
less  do  they  inform  us,  what  is  echoed  in  our  ears  by  new 
masters  from  camp  and  school-room,  that  the  wisest  and 
best  should  depend  on  the  weakest  and  worst ;  and  that 
when  individuals,  however  ignorant  of  moral  discipline  and 
impatient  of  self-restraint,  are  deemed  adequate  to  the 
management  of  their  affairs  at  twenty  years,  a  State  should 
never  be  ;  that  boys  should  come  out  of  pupilage,  that  men 
should  return  to  it ;  that  people,  in  their  actions  and  abil- 
ities so  contemptible  as  the  triumvirate,  should  become  by 
their  own  appointment  our  tutors  and  guardians,  and  shake 
their  scourges  over  Marcus  Brutus,  Marcus  Varro,  Marcus 
Tullius.  The  Romans  are  hastening  back,  I  see,  to  the 
government  of  hereditary  kings,  whether  by  that  name  or 
another  is  immaterial,  which  no  virtuous  and  dignified  man, 
no  philosopher  of  whatever  sect,  hath  recommended,  ap- 
proved, or  tolerated ;  and  than  which  no  moralist,  no 
fabulist,  no  visionary,  no  poet,  satirical  or  comic,  no 
Fescennine  jester,  no  dwarf  or  eunuch  (the  most  privileged 
of  privileged  classes),  no  runner  at  the  side  of  a  triumphal 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.  325 

car,  in  the  uttermost  extravagance  of  his  licentiousness,  has 
imagined  anything  more  absurd,  more  indecorous,  or  more 
insulting.  What  else  indeed  is  the  reason  why  a  nation  is 
called  barbarous  by  the  Greeks  and  us  ?  This  alone  stamps 
the  character  upon  it,  standing  for  whatever  is  monstrous, 
for  whatever  is  debased. 

What  a  shocking  sight  should  we  consider  an  old  father 
of  a  family  led  in  chains  along  the  public  street,  with  boys 
and  prostitutes  shouting  after  him  !  — and  should  we  not 
retire  from  it  quickly  and  anxiously?  A  sight  greatly  more 
shocking  now  presents  itself  :  an  ancient  nation  is  reduced 
to  slavery,  by  those  who  vowed  before  the  people  and  before 
the  altars  to  defend  her.  And  is  it  hard  for  us,  O  Quinctus, 
to  turn  away  our  eyes  from  this  abomination  ?  Or  is  it 
necessary  for  a  Gaul  or  an  Illyrian  to  command  us  that  we 
close  them  on  it  % 

Quinctus.  No,  Marcus,  no  !  Let  us  think  upon  it  as  our 
forefathers  always  thought,  and  our  friends  lately. 

Marcus.  I  am  your  host,  my  brother,  and  must  recall 
you  awhile  to  pleasanter  ideas.  How  beautiful  is  this 
Formian  coast !  how  airy  this  villa  !  Ah,  whether  have  I 
beckoned  your  reflections  ! — it  is  the  last  of  ours  perhaps 
we  may  ever  see.  Do  you  remember  the  races  of  our 
children  along  the  sands,  and  their  consternation  when 
Tyro  cried,  "  The  Lcestrygons  !  the  Lcestrygons  !  "  He  little 
thought  he  prophesied  in  his  mirth,  and  all  that  poetry  has 
feigned  of  these  monsters  should  in  so  few  years  be  accom- 
plished. The  other  evening,  an  hour  or  two  before  sunset, 
I  sailed  quietly  along  the  coast,  for  there  was  little  wind, 
and  the  stillness  on  shore  made  my  heart  faint  within  me. 
T  remembered  how  short  a  time  ago  I  had  conversed  with 
Cato  around  the  villa  of  Lucullus,  whose  son,  such  was  the 
modesty  of  the  youth,  followed  rather  than  accompanied  us. 


326  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

O  gods!  how  little  then  did  I  foresee  or  apprehend  that 
the  guardianship  of  this  young  man,  and  also  of  Cato's 
son,  would  within  one  year  have  devolved  on  me,  by  the 
deplorable  death  of  their  natural  protector  ! 

Quinctus.     There  is  something  of  softness,  not  unallied  to 
sorrow,  in  these  mild  winter  days  and  their  humid  sunshine. 

Marcus.  I  know  not,  Quinctus,  by  what  train  or  connec- 
tion of  ideas  they  lead  me  rather  to  the  past  than  to  the 
future  ;  unless  it  be  that,  when  the  fibres  of  our  bodies  are 
relaxed,  as  they  must  be  in  such  weather,  the  spirits  fall  back 
easily  upon  reflection,  and  are  slowly  incited  to  expectation. 
The  memory  of  those  great  men  who  consolidated  our  republic 
by  their  wisdom,  exalted  it  by  their  valour,  and  protected 
and  defended  it  by  their  constancy,  stands  not  alone  nor 
idly ;  they  draw  us  after  them,  they  place  us  with  them. 
O  Quinctus  !  I  wish  I  could  impart  to  you  my  firm  persua- 
sion, that  after  death  we  shall  enter  into  their  society  :  and 
what  matter  if  the  place  of  our  reunion  be  not  the  Capitol 
or  the  Forum,  be  not  Elysian  meadows  or  Atlantic  islands'? 
Locality  has  nothing  to  do  with  mind  once  free.  Carry  this 
thought  perpetually  with  you ;  and  Death,  whether  you  be- 
lieve it  terminates  our  whole  existence  or  otherwise,  will 
lose,  I  will  not  say  its  terrors,  for  the  brave  and  wise  have 
none,  but  its  anxieties  and  inquietudes. 

Quinctus.  Brother,  when  I  see  that  many  dogmas  in 
religion  have  been  invented  to  keep  the  intellect  in 
subjection,  I  may  fairly  doubt  the  rest. 

Marcus.  Yes,  if  any  emolument  be  derived  from  them 
to  the  colleges  of  priests.  But  surely  he  deserves  the 
dignity  and  the  worship  of  a  god,  who  first  instructed  men 
that  by  their  own  volition  they  may  enjoy  eternal  happi- 
ness ;  that  the  road  to  it  is  most  easy  and  most  beautiful, 
such  as  any  one  would  follow  by  preference,  even  if  nothing 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.   327 

desirable  were  at  the  end  of  it.  Neither  to  give  nor  to 
take  offence,  are  surely  the  two  things  most  delightful  in 
human  life ;  and  it  is  by  these  two  things  that  eternal 
happiness  may  be  attained.  We  shall  enjoy  a  future  state 
accordingly  as  we  have  employed  our  intellect  and  our 
affections.  Perfect  bliss  can  be  expected  by  few ;  but  fewer 
will  be  so  miserable  as  they  have  been  here. 

Quinclus.  A  belief  to  the  contrary,  if  we  admit  a  future 
life,  would  place  the  gods  beneath  us  in  their  best 
properties — justice  and  beneficence. 

Marcus.  Belief  in  a  future  life  is  the  appetite  of 
reason  :  and  I  see  not  why  we  should  not  gratify  it  as 
unreluctantly  as  the  baser.  Religion  does  not  call  upon  us 
to  believe  the  fables  of  the  vulgar,  but  on  the  contrary  to 
correct  them. 

Quinctus.  Otherwise,  overrun  as  we  are  in  Rome  by 
foreigners  of  every  nation,  and  ready  to  receive,  as  we  have 
been,  the  buffooneries  of  Syrian  and  Egyptian  priests,  our 
citizens  may  within  a  few  years  become  not  only  the  dupes, 
but  the  tributaries,  of  these  impostors.  The  Syrian  may 
scourge  us  until  we  join  him  in  his  lamentation  of  Adonis ; 
and  the  Egyptian  may  tell  us  that  it  is  unholy  to  eat  a 
chicken,  and  holy  to  eat  an  egg  ;  while  a  sly  rogue  of  Judaea 
whispers  in  our  ear,  "  That  is  superstition ;  you  go  to 
heaven  if  you  pay  me  a  tenth  of  your  harvests."  This,  I 
have  heard  Cneius  Pompeius  relate,  is  done  in  Judsea. 

Marcus.  Yes,  but  the  tenth  paid  all  the  expenses  both 
of  civil  government  and  religious ;  for  the  magistracy  was 
(if  such  an  expression  can  be  repeated  with  seriousness) 
theocratical.  In  time  of  peace,  a  decimation  of  property 
would  be  intolerable.  But  the  Jews  have  been  always  at 
war ;  natives  of  a  sterile  country  and  borderers  of  a  fertile 
one,  acute,  meditative,    melancholy,    morose.     I  know   not 


328  IMA  GINAR  V  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

whether  we  ourselves  have  performed  such  actions  as  they 
have,  or  whether  any  nation  has  fought  with  such  resolu- 
tion and  pertinacity.  We  laugh  at  their  worship :  they 
abominate  ours.  In  this  I  think  we  are  the  wiser ;  for 
surely  on  speculative  points  it  is  better  to  laugh  than  to 
abominate.  But  whence  have  you  brought  your  eggs  and 
chickens  1  I  have  heard  our  Varro  tell  many  stories  about 
the  Egyptian  ordinances,  but  I  do  not  remember  this. 

Quinctus.  Indeed  the  distinction  seems  a  little  too 
absurd,  even  for  the  worshippers  of  cats  and  crocodiles. 
Perhaps  I  may  have  wronged  them ;  the  nation  I  may 
indeed  have  forgotten,  but  I  am  certain  of  the  fact :  I  place 
it  in  the  archives  of  superstition,  you  may  deposit  it  in  its 
right  cell.  Among  the  Athenians,  the  priestess  of  Minerva 
was  entitled  to  a  measure  of  barley,  a  measure  of  wheat, 
and  an  obol,  on  every  birth  and  death.  Some  Eastern 
nations  are  so  totally  subjected  to  the  priesthood,  that  a 
member  of  it  is  requisite  at  birth,  at  death,  and,  by 
Thalassius  !  at  marriage  itself.  He  can  even  inflict  pains 
and  penalties ;  he  can  oblige  you  to  tell  him  all  the  secrets 
of  the  heart :  he  can  call  your  wife  to  him,  your  daughter 
to  him,  your  blooming  and  innocent  son ;  he  can  absolve 
from  sin  ;  he  can  exclude  from  pardon. 

Marcus.  Now,  Quinctus,  egg  and  chicken,  cat  and 
crocodile,  disappear  and  vanish :  you  repeat  impossibilities  ; 
mankind,  in  its  lowest  degradation,  has  never  been 
depressed  so  low.  The  savage  would  strangle  the  impostor 
that  attempted  it;  the  civilised  man  would  scourge  him  and 
hiss  him  from  society.  Come,  come,  brother  1  we  may 
expect  such  a  state  of  things,  whenever  we  find  united  the 
genius  of  the  Cimmerian  and  the  courage  of  the  Troglodyte. 
Religions  wear  out,  cover  them  with  gold  or  case  them 
with   iron    as   you    will.      Jupiter    is    now    less    powerful 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QU1NCTUS  CICERO.  329 

in  Crete  than  when  he  was  in  his  cradle  there,  and  spreads 
fewer  terrors  at  Dodona  than  a  shepherd's  cur.  Proconsuls 
have  removed  from  Greece,  from  Asia,  from  Sicily,  the 
most  celebrated  statues ;  and  it  is  doubted  at  last  whether 
those  deities  are  in  heaven,  whom  a  cart  and  a  yoke  of 
oxen  have  carried  away  on  earth.  When  the  civil  wars  are 
over,  and  the  minds  of  men  become  indolent  and  inactive, 
as  is  always  the  case  after  great  excitement,  it  is  not 
improbable  that  some  novelties  may  be  attempted  in 
religion ;  but,  as  my  prophecies  in  the  whole  course  of  the 
late  events  have  been  accomplished,  so  you  may  believe  me 
when  I  prognosticate  that  our  religion,  although  it  should 
be  disfigured  and  deteriorated,  will  continue  in  many  of  its 
features,  in  many  of  its  pomps  and  ceremonies,  the  same. 
Sibylline  books  will  never  be  wanting  while  fear  and 
curiosity  are  inherent  in  the  composition  of  man.  And 
there  is  something  consolatory  in  this  idea  of  duration  and 
identity ;  for  whatever  be  your  philosophy,  you  must 
acknowledge  that  it  is  pleasant  to  think,  although  you 
know  not  wherefore,  that,  when  we  go  away,  things  visible, 
like  things  intellectual,  will  remain  in  great  measure  as  we 
left  them.  A  slight  displeasure  would  be  felt  by  us,  if  we 
were  certain  that  after  our  death  our  houses  would  be 
taken  down,  though  not  only  no  longer  inhabited  by  us,  but 
probably  not  destined  to  remain  in  the  possession  of  our 
children  •  and  that  even  these  vineyards,  fields,  and 
gardens,  were  about  to  assume  another  aspect. 

•  ••••••• 

On  that  promontory  the  mansion  of  Cornelia  is  yet 
standing ;  the  same  which  Marius  bought  afterward,  and 
which  our  friend  Lucullus  last  inhabited  ;  and,  whether 
from  reverence  of  her  virtues  and  exalted  name,  or  that  the 
gods  preserve  it  as  a  monument  of  womanhood,  its  exterior 


330  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS. 

is  unchanged.  Here  she  resided  many  years,  and  never 
would  be  induced  to  revisit  Rome  after  the  murder  of  her 
younger  son.  She  cultivated  a  variety  of  flowers,  naturalised 
exotic  plants,  and  brought  together  trees  from  vale  and 
mountain  :  trees  unproductive  of  fruit,  but  affording  her,  in 
their  superintendence'and  management,  a  tranquil  expectant 
pleasure.  "There  is  no  amusement,"  said  she,  "so  lasting 
and  varied,  so  healthy  and  peaceful,  as  horticulture."  We 
read  that  the  Babylonians  and  Persians  were  formerly  much 
addicted  to  similar  places  of  recreation.  I  have  scarcely 
any  knowledge  in  these  matters  ;  and  the  first  time  I  went 
thither  I  asked  many  questions  of  the  gardener's  boy,  a 
child  about  nine  years  old.  He  thought  me  even  more 
ignorant  than  T  was,  and  said,  among  other  such  remarks, 
"  I  do  not  know  what  they  call  this  plant  at  Rome,  or 
whether  they  have  it  there ;  but  it  is  among  the  com- 
monest here,  beautiful  as  it  is,  and  we  call  it  cytisus." 
"Thank  you,  child!"  said  I  smiling;  "and,"  pointing 
towards  two  cypresses,  "pray  what  do  you  call  those  high 
and  gloomy  trees  at  the  extemity  of  the  avenue,  just  above 
the  precipice  1"  "Others  like  them,"  replied  he,  "are 
called  cypi-esses ;  but  these,  I  know  not  why,  have  always 
been  called  Tiberius  and  Caius." 

Quinctus.  Of  all  studies,  the  most  delightful  and  the 
most  useful  is  biography.  The  seeds  of  great  events  lie 
near  the  surface ;  historians  delve  too  deep  for  them.  No 
history  was  ever  true  :  lives  I  have  read  which,  if  they  were 
not,  had  the  appearance,  the  interest,  and  the  utility  of 
truth. 

Marcus.  I  have  collected  facts  about  Cornelia  worth 
recording ;  and  I  would  commemorate  them  the  rather,  as, 
while  the  Greeks  have  had  among  them  no  few  women  of 
abilities,  we  can  hardly  mention  two. 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.  331 

Quinctus.  Yet  ours  have  advantages  which  theirs  had 
not.     Did  Cornelia  die  unrepining  and  contented  1 

Marcus.  She  was  firmly  convinced  to  the  last  that  an 
agrarian  law  would  have  been  just  and  beneficial,  and  was 
consoled  that  her  illustrious  sons  had  discharged  at  once  the 
debt  of  nature  and  of  patriotism.  Glory  is  a  light  that 
shines  from  us  on  others,  and  not  from  others  on  us. 
Assured  that  future  ages  would  render  justice  to  the 
memory  of  her  children,  Cornelia  thought  they  had 
already  received  the  highest  approbation,  when  they  had 
received  their  own.  If  anything  was  wanting,  their  mother 
gave  it.  No  stranger  of  distinction  left  Italy  without  a 
visit  to  her.  You  would  imagine  that  they,  and  that  she 
particularly,  would  avoid  the  mention  of  her  sons  :  it  was 
however  the  subject  on  which  she  most  delighted  to  con- 
verse, and  which  she  never  failed  to  introduce  on  finding  a 
worthy  auditor.  I  have  heard  from  our  father  and  from 
Scaevola,  both  of  whom  in  their  adolescence  had  been 
present  on  such  occasions,  that  she  mentioned  her  children, 
no  longer  indeed  with  the  calm  complacency  and  full  con- 
tent with  which  she  showed  them  to  the  lady  of  Campania 
as  her  gems  and  ornaments,  but  with  such  an  exultation  of 
delight  at  their  glory,  as  she  would  the  heroes  of  antiquity. 
So  little  of  what  is  painful  in  emotion  did  she  exhibit  at  the 
recital,  those  who  could  not  comprehend  her  magnanimity 
at  first  believed  her  maddened  by  her  misfortunes ;  but  so 
many  signs  of  wisdom  soon  displayed  themselves,  such 
staidness  and  sedateness  of  demeanour,  such  serene  majestic 
suavity,  they  felt  as  if  some  deity  were  present ;  and  when 
wonder  and  admiration  and  awe  permitted  them  to  lift  up 
their  eyes  again  toward  her,  they  discovered  from  hers  that 
the  fondest  of  mothers  had  been  speaking — the  mother  of 
the  Gracchi 


332  IMA  GINAR  V  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

Your  remark  on  biography  is  just ;  yet  how  far  below  the 
truth  is  even  the  best  representation  of  those  whose  minds 
the  gods  have  illuminated  !  How  much  greater  would  the 
greatest  man  appear,  if  any  one  about  him  could  perceive 
those  innumerable  filaments  of  thought  which  break  as  they 
arise  from  the  brain,  and  the  slenderest  of  which  is  worth 
all  the  wisdom  of  many  at  whose  discretion  lies  the  felicity 
of  nations  !  This  in  itself  is  impossible ;  but  there  are 
fewer  who  mark  what  appears  on  a  sudden  and  disappears 
again  (such  is  the  conversation  of  the  wise),  than  there  are 
who  calculate  those  stars  that  are  now  coming  forth  above 
us :  scarcely  one  in  several  millions  can  apportion,  to  what 
is  exalted  in  mind,  its  magnitude,  place,  and  distance.  We 
must  be  contented  to  be  judged  by  that  which  people  can 
discern  and  handle  :  that  which  they  can  have  among  them, 
most  at  leisure,  is  most  likely  to  be  well  examined  and  duly 
estimated.  Whence  I  am  led  to  believe  that  my  writings, 
and  those  principally  which  instruct  men  in  their  rights  and 
duties,  will  obtain  me  a  solider  and  more  extensive  reputa- 
tion than  I  could  have  acquired  in  public  life,  by  busier, 
harder,  and  more  anxious  labours.  Public  men  appear  to 
me  to  live  in  that  delusion  which  Socrates,  in  the  Phcedo, 
would  persuade  us  is  common  to  all  our  species.  "  We  live  in 
holes,"  says  he,  "  and  fancy  that  we  are  living  in  the  highest 
parts  of  the  earth."  What  he  says  physically  I  would  say 
morally.  Judge  whether  my  observation  is  not  at  least  as 
reasonable  as  his  hypothesis  ;  and  indeed,  to  speak  ingen- 
uously, whether  I  have  not  converted  what  is  physically  false 
and  absurd  into  what  is  morally  true  and  important. 

Quinctus.  True,  beyond  a  question,  and  important  as  those 
whom  it  concerns  will  let  it  be.  They  who  stand  in  higli 
stations  wish  for  higher ;  but  they  who  have  occupied  the 
highest  of  all  often  think  with  regret  of  some  one  pleasanter 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.  333 

they  left  below,  Servius  Tullius,  a  prudent  man,  dedicated 
to  Fortune  what  we  call  the  narrow  temple,  with  a  statue 
in  proportion,  expressing  his  idea  that  Fortune  in  the  con- 
dition of  mediocrity  is  more  reasonably  than  any  other  the 
object  of  our  vows.  He  could  have  given  her  as  magnificent 
a  name,  and  as  magnificent  a  residence,  as  any  she  possesses  ; 
and  you  know  she  has  many  of  both ;  but  he  wished 
perhaps  to  try  whether  for  once  she  would  be  as  favourable 
to  wisdom  as  to  enterprise. 

Marcus.  If  life  allows  us  time  for  the  experiment,  let 
us  also  try  it. 

Sleep,  which  the  Epicureans  and  others  have  represented 
as  the  image  of  death,  is,  we  know,  the  repairer  of  activity 
and  strength.  If  they  spoke  reasonably  and  consistently, 
they  might  argue  from  their  own  principles,  or  at  least  take 
the  illustration  from  their  own  fancy,  that  death  like  sleep 
may  also  restore  our  powers,  and  in  proportion  to  its 
universality  and  absoluteness.  Pursuers  as  they  are  of 
pleasure,  their  unsettled  and  restless  imagination  loves 
rather  to  brood  over  an  abyss,  than  to  expatiate  on  places 
of  amenity  and  composure.  Just  as  sleep  is  the  renovator 
of  corporeal  vigour,  so,  with  their  permission,  I  would 
believe  death  to  be  of  the  mind's ;  that  the  body,  to  which 
it  is  attached  rather  from  habitude  than  from  reason,  is 
little  else  than  a  disease  to  our  immortal  spirit ;  and  that, 
like  the  remora,  of  which  mariners  tell  marvels,  it  counter- 
acts, as  it  were,  both  oar  and  sail,  in  the  most  strenuous 
advances  we  can  make  toward  felicity.  Shall  we  lament  to 
feel  this  reptile  drop  off1?  Or  shall  we  not,  on  the  contrary, 
leap  with  alacrity  on  shore,  and  offer  up  in  gratitude  to 
the  gods  whatever  is  left  about  us  uncorroded  and 
unshattered  ?  A  broken  and  abject  mind  is  the  thing 
least  worthy  of  their  acceptance. 


334  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERSA  TIONS. 

Quinctus.  Brother,  you  talk  as  if  there  were  a  plurality 
of  gods. 

Marcus.  I  know  not  and  care  not  how  many  there  may 
be  of  them.  Philosophy  points  to  unity  ;  but  while  we  are 
here,  we  speak  as  those  do  who  are  around  us,  and  employ 
in  these  matters  the  language  of  our  country.  Italy  is  not 
so  fertile  in  hemlock  as  Greece ;  yet  a  wise  man  will 
dissemble  half  his  wisdom  on  such  a  topic  ;  and  I,  as  you 
remember,  adopting  the  means  of  dialogue,  have  often 
delivered  my  opinions  in  the  voice  of  others,  and  speak  now 
as  custom  not  as  reason  leads  me. 

Quinctus.  Marcus,  I  still  observe  in  you  somewhat  of 
aversion  to  Epicurus,  a  few  of  whose  least  important 
positions  you  have  controverted  in  your  dialogues ;  and  I 
wish  that,  even  thei-e,  you  had  been  less  irrisory,  less  of  a 
pleader ;  that  you  had  been,  in  dispassionate  urbanity,  his 
follower.  Such  was  also  the  opinion  of  two  men  the  most 
opposite  in  other  things,  Brutus  and  Csesar.  Religions 
may  fight  in  the  street,  or  over  the  grave:  Philosophy 
never  should.  We  ought  to  forego  the  manners  of  the 
Forum  in  our  disquisitions,  which,  if  they  continue  to 
be  agitated  as  they  have  been,  will  be  designated  at  last 
not  only  by  foul  epithets  drawn  from  that  unsober 
tub,  but,  as  violence  is  apt  to  increase  in  fury  until  it 
falls  from  exhaustion,  by  those  derived  from  war  and 
bloodshed.  I  should  not  be  surprised,  if  they  who  write 
and  reason  on  our  calm  domestic  duties,  on  our  best  and 
highest  interests,  should  hereafter  be  designated  by  some 
such  terms  as  polemical  and  sarcastic.  As  horses  start 
aside  from  objects  they  see  imperfectly,  so  do  men.  Enmi- 
ties are  excited  by  an  indistinct  view  ;  they  would  be 
allayed  by  conference.  Look  at  any  long  avenue  of  trees, 
by    which    the    traveller    on    our    principal    highways    is 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.  335 

protected  from  the  sun.  Those  at  the  beginning  are  wide 
apart,  but  those  at  the  end  almost  meet.  Thus  happens  it 
frequently  in  opinions.  Men,  who  were  far  asunder,  come 
nearer  and  nearer  in  the  course  of  life,  if  they  have  strength 
enough  to  quell,  or  good  sense  enough  to  temper  and 
assuage,  their  earlier  animosities.  Were  it  possible  for  you 
to  have  spent  an  hour  with  Epicurus,  you  would  have  been 
delighted  with  him  ;  for  his  nature  was  like  the  better  part 
of  yours.  Zeno  set  out  from  an  opposite  direction,  yet  they 
meet  at  last  and  shake  hands.  He  who  shows  us  how  Fear 
may  be  reasoned  with  and  pacified,  how  Death  may  be  dis- 
armed of  terrors,  how  Pleasure  may  be  united  with  Inno- 
cence and  with  Constancy  ;  he  who  persuades  us  that  Vice 
is  painful  and  vindictive,  and  that  Ambition,  deemed  the 
most  manly  of  our  desires,  is  the  most  childish  and  illusory 
— deserves  our  gratitude.  Children  would  fall  asleep  before 
they  had  trifled  so  long  as  grave  men  do.  If  you  must 
quarrel  with  Epicurus  on  the  principal  good,  take  my  idea. 
The  happy  man  is  he  who  distinguishes  the  boundary 
between  desire  and  delight,  and  stands  firmly  on  the  higher 
ground  ;  he  who  knows  that  pleasure  not  only  is  not  pos- 
session, but  is  often  to  be  lost  and  always  to  be  endangered 
by  it.  In  life,  as  in  those  prospects  which  if  the  sun  were 
above  the  horizon  we  should  see  from  hence,  the  objects 
covered  with  the  softest  light,  and  offering  the  most  beauti- 
ful forms  in  the  distance,  are  wearisome  to  attain  and  barren. 

In  one  of  your  last  letters  you  told  me  that  you  had  come 
over  into  the  camp  of  your  old  adversary. 

Marcus.  I  could  not  rest  with  him.  As  we  pardon 
those  reluctantly  who  destroy  our  family  tombs,  is  it  likely 
or  reasonable  that  he  should  be  forgiven  who  levels  to  the 
ground  the  fabric  to  which  they  lead,  and  to  which  they  are 
only  a  rude  and  temporary  vestibule  1 


336  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  TIONS. 

Quinctus.  Socrates  was  heard  with  more  attention, 
Pythagoras  had  more  authority  in  his  lifetime  ;  but  no 
philosopher  hath  excited  so  much  enthusiasm  in  those  who 
never  frequented,  never  heard  nor  saw  him  ;  and  yet  his 
doctrines  are  not  such  in  themselves  as  would  excite  it. 
How,  then,  can  it  be,  otherwise  than  partly  from  the  inno- 
cence of  his  life,  and  partly  from  the  relief  his  followers 
experienced  in  abstraction  from  unquiet  and  insatiable 
desires  ?  Many,  it  is  true,  have  spoken  of  him  with  hatred  ; 
but  amonsr  his  haters  are  none  who  knew  him  :  which  is 
remarkable,  singular,  wonderful  ;  for  hatred  seems  as 
natural  to  men  as  hunger  is,  and  excited  like  hunger  by 
the  presence  of  its  food ;  and  the  more  exquisite  the  food, 
the  more  excitable  is  the  hunger. 

Marcus.  I  do  not  remember  to  have  met  anywhere 
before  with  the  thought  you  have  just  expressed.  Certain 
it  is,  however,  that  men  in  general  have  a  propensity  to 
hatred,  profitless  as  it  is  and  painful.  We  say  proverbially, 
after  Ennius  or  some  other  old  poet,  the  descent  to  Avernus 
is  easy  :  not  less  easily  are  we  carried  down  to  the  more 
pestiferous  pool  whereinto  we  would  drag  our  superiors  and 
submerge  them.  It  is  the  destiny  of  the  obscure  to  be  de- 
spised ;  it  is  the  privilege  of  the  illustrious  to  be  hated. 
Whoever  hates  me  proves  and  feels  himself  to  be  less  than 
I  am.  If  in  argument  we  can  make  a  man  angry  with  us, 
we  have  drawn  him  from  his  vantage-ground  and  overcome 
him.%  For  he,  who  in  order  to  attack  a  little  man  (and 
every  one  calls  his  adversary  so)  ceases  to  defend  the 
truth,  shows  that  truth  is  less  his  object  than  the  little 
man.  I  profess  the  tenets  of  the  New  Academy,  because 
it  teaches  us  modesty  in  the  midst  of  wisdom,  and  leads 
through  doubt  to  inquiry.  Hence  it  appears  to  me 
that  it  must  render  us  quieter  and  more  studious,  without 


MARCUS  TULLWS  AND  QUTNCTUS  CICERO.  337 

doing  what  Epicurus  would  do  ;  that  is,  without  singing  us 
to  sleep  in  groves  and  meadows,  while  our  country  is 
calling  on  us  loudly  to  defend  her.  Nevertheless,  I  have 
lived  in  the  most  familiar  way  with  Epicureans,  as  you 
know,  and  have  loved  them  affectionately.  There  is  no 
more  certain  sign  of  a  narrow  mind,  of  stupidity,  and  of 
arrogance,  than  to  stand  aloof  from  those  who  think 
differently  from  ourselves.  If  they  have  weighed  the 
matter  in  dispute  as  carefully,  it  is  equitable  to  suppose 
that  they  have  the  same  chance  as  we  have  of  being  in  the 
right ;  if  they  have  not,  we  may  as  reasonably  be  out  of 
humour  with  our  footman  or  chairman :  he  is  more  ienorant 
and  more  careless  of  it  still. 


Quinctus.  I  see  the  servants  have  lighted  the  lamps  in 
the  house  earlier  than  usual,  hoping,  I  suppose,  we  shall 
retire  to  rest  in  good  time,  that  to-morrow  they  may  prepare 
the  festivities  for  your  birthday. 

Within  how  few  minutes  has  the  night  closed  in  upon 
us  !  Nothing  is  left  discernible  of  the  promontories,  or  the 
long  irregular  breakers  under  them.  We  have  before  us 
only  a  faint  glimmering  from  the  shells  in  our  path,  and 
from  the  blossoms  of  the  arbutus. 

Marcus.  The  Circean  hills,  and  even  the  nearer,  loftier, 
and  whiter  rocks  of  Anxur,  are  become  indistinguishable. 
We  leave  our  Cato  and  our  Lucullus ;  we  leave  Cornelia 
and  her  children,  the  scenes  of  friendship  and  the  recol- 
lections of  greatness,  for  Lepidus  and  Octavius  and 
Antonius  ;  and  who  knows  whether  this  birthday,  between 
which  and  us  so  few  days  intervene,  may  not  be,  as  it  cer- 
tainly will  be  the  least  pleasurable,  the  last !     Death  has 

two  aspects  :  dreary  and  sorrowful  to  those  of  prosperous, 

42 


338  IMA  G1NAR  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

mild  and  almost  genial  to  those  of  adverse  fortune.  Her 
countenance  is  old  to  the  young,  and  youthful  to  the  aged  : 
to  the  former  her  voice  is  importunate,  her  gait  terrific  ;  the 
latter  she  approaches  like  a  bedside  friend,  and  calls  in  a 
whisper  that  invites  to  rest.  To  us,  my  Quinctus,  advanced 
as  we  are  on  our  way,  weary  from  its  perplexities  and  dizzy 
from,  its  precipices,  she  gives  a  calm  welcome  :  let  her  receive 
a  cordial  one. 

If  life  is  a  present  which  any  one  foreknowing  its  con- 
tents would  have  willingly  declined,  does  it  not  follow  that 
any  one  would  as  willingly  give  it  up,  having  well  tried 
what  they  are  ?  I  speak  of  the  reasonable,  the  firm,  the 
virtuous ;  not  of  those  who,  like  bad  governors,  are  afraid 
of  laying  down  the  powers  and  privileges  they  have  been 
proved  unworthy  of  holding.  Were  it  certain  that  the 
longer  we  live  the  wiser  we  become  and  the  happier,  then 
indeed  a  long  life  would  be  desirable ;  but  since  on  the 
contrary  our  mental  strength  decays,  and  our  enjoyments  of 
every  kind  not  only  sink  and  cease,  but  diseases  and 
sorrows  come  in  place  of  them,  if  any  wish  is  rational,  it  is 
surely  the  wish  that  we  should  go  away  unshaken  by  years, 
undepressed  by  griefs,  and  undespoiled  of  our  better 
faculties.  Life  and  death  appear  more  certainly  ours  than 
whatsoever  else ;  and  yet  hardly  can  that  be  called  ours, 
which  comes  without  our  knowledge,  and  goes  without  it ; 
or  that  which  we  cannot  put  aside  if  we  would,  and  indeed 
can  anticipate  but  little.  There  are  few  who  can  regulate 
life  to  any  extent;  none  who  can  order  the  things  it  shall 
receive  or  exclude.  What  value,  then,  should  be  placed 
upon  it  by  the  prudent  man,  when  duty  or  necessity  calls 
him  away  1  Or  what  reluctance  should  he  feel  on  passing 
into  a  state  where  at  least  he  must  be  conscious  of  fewer 
checks   and   inabilities?     Such,  my  brother,  as  the  brave 


MARCUS  TULLTUS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.  339 

commander,  when  from  the  secret  and  dark  passages  of 
some  fortress  wherein  implacable  enemies  besieged  him, 
having  performed  all  his  duties  and  exhausted  all  his 
munition,  he  issues  at  a  distance  into  open  day. 

Everything  has  its  use  :  life  to  teach  us  the  contempt  of 
death,  and  death  the  contempt  of  life.  Glory,  which  among 
all  things  between  stands  eminently  the  principal,  although 
it  has  been  considered  by  some  philosophers  as  mere  vanity 
and  deception,  moves  those  great  intellects  which  nothing 
else  could  have  stirred,  and  places  them  where  they  can 
best  and  most  advantageously  serve  the  Commonwealth. 
Glory  can  be  safely  despised  by  those  only  who  have  fairly 
won  it :  a  low,  ignorant,  or  vicious  man  should  dispute  on 
other  topics.  The  philosopher  who  contemns  it  has  every 
rogue  in  his  sect,  and  may  reckon  that  it  will  outlive  all 
others.  Occasion  may  have  been  wanting  to  some  ;  I  grant 
it.  They  may  have  remained  their  whole  lifetime  like  dials 
in  the  shade,  always  fit  for  use  and  always  useless ;  but  this 
must  occur  either  in  monarchal  governments,  or  where 
persons  occupy  the  first  station  who  ought  hardly  to  have 
been  admitted  to  the  secondary,  and  whom  jealousy  has 
guided  more  frequently  than  justice. 

It  is  true  there  is  much  inequality,  much  inconsider- 
ateness,  in  the  distribution  of  fame ;  and  the  principles 
according  to  which  honour  ought  to  be  conferred  are  not 
only  violated,  but  often  inverted.  Whoever  wishes  to  be 
thought  great  among  men  must  do  them  some  great 
mischief ;  and  the  longer  he  continues  in  doing  things  of 
this  sort,  the  more  he  will  be  admired.  The  features  of 
Fortune  are  so  like  those  of  Genius  as  to  be  mistaken  by 
almost  all  the  world.  We  whose  names  and  works  are 
honourable  to  our  country,  and  destined  to  survive  her,  are 
less  esteemed  than  those  who  have  accelerated  her  decay ; 


340  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

yet  even  here  the  sense  of  injury  rises  from  and  is 
accompanied  by  a  sense  of  merit,  the  tone  of  which  is 
deeper  and  predominant. 

"When  we  have  spoken  of  life,  death,  and  glory,  we  have 
spoken  of  all  important  things,  except  friendship ;  for 
eloquence  and  philosophy,  and  other  inferior  attainments, 
are  either  means  conducible  to  life  and  glory,  or  antidotes 
against  the  bitterness  of  death.  We  cannot  conquer  fate 
and  necessity,  yet  we  can  yield  to  them  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  be  greater  than  if  we  could.  I  have  observed  your 
impatience :  you  were  about  to  appeal  in  behalf  of  virtue. 
But  virtue  is  presupposed  in  friendship,  as  I  have  mentioned 
in  my  Lcelius  ;  nor  have  I  ever  separated  it  from  philosophy 
or  from  glory.  I  discussed  the  subject  most  at  large  and 
most  methodically  in  my  treatise  on  our  Duties,  and  I  find 
no  reason  to  alter  my  definition  or  deductions.  On 
friendship,  in  the  present  condition  of  our  affairs,  I 
would  say  but  little.  Could  I  begin  my  existence  again, 
and,  what  is  equally  impossible,  could  I  see  before  me  all 
I  have  seen,  I  would  choose  few  acquaintances,  fewer 
friendships,  no  familiarities.  This  rubbish,  for  such  it 
generally  is,  collecting  at  the  base  of  an  elevated  mind, 
lessens  its  height  and  impairs  its  character.  What  requires 
to  be  sustained,  if  it  is  greater,  falls ;  if  it  is  smaller,  is 
lost  to  view  by  the  intervention  of  its  supporters. 

In  literature,  great  men  suffer  more  from  their  little 
friends  than  from  their  potent  enemies.  It  is  not  by  our 
adversaries  that  our  early  shoots  of  glory  are  nipped  and 
broken  off,  or  our  later  pestilentially  blighted  ;  it  is  by 
those  who  lie  at  our  feet,  and  look  up  to  us  with  a  solicitous 
and  fixed  regard  until  our  shadow  grows  thicker  and  makes 
them  colder.  Then  they  begin  to  praise  us  as  worthy 
men  indeed,  and  good  citizens,  but  rather  vain,  and  what 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.  341 

(to  speak  the  truth)  in  others  they  should  call  pre- 
sumptuous. They  entertain  no  doubt  of  our  merit  in 
literature;  yet  justice  forces  them  to  declare  that  several 
have  risen  up  lately  who  promise  to  surpass  us.  Should 
it  be  asked  of  them  who  these  pre,  they  look  modest, 
and  tell  you  softly  and  submissively  it  would  ill  become 
them  to  repeat  the  eulogies  of  their  acquaintance,  and  that 
no  man  pronounces  his  own  name  so  distinctly  as  another's. 
I  had  something  of  oratory  once  about  me,  and  was  borne 
on  high  by  the  spirit  of  the  better  Greeks.  Thus  they 
thought  of  me ;  and  they  thought  of  me,  Quinctus,  no  more 
than  thus.  They  had  reached  the  straits,  and  saw  before 
them  the  boundary,  the  impassable  Atlantic,  of  the  intel- 
lectual world.  But  now  I  am  a  bad  citizen  and  a  worse 
writer  :  I  want  the  exercise  and  effusion  of  my  own  breath 
to  warm  me;  I  must  be  chafed  by  an  adversary  ;  I  must  be 
supported  by  a  crowd ;  I  require  the  Forum,  the  Rostra, 
the  Senate  :  in  my  individuality  I  am  nothing. 

You  remember  the  apologue  of  Critobulus  ? 

Quinctus.     No,  I  do  not. 

Marcus.  It  was  sent  to  me  by  Pomponius  Atticus  soon 
after  my  marriage  :  I  must  surely  have  shown  it  to  you. 

Quinctus.  Not  you,  indeed  :  and  I  should  wonder  that 
so  valuable  a  present,  so  rare  an  accession  to  Rome  as  a 
new  Greek  volume,  could  have  come  into  your  hands  and 
not  out  of  them  into  mine,  if  you  had  not  mentioned  that 
it  was  about  the  time  of  your  nuptials.  Let  me  hear  the 
story. 

Marcus.  "  I  was  wandering,1'  says  Critobulus,  "in  the 
midst  of  a  forest,  and  came  suddenly  to  a  small  round 
fountain  or  pool,  with  several  white  flowers  (I  remember) 
^nd  broad  leaves  in  the  centre  of  it,  but  clear  of  them  at 


34i  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CONVERSA  T10NS. 

the  sides,  and  of  a  water  the  most  pellucid.  Suddenly  a 
very  beautiful  figure  came  from  behind  me,  and  stood 
between  me  and  the  fountain.  I  was  amazed.  I  could  not 
distinguish  the  sex,  the  form  being  youthful  and  the  face 
toward  the  water,  on  which  it  was  gazing  and  bending  over 
its  reflection,  like  another  Hylas  or  Narcissus.  It  then 
stooped  and  adorned  itself  with  a  few  of  the  simplest 
flowers,  and  seemed  the  fonder  and  tenderer  of  those  which 
had  borne  the  impression  of  its  graceful  feet ;  and,  having 
done  so,  it  turned  round  and  looked  upon  me  with  an  air  of 
indifference  and  unconcern.  The  longer  I  fixed  my  eyes  on 
her — for  I  now  discovered  it  was  a  female — the  more 
ardent  I  became  and  the  more  embarrassed.  She  perceived 
it,  and  smiled.  Her  eyes  were  large  and  serene  ;  not  very 
thoughtful  as  if  perplexed,  not  very  playful  as  if  easily  to 
be  won ;  and  her  countenance  was  tinged  with  so  delightful 
a  colour,  that  it  appeared  an  effluence  from  an  irradiated 
cloud  passing  over  it  in  the  heavens.  She  gave  me  the 
idea,  from  her  graceful  attitude,  that,  although  adapted  to 
the  perfection  of  activity,  she  felt  rather  an  inclination  for 
repose.  I  would  have  taken  her  hand :  '  You  shall 
presently,'  said  she  :  and  never  fell  on  mortal  a  diviner 
glance  than  on  me.  I  told  her  so.  She  replied,  '  You 
speak  well.'  I  then  fancied  she  was  simple  and  weak,  and 
fond  of  flattery,  and  began  to  flatter  her.  She  turned  her 
face  away  from  me  and  answered  nothing.  I  declared  my 
excessive  love  :  she  went  some  paces  off.  I  swore  it  was 
impossible  for  one  who  had  ever  seen  her  to  live  without 
her :  she  went  several  paces  farther.  '  By  the  immortal 
gods ! '  I  cried,  '  you  shall  not  leave  me ! '  She  turned 
round  and  looked  benignly ;  but  shook  her  head.  '  You 
are  another's  then  !  Say  it !  say  it !  utter  the  word  once 
from    your    lips — and    let    me    die  I '      She    smiled,   more 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.  343 

melancholy  than  before,  and  replied,  '  0  Critobulus  !  I 
am  indeed  another's :  I  am  a  god's.'  The  air  of  the  interior 
heavens  seemed  to  pierce  me  as  she  spoke  ;  and  I  trembled 
as  impassioned  men  may  tremble  once.  After  a  pause,  '  I 
might  have  thought  it ! '  cried  I :  '  why  then  come  before 
me  and  torment  me  % '  She  began  to  play  and  trifle  with 
me,  as  became  her  age  (I  fancied)  rather  than  her  engage- 
ment, and  she  placed  my  hand  upon  the  flowers  in  her  lap 
without  a  blush.  The  whole  fountain  would  not  at  that 
moment  have  assuaged  my  thirst.  The  sound  of  the  breezes 
and  of  the  birds  around  us,  even  the  sound  of  her  own 
voice,  were  all  confounded  in  my  ear,  as  colours  are  in  the 
fulness  and  intensity  of  light.  She  said  many  pleasing 
things  to  me,  to  the  earlier  and  greater  part  of  which  I  was 
insensible  ;  but  in  the  midst  of  those  which  I  could  hear  and 
was  listening  to  attentively,  she  began  to  pluck  out  the 
grey  hairs  from  my  head,  and  to  tell  me  that  the  others  too 
were  of  a  hue  not  very  agreeable.  My  heart  sank  within 
me.  Presently  there  was  hardly  a  limb  or  feature  without 
its  imperfection.  '  Oh  ! '  cried  T  in  despair,  'you  have  been 
used  to  the  gods  ;  you  must  think  so  :  but  among  men  I  do 
not  believe  I  am  considered  as  ill-made  or  unseemly.'  She 
paid  little  attention  to  my  words  or  my  vexation ;  and 
when  she  had  gone  on  with  my  defects  for  some  time  longer, 
in  the  same  calm  tone  and  with  the  same  sweet  countenance, 
she  began  to  declare  that  she  had  much  affection  for  me, 
and  was  desirous  of  inspiring  it  in  return.  I  was  about 
to  answer  her  with  rapture,  when  on  a  sudden,  in  her  girlish 
humour,  she  stuck  a  thorn,  wherewith  she  had  been  playing, 
into  that  part  of  the  body  which  supports  us  when  we  sit 
I  know  not  whether  it  went  deeper  than  she  intended,  but 
catching  at  it,  I  leaped  up  in  shame  and  anger,  and  at  the 
same  moment  felt  something  upon  my  shoulder.     It  was  an 


344  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

armlet  inscribed  with  letters  of  bossy  adamant,  'Jove  to  his 
daughter  Truth.' 

"  She  stood  again  before  me  at  a  distance,  and  said  grace- 
fully, 'Critobulus  !  I  am  too  young  and  simple  for  you;  but 
you  will  love  me  still,  and  not  be  made  unhappy  by  it  in 
the  end.     Farewell.'" 

Quinctus.  Excuse  my  interruption.  I  heard  a  few  days 
ago  a  pleasant  thing  reported  of  Asinius  PolKo  :  he  said,  at 
supper,  your  language  is  that  of  an  Allobrox. 

Marcus.  After  supper,  I  should  rather  think,  and  with 
Antonius.  Asinius,  urged  by  the  strength  of  instinct,  picks 
from  amid  the  freshest  herbage  the  dead  dry  stalk,  and 
dozes  and  dreams  about  it  where  he  cannot  find  it. 
Acquired,  it  is  true,  I  have  a  certain  portion  of  my  know- 
ledge, and  consequently  of  my  language,  from  the 
Allobroges :  I  cannot  well  point  out  the  place — the  walls 
of  Romulus,  the  habitations  of  Janus  and  of  Saturn,  and 
the  temple  of  Capitoline  Jove,  wbich  the  confessions  I 
extorted  from  their  ambassadors  gave  me  in  my  consulate 
the  means  of  saving,  stand  at  too  great  a  distance  from  this 
terrace. 

Quinctus.  Certainly  you  have  much  to  look  back  upon, 
of  what  is  most  proper  and  efficacious  to  console  you.  Con- 
sciousness of  desert  protects  the  mind  against  obloquy, 
exalts  it  above  calamity,  and  scatters  into  utter  invisibility 
the  shadowy  fears  of  death.  Nevertheless,  0  Marcus !  to 
leave  behind  us  our  children,  if  indeed  it  will  be  permitted 
them  to  stay  behind,  is  painful. 

Marcus.  Among  the  contingencies  of  life,  it  is  that  for 
which  we  ought  to  be  best  prepared,  as  the  most  regular 
and  ordinary  in  the  course  of  Nature.  In  dying,  and  leav- 
ing our  friends,  and  saying,  "  I  shall  see  you  no  more," 
which  is  thought  by  the  generous  man  the  painfullest  thing 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QU1NCTUS  CICERO.  345 

in  the  change  he  undergoes,  we  speak  as  if  we  shall 
continue  to  feel  the  same  desire  and  want  of  seeing  them — 
an  inconsistency  so  common  as  never  to  have  been  noticed : 
and  my  remark,  which  you  would  think  too  trivial,  startles 
by  its  novelty  before  it  conciliates  by  its  truth.  We 
bequeath  to  our  children  a  field  illuminated  by  our  glory 
and  enriched  by  our  example :  a  noble  patrimony,  and 
beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  praetor  or  proscriber.  Nor 
indeed  is  our  fall  itself  without  its  fruit  to  them  :  for 
violence  is  the  cause  why  that  is  often  called  a  calamity 
which  is  not,  and  repairs  in  some  measure  its  injuries 
by  exciting  to  commiseration  and  tenderness.  The  plea- 
sure a  man  receives  from  his  children  resembles  that  which, 
with  more  propriety  than  any  other,  we  may  attribute  to 
the  Divinity:  for  to  suppose  that  his  chief  satisfaction 
and  delight  should  arise  from  the  contemplation  of  what 
he  has  done  or  can  do,  is  to  place  him  on  a  level  with 
a  runner  or  a  wrestler.  The  formation  of  a  world,  or 
of  a  thousand  worlds,  is  as  easy  to  him  as  the  for- 
mation of  an  atom.  Virtue  and  intellect  are  equally 
his  production ,  yet  he  subjects  them  in  no  slight 
degree  to  our  volition.  His  benevolence  is  gratified  at 
seeing  us  conquer  our  wills  and  rise  superior  to  our  infirmi- 
ties, and  at  tracing  day  after  day  a  nearer  resemblance 
in  our  moral  features  to  his.  We  can  derive  no  pleasure 
but  from  exertion ;  he  can  derive  none  from  it :  since 
exertion,  as  we  understand  the  word,  is  incompatible  with 
omnipotence. 

Quinctus.  Proceed,  my  brother  !  for  in  every  depression 
of  mind,  in  every  excitement  of  feeling,  my  spirits  are 
equalised  by  your  discourse;  and  that  which  you  said 
with  too  much  brevity  of  our  children  soothes  me  greatly. 

Marcus.     I  am   persuaded  of  the  truth  in  what  I  havo 


346  IMA  GINAR  Y  CONFERS  A  TIONS. 

spoken ;  and  yet — ah,  Quinctus  !  there  is  a  tear  that 
Philosophy  cannot  dry,  and  a  pang  that  will  rise  as  we 
approach  the  gods. 

Two  things  tend  beyond  all  others,  after  philosophy,  to 
inhibit  and  check  our  ruder  passions  as  they  grow  and  swell 
in  us,  and  to  keep  our  gentler  in  their  proper  play  :  and 
these  two  things  are  seasonable  sorrow  and  inoffensive 
pleasure,  each  moderately  indulged.  Nay,  there  is  also  a 
pleasure — humble,  it  is  true,  but  graceful  and  insinuating — 
which  follows  close  upon  our  very  sorrows,  reconciles  us  to 
them  gradually,  and  sometimes  renders  us  at  last  undesirous 
altogether  of  abandoning  them.  If  ever  you  have  remem- 
bered the  anniversary  of  some  day  whereon  a  dear  friend 
was  lost  to  you,  tell  me  whether  that  anniversary  was  not 
purer  and  even  calmer  than  the  day  before.  The  sorrow,  if 
there  should  be  any  left,  is  soon  absorbed,  and  full  satisfac- 
tion takes  place  of  it,  while  you  perform  a  pious  office  to 
Friendship,  required  and  appointed  by  the  ordinances  of 
Nature.  When  my  Tulliola  was  torn  away  from  me,  a 
thousand  plans  were  in  readiness  for  immortalising  her 
memory,  and  raising  a  monument  up  to  the  magnitude  of 
my  grief.  The  grief  itself  has  done  it  :  the  tears  I  then 
shed  over  her  assuaged  it  in  me,  and  did  everything  that 
could  be  done  for  her,  or  hoped,  or  wished.  I  called  upon 
Tulliola  :  Rome  and  the  whole  world  heard  me  ;  her  glory 
was  a  part  of  mine,  and  mine  of  hers  ;  and  when  Eternity 
had  received  her  at  my  hands,  I  wept  no  longer.  The 
tenderness  wherewith  I  mentioned  and  now  mention  her, 
though  it  suspends  my  voice,  brings  what  consoles  and  com- 
forts me  :  it  is  the  milk  and  honey  left  at  the  sepulchre,  and 
equally  sweet  (I  hope)  to  the  departed. 

The  gods  who  have  given  us  our  affections  permit  us 
surely  the  uses  and  the  signs  of  them.     Immoderate  grief, 


MARCUS  TULLIUS  AND  QUINCTUS  CICERO.  347 

like  everything  else  immoderate,  is  useless  and  pernicious ; 
but  if  we  did  not  tolerate  and  endure  it,  if  we  did  not 
prepare  for  it,  meet  it,  commune  with  it,  if  we  did  not  even 
cherish  it  in  its  season — much  of  what  is  best  in  our 
faculties,  much  of  our  tenderness,  much  of  our  generosity, 
much  of  our  patriotism,  much  also  of  our  genius,  would  be 
stifled  and  extinguished. 

When  I  hear  anyone  call  upon  another  to  be  manly  and 
to  restrain  his  tears,  if  they  flow  from  the  social  and  kind 
affections,  I  doubt  the  humanity  and  distrust  the  wisdom  of 
the  counsellor.  Were  he  humane,  he  would  be  more 
inclined  to  pity  and  to  sympathise  than  to  lecture  and 
reprove  ;  and  were  he  wise,  he  would  consider  that  tears  are 
given  us  by  Nature  as  a  remedy  to  affliction,  although,  like 
other  remedies,  they  should  come  to  our  relief  in  private. 
Philosophy,  we  may  be  told,  would  prevent  the  tears  by 
turning  away  the  sources  of  them,  and  by  raising  up  a 
rampart  against  pain  and  sorrow.  I  am  of  opinion  that 
philosophy,  quite  pure  and  totally  abstracted  from  our 
appetites  and  passions,  instead  of  serving  us  the  better, 
would  do  us  little  or  no  good  at  all.  We  may  receive  so 
much  light  as  not  to  see,  and  so  much  philosophy  as  to  be 
worse  than  foolish.  I  have  never  had  leisure  to  write  all  I 
could  have  written,  on  the  subjects  I  began  to  meditate  and 
discuss  too  late.  And  where,  O  Quinctus  !  where  are  those 
men  gone,  whose  approbation  would  have  stimulated  and 
cheered  me  in  the  course  of  them  ?  Little  is  entirely  my 
own  in  the  Tusculan  Disputations  ;  for  I  went  rather  in 
search  of  what  is  useful  than  of  what  is  specious,  and  sat 
down  oftener  to  consult  the  wise  than  to  argue  with  the 
ingenious.  In  order  to  determine  what  is  fairly  due  to  me, 
you  will  see,  which  you  may  easily,  how  large  is  the  propor- 
tion of  the  impracticable,  the  visionary,  the  baseless  in  the 


348  IMA  GIN  A  R  Y  CON  VERS  A  TIONS. 

philosophers  who  have  gone  before  me ;    and  how  much  of 
application  and  judgment,  to  say  nothing  of  temper  and 
patience,  was  requisite  in  making  the  selection.     Aristoteles 
is  the  only  one  of  the  philosophers  I  am  intimate  with  (except 
you  extort  from  me  to  concede  you  Epicurus)  who  never  is  a 
dreamer  or  a  trifler,  and  almost  the  only  one  whose  language, 
varying  with  its  theme,  is  yet  always  grave  and   concise, 
authoritative  and  stately,  neither  running  into  wild  dithy- 
rarnbics,   nor  stagnating  in  vapid   luxuriance.     I  have  not 
hesitated,  on  many  occasions,   to  borrow  largely  from  one 
who,  in  so  many  provinces,  hath  so  much  to  lend.     The 
whole  of  what  I  collected,  and  the  whole  of  what  I  laid  out 
from  my  own,  is  applicable  to  the  purposes  of  our  political, 
civil,   and  domestic   state.      And  my  eloquence,   whatever 
(with  Pollio's  leave)  it  may  be,  would  at  least  have  sufficed 
me  to  elucidate  and  explore  those  ulterior  tracts,  which  the 
Greeks     have    coasted     negligently    and     left     unsettled 
Although  I  think  I  have  done  somewhat  more  than  they,  I 
am  often   dissatisfied  with  the  scantiness  of  my  store  and 
the  limit  of  my  excursion.     Every  question  has  given  me 
the  subject  of  a  new  one,   which  has  always  been  better 
treated  than  the  preceding  ;  and,  like  Archimedes,   whose 
tomb  appears  now  before  me  as  when  I  first  discovered  it 
at  Syracuse,  I  could  almost  ask  of  my  enemy  time  to  solve 
my  problem. 

Quinctus !  Quinctus !  let  us  exult  with  joy  :  there  is  no 
enemy  to  be  appeased  or  avoided.  We  are  moving  forward 
and  without  exertion,  thither  where  we  shall  know  all  we 
wish  to  know  ;  and  how  greatly  more  than,  whether  in 
Tusculum  or  in  Formhe,  in  Rome  or  in  Athens,  we  could 
ever  hope  to  learn  ! 


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With  Sixteen  Full-page  Illustrations,  and  Thirty-two  Illustrations  in 
the  Text,  by  Edmund  H.  Garrett,  and  Photogravure  Portrait  of 
Charlotte  Bronte.    Printed  in  large  clear  type;  660  pages  of  letterpress. 

Tolstoy's  Great  Masterpiece.     New  Edition  of  Anna  Karenina. 

ANNA    KARfiNINA. 

A    NOVEL.      By   COUNT    TOLSTOY. 

With  Ten  Illustrations  drawn  by  Paul  Frexzeny,  and  a  Frontispiece 
Portrait  of  Count  Tolstoy  in  Photogravure. 

"Other  novels  one  can  afford  to  leave  unread,  but  Anna  Karinina 
never;  it  stands  eternally  one  of  the  peaks  of  all  fiction." — Review  of 
Reviews. 


London:  WALTER  SCOTT,  Ltd.,  Paternoster  square. 


The  Scott  Library. 

Cloth,  Uncut  Edges,  Gilt  Top.       Price  is.  6d.  per  Volume. 


VOLUMES   ALREADY    ISSUED— 

1  MALORY'S   ROMANCE   OF   KING   ARTHUR    AND   THE 

Quest  of  the  Holy  Grail.    Edited  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

2  THOREAU'S  WALDEN.     WITH  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

by  WU1  H.  Dircks. 

3  THOREAU'S    "WEEK."      WITH  PREFATORY  NOTE  BY 

Will  H.  Dircks. 

4  THOREAU'S     ESSAYS.       EDITED,     WITH     AN    INTRO- 

duction,  by  Will  H.  Dircks. 

5  CONFESSIONS  OF   AN   ENGLISH   OPIUM-EATER,  ETC. 

By  Thomas  De  Quincey.     With  Introductory  Note  by  William  Sharp. 

6  LANDOR'S  IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS.    SELECTED, 

with  Introduction,  by  Havelock  Ellis. 

7  PLUTARCH'S     LIVES    (LANGHORNE).      WITH    INTRO- 

ductory  Note  by  B.  J.  Snell,  M.A. 

8  BROWNE'S    RELIGIO     MEDICI,    ETC.      WITH    INTRO- 

duction  by  J.  Addington  Symonds. 

9  SHELLEY'S   ESSAYS  AND   LETTERS.     EDITED,   WITH 

Introductory  Note,  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

io  SWIFT'S  PROSE  WRITINGS.   CHOSEN  AND  ARRANGED, 
with  Introduction,  by  Walter  Lewin. 

ii  MY  STUDY  WINDOWS.     BY  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 
With  Introduction  by  R.  Garnett,  LL.D. 

12  LOWELL'S  ESSAYS   ON  THE  ENGLISH  POETS.     WITH 

a  new  Introduction  by  Mr.  Lowell. 

13  THE  BIGLOW  PAPERS.     BY  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

With  a  Prefatory  Note  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

14  GREAT     ENGLISH    PAINTERS.     SELECTED    FROM 

Cunningham's  Lives.    Edited  by  William  Sharp. 


London :  Walter  Scott,  Limited,  Paternsster  Square. 


THE  SCOTT  LIBRARY— continued. 

15  BYRON'S     LETTERS     AND     JOURNALS.        SELECTED, 

with  Introduction,  by  Mathilde  Blind. 

16  LEIGH  HUNT'S  ESSAYS.     WITH  INTRODUCTION  AND 

Notes  by  Arthur  Symons. 

17  LONGFELLOW'S     "HYPERION,"    "KAVANAGH,"    AND 

"The  Trouveres."    With  Introduction  by  W.  Tirebuck. 

18  GREAT    MUSICAL    COMPOSERS.       BY    G.    F.    FERRIS. 

Edited,  with  Introduction,  by  Mrs.  William  Sharp. 

19  THE  MEDITATIONS  OF  MARCUS  AURELIUS.      EDITED 

by  Alice  Ziinmern. 

20  THE  TEACHING  OF  EPICTETUS.     TRANSLATED  FROM 

the  Greek,  with  Introduction  and  Notes,  by  T.  W.  Rolleston. 

21  SELECTIONS  FROM   SENECA     WITH  INTRODUCTION 

by  Walter  Clode. 

22  SPECIMEN  DAYS  IN  AMERICA.     BY  WALT  WHITMAN. 

Revised  by  the  Author,  with  fresh  Preface. 

23  DEMOCRATIC     VISTAS,    AND     OTHER     PAPERS.       BY 

Walt  Whitman.     (Published  by  arrangement  with  the  Author.) 

24  WHITE'S   NATURAL  HISTORY  OF   SELBORNE.     WITH 

a  Preface  by  Richard  Jefferies. 

25  DEFOE'S     CAPTAIN     SINGLETON.        EDITED,     WITH 

Introduction,  by  H.  Halliday  Sparling. 

26  MAZZINI'S      ESSAYS:      LITERARY,     POLITICAL,     AND 

Religious.     With  Introduction  by  William  Clarke. 

27  PROSE  WRITINGS  OF  HEINE.     WITH  INTRODUCTION 

by  Havelock  Ellis. 

28  REYNOLDS'S     DISCOURSES.      WITH     INTRODUCTION 

by  Helen  Zimmern. 

29  PAPERS     OF     STEELE    AND    ADDISON.      EDITED    BY 

Walter  Lewin. 

30  BURNS'S     LETTERS.       SELECTED     AND     ARRANGED, 

with  Introduction,  by  J.  Logie  Robertson,  M.A. 

31  VOLSUNGA    SAGA.      William   Morris.      WITH     INTRO- 

duction  by  H.  H.  Sparling. 

London:  Waltrr  Scott,  Limited,  Paternoster  Square. 


THE  SCOTT  LIBRARY-continued. 

32  SARTOR  RESARTUS.      BY  THOMAS   CARLYLE.     WITH 

Introduction  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

33  SELECT    WRITINGS    OF     EMERSON.       WITH     INTRO- 

duction  by  Percival  Chubb. 

34  AUTOBIOGRAPHY     OF     LORD     HERBERT.       EDITED, 

with  an  Introduction,  by  Will  H.  Dircks. 

35  ENGLISH      PROSE,      FROM     MAUNDEVILLE     TO 

Thackeray.    Chosen  and  Edited  by  Arthur  Galton. 

36  THE  PILLARS  OF  SOCIETY,  AND  OTHER  PLAYS.     BY 

Henrik  Ibsen.    Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  Havelock  Ellis. 

37  IRISH     FAIRY    AND     FOLK    TALES.       EDITED     AND 

Selected  by  W.  B.  Yeats. 

38  ESSAYS     OF    DR.    JOHNSON,    WITH     BIOGRAPHICAL 

Introduction  and  Notes  by  Stuart  J.  Reid. 

39  ESSAYS     OF    WILLIAM     HAZLITT.      SELECTED    AND 

Edited,  with  Introduction  and  Notes,  by  Frank  Carr. 

40  LANDOR'S  PENTAMERON,  AND  OTHER  IMAGINARY 

Conversations.    Edited,  with  a  Preface,  by  H.  Ellis. 

41  POE'S   TALES   AND   ESSAYS.     EDITED,  WITH   INTRO- 

duction,  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

42  VICAR    OF  WAKEFIELD.      BY    OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

Edited,  with  Preface,  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

43  POLITICAL     ORATIONS,      FROM     WENTWORTH      TO 

Macaulay.    Edited,  with  Introduction,  by  William  Clarke. 

44  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.   BY 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

45  THE  POET  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.     BY  OLIVER 

Wendell  Holmes. 

46  THE   PROFESSOR  AT    THE    BREAKFAST-TABLE.      BY 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

47  LORD     CHESTERFIELD'S     LETTERS     TO     HIS     SON. 

Selected,  with  Introduction,  by  Charles  Sayle. 

48  STORIES  FROM  CARLETON.    SELECTED,  WITH  INTRO- 

duction,  by  W.  Yeats. 


London :  Walter  Scott,  Limited,  Paternoster  Square. 


THE  SCOTT  LIBRARY— continued. 

9  JANE  EYRE.      BY  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE.      EDITED  BY 
Clement  K.  Shorter. 

o  ELIZABETHAN     ENGLAND.       EDITED     BY     LOTHROP 
Withington,  with  a  Preface  by  Dr.  Furnivall. 

i  THE  PROSE  WRITINGS  OF  THOMAS  DAVIS.     EDITED 
by  T.  W.  Rolleston. 

2  SPENCE'S     ANECDOTES.       A     SELECTION.      EDITED, 

with  an  Introduction  and  Notes,  by  John  Underhill. 

3  MORE'S  UTOPIA,  AND  LIFE  OF  EDWARD  V.     EDITED, 

with  an  Introduction,  by  Maurice  Adams. 

4  SADI'S    GULISTAN,   OR    FLOWER    GARDEN.      TRANS- 

lated,  with  an  Essay,  by  James  Boss. 

5  ENGLISH    FAIRY    AND    FOLK    TALES.       EDITED     BY 

E.  Sidney  Hartland. 

6  NORTHERN    STUDIES.     BY    EDMUND    GOSSE.     WITH 

a  Note  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

7  EARLY  REVIEWS   OF   GREAT  WRITERS.     EDITED   BY 

E.  Stevenson. 

8  ARISTOTLE'S      ETHICS.        WITH      GEORGE      HENRY 

Lewes's  Essay  on  Aristotle  prefixed. 

9  LANDOR'S  PERICLES  AND  ASPASIA.      EDITED,  WITH 

an  Introduction,  by  Havelock  Ellis. 

6o  ANNALS   OF  TACITUS.     THOMAS   GORDON'S    TRANS- 
lation.    Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  Arthur  Galton. 

6i  ESSAYS    OF    ELIA.      BY    CHARLES    LAMB.      EDITED, 
with  an  Introduction,  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

62  BALZAC'S     SHORTER     STORIES.       TRANSLATED     BY 

William  Wilson  and  the  Count  Stenbock. 

63  COMEDIES     OF    DE     MUSSET.       EDITED,    WITH     AN 

Introductory  Note,  by  S.  L.  Gwynn. 

64  CORAL    REEFS.      BY    CHARLES     DARWIN.      EDITED, 

with  an  Introduction,  by  Dr.  J.  W.  Williams. 

65  SHERIDAN'S     PLAYS.       EDITED,     WITH    AN     INTRO- 

duction,  by  Rudolf  Dircks. 


London  :  Walter  Scott,  Limited,  Paternoster  Square. 


THE  SCOTT  LIBRARY— continued. 

66  OUR  VILLAGE.     BY  MISS   MITFORD.      EDITED,  WITH 

an  Introduction,  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

67  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

By  Charles  Dickens.     With  Introduction  by  Frank  T.  Marzials. 

68  TALES     FROM     WONDERLAND.        BY     RUDOLPH 

Baumbach.    Translated  by  Helen  B.  Dole. 

69  ESSAYS  AND  PAPERS  BY  DOUGLAS  JERROLD.    EDITED 

by  Walter  Jerrold. 

70  VINDICATION     OF    THE    RIGHTS     OF    WOMAN.       BY 

Mary  Wollstonecraft.    Introduction  by  Mrs.  E.  Robins  Pennell. 

71  "THE  ATHENIAN  ORACLE."     A  SELECTION.     EDITED 

by  John  Underhill,  with  Prefatory  Note  by  Walter  Besant. 

72  ESSAYS      OF      SAINTE-BEUVE.       TRANSLATED     AND 

Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  Elizabeth  Lee. 

73  SELECTIONS  FROM  PLATO.   FROM  THE  TRANS- 

lation  of  Sydenham  and  Taylor.    Edited  by  T.  W.  Rolleston. 

74  HEINE'S  ITALIAN  TRAVEL  SKETCHES,  ETC.     TRANS- 

lated  by  Elizabeth  A.  Sharp.     With  an  Introduction  from  the  French  of 
Theophile  Gautier. 

75  SCHILLER'S     MAID     OF     ORLEANS.        TRANSLATED, 

with  an  Introduction  by  Major-General  Patrick  Maxwell. 

76  SELECTIONS  FROM  SYDNEY  SMITH.     EDITED,  WITH 

an  Introduction,  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

77  THE  NEW  SPIRIT.     BY  HAVELOCK  ELLIS. 

78  THE  BOOK   OF   MARVELLOUS   ADVENTURES.     FROM 

the  "Morte  d'Arthur."     Edited  by  Ernest  Rhys.    [This,  together  with 
No.  1,  forms  the  complete  "Morte  d'Arthur."] 

79  ESSAYS  AND  APHORISMS.      BY  SIR  ARTHUR  HELPS 

With  an  Introduction  by  E.  A.  Helps. 

80  ESSAYS      OF      MONTAIGNE.       SELECTED,     WITH     A 

Prefatory  Note,  by  Percival  Chubb. 

81  THE  LUCK  OF  BARRY  LYNDON.   BY  W.  M. 

Thackeray.    Edited  by  F.  T.  Marzials. 

82  SCHILLER'S    WILLIAM    TELL.      TRANSLATED,    WITH 

an  Introduction,  by  Major-General  Patrick  Maxwell. 


London :  Walter  Scott,  Limited,  Paternoster  Square. 


THE  SCOTT  LIBRARY— continued. 

53  CARLYLE'S      ESSAYS      ON      GERMAN      LITERATURE. 

With  an  Introduction  by  Ernest  Rhys. 

54  PLAYS  AND  DRAMATIC  ESSAYS  OF  CHARLES  LAMB. 

Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  Rudolf  Dircks. 

55  THE    PROSE    OF    WORDSWORTH.       SELECTED    AND 

Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  Professor  William  Knight.- 

56  ESSAYS,    DIALOGUES,    AND     THOUGHTS    OF    COUNT 

Giacomo  Lebpardi.      Translated,  with  an  Introduction  and  Notes,  1  iy 
Major-CJeneral  Patrick  Maxwell. 

57  THE     INSPECTOR-GENERAL.      A    RUSSIAN    COMEDY. 

By  Nikolai  V.  Gogol.     Translated  from  the  original,  with  an  Introduction 
and  Notes,  by  Arthur  A.  .sykes. 

SS  ESSAYS  AND  APOTHEGMS  OF  FRANCIS,  LORD  BACON. 
Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  John  Buchan. 

cSo  PROSE  OF  MILTON.    SELECTED  AND  EDITED,  WITH 
an  Introduction,  by  Richard  Garnett,  LL.  D. 

90  THE      REPUBLIC      OF      PLATO.       TRANSLATED      BY 

Thomas  Taylor,  with  an  Introduction  by  Theodore  Wratislaw. 

91  PASSAGES     FROM     FROISSART.      WITH    AN     INTRO- 

duction  by  Frank  T.  Marzials. 

C2  THE     PROSE     AND     TABLE    TALK    OF     COLERIDGE. 
Edited  by  Will  H.  Dircks. 

93  HEINE    IN    ART    AND    LETTERS.      TRANSLATED    BY 

Elizabeth  A.  Sharp. 

94  SELECTED     ESSAYS     OF     DE    QUINCEY.       WITH     AN 

Introduction  by  Sir  George  Douglas,  Bart. 

95  YASARI'S  LIYES  OF  ITALIAN  PAINTERS.      SELECTED 

and  Prefaced  by  Havelock  Ellis. 

96  LAOCOON,      AND      OTHER      PROSE      WRITINGS      OF 

LESSING.    A  new  Translation  by  W.  B.  Ronnfeldt. 

97  PELLEAS   AND    MELISANDA,   AND    THE    SIGHTLESS, 

Two  Plays  by  Maurice  Maeterlinck.      Translated  from  the  French  by 
Laurence  Alma  Tadema. 

98  THE  COMPLETE  ANGLER  OF  WALTON  AND  COTTON. 

Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  Charles  Hill  Dick. 

99  LESSING'S   NATHAN    THE    WISE.      TRANSLATED    BY 

Major-General  Patrick  Maxwell. 

100  THE   TOETRY  OF  THE  CELTIC   RACES,  AND  OTHER 

Essays  of  Ernest  Renan.    Translated  by  W.  G.  Hutchison. 

101  CRITICISMS,  REFLECTIONS,  AND  MAXIMS  OF  GOETHE. 

Translated,  with  an  Introduction,  by  W.  B.  Ronnfeldt. 


Great  Writers. 

A    NEW   SERIES   OF   CRITICAL   BIOGRAPHIES. 

Edited  by  E.  Kobertson  and  F.  T.  Marzials. 

Cloth,  Uncut  Edges,  Gilt  Top.      Price  1/6. 

Longfellow         .        By  Professor  Eric  S.  Robertson 

.      By  Hall  Caina 

By  Frank  T.  Marzials 

By  J.  Knight 

.  By  Colonel  F.  Grant 

By  G.  T.  Bettany 

By  A.  Birrell 

Bv  R.  Garnett,  LL.D. 

Bv  R.  B.  Haldane,  M.P 

.      By  W.  M.  Rossetti 

By  William  Sharp 

By  David  Hannay 

By  Austin  Dobson 

.    By  Professor  Yonge 

By  Professor  Blackie 

I  ly  Frank  T.  Marzials 

By  R.  Garnett,  LL  D. 

.    By  James  Sime 

By  Edmund  Gosse 

.     By  Canon  Venables 

Ey  T.  E.  Kebbel 

By  William  Sharp 

.      By  W.  L.  Courtney 

By  Henry  W.  Nevinson 

By  David  Hannay 

.     By  T.  W.  Rolleston 

By  R  Garnett,  LL.D 

By  Frederick  Wedmors 

.     By  Oscar  Browning 

By  Goldwin  Smith 

By  William  Sharp 

By  Hon.  Roden  Noel 

By  Moncure  D.  Conway 

By  Professor  Wallace 

By  Lloyd  Sanders 

H.  Merivale  and  F.  T.  Marzials 

.   By  H.  E.  Watts 

By  Francis  Espinasse 

By  Cosmo  Monkhouse 

By  W.  J.  Linton 

By  Francis  Espinasse 

Bv  H.  S.  Salt 


Coleridge 

Dickens 

Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

Samuel  Johnson 

Darwin 

Charlotte  Bronte 

Carlyle 

Adam  Smith 

Keats 

Shelley 

Smollett     . 

Goldsmith 

Scott 

Burns 

Victer  Hugo 

Emerson    . 

Goethe 

Congreve    . 

Bunyan 

Crabbe 

Heine 

Mill    . 

Schiller      . 

Marryat     . 

Lessing 

Milton 

Balzac 

George  Eliot 

Jane  Austen 

Browning  . 

Byron 

Hawthorne 

Schopenhauer 

Sheridan    . 

Thackeray.        .   B 

Cervantes 

Voltaire 

Leigh  Hunt 

Whittier     . 

Renan 

Thoreau 


A  Complete  Bibliography  to  each  Volume,  by 

J.  P.  Anderson,  British  Museum,  London. 

Library  Edition  of  "Great  Writers,"  Demy  8vo,  2/fl 


London:  Walter  Scott,  Limited. 


LIBRARY  OF  HUMOUR 

Cloth  Elegant,  Large  Crown  8vo,  Price  3/6  per  vol. 

VOLUMES  ALREADY  ISSUED. 

THE  HUMOUR  OF  FRANCE.  Translated,  with  an 
Introduction  and  Notes,  by  Elizabeth  Lee.  With 
numerous  Illustrations  by  Paul  Fr^nzeny. 

THE  HUMOUR  OF  GERMANY.  Translated,  with  an 
Introduction  and  Notes,  by  Hans  Miiller-Casenov. 
With  numerous  Illustrations  by  C.  E.  Brock. 

THE  HUMOUR  OF  ITALY.  Translated,  with  an  In- 
troduction and  Notes,  by  A.  Werner.  With  5c  Illustra- 
tions and  a  Frontispiece  by  Arturo  Faldi. 

THE  HUMOUR  OF  AMERICA.  Selected  with  a 
copious  Biographical  Index  of  American  Humorists,  by 
James  Barr. 

THE  HUMOUR  OF  HOLLAND.  Translated,  with 
an  Introduction  and  Notes,  by  A.  Werner.  With 
numerous  Illustrations  by  Dudley  Hardy. 

THE  HUMOUR  OF  IRELAND.  Selected  by  D.  J. 
O'Donoghue.  With  numerous  Illustrations  by  Oliver 
Paque. 

THE  HUMOUR  OF  SPAIN.  Translated,  with  an  Intro- 
duction and  Notes,  by  S.  Taylor.  With  numerous 
Illustrations  by  H.  R.  Millar. 

THE  HUMOUR  OF  RUSSIA  Translated,  with  Notes, 
by  E.  L.  Boole,  and  an  Introduction  by  Stepniak. 
With  50  Illustrations  by  Paul  Frenzeny. 

THE  HUMOUR  OF  JAPAN.  Translated,  with  an 
Introduction,  by  A.  M.  With  Illustrations  by  George 
Bigot  (from  Drawings  made  in  Japan).    [In preparation. 


London:  Walter  Scott,  Limited,  Paternoster  Square. 


IBSEN'S    PROSE    DRAMAS. 

Edited  by  WILLIAM   ARCHER. 

Complete  in  Five  Vols.     Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  Price  3/6  each. 

Set  of  Five  Vols.,  in  Case,  17/6;  in  Half  Morocco,  in  Case,  32/6. 

•*  V/e  seem  at  last  to  be  shown  men  and  women  as  they  are  ;  and  at  first  it 
is  more  than  we  can  endure.  .  .  .  All  Ibsen's  characters  speak  and  act  as  if 
they  were  hypnotised,  and  under  their  creator's  imperious  demand  to  reveal 
themselves.  There  never  was  such  a  mirror  held  up  to  nature  before :  it  is 
too  terrible.  .  .  .  Yet  we  must  return  to  Ibsen,  with  his  remorseless  surgery, 
his  remorseless  electric-light,  until  we,  too,  have  grown  strong  and  learned  to 
face  the  naked — if  necessary,  the  flayed  and  bleeding — reality." — Speaker 
(London). 

Vol.  I.  "A  DOLL'S  HOUSE,"  "THE  LEAGUE  OF 
YOUTH,"  and  "THE  PILLARS  OF  SOCIETY."  With 
Portrait  of  the  Author,  and  Biographical  Introduction  by 
William  Archer. 

Vol.  II.  "GHOSTS,"  "AN  ENEMY  OF  THE  PEOPLE," 
and  "THE  WILD  DUCK."     With  an  Introductory  Note. 

Vol.  III.  "LADY  INGER  OF  OSTRAT,"  "THE  VIKINGS 
AT  HELGELAND,"  "THE  PRETENDERS."  With  an 
Introductory  Note  and  Portrait  of  Ibsen. 

Vol.  IV.  "EMPEROR  AND  GALILEAN."  With  an 
Introductory  Note  by  William  Archer. 

Vol.  V.  " ROSMERSHOLM,"  "THE  LADY  FROM  THE 
SEA,"  "HEDDA  GABLER."  Translated  by  William 
Archer.    With  an  Introductory  Note. 

The  sequence  of  the  plays  in  each  volume  is  chronological ;  the  complete 
set  of  volumes  comprising  the  dramas  thus  presents  them  in  chronological 
order. 

"  The  art  of  prose  translation  does  not  perhaps  enjoy  a  very  high  literary 
status  in  England,  but  we  have  no  hesitation  in  numbering  the  present 
version  of  Ibsen,  so  far  as  it  has  gone  (Vols.  I.  and  II.),  among  the  very 
best  achievements,  in  that  kind,  of  our  generation." — Academy. 

"We  have  seldom,  if  ever,  met  with  a  translation  so  absolutely 
idiomatic. " —  Glasgow  Herald. 

London  :  Walter  Scott,   Limited,  Paternoster  Square. 


COMPACT  AND  PRACTICAL. 
In  Limp  Cloth  ;  for  the  Pocket.     Price  One  Shilling. 

THE    EUROPEAN 

CONVERSATION  BOOKS. 


FRENCH  ITALIAN 

SPANISH  GERMAN 

NORWEGIAN 

CONTENTS. 

Hints  to  Travellers — Everyday  Expressions — Arriving  at 
and  Leaving  a  Railway  Station — Custom  House  Enquiries — In 
a  Train — At  a  Buffet  and  Restaurant — At  an  Hotel — Paying  an 
Hotel  Bill — Enquiries  in  a  Town — On  Board  Ship — Embarking 
and  Dise?nbarking — Excursion  by  Carriage — Enquiries  as  to 
Diligences — Enquiries  as  to  Boats — Engaging  Apartments- 
Washing  List  and  Days  of  Week — Restaurant  Vocabulary — 
Telegrams  and  Letters ,  etc.t  etc. 


The  contents  of  these  little  handbooks  are  so  arranged  as  to 
permit  direct  and  immediate  reference.  All  dialogues  or  enquiries  not 
considered  absolutely  essential  have  been  purposely  excluded,  nothing 
being  introduced  which  might  confuse  the  traveller  rather  than  assist 
him.  A  few  hints  are  given  in  the  introduction  which  will  be  found 
valuable  to  those  unaccustomed  to  foreign  travel. 


London :  Walter  Scott,  Limited,  Paternoster  Sqiaare. 


Crown  8vo,  about  350  pp.  each,  Cloth  Cover,  2/6  per  Vol.; 
Half- Polished  Morocco,  Gilt  Top,  $s. 

Count  Tolstoy's  Works. 


The  following  Volumes  are  already  issued- 


A    RUSSIAN   PROPRIETOR. 

THE  COSSACKS. 

IVAN     ILYITCH,     AND     OTHER 

STORIES. 
MY   RELIGION. 
LIFE. 

MY  CONFESSION. 
CHILDHOOD,     BOYHOOD, 

YOUTH. 
THE   PHYSIOLOGY   OF  WAR. 
ANNA   KAREN1NA.      3/6. 


(4  vols.) 
ETC. 


WHAT  TO   DO? 

WAR   AND   PEACE. 

THE   LONG   EXILE, 

SEVASTOPOL. 

THE   KREUTZER  SONATA,  AND 

FAMILY   HAPPINESS. 
THE      KINGDOM     OF     GOD     15 

WITHIN   YOU. 
WORK    WHILE    YE    HAVE    THE 

LIGHT. 
THE  GOSPEL   IN    BRIEF. 


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PATRIOTISM   AND   CHRISTIANITY. 

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WHERE    LOVE   IS,   THERE    GOD 

IS   ALSO. 
THE  TWO   PILGRIMS. 
WHAT   MEN   LIVE   BY. 


THE  GODSON. 

IF    YOU    NEGLECT    THE    FIRE, 

YOU   DON'T   PUT   IT  OUT. 
WHAT  SHALL  IT  PROFIT  A  MAN? 


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Volume  I.  contains — 

WHERE    LOVE    IS,   THERE   GOD 

IS   ALSO. 
THE   GODSON. 

Volume  II.  contains — 

WHAT   MEN   LIVE   BY. 
WHAT     SHALL     IT     PROFIT     A 
MAN? 


Volume  III.  contains — 
THE  TWO   PILGRIMS. 
IF    YOU    NEGLECT    THE    FIRE, 

YOU   DON'T   PUT   IT   OUT. 

Volume  IV.  contains — 

MASTER   AND   MAN. 

Volume  V.  contains — 

TOLSTOY'S   PARABLES. 


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