'J!£i> 
 
 4::
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 1 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 LANDOR'S 
 
 LONGER PROSE WORKS
 
 Aspasia.
 
 THE J.ONGER PROSE WORKS 
 OF WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 
 EDITED WITH NOTES AND INDEX 
 BY CHARLES G. CRUMP 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 
 FIRST VOLUME 
 
 LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. M. DENT & CO., 
 AND PUBLISHED BY THEM AT ALDINE 
 HOUSE, 69 GREAT EASTERN STREET. 
 MDCCCXCII.
 
 
 V.
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Citation and Examination of William Shak- 
 speare, etc. ..... 
 
 Pericles and Aspasia 
 
 PAGE 
 
 3 
 
 117
 
 PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 This volume contains the two first of the Longer Prose 
 Works of Landor, " The Citation and Examination of 
 William Shakspeare," and " Pericles and Aspasia." 
 The former of these was first published in 1834, ^°" 
 gether with the Conversation between Essex and 
 Spenser, which is in the present edition reprinted among 
 the Imaginary Conversations. A second edition with 
 some alterations is included in the collected works 
 published by Moxon in 1846. For the comparison of 
 the two texts and the notes on the variations between 
 them the Editor has to thank the care of Mr G. Le 
 Gruys Norgate of Brasenose College. The book con- 
 tains many local allusions to Warwickshire scenery and 
 Warwickshire people. Landor was not indisposed to a 
 little satire on the Lucy family, whom he had already 
 mentioned in the Imaginary Conversation between 
 Chaucer, Boccaccio, and Petrarca (Im. Conv., iv. 66). 
 In 1 83 1 Charles Lamb lent Landor James White's 
 "Letters of FalstafF" (Crabb Robinson's Diary, i. 
 131). This may have turned his thoughts back 
 to an old subject ; in one of the conversations, 
 burned in his quarrel with Mr Taylor, the speakers
 
 viii Prefatory Note. 
 
 .... itfjc 
 
 were Shakspeare and Sir Thomas Lucy, and doubtless 
 something of the old work survives in the present 
 book. 
 
 " Pericles and Aspasia," the second of the two works 
 contained in this volume, was first published in 1 836 in 
 two octavo volumes, and afterwards republished with 
 many additions in the Collected Works of T846. Lan- 
 dor seems to have wished to include in it, as far as 
 possible, all his thoughts and opinions upon the greatest 
 period of Greek life. How far his treatment of an 
 episode of Elizabethan life succeeds even as literature 
 must always be a matter of personal taste. To historical 
 accuracy the "Citation of Shakspeare" makes no pre- 
 tence j but as literature " Pericles and Aspasia " stands 
 first of Landor's Longer Prose Works, and passages in 
 it yield to few among the best of his Conversations. 
 Even as a work of history, in spite of a few errors of 
 detail, it is a fine study of the period it deals with. If 
 Pericles and Aspasia and the group that surrounds 
 them are a little idealised, it is still true that a refined 
 conception of a great historical character leaves on the 
 mind an impression nearer to the truth than could be 
 got from a treatise, where the author has studied the 
 dark side of character so carefully that it shows clearer 
 than the bright one.
 
 CITATION AND EXAMINATION 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, 
 
 Etc. 
 
 1 
 
 A
 
 CITATION AND EXAMINATION 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE 
 
 Etc. 
 
 EDITOR'S PREFACE.i 
 
 *' It was an ancestor of my husband who brought out the 
 famous Shakspeare." 
 
 These words were really spoken, and were repeated in 
 conversation as most ridiculous. Certainly such was very far 
 from the lady's intention ; and who knows to what extent 
 they are true ? 
 
 The frolic of Shakspeare in deer-stealing was the cause of 
 his Hegira ; and his connection with players in London was the 
 cause of his wiiting plays. Had he remained in his native town, 
 his ambition had never been excited by the applause of the in- 
 tellectual, the popular, and the powerful, which, after all, was 
 hardly sufficient to excite it. He wrote from the same 
 motive as he acted, — to earn his daily bread. He felt his 
 own powers ; but he cared little for making them felt by 
 others more than served his wants. 
 
 The malignant may doubt, or pretend to doubt, the authen- 
 ticity of the Examination here published. Let us, who are 
 
 [1 In ist ed. the " Editor's Preface " ends with the words, " prac- 
 tised theologian '' (p. 5 in this edition). Of the remainder, a 
 portion, headed, " Editor's Apology," appears at the end of the 
 " Examination," a " Post-Scriptum by me, Ephraim Barnett," being 
 interposed between them; while the "Memorandum" ("Memorandum 
 by Ephraim Barnett, written upon the Inner Cover ") is appended 
 to the " Conference between Essex and Spenser.'']
 
 4 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 not malignant, be cautious of adding anything to the noisome 
 mass of incredulity that surrounds us ; let us avoid the crying sin 
 of our age, in which the "Memoirs of a Parish Clerk," edited 
 as they were by a pious and learned dignitary of the Estab- 
 lished Church, are questioned in regard to their genuineness.^ 
 
 Examinations taken from the mouth are surely the most 
 trustworthy. Whoever doubts it may be convinced by 
 Ephraim Barnett.^ 
 
 The reader will form to himself, from this " Examination 
 of Shakspeare," a more favourable opinion of Sir Thomas than 
 is left upon his mind by the dramatist in the character of Justice 
 Shallow. The knight, indeed, is here exhibited in all his 
 pride of birth and station, in all his pride of theologian and 
 poet ; he is led by the nose, while he believes that nobody 
 can move him, and shows some other weaknesses, which the 
 least attentive observer will discover ; but he is not without a 
 little kindness at the bottom of the heart, — a heart too con- 
 tracted to hold much, or to let what it holds ebulliate very 
 freely. But, upon the whole, we neither can utterly hate 
 nor utterly despise him. Ungainly as he is, — 
 
 Circum prascordia ludit. 
 
 ■ The author of the " Imaginaiy Conversations " seems, in 
 his " Boccacio and Petrarca," to have taken his idea of Sir 
 Magnus from this manuscript. He, however, has adapted 
 
 [- First ed. reads: " genuineness; and even the privilegesof Parliament 
 are inadequate to cover from the foulest imputation — the imputation 
 of having exercised his inventive faculties — the elegant and accom- 
 plished editor of Eugene Aram's apprehension, trial, and defence. 
 Indeed, there is little of real history, exceptmg in romances. Some of 
 these are strictly true to Nature ; while histories in general give a 
 distorted view of her, and rarely a faithful record either of moment- 
 ous or of common events. Examinations," &c.] 
 
 [3 First ed. reads: " Barnett. The Editor is confident he can give 
 no offence to any person who may happen to bear the name of Lucy. 
 The family of Sir Thomas became extinct nearly half a century ago, 
 and the estates descended to the Rev. Mr John Hammond, of Jesus 
 College, in Oxford, a respectable Welsh curate, between whom and 
 him there existed at his birth eighteen prior claimants. He took the 
 name of Lucy. The reader," &c.]
 
 Citation and Examination, etc, 5 
 
 that character to the times ; and in Sir Magnus the coward rises 
 to the courageous, the unskilful in arms becomes the skilful, 
 and war is to him a teacher of humanity. With much 
 superstition, theology never molests him ; scholarship and 
 poetry are no affairs of his. He doubts of himself and others, 
 and is as suspicious in his ignorance as Sir Thomas is confident. 
 
 With these wide diversities, there are family features, such 
 as are likely to display themselves in different times and cir- 
 cumstances, and some so generically prevalent as never to lie 
 quite dormant in the breed. In both of them there is parsi- 
 mony, there is arrogance, there is contempt of inferiors, there is 
 abject awe of power, there is irresolution, there is imbecility. 
 But Sir Magnus has no knowledge, and no respect for it. Sir 
 Thomas would almost go thirty miles, even to Oxford, to see 
 a fine specimen of it, although, like most of those who call 
 themselves the godly, he entertains the most undoubting 
 belief that he is competent to correct the errors of the wisest 
 and most practised theologian. 
 
 A part only of the many deficiencies which the reader will 
 discover in this book is attributable to the Editor. These, 
 however, it is his duty to account for, and he will do it as 
 briefly as he can. 
 
 The facsimiles (as printers' boys call them, meaning speci- 
 mens') of the handwriting of nearly all the persons introduced, 
 might perhaps have been procured had sufficient time been 
 allowed for another journey into Warwickshire. That of 
 Shakspeare is known already in the signature to his will, but 
 deformed by sickness ; that of Sir Thomas Lucy is extant at 
 the bottom of a commitment of a female vagrant, for having 
 a sucking child in her arms on the public road ; that of Silas 
 Gough is afHxed to the register of births and marriages, during 
 several years, in the parishes of Hampton Lucy and Charle- 
 cote, and certifies one death, — Euseby Treen's ; surmised, at 
 least, to be his by the letters " E. T." cut on a bench seven 
 inches thick, under an old pollard-oak outside the park palling 
 of Charlecote, toward the north-east. For this discovery the 
 Editor is indebted to a most respectable, intelligent farmer in 
 the adjoining parish of Wasperton, in which parish Treen's
 
 6 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 elder brother lies burled. The worthy farmer is unwilling to 
 accept the large portion of fame justly due to him for the 
 services he has thus rendered to literature in elucidating the 
 history of Shakspeare and his times. In possession of an- 
 other agricultural gentleman there was recently a very curious 
 piece of iron, believed by many celebrated antiquaries to have 
 constituted a part of a knight's breast-plate. It was purchased 
 for two hundred pounds by the trustees of the British Museum, 
 among whom, the reader will be grieved to hear, it produced 
 dissension and coldness ; several of them being of opinion that 
 it was merely a gorget, while others were inclined to the belief 
 that it was the forepart of a horse-shoe. The Committee of 
 Taste and the Heads of the Archseological Society were con- 
 sulted. These learned, dispassionate, and benevolent men had 
 the satisfaction of conciliating the parties at variance, — each 
 having yielded somewhat and eveiy member signing, and 
 affixing his seal to the signature, that, if indeed it be the fore- 
 part of a horse-shoe, it was probably Ismael's, — there being a 
 curved indentation along it, resembling the first letter of his 
 name, and there being no certainty or record that he died in 
 France, or was left in that country by Sir Magnus. 
 
 The Editor is unable to render adequate thanks to the Rev. 
 Stephen Turnover for the gratification he received in his curious 
 library by a sight of Joseph Carnaby's name at full length, in 
 red ink, coming from a trumpet in the mouth of an angel. 
 This invaluable document is upon an engraving in a fronds- 
 piece to the New Testament. But since unhappily he could 
 procure no signature of Hannah Hathaway, nor ot her mother, 
 and only a questionable one of Mr John Shakspeare, the poet's 
 father, — there being two, in two very different hands, — both 
 he and the publisher were of opinion that the graphical part of 
 the volume would be justly censured as extremely incomplete, 
 and that what we could give would only raise inextinguishable 
 regret for that which we could not. On this reflection all 
 have been omitted. 
 
 The Editor is unwilling to affix any mark of disapprobation 
 on the veiy clever engraver who undertook the sorrel mare ; 
 but as in the memorable words of that ingenious gendeman
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 7 
 
 from Ireland whose polished and elaborate epigrams raised him 
 justly to the rank of prime minister, — 
 
 " White was not so iiery white," — 
 
 in like manner it appeared to nearly all the artists he consulted 
 that the sorrel mare was not so sorrel m print. 
 
 There ^ is another and a graver reason why the Editor was 
 induced to reject the contribution of his friend the engraver ; 
 and this is, a neglect of the late improvements in his art, he 
 having, unadvisedly or thoughtlessly, drawn in the old-fashioned 
 manner lines at the two sides and at the top and bottom of his 
 print, confining it to such limits as paintings are confined in by 
 their frames. Our spirited engravers, it is well-known, disdain 
 tliis thraldom, and not only give unbounded space to their 
 scenery, but also melt their figures in the air, — so advantage- 
 ously, that, for the most part, they approach the condition of 
 cherubs. This is the true aerial perspective, so little understood 
 heretofore. Trees, castles, rivers, volcanoes, oceans, float 
 together in absolute vacancy; the solid 'earth is represented, 
 what we know it actually is, buoyant as a bubble, so that no 
 wonder if every horse is endued with all the privileges of 
 Pegasus, save and except our sorrel. Malicious carpers, in- 
 sensible or invidious of England's glory, deny her in this 
 beautiful practice the merit of invention, assigning it to the 
 Chinese in their tea-cups and saucers ; but if not absolutely 
 new and ours, it must be acknowledged that we have greatly 
 improved and extended the invention. 
 
 Such are the reasons why the little volume here laid before 
 the public is defective in those decorations which the exalted 
 state of literature demands. Something of compensation is 
 supplied by a Memorandum of Ephraim Barnett, written upon 
 the inner cover, and piinted below. 
 
 The Editor, it will be perceived, is but little practised in 
 the ways of literature ; much less is he gifted with that pro- 
 phetic spirit which can anticipate the judgment of the public. 
 Tt may be that he is too idle or too apathetic to think anxiously 
 
 [•* From '-There" to •' invention," 27 lines, added in 2nd ed.]
 
 8 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 or much about the matter ; and yet he has been amused, in 
 his earlier days, at watching the first appearance of such few 
 books as he believed to be the production of some powerful 
 intellect. He has seen people slowly rise up to them, like 
 cai"p in a pond when food is thrown into it ; some of which 
 caqj snatch suddenly at a morsel, and swallow it ; others touch 
 it gently with their barb, pass deliberately by, and leave it ; 
 others wriggle and rub against it more disdainfully ; others, 
 in sober truth, know not what to make of it, swim round and 
 round it, eye it on the sunny side, eye it on the shady, approach 
 it, question it, shoulder it, flap it with the tail, turn it over, 
 look askance at it, take a pea-shell or a worm instead of it, 
 and plunge again their heads into the comfortable mud.'^ 
 
 P Third ed. reads : " mud. After some seasons the same food 
 will suit their stomachs better."]
 
 MEMORANDUM. 
 
 Studying the benefit and advantage of such as by God's bless- 
 ing may come after me, and willing to shew them the highways 
 of Providence from the narrow by-lane in the which it hath 
 been his pleasure to station me, and being now advanced full- 
 nigh unto the close and consummation of my eaithly pilgrimage, 
 methinks I cannot do better, at this juncture, than preserve 
 the looser and lesser records of those who have gone before 
 me in the same, with higher heel-piece to their shoe and more 
 polished scallop to their beaver. And here, beforehand, let us 
 think gravely and religiously on what the pagans, in their 
 blindness, did call fortune, making a goddess of her, and 
 saying,— 
 
 " One body she lifts up so high 
 And suddenly, she makes him cry 
 And scream as any wench might do 
 That you should play the rogue unto. 
 And the same Lady Light sees good 
 To drop another in the mud, 
 Against all hope and likelihood." * 
 
 My kinsman, Jacob Eldridge, having been taught by me, 
 among other useful things, to write a fair and laudable hand, 
 was recommended and introduced by our worthy townsman, 
 Master Thomas Greene, unto tlie Earl of Essex, to keep his 
 accounts, and to write down sundry matters from his dictation, 
 even letters occasionally. For although our nobility, very 
 unlike the French, not only can read and write, but often do, 
 yet some from generosity, and some from dignity, keep in their 
 employment what those who are illiterate, and would not appear 
 
 * The editor has been unable to discover who was the author of 
 this very free translation of an Ode in Horace. He is certainly 
 happy in his amplification of the stridore acuta. May it not be 
 surmised that he was some favourite scholar of Ephraim Barnett ?
 
 lo Longer Prose Works. 
 
 so, call an amanuensis, thereby meaning secretary or scribe. 
 Now it happened that our gracious queen's highness was 
 desirous of knowing all that could be known about the 
 Rebellion in Ireland ; and hearing but little truth from her 
 nobility in that country, even the fathers in God inclining 
 more unto court favour than will be readily believed of spiritual 
 lords, and moulding their ductile depositions on the pasteboard 
 of their temporal mistress, until she was angiy at seeing the 
 lawn-sleeves so besmirched from wrist to elbow, she herself 
 did say unto the Earl of Essex, — 
 
 " Essex ! these fellows lie ! I am inclined to unfrock and 
 scourge them sorely for their Icasings. Of that anon. Find 
 out, if you can, somebody who liath his wit and his honesty 
 about him at the same time. I know that when one of these 
 paniers is full the other is apt to be empty, and that men walk 
 crookedly for want of balance. No matter — we must search 
 and find. Persuade — thou canst persuade, Essex! — say any 
 thing, do any thing. We must talk gold and give iron. Dost 
 understand me ? 
 
 The earl did kiss the jewels upon the dread fingers, for only 
 the last joint of each is visible ; and surely no mortal was ever 
 so foolhardy as to take such a monstrous liberty as touching it, 
 except in spirit ! On the next day there did arrive many 
 fugitives from Ireland ; and among the rest was Master 
 Edmund Spenser, known even in those parts for his rich vein 
 of poetry, in which he is declared by our best judges to excell 
 the noblest of the ancients, and to leave all the moderns at his 
 feet. Whether he notified his arrival unto the earl, or whether 
 fame brought the notice thereof unto his lordship, Jacob 
 knoweth not. But early in the morrow did the earl send for 
 Jacob, and say unto him, — 
 
 " Eldridge ! thou must write fairly and clearly outy and In 
 somewhat large letters, and in lines somewhat wide apart, all 
 that thou hearest of the conversation I shall hold with a gen- 
 tleman from Ireland. Take this gilt and illumined vellum, 
 and albeit the civet make thee sick fifty times, write upon it all 
 that passes ! Come not out of the closet until the gentleman 
 hath gone homeward. The queen requireth much exactness ; 
 and this is equally a man of genius, a man of business, and a man
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 1 1 
 
 of worth. I expect from him not only what is true, but what 
 is tlie most important and necessary to understand rightly and 
 completely ; and nobody in existence is more capable of giving 
 me both information and advice. Perhaps if he thought another 
 were within hearing he would be offended or over-cautious. 
 His delicacy and mine are warranted safe and sound by the 
 observance of those commands which I am delivering unto 
 thee." 
 
 It happened that no information was given in this conference 
 relating to the movements or designs of the rebels. So that 
 Master Jacob Eldridge was left possessor of the costly vel- 
 lum, which, now Master Spenser is departed this life, I keep 
 as a memorial of him, albeit oftener than once I have taken 
 pounce box and penknife in hand, in order to make it a fit 
 and proper vehicle for my own very best writing. But I 
 pretermitted it, finding that my hand is no longer the hand it was, 
 or rather that the breed of geese is very much degenerated, 
 and that their quills, like men's manners, are grown softer 
 and flaccider. Where it will end God only knows ; I shall 
 not live to see it. 
 
 Alas, poor Jacob Eldridge ! he little thought that within 
 twelve months his glorious master, and the scarcely less 
 glorious poet, would be no more ! In the third week of 
 the following year was Master Edmund buried at the charges 
 of the earl ; and within these few days hath this lofty noble- 
 man bowed his head under the axe of God's displeasure ; 
 such being our gracious queen's. My kinsman Jacob sent unto 
 me by the Alcester drover, old Clem Fisher, this, among other 
 papers, fearing the wrath of that offended highness which 
 allowed not her own sweet disposition to question or thwart 
 the will divine. Jacob did likewise tell me in his letter that 
 he was sure I should be happy to hear the success of William 
 Shakspeare, our townsman. And in truth right glad was 
 I to hear of it, being a principal in bringing it about, as .those 
 several sheets will shew which have the broken tile laid upon 
 them to keep them down compactly. 
 
 Jacob's words are these : 
 
 " Now I sjjeak of poets, you will be in a maze at hearing 
 that our townsman hath written a power of matter for the
 
 12 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 playhouse. Neither he nor the booksellers think, it quite good 
 enough to print; but I do assure you, on the faith of a 
 Christian, it is not bad ; and there is rare fun in the last thing 
 of his about Venus, where a Jew, one Shiloh, is choused out 
 of his money and his revenge. However, the best critics and 
 the greatest lords find ftmlt, and very justly, in the words, 
 
 " ' Hath not a Jevir eyes ? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, 
 senses, affections, passions ? fed with the same food, liurt with the 
 same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
 warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian 
 is?' 
 
 " Surely, this is very unchristianlike. Nay, for supposition 
 sake, suppose it to be true, was it his business to tell the people 
 so ? Was it his duty to ring the crier's bell and cry to them, 
 The sorry Jews are quite as much men as you are ? ^ The 
 church, luckily, has let him alone for the present ; and the 
 queen winks upon it. The best defence he can make for 
 himself is that it comes from the mouth of a Jew, who says 
 many other things as abominable. Master Greene may over- 
 rate him ; but Master Greene declares that if William goes on 
 improving and taking his advice, it will be desperate hard work 
 in another seven years to find so many as half a dozen chaps 
 equal to him within the liberties. Master Greene and myself 
 took him with us to see the burial of Master Edmund Spenser 
 in Westminster Abbey, on the 19th of January last. The 
 halberdmen pushed us back as having no business there. 
 Master Greene told them he belonged to the queen's company 
 of players. William Shakspeare could have said the same, 
 but did not. And I, fearing that Master Greene and he might 
 be halberded back into the crowd, shewed the badge of the 
 Earl of Essex. Whereupon did the serjeant ground his 
 halberd, and say unto me, — 
 
 " ' That badge commands admittance everywhere ; your 
 folk likewise may come in.' 
 
 " Master Greene was red-hot angry, and told me he would 
 bring him before the council. 
 
 [8 First ed. reads: ^^as ijouare. The impudentest thing (excepting 
 some bauderies) that ever came from the stage I The church," &c.]
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 13 
 
 " William smiled, and Master Greene said, — 
 
 " < Why ! would not you, if you were in my place ? ' 
 
 "He replied, — 
 
 " ' I am an half inclined to do worse, — to bring him before 
 the audience some spare hour.' 
 
 " At the close of the burial-service all the poets of the 
 age threw their pens into the grave, together with the pieces 
 they had composed in praise or lamentation of the deceased. 
 William Shakspeare was the only poet who abstained from 
 throwing in either pen or poem ; at which no one marvelled, 
 he being of low estate, and the others not having yet taken 
 him by the hand. Yet many authors recognised him, not 
 indeed as author, but as player ; and one, civiller than the 
 rest, came up unto him triumphantly, his eyes sparkling with 
 glee and satisfaction, and said, consolatorily, — 
 
 " ' In due time, my honest friend, you may be admitted to 
 do as much for one of us." 
 
 " * After such encouragement," replied our townsman, " I 
 am bound in duty to give you the preference, should I indeed 
 be worthy.' 
 
 " This was the only smart thing he uttered all the remainder 
 of the day ; during the whole of it he appeared to be half- 
 lost, I know not whether in melancholy or in meditation, and 
 soon left us." 
 
 Here endeth all that my kinsman Jacob wrote about William 
 Shakspeare, saving and excepting his excuse for having written 
 so much. The rest of his letter was on a matter of wider 
 and weightier import, namely, on the price of Cotteswolde 
 cheese at Evesham fair. And yet, although ingenious men 
 be not among the necessaries of life, there is something in 
 them that makes us curious in regard to their goings and doings. 
 It were to be wished that some of them had attempted to be 
 better accountants ; and others do appear to have laid aside the 
 copybook full early in the day. Nevertheless, they have their 
 uses and their merits. Master Eldridge's letter is the wrapper 
 of much wholesome footl for contemplation. Although the 
 decease (within so brief a period) of such a poet as Master 
 Spenser, and such a patron as the earl, be unto us appalling, 
 we laud and magnify the great Disposer of events, no less
 
 14 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 for his goodness in raising the humble than for his power in 
 extinguishing the great. And peradventure ye, my heirs and 
 descendants, who shall read with due attention what my 
 pen now writeth, will say, with the royal Psalmist, that it 
 inditeth of a good matter, when it sheweth unto you that, 
 whereas it pleased the queen's highness to send a great lord 
 before the judgment-seat of Heaven, having fitted him by 
 means of such earthly instruments as princes in like cases 
 do usually employ, and deeming (no doubt) in her princely 
 heart that by such shrewd tonsure his head would be best 
 fitted for a crown of glory, and thus doing all that she did 
 out of the purest and most considerate love for him, ... it 
 likewise hath pleased her highness to use her right hand as 
 freely as her left, and to raise up a second burgess of our town 
 to be one of her company of players. And ye, also, by 
 industry and loyalty, may cheerfully hope for promotion in 
 your callings, and come up (some of you) as nearly to him in 
 the presence of royalty, as he cometh up (far off, indeed, at 
 present) to the great and wonderful poet who lies dead among 
 more spices than any phoenix, and more quills than any 
 porcupine. If this thought may not prick and incitate you, 
 little is to be hoped from any gentle admonition, or any 
 earnest expostulation, of 
 
 Your loving friend and kinsman. 
 
 E. B. 
 
 ANNO JET. SVM 74, DOM. I 599, 
 
 DECEMB. 1 6 ; 
 
 GLORIA DP. DF. ET DSS. 
 
 AMOR VERSUS VIRGINEM REGINAM ! 
 
 PROTESTANTICE LOQUOR ET HONESTO SENSU : 
 
 OBTESTOR CONSCIENTIAM MEAM !
 
 EXAMINATION 
 
 About one hour before noontide the youth William Shak- 
 SPEARE, accused of deer-stealing, and apprehended for that 
 offence, was brought into the great hall at Charlecote, where, 
 having made his obeisance, it was most graciously permitted 
 him to stand. 
 
 The worshipful Sir Thomas Lucy, Knight, seeing him right 
 opposite, on the farther side of the long table, and fearing no 
 disadvantage, did frown upon him with great dignity ; then, 
 deigning ne'er a word to the culprit, turned he his face toward 
 his chaplain. Sir Silas Gough, who stood beside him, and said 
 unto him most courteously, and unlike unto one who in his 
 own right commandeth, — 
 
 " Stand out of the way ! What are those two varlets 
 bringing into the room ? " 
 
 " The table, sir," replied Master Silas, " upon the which 
 the consumption of the venison was perpetrated." 
 
 The youth, William Shakspeare, did therefore pray and 
 beseech his lordship most fei-vently, in this guise : — 
 
 " Oh, sir ! do not let him turn the tables against me, wlio 
 am only a simple stripling, and he an old cogger ! " 
 
 But Master Silas did bite his nether lip, and did cry 
 aloud, — 
 
 " Look upon those deadly spots ! " 
 
 And his worship did look thereupon most staidly, and did 
 say in the ear of Master Silas, but in such wise that it reached 
 even unto mine, 
 
 " Good honest chandlery, methinks ! " 
 
 "God grant it may turn out so ! " ejaculated Master Silas. 
 
 The youth, hearing these words, said unto him, — 
 
 "I fear. Master Silas, gentry like you often pray God to
 
 1 6 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 grant what he would rather not ; and now and then what you 
 would rather not." 
 
 Sir Silas was wroth at this rudeness of speech about God 
 in the face of a preacher, and said, reprovingly, — 
 
 " Out upon thy foul mouth, knave ! upon which lie slaughter 
 and venison." 
 
 Whereupon did William Shakspeare sit mute awhile, and 
 discomfited ; then turning toward Sir Thomas, and looking 
 and speaking as one submiss and contrite, he thus appealed 
 unto him : — 
 
 " Worshipful sir ! were there any signs of venison on my 
 mouth, Master Silas could not for his life cry out upon it, nor 
 help kissing it as 'twere a wench's." 
 
 Sir Thomas looked upon him with most lordly gi'avity and 
 wisdom, and said unto him, in a voice that might have come 
 from the bench : 
 
 " Youth, thou speakest irreverently ; " and then unto Master 
 Silas : " Silas ! to the business on hand. Taste the fat upon 
 yon boor's table, which the constable hath brought hither, 
 good Master Silas ! And declare upon oath, being sworn in 
 my presence, first, whether said fat do proceed of venison ; 
 secondly, whether said venison be of buck or doe." 
 
 Whereupon the reverend Sir Silas did go incontinently, and 
 did bend forward his head, shoulders, and body, and did sever- 
 ally taste four white solid substances upon an oaken board ; said 
 board being about two yards long, and one yard four inches 
 wide ; found in, and brought thither from, the tenement or 
 messuage of Andrew Haggit, who hath absconded. Of these 
 four white solid substances, two were somewhat larger than a 
 groat, and thicker ; one about the size of King Henry the 
 Eighth's shilling, when our late sovereign lord of blessed 
 memory was toward the lustiest ; and the other, that is to say 
 the middlemost, did resemble in some sort, a mushroom, not 
 over fresh, turned upward on its stalk. 
 
 " And what sayest thou. Master Silas ? " quoth the knight. 
 In reply whereunto Sir Silas thus averred : — 
 
 '• Venison ! o' my conscience ! 
 Buck ! or burn me alive !
 
 citation and Examination, etc. 17 
 
 The three splashes in the circumference are verily and in- 
 deed venison; buck, moreover, and Charlecote buck, upon my 
 oath!" 
 
 Then carefully tasting the protuberance in the centre, he 
 spat it out, crying, — 
 
 " Pho ! pho ! 'Villain ! 'villain! " and shaking his fist at the 
 culprit. 
 
 Whereat the said culprit smiled and winked, and said off- 
 hand, — 
 
 " Save thy spittle, Silas ! It would supply a gaudy mess to 
 the hungriest litter ; but it would turn them from whelps into 
 wolvets. 'T is pity to throw the best of thee away. Nothing 
 comes out of thy mouth that is not savoury and solid, bating 
 thy wit, thy sermons, and thy promises." 
 
 It was my duty to write down the very words, irreverent as 
 they are, being so commanded. More of the like, it is to be 
 feared, would have ensued, but that Sir Thomas did check 
 him, saying, shrewdly, — 
 
 " Young man ! I perceive that if I do not stop thee in thy 
 courses, thy name, being involved in thy company's, may one 
 day or other reach across the county ; and folks may handle 
 it and turn it about, as it deserveth, from Coleshill to Nun- 
 eaton, from Bromwicham to Brownsover. And who knoweth 
 but that, years after thy death, the very house wherein thou 
 wert born may be pointed at, and commented on, by knots of 
 people, gentle and simple ! What a shame for an honest 
 man's son 1 Thanks to me, who consider of measures to pre- 
 vent it ! Posterity shall laud and glorify me for plucking 
 thee clean out of her head, and for picking up timely a ticklish 
 skittle, that might overthrow with it a power of others just as 
 light. I will rid the hundred of thee, with God's blessing ! — 
 nay, the whole shire. We will have none such in our county ; 
 we justices are agreed upon it, and we will keep our. word now 
 and forevermore. Woe betide any that resembles thee in any 
 part of him ! " 
 
 Whereunto Sir Silas added, — 
 
 " We will dog him, and worry him, and haunt him, and 
 bedevil him ; and if ever he hear a comfortable word, it shall 
 be in a language very different from his own."
 
 i8 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 " As different as thine is from a Christian's," said the 
 youth. 
 
 " Boy ! thou art slow of apprehension," said Sir Thomas, 
 with much gravity ; and taking up the cue, did rejoin, — 
 
 " Master Silas would impress upon thy ductile and tender 
 mind the danger of evil doing ; that we, in other words that 
 justice is resolved to follow him up, even beyond his country, 
 where he shall hear notliing better than the Italian or the 
 Spanish, or the black language, or the language of Turk or 
 Troubadour, or Tartar or Mongle. And, forsooth, for this 
 gentle and indirect reproof, a gentleman in priest's orders is 
 told by a stripling that he lacketh Christianity ! Who then 
 shall give it ?" 
 
 Shakspeare. Who, indeed ? when the founder of the feast 
 leaveth an invited guest so empty ! Yea, sir, the guest was 
 invited, and the board was spread. The fruits that lay upon 
 it be there still, and fresh as ever ; and the bread of life in those 
 capacious canisters is unconsumed and unbroken. 
 
 Sir Silas (aside). The knave maketh me hungry with his 
 mischievous similitudes. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Thou hast aggravated thy offence, Will 
 Shakspeare! Irreverent caitiff! is this a discourse for my 
 chaplain and clerk ? Can he or the worthy scribe Ephraim 
 (his worship was pleased to call me worthy) write down such 
 words as those, about litter and wolvets, for the perusal and 
 meditation of the grand jury ? If the whole corporation of 
 Stratford had not unanimously given it against thee, still his 
 tongue would catch thee, as the evet catcheth a gnat. Know, 
 sirrah, the reverend Sir Silas, albeit ill appointed for riding, 
 and not over- fond of it, goeth to every house wherein is a 
 venison feast for thirty miles round. Not a buck's hoof on 
 any stable-door but it awakeneth his recollections like a red 
 letter. 
 
 This wholesome reproof did bring the youth back again 
 to his right senses ; and then said he, with contrition, and 
 with a wisdom beyond his years, and little to be expected 
 from one who had spoken just before so unadvisedly and 
 rashly, — 
 
 " Well do I know it, your worship ! And verily do I
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 19 
 
 believe Liiat a bone of one being shovelled among the soil upon 
 his coffin would forthwith quicken * him. Sooth to say, there 
 is ne'er a buckhound in the county but he treateth him as a 
 godchild, patting him on the head, soothing his velvety ear 
 between thumb and forefinger, ejecting tick from tenement, 
 calling him ^Jiiie fellow,^ ' noble lad^ and giving him his bless- 
 ing, as one dearer to him than a king's debt to a debtor,! or 
 a bastard to a dad of eighty. This is the only kindness 1 
 ever heard of Master Silas toward his fellow-creatures. 
 Never hold me unjust, Sir Knight, to Master Silas. Could I 
 learn other good of him, I would freely say it ; for we do 
 good by speaking it, and none is easier. Even bad men are 
 not bad men while they praise the just. Their first step 
 backward is more troublesome and wrenching to them than 
 the first forward." 
 
 " fn God's name, where did he gather all this ? " 
 whispered his worship to the chaplain, by whose side I 
 was sitting. " Why, he talks like a man of forty-seven, or 
 more ! " 
 
 " I doubt his sincerity, sir ! " replied the chaplain. " His 
 words are fairer now — " 
 
 "Devil choke him for them!" interjected he, with an 
 undervoice. 
 
 " — and almost book- worthy ; but out of place. What 
 the scurvy cur yelped against me, I forgive him as a Christian. 
 Murrain upion such varlet vermin ! It is but of late years that 
 dignities have come to be reviled. The other parts of the 
 Gospel were broken long before ; this was left us ; and now 
 this likewise is to be kicked out of doors, amid the mutterings 
 of such mooncalves as him yonder." 
 
 " Too true, Silas ! " said the knight, sighing deeply. 
 " Tilings are not as they were in our glorious wars of York 
 and Lancaster. The knaves were thinned then ; two or three 
 crops a year of that rank squitch-grass " which it has become 
 
 * Quicken, bring to life. 
 
 + Debtors were often let out of prison at the coronation of a new 
 king ; but creditors never paid by him. 
 
 [" First ed. reads: " ^c;?/ grass."]
 
 20 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 the fashion of late to call the people. There was some differ- 
 ence then between buff doublets and iron mail ; and the rogues 
 felt it. Well-a-day ! we must bear what God willeth, and 
 never repine, although it gives a man the heart-ache. We 
 are bound in duty to keep these things for the closet, and to 
 tell God of them only when we call upon his holy name, and 
 have him quite by ourselves." 
 
 Sir Silas looked discontented and impatient, and said, 
 snappishly, — 
 
 " Cast we off here, or we shall be at fault. Start him, sir ! 
 prithee, start him." 
 
 Again his worship. Sir Thomas, did look gravely and 
 grandly, and taking a scrap of paper out of the Holy Book 
 then lying before him, did read distinctly these words : — 
 
 " Providence hath sent Master Silas back hither, this morn- 
 ing, to confound thee in thy guilt." 
 
 Again, with all the courage and composure of an innocent 
 man, and indeed with more than what an innocent man ought 
 to possess in the presence of a magistrate, the youngster said, 
 pointing toward Master Silas, 
 
 "The first moment he ventureth to lift up his visage from 
 the table, hath Providence marked him miraculously. I have 
 heard of black malice. How many of our words have more 
 in them than we think of! Give a countryman a plough of 
 silver, and he will plough with it all the season, and never 
 know its substance. 'Tis thus with our daily speech. What 
 riches lie hidden in the vulgar tongue of the poorest and most 
 ignorant ! What flowers of Paradise lie under our feet, with 
 their beauties and parts undistinguished and undiscerned, from 
 having been daily trodden on ! O, sir, look you ! but let me 
 cover my eyes ! Look at his lips ! Gracious Heaven ! they 
 were not thus when he entered. They are blacker now than 
 Harry Tewe's bull-bitch's ! " 
 
 I Master Silas did lift up his eyes in astonishment and wrath ; 
 and his worship. Sir Thomas, did open his wider and wider, 
 and cried by fits and starts : — 
 
 " Gramercy ! true enough ! nay, afore God, too true by 
 half ! I never saw the like ! Who would believe it ? I 
 wish I were fairly rid of this examination, my hands washed
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 2 i 
 
 clean thereof! Another time, — anon ! We have our quar- 
 terly sessions! We are many together: at present I 
 remand — " 
 
 And now, indeed, unless Sir Silas had taken his worship 
 by the sleeve, he would mayhap have remanded the lad. 
 But Sir Silas, still holding the sleeve and shaking it, said, 
 humedly, 
 
 "Let me entreat your worship to ponder. What black 
 does the fellow talk of? My blood and bile rose up against 
 the rogue ; but surely I did not turn black in the face, or in 
 the mouth, as the fellow calls it ? " 
 
 Whether Master Silas had some suspicion and inkling of 
 the cause or not, he rubbed his right hand along his face and 
 lips, and, looking upon it, ciied aloud, — 
 
 " Ho, ho ! is it off? There is some upon my finger's end, 
 I find. Now I have it, ay, there it is. That large splash 
 upon the centre of the table is tallow, by my salvation ! The 
 profligates sat up until the candle burned out, and the last of it 
 ran through the socket upon the board. We knew it before. 
 I did convey into my mouth both fat and smut ! " 
 
 " Many of your cloth and kidney do that, good Master 
 Silas, and make no wry faces about it," quoth the youngster, 
 with indiscreet merriment, although short of laughter, as 
 became him who had already stepped too far and reached the 
 mire. 
 
 To save paper and time, I shall now, for the most part, 
 write only what they all said, not saying that they said it, and 
 just copying out in my clearest hand what fell respectively from 
 their mouths. 
 
 Sir Silas. I did indeed spit it forth, and emunge my lips, as 
 who should not ? 
 
 Shakspeare. Would it were so ! 
 
 Sir Silas. Would it ijere so ! in thy teeth, hypocrite ! 
 
 Sir Thomas. And, truly, I likewise do incline to hope 
 and credit it, as thus paraphrased and expounded. 
 
 Shakspeare. Wait until this blessed day next year, sir, at 
 the same hour. You shall see it forth again at its due season ; 
 it would be no miracle if it lasted. Spittle may cure sore 
 eyes, but not blasted mouths and scald consciences.
 
 22 Longer Prose Works, 
 
 Sir Thomas. Why ! who taught thee all this ? . . . 
 
 Then turned he leisurely toward Sir Silas, and placing his 
 hand outspredden upon the arm of the chaplain, said unto him 
 in a low, judicial, hollow voice, 
 
 " Every word true and solemn ! I have heard less wise 
 saws from between black covers." 
 
 Sir Silas was indignant at this under-rating, as he appeared 
 to think it, of the church and its ministry, and answered im- 
 patiently, with Christian freedom, — 
 
 " Your worship surely will not listen to this wild wizard 
 in his brothel-pulpit ! " 
 
 Shalispeare. Do I live to hear Charlecote Hall called a 
 brothel-pulpit ? A las, then, I have lived too long ! 
 
 Sir Silas. We will try to amend that for thee. . . . 
 
 William seemed not to hear him, loudly as he spake and 
 pointedly unto the youngster, who wiped his eyes, crying, 
 
 " Commit me, sir ! in mercy commit me ! Master 
 Ephraim ! Oh, Master Ephraim ! A guiltless man may 
 feel all the pangs of the guilty ! Is it you who are to make 
 out the commitment ? Dispatch ! dispatch ! I am a-weary 
 of my life. If I dared to lie, I would plead guilty." 
 
 Sir Thomas. Heyday ! No wonder. Master Ephraim, 
 thy entrails are moved and wamble. Dost weep, lad ? Nay, 
 nay ; thou bearest up bravely. Silas, I now find, although 
 the example come before me from humble life, that what my 
 mother said was true ; 'twas upon my fither's demise. " In 
 great grief there are few tears." 
 
 Upon which did the youth, Willy Shakspeare, jog himself 
 by the memory, and repeat these short verses, not wide from 
 the same purport : 
 
 " There are. alas, some depths of woe 
 Too vast for tears to overflow.'' 
 
 Sir Thomas. Eet those who are sadly vexed in spirit 
 mind that notion, whoever indited it, and be men : I always 
 was ; but some little griefs have pinched me woundily. . . . 
 
 Master Silas grew impatient, for he had ridden hard that 
 morning, and had no cushion upon his seat, as Sir Thomas 
 had. I have seen in my time that he wlio is seated on beech-
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 23 
 
 wood hath very different thoughts and moralities from him 
 who is seated on goose-feathers under doe-skin. But that is 
 neither here nor there, albeit, an' I die, as I must, my heirs, 
 Judith and her boy Elijah, may note it. 
 
 Master Silas, as above, looked sourishly, and cried aloud, 
 
 " The witnesses ! the witnesses ! testimony ! testimony ! 
 We shall now see whose black goes deepest. There is 
 a fork to be had that can hold the slipperiest eel, and a 
 finger that can strip the slimiest. I cry your worship to the 
 witnesses." 
 
 Sir Thomas. Ay, indeed, we are losing the day ; it wastes 
 toward noon, and nothing done. Call the witnesses. How 
 are they called by name ? Give me the paper. . . . 
 
 The paper being forthwith delivered into his worship's 
 hand by the learned clerk, his worship did read aloud the 
 name of Euseby Treen. Whereupon did Euseby Treen 
 come forth through the great hall-door which was ajar, and 
 answer most audibly, 
 
 " Your worship ! " 
 
 Straightway did Sir Thomas read aloud, in like form and 
 manner, the name of Joseph Carnaby ; and in like manner as 
 aforesaid did Joseph Carnaby make answer and say, — 
 
 " Your worship ! " 
 
 Lastly did Sir Thomas turn the light of his countenance 
 on William Shakspeare, saying, 
 
 " Thou seest these good men deponents against thee, 
 William Shakspeare." 
 
 And then did Sir Thomas pause. And pending this 
 pause did William Shakspeare look stedfastly in the faces 
 of both ; and stroking down his own with the hollow of 
 his hand from the jaw-bone to the chin-point, said unto his 
 honour, 
 
 " Faith ! it would give me much pleasure, and the neigh- 
 bourhood much vantage, to see these two fellows good men. 
 Joseph Carnaby and Euseby Treen ! Why ! your worship ! 
 they know every hare's form in Luddington-field better than 
 their own beds, and as well pretty nigh as any wench's in the 
 parish." 
 
 Then turned he with jocular scoff unto Joseph Carnaby,
 
 24 Longer Prose Works, 
 
 thus accosting him, whom his shirt, being made stiffer than 
 usual for the occasion, rubbed and frayed. 
 
 " Ay, Joseph ! smoothen and soothe thy collar-piece again 
 and again ! Hark ye ! I know what smock that was knavishly 
 cut from." 
 
 Master Silas rose up in high choler, and said unto Sir 
 Thomas, 
 
 " Sir ! do not listen to that lewd reviler ; I wager ten 
 groats I prove him to be wrong in his scent. Joseph Carnaby 
 is righteous and discreet." 
 
 Shakspeare. By daylight and before the parson. Bears and 
 boars are tame creatures, and discreet, in the sunshine and after 
 dinner. 
 
 Treen. I do know his down-goings and up-risings. 
 
 Shnhspeare. The man and his wife are one, saith holy 
 Scripture. 
 
 Treen. A sober-paced and rigid man, if such there be. Few 
 keep Lent like unto him. 
 
 Shakspeare. I warrant him, both lent and stolen. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Peace and silence ! Now, Joseph Carnaby, 
 do thou depose on particulars. 
 
 Carnaby. May it please your worship ! 1 was returning 
 from Hampton upon Allhallowmas eve, between the hours of 
 ten and eleven at night, in company" with Master Euseby 
 Treen ; and when we came to the bottom of Mickle Meadow, 
 we heard several men in discourse. I plucked Euseby Treen 
 by the doublet, and whispered in his ear, " Euseby ! Euseby ! 
 let us slink along in the shadow of the elms and willows." 
 
 Treen. Willoavs and elm-lrees were the words. 
 
 Shakspeare. See, your worship ! what discordances ! They 
 cannot agree in their own story. 
 
 Sir Silas. The same thing, the same thing, in the main. 
 
 Shakspeare. By less differences than this estates have been 
 lost, hearts broken, and England, our country, filled with 
 homeless, helpless, destitute orphans. I protest against it. 
 
 Sir Silas. Protest, indeed ! He talks as if he were a 
 member of the House of Lords. They alone can protest. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Your attorney may object, not protest, before 
 the lord judge. Proceed you, Joseph Carnaby.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 25 
 
 Carnaby. In the shadow of the willows and elm-trees, 
 then — 
 
 Shakspeare. No hints, no conspiracies ! Keep to your own 
 story, man, and do not borrow his. 
 
 Sir Silas. I overrule the objection. Nothing can be more 
 futile and frivolous, 
 
 Shakspeare. So learned a magistrate as your worship will 
 surely do me justice by hearing me attentively. 1 am young ; 
 nevertheless, ha\'ing more than one year written in the office 
 of an attorney, and having heard and listened to many dis- 
 courses and questions on law, I cannot but remember the heavy 
 fine inflicted on a gentleman of this county who committed a 
 poor man to prison for being in possession of a hare, it being 
 proved that the hare was in his possession, and not he in the 
 hare's. 
 
 Sir Silas. Synonymous term ! synonymous term ! 
 
 Sir Thomas. In what term sayest thou was it ? I do not 
 remember the case. 
 
 Sir Silas. Mere quibble ! mere equivocation ! Jesuitical 1 
 Jesuitical ! 
 
 Shakspeare. It would be Jesuitical, Sir Silas, if it dragged 
 the law by its perversions to the side of oppression and cruelty. 
 The order of Jesuits, I fear, is as numerous as its tenets are 
 lax and comprehensive. I am sorry to see their frocks flounced 
 with English serge. 
 
 Sir Silas. I don't understand thee, viper ! 
 
 Sir Thomas. Cease thou. Will Shakspeare ! Know thy 
 place. And do thou, Joseph Carnaby, take up again the 
 thread of thy testimony. 
 
 Carnaby. We were still at some distance from the party, 
 when on a sudden Euseby hung an — * ^ 
 
 Sir Thomas. As well write dreiu back, Master Ephraim and 
 Master Silas! Be circumspecter in speech. Master Joseph 
 Carnaby ! I did not look for such rude phrases from that 
 starch-warehouse under thy chin. Continue, man ? 
 
 * The word here omitted is quite illegible. 
 
 [8 In I St ed. this note reads: "unintelligible. It appears to have 
 some reference to the language of the Highlanders. That it was 
 rough and outlandish is apparent from the reprimand of Sir 
 Thomas."]
 
 26 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Carnahy. " Euseby," said I in his ear, " what ails thee, 
 Euseby ? " "I wag no farther," quoth he. " What a 
 number of names and voices ! " 
 
 Sir Thomas. Dreadful gang ! a number of names and voices ! 
 Had it been any other day in the year but Allhallowmas eve ! 
 To steal a buck upon such a day ! Well ! God may pardon 
 even that. Go on, go on. But the laws of our country 
 must have their satisfaction and atonement. Were it upon 
 any other day in the calendar less holy, the buck were nothing, 
 or next to nothing, saving the law and our conscience and our 
 good report. Yet we, her Majesty's justices, must stand in 
 the gap, body and soul, against evil-doers. Now do thou, in 
 furtherance of this business, give thine aid unto us, Joseph 
 Carnaby ! remembering that mine eye from this judgment- 
 seat, and her Majesty's bright and glonous one overlooking the 
 whole realm, and the broader of God above, are upon 
 thee. . . . 
 
 Carnaby did quail a matter at these words about the judg- 
 ment-seat and the broad eye, aptly and gravely delivered by 
 him moreover who hath to administer truth and righteousness 
 in our ancient and venerable laws, and especially, at the 
 present juncture, in those against park-breaking and deer- 
 stealing. But finally, nought discomfited, and putting his hand 
 valiantly atwixt hip and midriff, so that his elbow well-nigh 
 touched the taller pen in the ink-pot, he went on. 
 
 Carnahy. " In the shadotu of the tuilloius and elm-trees," 
 said he, " and get nearer." We were still at some distance, 
 maybe a score of furlongs, from the party — 
 
 Sir Thomas. Thou hast said it already — all save the score 
 of furlongs. 
 
 Hast room for them. Master Silas ? 
 
 Sir Silas. Yea, and would make room for fifty, to 
 let the fellow swing at his ease. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Hast room. Master Ephraim ? 
 
 " 'Tis done, most worshipful ! " said I. The learned 
 knight did not recollect that I could put fifty furlongs in a 
 needle's eye, give me pen fine enough. 
 
 But far be it from me to vaunt of my penmanship, although 
 there be those who do malign it, even in my own township
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 27 
 
 and parish ; yet they never have unperched me from my call- 
 ing, and have had hard work to take an idle wench or two 
 from under me on Saturday nights. 
 
 I memorize thus much, not out of any malice or any sore- 
 ness about me, but that those of my kindred into whose hands 
 it please God these papers do fall hereafter, may bear up 
 stoutly in such straits ; and if they be good at the cudgel, that 
 they, looking first at their man, do give it him heartily and 
 unsparingly, keeping within law. 
 
 Sir Thomas, having overlooked what we had written, and 
 meditated a while thereupon, said unto Joseph, 
 
 " It appeareth by thy testimony that there was a huge and 
 desperate gang of them afoot. Revengeful dogs ! it is difficult 
 to deal with them. The laws forbid precipitancy and violence. 
 A dozen or two may return and harm me ; not me, indeed, 
 but my tenants and servants. I would fain act with prudence, 
 and like unto him who looketh abroad. He must tie his shoe 
 tightly who passeth through mire ; he must step softly who 
 steppeth over stones ; he must walk in the fear of the Lord 
 (which, without a brag, I do at this present feel upon me), 
 who hopeth to reach the end of the straightest road in safety." 
 
 Sir Silas. Tut, tut ! your worship ! Her Majesty's 
 deputy hath matchlocks and halters at a knight's disposal, or 
 the world were topsy-turvy indeed. 
 
 Sir Thomas. My mental ejaculations, and an influx of 
 grace thereupon, have shaken and washed from my brain all 
 thy last words, good Joseph ! Thy companion here, Euseby 
 Treen, said unto thee ay ? . . . 
 
 Carnaby. Said unto me, " What a number of names and 
 voices ! And there be but three living men in all ! And 
 look again ! Christ deliver us ! all the shadows save one go 
 leftward : that one lieth right upon the river. It seemeth a 
 big, squat monster, shaking a little, as one ready to spring upon 
 its prey." 
 
 Sir Thomas. A dead man in his last agonies, no doubt ! 
 Your deer-stealcr doth boggle at nothing. He hath alway 
 the knife in doublet and the devil at elbow. 
 
 I wot not of any keeper killed or missing. To lose one's 
 deer and keeper too were overmuch.
 
 28 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Do, in God's merciful name, hand unto me a glass of sack. 
 Master Silas ! I wax faintish at the big, squat man. He 
 hath harmed not only me, but mine. Furthermore, the 
 examination is grown so long. . . . 
 
 Then was the wine delivered by Sir Silas into the hand of 
 his worship, who drank it off in a beaker of about half a 
 pint, but little to his satisfaction : for he said shortly after- 
 ward, 
 
 " Hast thou poured no water into the sack, good Master 
 Silas ? It seemeth weaker and washier than ordinary, and 
 affbrdeth small comfort unto the breast and stomach." 
 
 Sir Silas. Not I, truly, sir, and the botde is a fresh and 
 sound one. The cork reported on drawing, as the best diver 
 doth on sousing from Warwick bridge into Avon. A rare 
 cork ! as bright as the glass bottle, and as smooth as the lips 
 of any cow. 
 
 Sir Thomas. My mouth is out of taste this morning ; or 
 the same wine, mayhap, hath a different force and flavour in the 
 dining-room and among friends. But to business. What more ? 
 Carnaby. " Euseby Treen, what may it be ? " said I. 
 "I know," quoth he, "but dare not breathe it." 
 Sir Thomas. I thought I had taken a glass of wine, verily. 
 Attention to my duty as a magistrate is paramount. I mind 
 nothing else when that lies before me. 
 
 Carnaby ! I credit thy honesty, but doubt thy manhood. 
 Why not breathe it, with a vengeance ? 
 Carnaby. It was Euseby who dared not. 
 Sir Thomas. Stand still ! Say nothing yet ; mind my 
 orders : fair and softly : compose thyself. . . . 
 
 They all stood silent for some time, and looked very com- 
 posed, awaiting the commands of the knight. His mind was 
 clearly in such a state of devotion that peradventure he might 
 not have descended for a while longer to his mundane duties, 
 had not Master Silas told him that, under the shadow of his 
 wing, their courage had returned and they were quite com- 
 posed again. 
 
 " You may proceed," said the knight. 
 Carnaby. Master Treen did take off" his cap and wipe his 
 forehead. I, for the sake of comforting him in this his
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 29 
 
 heaviness, placed my hand upon his crown ; and truly I 
 might have taken it for a tuft of bents, the hair on end, the 
 skin immovable as God's earth ! . . . 
 
 Sir Thomas, hearing these words, lifted up his hands above 
 his own head, and in the loudest voice he had yet uttered did 
 he cry, 
 
 "Wonderful are thy ways in Israel, O Lord ! " 
 
 So saying, the pious knight did strike his knee with the 
 palm of his right hand ; and then gave he a sign, bowing his 
 head and closing his eyes, by which Master Carnaby did 
 think he signified his pleasure that he should go on deposing. 
 And he went on thus : 
 
 Carnaby. At this moment one of the accomplices cried, 
 " Willy ! Willy ! prithee stop ! enough in all conscience ! 
 First thou divertedst us from our undertaking with thy strange 
 vagaries, thy Italian girls' nursery sigh, thy Pucks and pinch- 
 ings, and thy Windsor whimsies. No kitten upon a bed of 
 marum ever played such antics. It was summer and winter, 
 night and day with us within the hour ; and in such religion 
 did we think and feel it, we would have broken the man's 
 jaw who gainsaid it. We have slept with thee under the 
 oaks in the ancient forest of Arden, and we have wakened 
 from our sleep in the tempest far at sea.* Now art thou for 
 frightening us again out of all the senses thou hadst given us, 
 with witches and women more murderous than they." 
 
 Then followed a deeper voice : " Stouter men and more 
 resolute are few ; but thou, my lad, hast words too weighty 
 for flesh and bones to bear up against. And who knows but 
 these creatures may pop amongst us at last, as the wolf did, 
 sure enough, upon him, the noisy rogue, who so long had been 
 crying wolf! and ivolf ! " 
 
 Sir Thomas. Well spoken, for two thieves ; albeit I miss 
 the meaning of the most part. Did they prevail with the 
 scapegrace and stop him ? 
 
 Carnaby. The last who had spoken did slap him on the 
 shoulder, saying, "Jump into the punt, lad, and across." 
 
 * By this deposition it wrould appear that Shakspeare had formed 
 the idea, if not the outline, of several plays already, much as he 
 altered them, no doubt, in after life.
 
 30 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Thereupon did Will Shakspeare jump into said punt, and 
 begin to sing a song about a mermaid. 
 
 Shakspeare. Sir ! is this credible I I will be sworn I 
 never saw one ; and verily do believe that scarcely one in a 
 hundred years doth venture so far up the Avon. 
 
 Sir Thomas. There is something in this. Thou mayest 
 have sung about one, nevertheless. Young poets take great 
 liberties with all female kind ; not that mermaids are such 
 very unlawful game for them, and there be songs even about 
 worse and staler fish. Mind ye that ! Thou hast written 
 songs, and hast sung them, and lewd enough they be, God 
 wot! 
 
 Shakspeare. Pardon me, your worship ! they were not 
 mine then. Peradventure the song about the mermaid may 
 have been that ancient one which every boy in most parishes 
 has been singing for many years, and, perhaps, his father be- 
 fore him ; and somebody was singing it then, mayhap, to 
 keep up his courage in the night. 
 
 Sir Thomas. I never heard it. 
 
 Shakspeare. Nobody would dare to sing in the presence 
 of your worship, unless commanded ; not even the mermaid 
 herself. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Canst thou sing it ? 
 
 Shakspeare. Verily, I can sing nothing. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Canst thou repeat it from memory ? 
 
 Shakspeare. It is so long since I have thought about it, 
 that I may fail in the attempt. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Try, however. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " The mermaid sat upon the rocks 
 All day long, 
 Admiring her beauty and combing her locks, 
 And singing a mermaid song." 
 
 Sir Thomas. What was it ? what was it ? I thought as 
 much. There thou standest, like a woodpecker, chattering 
 and chattering, breaking the bark with thy beak, and leaving 
 the grub where it was. This is enough to put a saint out of 
 patience.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 31 
 
 Shakspeare. The wishes of your worship possess a mys- 
 terious influence : I now remember all. 
 
 " And hear the mermaid's song you may, 
 As sure as sure can be, 
 If you will but follow the sun all day, 
 And souse with him into the sea." 
 
 Sir Thomas. It must be an idle fellow who would take 
 that trouble ; besides, unless he nicked the time he might miss 
 the monster. There be many who are slow to believe that 
 the mermaid singeth. 
 
 Shakspeare. Ah, sir ! not only the mermaid singeth, but 
 the merman sweareth, as another old song will convince you. 
 
 Sir Thomas. I would fain be convinced of God's wonders 
 in the great deeps, and would lean upon the weakest reed like 
 unto thee to manifest his glory. Thou mayest convince me. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 A wonderful story, my lasses and lads, 
 
 Peradventure you 've heard from your grannams or dads, 
 
 Of a merman that came every night to woo 
 
 The spinster of spinsters, our Catherine Crewe. 
 
 But Catherine Crewe 
 Is now seventy-two, 
 And avers she hath half forgotten 
 The truth of the tale, when you ask her about it, 
 And says, as if fain to deny it or flout it, 
 " Pooh ! the merman is dead and rotten.^'' 
 
 The merman came up as the mermen are wont, 
 To the top of the water, and then swam upofl 't ; 
 And Catherine saw him with both her two eyes, 
 A lusty young merman full six feet in size. 
 
 And Catherine was frighten'd. 
 
 Her scalp-skin it tighten'd, 
 And her head it swam strangely, although on dry land ; 
 
 And the merman made bold 
 
 Eftsoons to lay hold 
 (This Catherine well recollects) of her hand. 
 
 But how could a merman, if ever so good. 
 
 Or if ever so clever, be well understood 
 
 By a simple young creature of our flesh and blood ?
 
 32 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Some tell us the merman 
 Can only speak German, 
 In a voice between grunting and snoring ; 
 But Catherine says he had learned in the wars 
 The language, persuasions, and oaths of our tars, 
 And that even his voice was not foreign. 
 
 Yet when she was asked how he managed to hide 
 The green fishy tail, coming out of the tide 
 
 For night after night above twenty, 
 " You troublesome creatures ! " old Catherine replied, 
 
 " In his pocket ; won't that now content ye ? " 
 
 Sir Thomas. I have my doubts yet. I should have said 
 unto her, seriously, " Kate ! Kate ! I am not convinced." 
 There may be witchcraft or sortilege in it. I would have 
 made it a star-chamber matter. 
 Shakspeare. It was one, sir. 
 
 Sir Thomas. And now I am reminded by this silly, 
 childish song, which, after all, is not the true mermaid's, thou 
 didst tell me, Silas, that the papers found in the lad's pocket 
 were intended for poetry. 
 
 Sir Silas. I wish he had missed his aim, sir, in your 
 park, as he hath missed it in his poetry. The papers are not 
 worth reading ; they do not go against him in the point at 
 issue. 
 
 Sir Thomas. We must see that ; they being taken upon 
 his person when apprehended. 
 
 Sir Silas. Let Ephraim read them, then ; it behooveth 
 not me, a Master of Arts, to con a whelp's whining. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Do thou read them aloud unto us, good 
 Master Ephraim. . . . 
 
 . . Whereupon I took the papers which young Willy had 
 not bestowed much pains on ; and they posed and puzzled me 
 grievously, for they were blotted and scrawled in many places, 
 as if somebody had put him out. These likewise I thought 
 fit, after long consideration, to write better, and preserve, 
 great as the loss of time is when men of business take in;hand 
 such unseemly matters. However, they are decenter than 
 most, and not without their moral ; for example :
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 2)3 
 
 TO THE OWLET. 
 
 Who, O thou sapient, saintly bird ! 
 Thy shouted warnings ever heard 
 
 Unbleached by fear? 
 The blue-faced blubbering imp, who steals 
 Yon turnips, thinks thee at his heels. 
 
 Afar or near. 
 
 The brawnier churl, who brags at times 
 To front and top the rankest crimes, — 
 
 To paunch a deer. 
 Quarter a priest, or squeeze a wench, — 
 Scuds from thee, clammy as a tench, 
 
 He knows not where. 
 
 For this the righteous Lord of all 
 Consigns to thee the castle-wall. 
 
 When, many a year, 
 Closed in the chancel-vaults, are eyes 
 Rainy or sunny at the sighs 
 
 Of knight or peer. 
 
 Sir Thomas, when I had ended, said unto me, 
 
 " No harm herein : but are they over ? " 
 
 I replied, " Yea, sir ! " 
 
 " I miss the posy," quoth he ; " there is usually a lump 
 of sugar, or a smack thereof at the bottom of the glass. They 
 who are inexperienced in poetry do write it as boys do their 
 copies in the copy-book, without a flourish at the ^nis. It is 
 only the master who can do this befittingly." 
 
 I bowed unto his worship reverentially, thinking of a 
 surety he meant me, and returned my best thanks in set 
 language. But his worship rebuffed them, and told me 
 graciously that he had an eye on another of very 
 different quality ; that the plain sense of his discourse might 
 do for me, the subtiler was certainly for himself. He added 
 that in his younger days he had heard from a person of great 
 parts, and had since profited by it, that ordinary poets are like 
 adders ; the tail blunt and the body rough, and the whole 
 reptile cold-blooded and sluggish : ' whereas we,' he sub- 
 joined, 'leap and caracole and curvet, and are as warm 
 as velvet, and as sleek as satin, and as perfumed as a
 
 34 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Naples fan, in every part of us ; and the end of our poems is 
 as pointed as a perch's back-fin, and it requires as much nicety 
 to pick it up as a needle * at nine groats the hundred.' 
 
 Then turning toward the culprit, he said mildly unto 
 him, — 
 
 " Now why canst thou not apply thyself unto study ? Why 
 canst thou not ask advice of thy superiors in rank and wisdom ? 
 In a few years, under good discipline, thou mightest rise from 
 the owlet unto the peacock. I know not what pleasant things 
 might not come into the youthful head thereupon. 
 
 " He was the bird of Venus,! goddess of beauty. He 
 flew down (I speak as a poet, and not in my quality of knight 
 and Christian) with half the stars of heaven upon his tail ; and 
 his long, blue neck doth verily appear a dainty slice out of the 
 solid sky." 
 
 Sir Silas smote me with his elbow, and said in my ear, 
 
 " He wanteth not this stufling ; he beats a pheasant out of 
 the kitchen, to my mind, take him only at the pheasant's size, 
 and don't (upon your life) overdo him. 
 
 " Never be cast down in spirit, nor take it too grievously to 
 heart, if the colour be a suspicion of the pinkish : no sign of 
 rawness in that ; none whatever. It is as becoming to him as 
 to the salmon ; it is as natural to your pea-chick in his best 
 cookery, as it is to the linest October- morning, moist under- 
 foot, when partridge's and puss's and reynard's scent lies 
 sweetly." 
 
 Willy Shakspeare, in the mean time lifted up his hands 
 above his ears half a cubit, and taking breath again, said, 
 audibly, although he willed it to be said unto himself alone, 
 
 " O that knights could deign to be our teachers ! Me- 
 thinks I should briefly spring up into heaven, through the very 
 chink out of which the peacock took his neck." 
 
 Master Silas, who like myself and the worshipful knight, 
 did overhear him, said angrily, 
 
 * The greater part of the value of the present v/ork arises from the 
 certain information it affords us on the price of small needles in the 
 reign of Elizabeth. Fine needles in her days were made only at 
 Liege, and some few cities in t!ie Netherlands, and may be reckoned 
 among those things vvhich were much dearer than they are now. 
 
 f Mr Tooke had not yet published his Pantheon.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 35 
 
 " To spring up into heaven, my lad, it would be as well to 
 have at least one foot upon the ground to make the spring 
 withal. I doubt whether we shall leave thee this vantage." 
 
 " Nay, nay ! thou art hard upon him, Silas," said the 
 knight. 
 
 I was turning over the other papers taken from the pocket 
 of the culprit on his apprehension, and had fixed my eyes on 
 one, when Sir Thomas caught them thus occupied, and ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 *' Mercy upon us ! have we more ? " 
 
 "Your patience, worshipful sir! " said I; "must I for- 
 ward ? " 
 
 " Yea, yea," quoth he, resignedly, " we must go through ; 
 we are pilgrims in this life." 
 
 Then did I read, in a clear voice, the contents of paper the 
 second, being as followeth : 
 
 THE MAID'S LAMENT. 
 
 I loved him not ; and yet now he is gone 
 
 I feel I am alone. 
 I check'd him while he spoke ; yet could he speak 
 
 Alas I I would not check. 
 For reasons not to love him once I sought, 
 
 And wearied all my thought 
 To vex myself and him : I now would give 
 
 My love could he but live 
 Who lately lived for me, and when he found 
 
 'Twas vain, in holy ground 
 He hid his face amid the shades of death. 
 
 I waste for jiim my breath 
 Who wasted his for me: but mine returns, 
 
 And this lorn bosom burns 
 With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep. 
 
 And waking me to weep 
 Tears that had melted his soft heart : for years 
 
 Wept he as bitter tears. 
 Merciful God ! such was his latest prayer, 
 
 These miiy she never share ! 
 Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold. 
 
 Than daisies in the mould. 
 Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate, 
 
 His name and life's brief date. 
 Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er you be. 
 
 And, oh ! pray too for me !
 
 36 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Sir Thomas had fallen into a most comfoitable and refresh- 
 ing slumber ere this lecture was concluded ; but the pause 
 broke it, as there be many who experience after the evening 
 service in our parish-church. Howbeit, he had presently all 
 his wits about him, and remembered well that he had been 
 carefully counting the syllables, about the time when I had 
 pierced as far as into the middle. 
 
 " Young man," said he to Willy, " thou givest short 
 measure in every other sack of the load. Thy uppermost stake 
 is of right length ; the undermost falleth off, methinks. 
 
 " Master Ephraim, canst thou count syllables ? I mean no 
 offence. I may have counted wrongfully myself, not being 
 born nor educated for an accountant." 
 
 At such order I did count ; and truly the suspicion was as 
 just as if he had neither been a knight nor a sleeper. 
 
 " Sad stuff! sad stuff, indeed ! " said Master Silas, " and 
 smelling of popery and wax-candles." 
 
 " Ay ? " said Sir Thomas, " I must sift that." 
 
 " If praying for the dead is not popery," said Master Silas, 
 " I know not what the devil is. Let them pray for us ; they 
 may know whether it will do us any good. We need not 
 pray for them ; we cannot tell whether it will do them any. 
 I call this sound divinity." 
 
 "Are our churchmen all agreed thereupon?" asked Sir 
 Thomas. 
 
 " The wisest are," replied Master Silas. 
 
 " There are some lank rascals who will never agree upon 
 anything but upon doubting. I would not give ninepence for 
 the best gown upon the most thrifty of 'em ; and their fingers 
 are as stiff and hard with their pedlary, knavish writing, as 
 any bishop's are with chalk-stones won honestly from the 
 gout." 
 
 Sir Thomas took the paper up from tlie table on which I 
 had laid it, and said after a while, 
 
 " The man may only have swooned. I scorn to play 
 the critic, or to ask any one the meaning of a word ; but, 
 sirrah ! " 
 
 Here he turned in his chair from the side of Master Silas, 
 and said unto Willy, —
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 37 
 
 " William Shakspeare ! out of this thraldom in regard to 
 popery, I hope, by God's blessing, to deliver thee. If ever 
 thou repeatest the said verses, knowing the man to be to all 
 intents and pui^poses a dead man, pry thee read the censurable 
 line as thus corrected, 
 
 Pray for our Virgin Queen, gentles ! whoe'er you be, 
 
 although it is not quite the thing that another should impinge 
 so closely on her skirts. 
 
 " By this improvement, of mc suggested, thou mayest make 
 some amends — a syllable or two — for the many that are 
 weighed in the balance and are found wanting." 
 
 Then turning unto me, as being conversant by my profes- 
 sion in such matters, and the same being not veiy worthy of 
 learned and staid clerks the like of Master Silas, he said, 
 
 " Of all the youths that did ever write in verse, this one 
 verily is he who hath the fewest flowers and devices. But it 
 would be loss of time to form a border, in the fashion of a 
 kingly crown, or a dragon, or a Turk on horseback, out of 
 buttercups and dandelions. 
 
 " Master Ephraim ! look at these badgers 1 with a long leg 
 on one quarter and a short leg on the other. The wench 
 herself might well and truly have said all that matter without 
 the poet, bating the rhymes and metre. Among the girls in 
 the country there are many such shilly-shally s, who give them- 
 selves sore eyes and sharp eye-water ; I would cure them rod 
 in hand." 
 
 Whereupon did William Shakspeare say, with great humility, 
 
 *' So would I, may it please your worship, an they would 
 let me." 
 
 " Incorrigible sluts ! Out upon 'em ! and thou art no 
 better than they are," quoth the knight. 
 
 Master Silas cried aloud, " No better, marry ! they at the 
 worst are but carted and whipped for the edification of the 
 market-folks.* Not a squire or parson in the countiy 
 round but comes in his best to see a man hanged." 
 
 "The edification then is higher by a deal," said William, 
 very composedly. 
 
 * This was really the case within our memory.
 
 <> 
 
 8 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 " Troth ! is it," replied Master Silas. " The most 
 poisonous reptile has the richest jewel in his head ; thou shalt 
 share the richest gift bestowed upon royalty, and shalt cure the 
 king's evil." * 
 
 " It is more tractable, then, than the church's," quoth 
 William ; and, turning his face toward the chair, he made an 
 obeisance to Sir Thomas, saying, 
 
 " Sir ! the more submissive my behaviour is, the more 
 vehement and boisterous is Master Silas. My gentlest words 
 serve only to carry him toward the contrary quarter, as the 
 south wind bloweth a ship northward." 
 
 " Youth," said Sir Thomas, smiling most benignly, " I 
 find, and well indeed might T have surmised, thy utter ignor- 
 ance of winds, equinoxes, and tides. Consider now a little ! 
 With what propriety can a wind be called a south wind if it 
 bloweth a vessel to the north ? Would it be a south wind 
 that blew it from this hall into Warwick, market-place ? " 
 
 " It would be a strong one," said Master Silas unto me, 
 pointing his remark, as witty men are wont, with the elbow- 
 pan. 
 
 But Sir Thomas, who waited for an answer, and received 
 none, continued, — 
 
 " Would a man be called a good man who tended and 
 pushed on toward evil ? " 
 
 Shakspeare. I stand corrected. I could sail to Cathay or 
 Tartary f with half the nautical knowledge I have acquired in 
 this glorious hall. 
 
 The devil impelling a mortal to wrong courses, is thereby 
 known to be the devil. He, on the contrary, who exciteth 
 to good is no devil, but an angel of light, or under the guid- 
 ance of one. The devil driveth unto his own home ; so doth 
 the south wind, so doth the north wind. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! we possess not the masteiy over our own weak 
 minds when a higher spirit standeth nigh and draweth us 
 within his influence. 
 
 * It was formerly thought, and perhaps is thought still, that the 
 hand of a man recently hanged, being rubbed on the tumour of the 
 king's evil, was able to cure it. The crown and the gallows divided 
 the glory of the sovran remedy. 
 
 f And yet he never did sail any farther than into Bohemia.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 39 
 
 Sir Thojnas. Those thy words are well enough ; very 
 well, very good, wise, discreet, judicious beyond thy years. 
 But then that sailing comes in an awkward, ugly way across 
 me ; that Cathay, that Tartarus ! 
 
 Have a care ! Do thou notliing rashly. Mind ! an thou 
 stealest my punt for the purpose, I send the constable after 
 thee or e'er thou art half way over. 
 
 Shakspeare. He would make a stock-fish of me an he 
 caught me. It is hard sailing out of his straits, although they 
 be carefully laid down in most parishes, and may have taken 
 them from actual survey. 
 
 Sir Silas. Sir, we have bestowed on him already well- 
 nigh a good hour of our time. . . . 
 
 Sir Thomas, who was always fond of giving admonition 
 and reproof to the ignorant and erring, and who had found 
 the seeds (little mustard-seeds, 'tis true, and never likely to 
 arise into the great mustard-tree of the Gospel) in the poor 
 lad Willy, did let his heart soften a whit tenderer and 
 kindlier than Master Silas did, and said unto Master Silas, 
 
 " A good hour of our time ! Yea, Silas ! and thou wouldst 
 give him eternity ! " 
 
 " What, sir ! would you let him go ? " said Master Silas. 
 " Presently we shall have neither deer nor dog, neither hare 
 nor coney, neither swan nor heron ; every carp from pool, 
 every bream from brook, will be groped for. The marble 
 monuments in the church will no longer protect the leaden 
 coffins ; and if there be any ring of gold on the finger of 
 knight or dame, it will be torn away with as little ruth and 
 ceremony as the ring from a butchered sow's snout." 
 
 " Awful words ! Master Silas," quoth the knight, musing ; 
 " but thou mistakest my intentions. I let him not go ; 
 howbeit, at worst I would only mark him in the ear, and 
 turn him up again after this warning, perad venture with a few 
 stripes to boot athwart the shoulders, in order to make them 
 shiojg a little, and shake off the burden of idleness." 
 
 Now I, having seen, I dare not say the innocence, but the 
 innocent and simple manner of Willy, and pitying his tender 
 years, and having an inkling that he was a lad, poor W^illy ! 
 whom God had endowed with some parts, and into whose
 
 40 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 breast he had instilled that milk of loving-kindness by which 
 alone we can be like unto those little children of whom is the 
 household and kingdom of our Lord, I was moved, yea, even 
 unto tears. And now, to bring gentler thoughts into the 
 hearts of Master Silas and Sir Thomas, who, in his wisdom, 
 deemed it a light punishment to slit an ear or two, or inflict a 
 wiry scourging, I did remind his worship that another paper 
 was yet unread, at least to them, although I had been perusing 
 it. 
 
 This was much pleasanter than the two former, and over- 
 flowing with the praises of the worthy knight and his gracious 
 lady ; and having an echo to it in another voice, I did hope 
 thereby to disarm their just wrath and indignation. It was 
 thus couched. 
 
 FIRST SHEPHERD. 
 
 Jesu I what lofty elms are here ! 
 Let me look through them at the clear, 
 Deep sky above, and bless my star 
 That such a worthy knight's they are ! 
 
 SECOND SHEPHERD. 
 
 Innocent creatures I how those deer 
 Trot merrily, and romp and rear! 
 
 FIRST SHEPHERD. - 
 
 The glorious knight who walks beside 
 His most majestic lady bride, 
 
 SECOND SHEPHERD. 
 Under these branches spreading wide, 
 
 FIRST SHEPHERD. 
 
 Carries about so many cares 
 
 Touching his ancestors and heirs. 
 
 That came from Athens and from Rome — 
 
 SECOND SHEPHERD. 
 
 As many of them as are come — 
 
 FIRST SHEPHERD. 
 
 Nought else the smallest lodge can find 
 Tn the vast manors of his mind ; 
 Envying not Solomon his wit —
 
 Citiuion and f'-xamination, etc. 41 
 
 SECOND SHEPHERD. 
 
 No, nor his women not a bit ; 
 Being well-built and well-behaved 
 As Solomon, I trow, or David. 
 
 FIRST SHEPHERD. 
 
 And taking by his jewell'd hand 
 
 The jewel of that lady bland. 
 
 He sees the tossing antlers pass 
 
 And throw quaint shadows o'er the grass ; 
 
 While she alike the hour beguiles, 
 
 And looks at him and them, and smiles. 
 
 SECOND SHEPHERD. 
 
 With conscience proof 'gainst Satan's shock, 
 
 Albeit finer than her smock.* 
 
 Marry ! her smiles are not of vanity, 
 
 But resting on sound Christianity. 
 
 Faith, you would swear, had nail'd f her ears on 
 
 The book and cushion of the parson.'' 
 
 " Methinks the rhyme at the latter end might be bettered," 
 said Sir Thoynas. "The remainder is indited not unaptly. 
 But, young man, never having obtained the permission of my 
 honourable dame to praise her in guise of poetry, I cannot 
 see all the merit I would fain discern in the verses. She 
 ought first to have been sounded ; and it being certified that 
 she disapproved not her glorification, then might it be trumpeted 
 forth into the world below."" 
 
 " Most worshipful knight," replied the youngster, " I never 
 could take it in hand to sound a dame of quality, — they are 
 all of them too deep and too practised for me, and have better 
 and abler men about 'em. And surely I did imagine to my- 
 self that if it were asked of any honourable man (omitting to 
 speak of ladies) whether he would give permission to be 
 openly praised, he would reject the application as a gross 
 
 * Smock, formerly a part of the female dress, corresponding with 
 shroud, or what we now call (or lately called) shirt of the man's. Fox, 
 speaking of Latimer's burning, says, " Being slipped into his shroud.'- 
 
 t Faith nailing the ears is a strong and sacred metaphor. The 
 rhyme is imperfect : Shakspeare was not always attentive to these 
 minor beauties.
 
 42 Longer Prose Works, 
 
 offence. It appeareth to me tliat even to praise one's self, 
 although it be shameful, is less shameful than to throw a burn- 
 ing coal into the incense-box that another doth hold to waft 
 before us, and then to snift and simper over it, with maidenly, 
 wishful coyness, as if forsooth one had no hand in setting it 
 asmoke." 
 
 Then did Sir Thomas, in his zeal to instruct the ignorant, 
 and so make the lowly hold up their heads, say unto him, 
 
 " Nay, but all the great do thus. Thou must not praise 
 them without leave and license. Praise unpermitted is plebeian 
 praise. It is presumption to suppose that thou knowest 
 enough of the noble and the great to discover their high 
 qualities. They alone could manifest them unto thee. It 
 requireth much discernment and much time to enucleate and 
 bring into light their abstruse wisdom and gravely featured 
 virtues. Those of ordinary men lie before thee in thy daily 
 walks ; thou mayest know them by converse at their tables, as 
 thou knowest the little tame squirrel that chlppeth his nuts In 
 the open sunshine of a bowling-green. But beware how thou 
 enterest the awful arbours of the great, who conceal their 
 magnanimity in the depths of their hearts, as lions do." 
 
 He then paused ; and observing the youth In deep and 
 earnest meditation over the fruits of his experience, as one 
 who tasted and who would fain digest them, he gave him 
 encouragement, and relieved the weight of his musings by 
 kind Interrogation : 
 
 " So, then, these verses are thine own ? " 
 
 The youth answered, — 
 
 " Sir, I must confess my fault." 
 
 " And who was the shepherd written here Second Shepherd^ 
 that had the 111 manners to Interrupt thee ? Methinks, In 
 helping thee to mount the saddle, he pretty nigh tossed thee 
 over,* '■^ with his jerks and quirks." 
 
 * Shakspeare seems to have profited afterward by this metaphor, 
 even more perhaps then by all the direct pieces of instruction in poetry 
 given him so handsomely by the worthy knight. And here it may 
 be permitted the editor to profit also by the manuscript, correcting in 
 Shakspeare what is absolute nonsense as now printed : — 
 
 " Vaulting ambition that o'erleaps itself.'''
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 43 
 
 Without waiting for any answer, his worship continued his 
 interrogations : 
 
 " But do you woolstaplers call yourselves by the style and 
 title of shepherds ?" 
 
 " Verily, sir, do we ; and I trust by right. The last owner 
 of any place is called the master more properly than the dead 
 and gone who once held it. If that be true (and who doubts 
 it ?) we, who have the last of the sheep, namely, the wool and 
 skin, and who buy all of all the flock, surely may more pro- 
 perly be called shepherds than those idle vagrants who tend 
 them only for a season, selling a score or pui'chasing a score, 
 as may happen." 
 
 Here Sir Thomas did pause a while, and then said unto 
 Master Silas, 
 
 " My own cogitations, and not this stripling, have induced 
 me to consider and to conclude a weighty matter for knightly 
 scholarship. I never could rightly understand before how 
 Colin Clout, and sundry others calling themselves shepherds, 
 should argue like doctors in law, physic, and divinity. 
 
 " Silas ! they were woolstaplers ; and they must have exer- 
 cised their wits in dealing with tithe-proctors and parsons, and 
 moreover with fellows of colleges from our two learned uni- 
 versities, who have sundry lands held under them, as thou 
 knowest, and take the small tithes in kind. Colin Clout, 
 methinks, from his extensive learning, might have acquired 
 enough interest with the Queen's Highness to change his 
 name for the better, and, furthermore, her royal license to 
 carry armorial bearings, in no peril of taint from so unsavoury 
 an appellation." 
 
 Master Silas did interrupt this discourse, by saying, 
 
 *' May it please your worship, the constable is waiting." 
 
 Whereat Sir Thomas said, tartly, 
 
 It should be its sell. Sell is saddle in Spenser and elsewhere, from the 
 Latin and Italian. 
 
 [" Second ed. added : "• and falls on the other side." Other side of 
 what? It should be. In ist ed. the note reads: '• and Italian. This 
 emendation was shewn to the late Mr Hazlitt, an acute man at least, 
 who expressed his conviction that it was the right reading, and added 
 somewhat more in approbation of it."]
 
 44 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 " And let him wait." * 
 
 Then to me, 
 
 " I hope we have done with verses, and are not to be be- 
 fooled by the lad's nonsense touching mermaids or worse 
 creatures." 
 
 Then to Will, 
 
 " William Shakspeare ! we live in a Christian land, a land 
 of great toleration and forbearance. Three-score cartsful of 
 fagots a year are fully sufficient to clear our English air from 
 every pestilence of heresy and witchcraft. It hath not always 
 been so, God wot ! Innocent and guilty took their turns be- 
 fore the fire, like geese and capons. The spit was never cold ; 
 the cook's sleeve was ever above the elbow. Countrymen 
 came down from distant villages into towns and cities, to see 
 perverters whom they had never heard of, and to learn the 
 righteousness of hatred. When heretics waxed fewer the re- 
 ligious began to grumble that God, in losing his enemies, had 
 also lost his avengers. 
 
 " Do not thou, William Shakspeare, dig the hole for thy 
 own stake. If thou canst not make men wise, do not make 
 them merry at thy cost. We are not to be paganised any 
 more. Having struck from our calendars, and unnailed from 
 our chapels, many dozens of decent saints, with as little com- 
 punction and remorse as unlucky lads' throw frog-spawn and 
 tadpoles out of stagnant ditches, never let us think of bringing 
 back among us the daintier divinities they ousted. All these 
 are the devil's imps, beautiful as they appear in what we 
 falsely call works of genius, which really and truly are the 
 devil's own ; statues more graceful than humanity, pictures 
 more living than life, eloquence that raised single cities above 
 empires, poor men above kings. If these are not Satan's 
 works, where are they ? I will tell thee where they are like- 
 
 * It has been suggested that this answer vi^as borrowed from Virgil, 
 and goes strongly against the genuineness of the manuscript. The 
 Editor's memory was upon the stretch to recollect the words ; the 
 learned critic supplied them: — 
 
 " Solum JEneas vocat : et iwcd. ore." 
 The Editor could only reply, indeed weakly, that calling and ivah'ing 
 are not exactly the same, unless when tradesmen rap and gentlemen 
 are leaving town.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 45 
 
 wise. In holding vain converse with false gods. The 
 utmost we can allow in propriety is to call a knight Phoebus, 
 and a dame Diana. They arc not meat for every trencher. 
 
 " We must now proceed straightforward with the business 
 on which thou coniest before us. What further sayest thou, 
 witness ? " 
 
 Treen. His face was toward me ; I saw it clearly. The 
 graver man followed him into the punt, and said, roughly, 
 " We shall get hanged as sure as thou pipest." 
 
 Whereunto he answered, — 
 
 " Naturally, as fall upon the ground 
 The leaves in winter and the girls in spring." 
 
 And then began he again with the mermaid ; whereat the 
 graver man clapped a hand before his mouth, and swore he 
 should take her in wedlock, to have and to hold, if he sang 
 another stave. " And thou shalt be our pretty little bride- 
 maid," quoth he gaily to the graver man, chucking him under 
 the chin. 
 
 Sir Thomas. And what did Carnaby say unto thee, or 
 what didst thou say unto Carnaby ? 
 
 Treen. Carnaby said unto me, somewhat tauntingly, " The 
 big squat man, that lay upon thy bread-basket like a night- 
 mare, is a punt at last, it seems." 
 
 " Punt, and more too," answered I. " Tarry awhile, and 
 thou shalt see this punt (so let me call it) lead them into 
 temptation, and swamp them or carry them to the gallows ; I 
 would not stay else." 
 
 Sir Thomas. And what didst thou, Joseph Carnaby ? 
 
 Carnaby. Finding him neither slack nor shy, I readily 
 tarried. We knelt down opposite each other, and said our 
 prayers ; and he told me he was now comfortable. " The 
 evil one," said he, " hath enough to mind yonder : he shall 
 not hurt us." 
 
 Never was a sweeter night, had there been but some mild 
 ale under it, which any one would have sworn it was made 
 for. The milky way looked like a long drift of hail-stones 
 on a sunny ridge. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Hast thou done describing ?
 
 46 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Cartiaby. Yes, an please your worship. 
 
 Sir Thomas. God's blessing be upon thee, honest Car- 
 naby ! 1 feared a moon-fall. In our days nobody can think 
 about a plum-pudding but the moon comes down upon it. I 
 warrant ye this lad here hath as many moons in his poems 
 as the Saracens had in their banners. 
 
 Shakspeare. I have not hatched mine yet, sir. Whenever 
 I do I trust it will be worth taking to market. 
 
 Carnahy. I said all I know of the stars ; but Master 
 Euseby can run over half a score and upward, here and there. 
 " Am I right, or wrong ? " cried he, spreading on the back of 
 my hand all his fingers, stiff as antlers and cold as icicles. 
 " Look up, Joseph ! Joseph ! there is no Lucifer in the 
 firmament ! " I myself did feel queeiish and qualmy upon 
 hearing that a star was missing, being no master of gainsaying 
 it ; and I abased my eyes, and entreated of Euseby to do in 
 like manner. And in this posture did we both of us lemain ; 
 and the missing star did not disquiet me ; and all the others 
 seemed as if they knew us and would not tell of us ; and 
 there was peace and pleasantness over sky and earth. And 
 I said to my companion, — 
 
 " How quiet now, good Master Euseby, are all God's 
 creatures in this meadow, because they never pry into such 
 high matters, but breathe sweetly among the pig-nuts. The 
 only things we hear or see stirring are the glow-worms and 
 dormice, as though they were sent for our edification, teaching 
 us to rest contented with our own little light, and to come 
 out and seek our sustenance where none molest or thwart us." 
 
 Shakspeare. Ye would have it thus, no doubt, when your 
 pockets and pouches are full of gins and nooses. 
 
 Sir Thomas. A bridle upon thy dragon's tongue ! And 
 do thou. Master Joseph, quit the dormice and glow-worms, 
 and tell us whither did the rogues go. 
 
 Carnaby. I wot not after they had crossed the river ; 
 they were soon out of sight and hearing. 
 
 Sir Ihomas. Went they toward Charlecote ? 
 
 Cartiaby. Their first steps were thitherward. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Did they come back unto the punt ? 
 
 Carnaby. They went down the stream in it, and crossed
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 47 
 
 the Avon some fourscore yards below where we were stand- 
 ing. They came back^in it, and moored it to the sedges in 
 which it had stood before. 
 
 Sir Thomas. How long were they absent ? 
 
 Carnaby. Within an hour, or thereabout, ail the three 
 men returned. Will Shakspeare and another were sitting in 
 the middle, the third punted. 
 
 " Remember now, gentles ! " quoth William Shakspeare, 
 " the road we have taken is henceforward a footpath for ever, 
 according to law." 
 
 " How so ? " asked the punter, turning toward him. 
 
 " Forasmuch as a corpse hath passed along it," answered 
 he. 
 
 Whereupon both Euseby and myself did forthwith fall upon 
 our faces, commending our souls unto the Lord. 
 
 Sir Thomas. It was then really the dead body that 
 quivered so fearfully upon the water, covering all the punt ! 
 Christ, deliver us ! I hope the keeper they murdered was 
 not Jeremiah. His wife and four children would be very 
 chargeable, and the man was by no means amiss. Proceed ! 
 what further ? 
 
 Carnaby. On reaching the bank, " I never sat pleasanter 
 in ray lifetime," said William Shakspeare, " than upon this 
 carcass." 
 
 Sir Thomas. Lord have mercy upon us ! Thou upon a 
 carcass, at thy years ? . . . 
 
 And the knight drew back his chair half an ell farther 
 from the table, and his lips quivered at the thought of such 
 inhumanity. 
 
 " And what said he more ? and what did he ? " asked the 
 knight. 
 
 Carnaby. He patted it smartly, and said, " Lug it out ; 
 break it." 
 
 Sir Thomas. These four poor children ! who shall feed 
 them ? 
 
 Sir Silas. Sir ! in God's name have you forgotten that 
 Jeremiah is gone to Nuneaton to see his father, and that the 
 murdered man is the buck ? 
 
 Sir Thomas. They killed the buck likewise. But what,
 
 48 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 ye cowardly varlets ! have ye been deceiving me all this time ? 
 And thou, youngster ! couldst thou say nothing to clear up 
 the case ? Thou shalt smart for it. Methought I had lost 
 by a violent death the best servant ever man had — righteous, 
 if there be no blame in saying it, as the prophet whose name 
 he beareth, and brave as the lion of Judah. 
 
 Shakspeare. Sir, if these men could deceive your worship 
 for a moment, they might deceive me for ever. I could not 
 guess what their story aimed at, except my ruin. I am 
 inclined to lean for once toward the opinion of Master Silas, 
 and to believe it was really the stolen buck on which this 
 William (if indeed there is any truth at all in the story) was 
 sitting. 
 
 Sir Thomas. What more hast thou for me that is not 
 enigma or parable ? 
 
 Carnahy. I did not see the carcass, man's or beast's, may 
 it please your worship, and I have recited and can recite that 
 only which 1 saw and heard. After the words of lugging 
 out and breaking it, knives were drawn accordingly. It was 
 no time to loiter or linger. We crope back under the shadow 
 of the alders and hazels on the high bank that bordereth 
 Mickle Meadow, and, making straight for the public road, 
 hastened homeward. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Hearing this deposition, dost thou affirm the 
 like upon thy oath, Master Euseby Treen, or dost thou vary 
 in aught essential ? 
 
 Treen. Upon my oath I do depose and affirm the like, 
 and truly the identical same ; and I will nevermore vary upon 
 aught essential. 
 
 Sir Thomas. I do now further demand of thee whether 
 thou knowest anything more appertaining unto this business. 
 
 Treen. Ay, verily ; that your worship may never hold me 
 for timorsome and superstitious, I do furthermore add that some 
 other than deer-stealers was abroad. In sign whereof, although 
 it was the dryest and clearest night of the season, my jerkin 
 was damp inside and outside when I reached my house-door. 
 
 Shakspeare. I warrant thee, Euseby, the damp began not 
 at the outside. A word in thy ear : Lucifer was thy tapster, 
 I trow. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Irreverent swine ! hast no awe nor shame.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 49 
 
 Thou hast aggravated tliy ofFencc, William Shakspeare, by thy 
 foul-mouthedness. 
 
 Sir Si/as. I must remind your worship that he not only 
 has committed this iniquity afore, but hath pawed the puddle 
 he made, and relapsed into it after due caution and reproof. 
 God forbid that what he spake against me, out of the gall of 
 his proud stomach, should move me. I defy him, a low, 
 ignorant wretch, a rogue and vagabond, a thief and cut-throat, 
 a * monger and mutton-eater. 
 
 Shakspeare. Your worship doth hear the learned cleik's 
 testimony in my behalf. " Out of the mouth of babes and 
 sucklings " — 
 
 Sir Thomas. Silas, the youth has failings — a madcap ; but 
 he is pious. 
 
 Shakspeare. Alas, no, sir ! Would I were ! But Sir 
 Silas, like the prophet, came to curse, and was forced to bless 
 me, even me, a sinner, a mutton-eater ! 
 
 Sir Thomas. Thou urgedst him. He beareth no ill-will 
 toward thee. Thou knewedst, I suspect, that the blackness 
 in his mouth proceeded from a natural cause. 
 
 Shakspeare. The Lord is merciful ! I was brought hither 
 in jeopardy ; I shall letum in joy. Whether my innocence 
 be declared or otherwise, my piety and knowledge will be for- 
 warded and increased ; for your worship will condescend, even 
 from the judgment-seat, to enlighten the ignorant where a soul 
 shall be saved or lost. And I, even I, may trespass a moment 
 on your courtesy. I quail at the words natural cause. Be 
 there any such ? 
 
 Sir Thomas. Youth ! I never thought thee so staid. 
 Thou hast, for these many months, been represented unto me 
 as one dissolute and light, much given unto mummeries and 
 mysteries, wakes and carousals, cudgel-fighters and mounte- 
 banks and wanton women. They do also represent of thee (I 
 hope it may be without foundation) that thou enactest the 
 parts, not simply of foresters and fairies, girls in the green- 
 sickness and friars, lawyers and outlaws, but likewise, having 
 
 * Here the manuscript is blotted ; but the probability is that_it 
 ■W21.S fishmonger, rather than ironmonger, fishmongers having always been 
 notorious cheats and liars.
 
 50 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 small reverence for station, of kings and queens, knights and 
 privy-counsellors, in all their glory. It hath been whispered, 
 moreover, and the testimony of these two witnesses doth 
 appear in some measure to countenance and confirm it, that 
 thou hast at divers times this last summer been seen and heard 
 alone, inasmuch as human eye may discover, on the narrow 
 slip of greensward between the Avon and the chancel, distort- 
 ing thy body like one possessed, and uttering strange language, 
 like unto incantation. This, however, cometh not before me. 
 Take heed ! take heed unto thy ways ; there are graver things 
 in law even than homicide and deer-stealing. 
 
 Sir Silas, And strong against him. Folks have been 
 consumed at the stake for pettier felonies and upon weaker 
 evidence. 
 
 Sir Thomas. To that anon. . . . 
 
 . . William Shakspeare did hold down his head, answer- 
 ing nought. And Sir Thomas spake again unto him, as one 
 mild and fatherly, if so be that such a word may be spoken of 
 a knight and parliament-man. And these are the words he 
 spake : 
 
 " Reason and ruminate with thyself now. To pass over 
 and pretermit the danger of representing the actions of the 
 others, and mainly of lawyers and churchmen, the former of 
 whom do pardon no offences, and the-latter those only against 
 God, having no warrant for more, canst thou believe it 
 innocent to counterfeit kings and queens ? Supposest thou 
 that if the impression of their faces on a farthing be felonious 
 and rope-wortliy, the imitation of head and body, voice and 
 bearing, plume and strut, crown and mantle, and everything 
 else that maketh them royal and glorious, be aught less ? 
 Perpend, young man, perpend ! Consider, who among in- 
 ferior mortals shall imitate them becomingly ? Dreamest thou 
 they talk and act like cheesemen at Banbury fair ? How can 
 thy shallow brain suffice for their vast conceptions ? How 
 darest thou say, as they do : ' Hang this fellow ; quarter that ; 
 flay ; mutilate ; stab ; shoot ; press ; hook ; torture ; burn 
 alive ' ? These are royalties. Who appointed thee to such 
 office ? The Holy Ghost ? He alone can confer it ; but 
 when wert thou .inointed ? "
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 51 
 
 William was so zealous in storing up these verities, that he 
 looked as though he were unconscious that the pouring-out 
 was over. He started, which he had not done before, at the 
 voice of Master Silas ; but soon recovered his complacency, 
 and smiled with much serenity at being called low-minded 
 varlet. 
 
 " Low-minded varlet ! " cried Master Silas, most con- 
 temptuously, " dost thou imagine that king calleth king, like 
 thy chums, ^Zr/ier and Jibber, tuhlrl'igig and nincompoop ? In- 
 stead of this low vulgarity and sordid idleness, ending in 
 nothing, they throw at one another such fellows as thee by 
 the thousand, and when they have cleared the land, render 
 God thanks and make peace." 
 
 Willy did now sigh out his ignorance of these matters ; and 
 he sighed, mayhap, too, at the recollection of the peril he had 
 run into, and had ne'er a word on the nail.* 
 
 The bowels of Sir Thomas waxed tenderer and tenderer ; 
 and he opened his lips in this fashion : 
 
 " Stripling ! I would now communicate unto thee, on find- 
 ing thee docile and assentaneous, the instmction thou needest 
 on the signification of the words natural cause, if thy duty 
 toward thy neighbour had been first instilled into thee." 
 
 Whereupon Master Silas did interpose, for the dinner hour 
 was drawing nigh. 
 
 " We cannot do all at once," quoth he. " Coming out ot 
 order, it might harm him. Malt before hops, the world over, 
 or the beer muddies." 
 
 But Sir Thomas was not to be pricked out of his form even 
 by so shrewd a pricker ; and like unto one who heareth not, 
 he continued to look most graciously on the homely vessel that 
 stood ready to receive his wisdom. 
 
 " Thy mind," said he, " being unprepai'ed for higher 
 cogitations, and the groundwork and religious duty not being 
 well rammer-beaten and flinted, T do pass over this superero- 
 gatory point, and inform thee rather, that bucks and swans 
 and herons have something in their very names announcing 
 them of knightly appurtenance ; and (God forfend that evil 
 do ensue therefrom ! ) that a goose on the common, or a game- 
 
 * On the nail appears to be intended to express ready faxjment.
 
 52 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 cock on the loft of a cottager or villager, may be seized, 
 bagged, and abducted, with far less offence to the laws. In 
 a buck there is something so gainly and so grand, he treadeth 
 the earth with such ease and such agility, he abstaineth from 
 all other animals with such punctilious avoidance, one would 
 imagine God created him when he created knighthood. In 
 the swan there is such purity, such coldness is there in the 
 element he inhabiteth, such solitude of station, that verily he 
 doth remind me of the Virgin Queen herself. Of the heron 
 I have less to say, not having him about me ; but I never 
 heard his lordly croak without the conceit that it resembled a 
 chancellor's or a primate's. 
 
 " I do perceive, William Shakspeare, thy compunction and 
 contrition." 
 
 Shakspeare. I was thinking, may it please your worship, 
 of the game-cock and the goose, having but small notion of 
 iierons. This doctrine of abduction, please your worship, hath 
 been alway inculcated by the soundest of our judges. Would 
 they had spoken on other points with the same clearness. 
 How many unfortunates might thereby have been saved from 
 crossing the Cordilleras ! * 
 
 Sir Thomas. Ay, ay ! they have been fain to fly the 
 country at last, thither or elsewhere. . . . 
 
 And then did Sir Thomas call unto him Master Silas, and 
 say, 
 
 " Walk we into the bay-window. And thou mayest come, 
 Ephraim." 
 
 And when we were there together, I, Master Silas, and 
 
 * Perhaps a pun was intended ; or possibly it might, in the age of 
 Elizabeth, have been a vulgar term for hanging, although we find no 
 trace of the expression in other books. i** 
 
 [1*) In the I St ed. this note ran: "The Cordilleras are mountains, 
 we know, running through South America. Perhaps a pun was in- 
 tended ; or possibly it might, in the age of Elizabeth, have been a 
 vulgar term for hanging, although we find no trace of the expression in 
 other books. We have no clue to guide us here. It might be 
 suggested that Shakspeare, who shines little in geographical know- 
 ledge, fancied the Cordilleras to extend into North America, had con- 
 victs in his time been transported to those colonies. Certainly, many 
 adventurers and desperate men went thither."]
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 53 
 
 his worship, did his worship say unto the chaplain, but oftener 
 looking toward me, 
 
 " I am not ashamed to avouch that it goeth against me to 
 hang this young fellow, richly as the offence in its own nature 
 doth deserve it, he talketh so reasonably ; not indeed so 
 reasonably, but so like unto what a reasonable man may listen 
 to and reflect on. There is so much, too, of compassion for 
 others in hard cases, and something so very near in semblance 
 to innocence itself in that airy swing of lightheartedness about 
 him. I cannot fix my eyes (as one would say) on the shift- 
 ing and sudden shade-aiid-sh'ine, which cometh back to me, 
 do what I will, and mazes me in a manner, and blinks me." 
 
 At this juncture I was ready to fall upon the ground before 
 his worship, and clasp his knees for Willy's pardon. But he 
 had so many points about him, that I feared to discompose 
 'em, and thus make bad worse. Besides which, Master Silas 
 left me but scanty space for good resolutions, crying, 
 
 " He may be committed, to save time. Afterward he may 
 be sentenced to death, or he may not." 
 
 Sir Thomas. 'Twere shame upon me were he not ; 'twere 
 indication that I acted unadvisedly in the commitment. 
 
 Sir Silas. The penalty of the law may be commuted, if 
 expedient, on application to the fountain of mercy in London. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Maybe, Silas, those shall be standing round 
 the fount of mercy who play in idleness and wantonness with 
 its waters, and let them not flow widely, nor take their natural 
 course. Dutiful gallants may encompass it, and it may linger 
 among the flowers they throw into it, and never reached the 
 parched lip on the wayside. 
 
 These are homely thoughts, thoughts fiom a-field, thoughts 
 for the study and housekeeper's room. But whenever I have 
 given utterance unto them, as my heart hath often prompted 
 me with beatings at the breast, my hearers seemed to bear 
 toward me more true and kindly affection than my richest 
 fancies and choicest phraseologies could purchase. 
 
 'Twere convenient to bethink thee, should any other great 
 man's park have been robbed this season, no judge upon the 
 bench will back my recommendation for mercy. And, 
 indeed, how could I expect it ? Things may soon be brought
 
 54 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 to such a pass that their lordships shall scarcely find three 
 haunches each upon the circuit. • . . 
 
 . . " Well, Sir ! " quoth Master Silas, " you have a right 
 to go on in your own way. Make him only give up the 
 
 girl." 
 
 Here Sir Thomas reddened with righteous indignation, and 
 answered, — 
 
 " 1 cannot think it ! such a stripling ! poor, penniless ; it 
 must be some one else." 
 
 And now Master Silas did redden in his turn, redder than 
 Sir Thomas, and first asked me, — 
 
 " What the devil do you stare at ? " 
 
 And then asked his worship, 
 
 " Who should it be if not the rogue ? " and his lips turned 
 as blue as a blue-bell. 
 
 Then Sir Thomas left the window, and again took his 
 chair, and having stood so long on his legs, groaned upon it to 
 ease him. His worship scowled with all his might, and looked 
 exceedingly wroth and vengeful at the culprit, and said unto 
 him, 
 
 " Harkye, knave ! I have been conferring with my learned 
 clerk and chaplain in what manner I may, with the least 
 severity, rid the county (which thou disgracest) of thee." 
 
 William Shakspeare raised up his eyes, modestly and fear- 
 fully, and said slowly these few words, which, had they 
 been a better and nobler man's, would deserve to be written 
 in letters of gold. I, not having that art nor substance, do 
 therefore write them in my largest and roundest character, 
 and do leave space about 'em, according to their rank and 
 dignity : 
 
 " Worshipful sir ! 
 
 "A WORD IN THE EAR IS OFTEN AS GOOD AS A HALTER UNDER 
 IT, AND SAVES THE GROAT." 
 
 " Thou discoursest well," said Sir Thomas, " but others 
 can discourse well likewise. Thou shalt avoid ; I am 
 resolute." 
 
 Shakspeare. I supplicate your honour to impart unto me, 
 in your wisdom, the mode and means v/hereby I may surcease 
 to be disgraceful to the county.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 55 
 
 Sir Thomas. I am not bloody-minded. 
 
 First, thou shalt have the fairest and fullest examination. 
 Much hath been deposed against thee ; something may come 
 forth for thy advantage. I will not thy death ; thou shalt not 
 die. 
 
 The laws have loopholes, like castles, both to shoot from 
 and to let folks down. 
 
 Sir Silas. That pointed ear would look the better for par- 
 ing, and that high forehead can hold many letters. 
 
 Whereupon did William, poor lad ! turn deadly pale, but 
 spake not. 
 
 Sir Thomas then abated a whit of his severity, and said, 
 staidly, 
 
 " Testimony doth appear plain and positive against thee ; 
 nevertheless am I minded and prompted to aid thee myself, in 
 disclosing and unfolding what thou couldst not of thine own 
 wits, in furtherance of thine own defence. 
 
 " One witness is persuaded and assured of the evil spirit 
 having been abroad, and the punt appeared unto him diversely 
 from what it appeared unto the other." 
 
 Shahspeare. If the e\al spirit produced one appearance, he 
 might have produced all, with deference to the graver judg- 
 ment of your worship. 
 
 If what seemed punt was devil, what seemed huch might 
 have been devil too ; nay, more easily, the horns being forth- 
 coming. 
 
 Thieves and reprobates do resemble him more nearly still ; 
 and it would be hard if he could not make free with their 
 bodies, when he has their souls already. 
 
 Sir Thomas. But, then, those voices ! and thou thyself, 
 Will Shakspeare ! 
 
 Shahspeare. O might I kiss the hand of my deliverer, 
 whose clear-sightedness throweth such manifest and plenary 
 light upon my innocence ! 
 
 Sir Thomas. How so ? What light, in God's name, 
 have I thrown upon it as yet ? 
 
 Shakspeare. Oh ! those voices ! those faeries and spirits ! 
 whence came they ? None can deal with 'em but the devil, 
 the parson, and witches. And does not the devil oftentimes
 
 56 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 take the very form, features, and liabiliments of knights, and 
 bishops, and other good men, to lead them into temptation and 
 destroy them P or to injure their good name, in faiku'e of 
 seduction ? 
 
 He is sure of the wicked ; he lets them go their ways out 
 of hand. 
 
 I think your worship once delivered some such observation, 
 in more courtly guise, which I would not presume to ape. If 
 it was not your worship, it was our glorious lady the queen, or 
 the wise Master Walsingham, or the great Lord Cecil. I 
 may have marred and broken it, as sluts do a pancake, in the 
 turning. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Why ! ay, indeed, I had occasion once to 
 remark as much. 
 
 Shakspeare. So have I heard in many places ; although I 
 was not present when Matthew Atterend fought about it for 
 the honour of Kineton hundred. 
 Sir Thomas. Fought about it ! 
 
 Shahspeare. As your honour recollects. Not but on other 
 occasions he would have fought no less bravely for the queen. 
 Sir Thomas. We must get thee through, were it only for 
 thy memory ; the most precious gift among the mental powers 
 that Providence hath bestowed upon us. I had half forgotten 
 the thing myself. Thou mayest, in time, take thy satchel for 
 London, and aid good old Master Holingshed. 
 
 We must clear thee, Will ! I am slow to surmise that there 
 is blood upon thy hands ! 
 
 . . His worship's choler had all gone down again ; and 
 he sat as cool and comfortable as a man sitteth to be shaved. 
 Then called he on Euseby Treen, and said, 
 
 " Euseby Treen ! tell us whether thou observedst anything 
 unnoticed or unsaid by the last witness." 
 Treen. One thing only, sir! 
 
 When they had passed the water an owlet hooted after 
 them ; and methought, if they had any fear of God before 
 their eyes tliey would have turned back, he cried so lustily. 
 
 Shakspeare. Sir, I cannot forbear to take the owlet out of 
 your mouth. He knocks them all on the head like so many 
 mice. Likely story ! One fellow hears him cry lustily, the 
 other doth not hear him at all !
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 57 
 
 Carnaby. Not hear him ! A body might have heard him 
 at Barford or Sherbourne. 
 
 Sh- Thomas. Why didst not name him ? Canst not 
 answer me ? 
 
 Carnaby. He doubted whether punt were punt ; 1 
 doubted whether owlet were owlet, after Lucifer was away 
 from the roll-calL 
 
 We say, Speak the truth and shame the ilevil ; but shaming 
 him is one tiling, your honour, and facing him another ! I 
 have heard owlets, but never owlet like him. 
 
 Shakspeare. The Lord be praised ! All, at last, a-running 
 to my rescue. 
 
 Owlet, indeed ! Your worship may have remembered in 
 an ancient book indeed, what book is so ancient that your 
 worship doth not remember it ? a book printed by Doctor 
 Faustus. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Before he dealt with the devil ? 
 
 Shakspeare. Not long before ; it being the very book that 
 made the devil think it worth his while to deal with him. 
 
 Sir Thomas. What chapter thereof wouldst thou recall unto 
 my recollection ? 
 
 Shakspeare. That concerning owls, with the grim print 
 afore it. 
 
 Doctor Faustus, the wise doctor, who knew other than owls 
 and owlets, knew the tempter in that form. Faustus was not 
 your man for fancies and figments ; and he tells us that, to his 
 certain knowledge, it was verily an owl's face that whispered 
 so much mischief in the ear of our first parent. 
 
 One plainly sees it, quoth Doctor Faustus, under that gravity 
 which in human life we call dignity, but of which we read 
 notiiing in the Gospel. We despise the hangman, we detest 
 the hanged ; and yet, saith Duns Scotus, could we turn aside 
 the heavy curtain, or stand high enough a-tiptoe to peep 
 through its chinks and crevices, we should perhaps find these 
 two characters to stand justly among the most innocent in the 
 drama. He who blinketh the eyes of the poor wretch about 
 to die doeth it out of mercy ; those who preceded him, bid- 
 ding him in the garb of justice to shed the blood of his fellow- 
 man, had less or none. So they licdgc well their own
 
 58 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 grounds, what care they ? For this do they catch at stakes 
 and thorns, at quick and rotten — 
 
 . . Here Master Silas interrupted the discourse of the 
 devil's own doctor, delivered and printed by him before he 
 was the devil's, to which his worship had listened very atten- 
 tively and delightedly. But Master Silas could keep his 
 temper no longer, and cried, fiercely, " Seditious sermonizer ! 
 hold thy peace, or thou shalt answer for 't before convocation. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Silas ! thou dost not approve, then, the doc- 
 trine of this Doctor Duns ? 
 
 Sir Si/as. Heretical Rabbi ! 
 
 Shaispeare. If two of a trade can never agree, yet surely 
 two of a name may. 
 
 Sir Stias. Who dares call me heretical ? who dares call 
 me rabbi ? who dares call me Scotus ? Spider ! spider ! yea, 
 thou hast one corner left ; I espy thee, and my broom shall 
 reach thee yet. 
 
 Shakspeare. I perceive that Master Silas doth verily believe 
 I have been guilty of suborning the witnesses, at least the last, 
 the best man (if any difference) of the two. No, sir, no. If 
 my family and friends have united their wits and money for 
 this purpose, be the crime of perverted justice on their heads ! 
 They injure whom they intended to_ serve. Improvident 
 men ! (if the young may speak thus of the elderly) could they 
 imagine to themselves that your worship was to be hoodwinked 
 and led astray ? 
 
 Sir Thomas. No man shall ever dare to hoodwink me, to 
 lead me astray, no, nor lead me anywise. Powerful defence ! 
 Heyday ! Sit quiet. Master Treen ! Euseby Treen ! dost 
 hear me ? Clench thy fist again, sirrah ! and I clap thee in 
 the stocks. 
 
 Joseph Carnaby ! do not scratch thy breast nor thy pate 
 before me. 
 
 . . Now Joseph had not only done that in his wrath, but 
 had unbuckled his leathern garter, fit instrument for strife and 
 blood, and peradventure would have smitten, had not the 
 knight, with magisterial authority, interposed. 
 
 His worship said unto him, gravely, — " Joseph Carnaby ! 
 Joseph Carnaby ! hast thou never read the words ' Put up thy 
 r
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 59 
 
 "Subornation! your worship ! " cried Master Joe. "The 
 fellow hath ne'er a shilling in leather or till, and many must 
 go to suborn one like me." 
 
 " I do believe it of thee," said Sir Thomas ; " but patience, 
 man ! patience ! he rather tended toward exculpating thee. 
 Ye have far to walk for dinner ; ye may depart." 
 
 They went accordingly. 
 
 Then did Sir Thomas say, " These are hot men, Silas ! " 
 
 And Master Silas did reply unto him, — 
 
 " These are brands that would set fire to the bulrushes in 
 the mill-pool. I know these twain for quiet folks, having 
 coursed with them over Wincott." 
 
 Sir Thomas then said unto William, " It behooveth thee to 
 stand clear of yon Joseph, unless when thou mayest call to 
 thy aid the Matthew Atterend tliou speakest of. He did 
 then fight valiantly, eh ? " 
 
 Sbakspeare. His cause fought valiantly ; his fist but 
 seconded it. He won ; proving the golden words to be no 
 property of our lady's, although her Highness hath never 
 disclaimed them. 
 
 Sir Thomas. What art thou saying ? 
 
 Shakspeare. So I heard from a preacher at Oxford, who 
 had preached at Easter in the chapel-royal of Westminster. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Thou ! why, how could that happen ? Ox- 
 ford ! chapel-royal ! 
 
 Shakspeare. And to whom I said (your worship will for- 
 give my forwardness), " I have the honour, sir, to live within 
 two measured miles of the very Sir Thomas Lucy who spake 
 that." And I vow I said it without any hope or belief that 
 he would invite me, as he did, to dine with him thereupon. 
 
 Sir Thomas. There be nigh upon three miles betwixt this 
 house and Stratford bridge-end. 
 
 Shakspeare. I dropt a mile in my pride and exultation, 
 God forgive me ! I would not conceal my fault. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Wonderful ! that a preacher so learned as to 
 preach before majesty in the chapel -royal should not have 
 caught thee tripping over a whole lawful mile, — a good third 
 of the distance between my house and the cross-roads. This 
 is incomprehensible in a scholar.
 
 6o Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Shakspeare. God willed that he should become my teacher, 
 and in the bowels of his mercy hid my shame.*^ 
 
 Sir Thomas. How camest thou into the converse of such 
 eminent and ghostly men ? 
 
 Shakspeare. How, indeed ? everything against me ! 
 
 . . He sighed, and entered into a long discourse, which 
 Master Silas would at sundry times have interrupted, but that 
 Sir Thomas more than once frowned upon him, even as he 
 had frowned heretofore on young Will, who thus began and 
 continued his narration : 
 
 " Hearing the preacher preach at Saint Mary's (for being 
 about my father's business on Saturday, and not choosing to 
 be a-horseback on Sunday, albeit time-pressed, I footed it to 
 Oxford for my edification on the Lord's day, leaving the 
 sorrel with Master Hal Webster of the Tankard arid Unicorn) 
 — hearing him preach, as I was saying, before the University 
 in St Mary's Church, and hearing him use moreover the very 
 words that Matthew fought about, I was impatient (God for- 
 give me!) for the end and consummation, and I thought I 
 never should hear those precious words that ease every man's 
 heart, ' Noiv to conchide.'' However, come they did. I 
 hurried out among the foremost, and thought the congratula- 
 tions of the other doctors and dons would last for ever. He 
 walked sharply off, and few cared to keep his pace ; for they 
 are lusty men mostly ; and spiteful bad women had breathed * 
 in the faces of some among them, or the gowns had got be- 
 tween their legs. For my part, I was not to be baulked ; so, 
 tripping on aside him, I looked in his face askance. Whether 
 
 * In that age there was prevalent a sort of cholera, on which Fracas- 
 torius, half a century before, wrote a Latin poem, employing the 
 graceful nymphs of Homer and Hesiod, somewhat disguised, in the 
 drudgery of pounding certain barks and minerals. An article in the 
 Impeachment of Cardinal Wolsey accuses him of breathing in the 
 king's face, knowing that he was affected with this cholera. It was 
 a great assistant to the Reformation, by removing some of the most 
 vigorous champions that opposed it. In the Holy College it was fol- 
 lowed by the siueating sickness, which thinned it very sorely ; and 
 several even of God's vicegerents were laid under tribulation i)y it. 
 Among the chambers of the Vatican it hung for ages, and it crowned 
 the labours of Pope Leo XII., of blessed memory, with a crown some- 
 what uneasy.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 6[ 
 
 he misgave or how, he turned his eyes downward. No matter, 
 have him I would. I Hcked my Hps and smacked them loud 
 and smart, and scarcely venturing to nod, I gave my head such 
 a sort of motion as dace and roach give an angler's quill when 
 they begin to bite. And this fairly hooked him." 
 
 " ' Young gentleman ! ' said he, ' where is your gown ? ' 
 
 " ' Reverend sir ! ' said T, ' I am unworthy to wear one.' 
 
 " 'A proper youth, nevertheless, and mightily well-spoken ! ' 
 he was pleased to say. 
 
 " ' Your reverence hath given me heart, which failed me,' 
 was my reply. 'Ah! your reverence! those words about 
 the devil were spicy words ; but, under favour, I do know the 
 brook-side they sprang and flowered by. 'Tis just where it 
 runs into Avon ; 'tis called Hogbrook.' 
 
 " ' Right ! ' quoth he, putting his hand gently on my 
 shoulder ; ' but if I had thought it needful to say so in my 
 sermon, I should have affronted the seniors of the University, 
 since many claim them, and some peradventure would fain 
 transpose them into higher places, and giving up all right and 
 title to them, would accept in lieu thereof the poor recompense 
 of a mitre.' 
 
 " I wished (unworthy wish for a Sunday !) I had Matthew 
 Atterend in the midst of them. He would have given them 
 skulls mitre-fashioned, if mitres are cloven now as we see 
 them on ancient monuments. Mat is your milliner for gentles, 
 who think no more harm of purloining rich saws in a mitre 
 than lane-born boys do of embezzling hazel nuts in a woollen 
 cap. I did not venture to expound or suggest my thoughts, 
 but feeling my choler rise higher and higher, I craved permis- 
 sion to make my obeisance and depart. 
 
 " ' Where dost thou lodge, young man ? ' said the preacher. 
 
 " ' At the public,' said I, ' where my father customarily 
 lodgeth. There, too, is a mitre of the old fashion, swinging 
 on the sign-post in the middle of the street.' 
 
 " ' Respectable tavern enough ! ' quoth the reverend doctor ; 
 ' and worthy men do turn in there, even quality, — Master 
 Davenant, Master Powel, Master Whorwood, aged and grave 
 men. But taverns are Satan's chapels, and are always well 
 attended on the Lord's day, to twit him. Hast thou no 
 friend in such a city as Oxford i '
 
 62 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 " ' Only the landlady of the Mitre,' said I. 
 
 " ' A comely woman,' quoth he, ' but too young for busi- 
 ness by half. 
 
 • Stay thou with me to-day, and fare frugally, but safely. 
 
 ' What may thy name be, and where is thy abode ? ' 
 
 " ' William Shakspeare, of Stratford-upon-Avon, at your 
 service, sir.' 
 
 " ' And welcome,' said he ; ' thy father ere now hath 
 bought our college wool. A truly good man we ever found 
 him ; and I doubt not he hath educated his son to'follow him 
 in his paths. There is in the blood of man, as in the blood 
 of animals, that which giveth the temper and disposition. 
 These require nurture and culture. But what nurture will 
 turn flint-stones into garden mould ? or what culture rear cab- 
 bages in the quarries of Hedington Hill ? To be well born 
 is the greatest of all God's primary blessings, young man, and 
 there are many well born among the poor and needy. Thou 
 art not of the indigent and destitute, who have great tempta- 
 tions ; thou art not of the wealthy and affluent, who have 
 greater still. God hath placed thee, William Shakspeare, in 
 that pleasant island, on one side whereof are the sirens, on the 
 other the harpies, but inhabiting the coasts on the wider con- 
 tinent, and unable to make their talons felt, or their voices 
 heard by thee. Unite with me in prayer"'and thanksgiving for 
 the blessings thus vouchsafed. We must not close the heart 
 when the finger of God would touch it. Enough, if thou 
 sayest only. My soul, praise thou the Lord ! ' " 
 
 Sir Thomas said, " Amen J " Master Silas was mute for 
 the moment, but then quoth he, " I can say amen too in the 
 proper place." 
 
 The knight of Charlecote, who appeared to have been 
 much taken with this conversation, then interrogated Willy : 
 
 " What farther might have been thy discourse with the 
 doctor ? or did he discourse at all at trencher-time ? Thou 
 must have been veiy much abashed to sit down at table with 
 one who weareth a pure lambskin across his shoulder, and 
 moreover a pink hood." 
 
 Shalspeare. Faith ! was I, your honour ! and could 
 neither utter nor gulp.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc, 63 
 
 Sir Ihomas. These are good signs. Thou hast not lost 
 all grace. 
 
 Shakspeare. With the encouragement of Dr Glaston — 
 
 Sir Thomas. And was it Dr Glaston f 
 
 Shakspeare. Said I not so ? 
 
 Sir Thomas. The learnedst cleik in Christendom ! a very 
 Friar Bacon ! The Pope offered a hundred marks in Latin 
 to who should eviscerate or evirate him (poisons very potent, 
 whereat the Italians are handy) ; so apostolic and desperate a 
 doctor is Doctor Glaston ! so acute in his quiddities, and so 
 resolute in his bearing ! He knows the dark arts, but stands 
 aloof from them. Prithee, what were his words unto thee ? 
 
 Shakspeare. Manna, sir, manna ! pure from the desert ! 
 
 Sir Thomas. Ay, but what spake he \ for most sermons 
 are that, and likewise many conversations after dinner. 
 
 Shakspeare. He spake of the various races and qualities of 
 men, as before stated ; but chiefly on the elect and reprobate, 
 and how to distinguish and know them. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Did he go so far ? 
 
 Shakspeare. He told me that by such discussion he should 
 say enough to keep me constantly out of evil company. 
 
 Sir Thomas. See there ! see there ! and yet thou art come 
 before me ! Can nothing warn thee ? 
 
 Shakspeare. I dare not dissemble, nor feign, nor hold 
 aught back, although it be to my confusion. As well may I 
 speak at once the whole truth ; for your worship could find it 
 out if I abstained. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Ay, that I should indeed, and shortly. 
 But, come now, I am sated of thy follies and roguish tricks, 
 and yearn after the sound doctrine of that pious man. What 
 expounded the grave Glaston upon signs and tokens whereby 
 ye shall be known ? 
 
 Shakspeare. Wonderful things ! things beyond belief! 
 " There be certain men," quoth he — 
 
 Sir Thomas. He began well. This promises. But why 
 canst not thou go on ? 
 
 Shakspeare. " There be certain men, who, rubbing one 
 corner of the eye, do see a peacock's feather at the other, and 
 even fire. We know, William, what that fire is, and whence
 
 64 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 it Cometh. Those wicked men, William, all have their 
 marks upon them, be it only a corn, or a wart, or a mole, 
 or a hairy ear, or a toe-nail turned inward. Sufficient, and 
 more than sufficient ! He knoweth his own by less tokens. 
 There is not one of them that doth not sweat at some secret 
 sin committed, or some inclination toward it unsnaffled. 
 
 " Certain men are there, likewise, who venerate so little the 
 glorious works of the Creator that I myself have known them 
 to sneeze at the sun ! Sometimes it was against their will, 
 and they would gladly have checked it had they been able ; 
 but they were forced to shew what they are. In our carnal 
 state we say. What is one aga'ttist numbers P In another we 
 shall truly say. What are numbers against one P " 
 
 . . Sir Thomas did ejaculate, " ylmen ! Amen ! " And then 
 his lips moved silently, piously, and quickly ; and then said he, 
 audibly and loudly, — 
 
 " And make us at last true Israelites ! " 
 
 After which he turned to young Willy, and said, anxiously, 
 
 " Hast thou more, lad ? give us it while the Loi^d 
 strengtheneth." 
 
 " Sir," answered Willy, " although I thought it no trouble, 
 on my return to the Mitre, to write down every word I could 
 remember, and although few did then escape me, yet at this 
 present I can bring to mind but scanty sentences, and tlrose so 
 stray and out of order that they would only prove my inca- 
 pacity for sterling wisdom, and my incontinence of spiritual 
 treasure." 
 
 Sir Thomas. Even that sentence hath a twang of the 
 doctor in it. Nothing is so sweet as humility. The moun- 
 tains may descend, but the valleys cannot rise. Every man 
 should know himself. Come, repeat what thou canst. I 
 would fain have three or four more heads. 
 
 Shakspeare. I know not whether I can give your worship 
 more than one other. Let me try. It was when Doctor 
 Glaston was discoursing on the protection the wise and power- 
 ful should affiard to the ignorant and weak : 
 
 " In the earlier ages of mankind, your Greek and Latin 
 authors inform you, tliere went foith sundry worthies, men of 
 might, to ^deliver, not wandering damsels, albeit for those like-
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 65 
 
 wise they had stowage, but low-conditioned men, who fell 
 under the displeasure of the higher, and groaned in thraldom 
 and captivity. And these mighty ones were beHeved to have 
 done such services to poor humanity that their memory grew 
 greater than they, as shadows do than substances at day-fall. 
 And the sons and grandsons of the delivered did laud and 
 magnify those glorious names ; and some in gratitude, and some 
 in tribulation, did ascend the hills, which appeared unto them as 
 altars bestrown with flowers and herbage for heaven's accept- 
 ance. And many did go far into the quiet groves, under lofty 
 trees, looking for whatever was mightiest and most protecting. 
 And in such places did they cry aloud unto the mighty who 
 had left them, ' Return J return ! help us ! help us ! be 
 blessed ! for ever blessed ! ' 
 
 " Vain men ! but had they stayed there, not evil. Out of 
 gratitude, purest gratitude, rose idolatry. For the devil sees 
 the fairest, and soils it. 
 
 " In these our days, methinks, whatever other sins we may 
 fall into, such idolatry is the least dangerous. For neither on 
 the one side is there much disposition for gratitude, nor on the 
 other much zeal to deliver the innocent and oppressed. Even 
 this deliverance, although a merit, and a high one, is not the 
 highest. Forgiveness is beyond it. Forgive, or ye shall not 
 be forgiven. This ye may do every day ; for if ye find not 
 offences, ye feign them ; and suiely ye may remove your own 
 work, if ye may remove another's. To rescue requires more 
 thought and wariness; learn, then, the easier lesson first. 
 Afterward, when ye rescue any from another's violence, or 
 from his own (which oftentimes is more dangerous, as the 
 enemies are within not only the penetrals of his house but of 
 his heart), bind up his wounds before ye send him on his way. 
 Should ye at any time overtake the erring, and resolve to 
 deliver him up, I will tell you whither to conduct him. 
 Conduct him to his Lord and Master, whose household he 
 hath left. It is better to consign him to Christ his Saviour 
 than to man his murderer ; it is better to bid him live than to 
 bid him die. The one word our Teacher and Preserver said, 
 the other our enemy and destroyer. Bring him back again, 
 the stray, the lost one ! bring him back, not with clubs and 
 
 E
 
 66 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 cudgels, not with halberts and halters, but generously and 
 gently, and with the linking of the arm. In this posture 
 shall God above smile upon ye ; in this posture of yours he 
 shall recognize again his beloved Son upon earth. Do ye 
 likewise, and depart in peace." 
 
 William had ended, and there was silence in the hall for 
 some time after, when Sir Thomas said, 
 
 " He spake unto somewhat mean persons, who may do it 
 without disparagement. I look for authority. I look for 
 doctrine, and find none yet. If he could not have drawn us 
 out a thread or two from the coat of an apostle, he might 
 have given us a smack of Augustin, or a sprig of Basil. Our 
 older sermons are headier than these. Master Silas ! our new 
 beer is the sweeter and clammier, and wants more spice. The 
 doctor hath seasoned his pretty wit enough, to do him justice, 
 which in a sermon is never out of place ; for if there be the 
 bane, there likewise is the antidote. 
 
 " What dost thou think about it, Master Silas ? " 
 Sir Silas. I would not give ten farthings for ten folios of 
 such sermons. 
 
 Shakspeare. These words, Master Silas, will oftener be 
 quoted than any others of thine ; but rarely (do I suspect) as 
 applicable to Doctor Glaston. I must-^tick unto his gown. 
 I must declare that, to my poor knowledge, many have been 
 raised to the bench of bishops for less wisdom and worse than 
 is contained in the few sentences I have been commanded by 
 authority to recite. No disparagement to any body ! I 
 know, Master Silas, and multitudes bear witness, that thou 
 above most art a dead hand at a sermon. 
 Sir Silas. Touch my sermons, wilt dare ? 
 Shakspeare. Nay, Master Silas, be not angered ; it is 
 courage enough to hear them. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Now, Silas, hold thy peace and rest con- 
 tented. He hath excused himself unto thee, throwing in a 
 compliment far above his station, and not unworthy of Rome 
 or Florence. I did not think him so ready. Our Warwick- 
 shire lads are fitter for football than courtesies ; and, sooth to 
 say, not only the inferior. 
 
 . . His worship turned from Master Silas toward Wil-
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 67 
 
 Ham, and said, " Brave Willy, thou hast given us our bitters ; 
 we are ready now for anything solid. What hast left ? " 
 
 Shakspeare. Ivittle or nothing, sir. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Well, give us that little or nothing. 
 
 . . William Shakspeare was obedient to the commands of 
 Sir Thomas, who had spoken thus kindly unto him, and had 
 deigned to cast at him from his " lordly dish " (as the Psalmist 
 hath it) a fragment of facetiousness. 
 
 Shalispeare. Alas, sir ! may I repeat it without offence, it 
 not being doctrine but admonition, and meant for me only ? 
 
 Sir Thomas. Speak it the rather for that. 
 
 . . Then did William give utterance to the words of the 
 preacher, not indeed in his sermon at St Mary's, but after 
 dinner. 
 
 " Lust seizeth us in youth, ambition in mid-life, avance in 
 old age ; but vanity and pride are the besetting sins that drive 
 the angels from our cradle, pamper us with luscious and most 
 unwholesome food, ride our first stick with us, mount our first 
 horse with us, wake with us in the morning, dream with us in 
 the night, and never at any time abandon us. In this world, 
 beginning with pride and vanity, we are delivered over from 
 tormentor to tormentor, until the worst tormentor of all taketh 
 absolute possession of us for ever, seizing us at the mouth of 
 the grave, enchaining us in his own dark dungeon, standing at 
 the door, and laughing at our cries. But the Lord, out of his 
 infinite mercy, hath placed in the hand of every man the helm 
 to steer his course by, pointing it out with his finger, and 
 giving him strength as well as knowledge to pursue it. 
 
 " William ! William ! there is in the moral straits a current 
 from right to wrong, but no reflux from wrong to right ; for 
 which destination we must hoist our sails aloft and ply our 
 oars incessantly, or night and the tempest will overtake us, and 
 we shall shriek out in vain from the billows, and irrecoverably 
 smk. 
 
 " Amen ! " cried Sir Thomas most devoutly, sustaining his 
 voice long and loud. 
 
 " Open that casement, good Silas ! the day is sultry for the 
 season of the year ; it approacheth unto noontide. The room 
 is close, and those blue flies do make a strange hubbub."
 
 68 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Shakspeare. In troth do they, sir ; they come from the 
 kitchen, and do savour woundily of roast goose ! And, 
 methinks — 
 
 Sir Thomas. What bethinkest thou ? 
 
 Shakspeare. The fancy of a moment, — a light and vain 
 one. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Thou relievest me ; speak it. 
 
 Shakspeare. How could the creatures cast their coarse rank 
 odour thus far ? — even into your presence ! A noble and 
 spacious hall ! Charlecote, in my mind, beats Warwick 
 Castle, and challenges Kenilworth. 
 
 Sir Thomas. The hall is well enough ; I must say it is a 
 noble hall, — a hall for a queen to sit down in. And I stuffed 
 an arm-chair with horse-hair on purpose, feathers over it, swan- 
 down over them again, and covered it with scarlet cloth of 
 Bruges, five crowns the short ell. But her highness came not 
 hither ; she was taken short ; she had a tongue in her ear. 
 
 Shakspeare. Where all is spring, all is buzz and murmur. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Quaint and solid as the best yew hedge ! I 
 marvel at thee. A knight might have spoken it, under 
 favour. They stopped her at Warwick — to see what ? two 
 old towers that don't match,* and a portcullis that (people 
 
 * Sir Thomas seems to have been jealous of these two towers, 
 certainly the finest in England. If Warwick Castle could borrow the 
 windows from Kenilworth, it would be complete.ii 
 
 [11 This note in ist ed. reads: "complete. The knight is not very 
 courteous on its hospitality. He may, perhaps, have experienced it, 
 as Garrick and Quin did under the present occupant's grandfather, on 
 whom the title of Earl of Warwick was conferred for the eminent 
 services he had rendered to his country as one of the lords of the bed- 
 chamber to his Majesty George the Second. The verses of Garrick 
 on his invitation and visit are remembered by many. Quin's are less 
 known. 
 
 " He shewed us Guy's pot, but the soup he forgot ; 
 Not a meal did his lordship allow. 
 Unless we gnaw'd o'er the blade-bone of the boar. 
 Or the rib of the famous Dun Coiv. 
 
 " When Nevile the great Earl of Warwick lived here, 
 Three oxen for breakfast were slain, 
 And strangers invited to sports and good cheer. 
 And invited again and again.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 69 
 
 say) opens only upon fast-days. Charlecote Hall, I could 
 have told her sweet Highness, was built by those Lucys who 
 came over with Julius Cassar and William the Conqueror, 
 with cross and scallop-shell on breast and beaver. 
 
 " But, honest Willy ! ? — " 
 
 . . Such were the very words ; I wrote them down with 
 two signs in the margent, — one a mark of admiration, as 
 thus (!), the other of interrogation (so we call it) as thus (?). 
 
 " But, honest Willy, I would fain hear more," quoth he, 
 " about the learned Doctor Glaston. He seemeth to be a 
 man after God's own heart." 
 
 Shakspeare. Ay is he ! Never doth he sit down to 
 dinner but he readeth first a chapter of the Revelations ; and 
 if he tasteth a pound of butter at Carfax, he saith a grace 
 
 long enough to bring an appetite for a baked bull's* zle. 
 
 If this be not after God's own heart, I know not what is. 
 
 Sir Thomas. I would fain confer with him, but that 
 Oxford lieth afar off ; a matter of thirty miles, I hear. I 
 might, indeed, write unto him ; but our Warwickshire pens 
 are mighty broad-nibbed, and there is a something in this plaguy 
 ink of ours sadly ropy. 
 
 " I fear there is," quoth Willy. 
 
 " And I should scorn," continued his worship, " to write 
 otherwise than in a fine Italian character to the master of a 
 college, near in dignity to knighthood." 
 
 " This Earl is in purse or in spirit so low, 
 That he with no oxen will feed 'em ; 
 And all of the former great doings we know 
 Is, he gives us a book and we read 'em. 
 
 Garrick. 
 
 " Stale peers are but tough morsels, and 'twere well 
 If we had found i\\e fresh more eatable ; 
 Garrick ! I do not say 'twere well for him, 
 For we had pluck 'd the plover limb from limb. 
 
 QUIN."] 
 
 * Another untoward blot I but leaving no doubt of the word. The 
 only doubt is whether he meant the muzzle of the animal itself, or 
 one of those leathern muzzles which are often employed to coerce the 
 violence of ferocious animals. In besieged cities men have been re- 
 duced to such extremities. But the muzzle, in this place, we suspect, 
 would moie proptriy be called the blinker, which is often put upon 
 bulls in pastures when they are vicious.
 
 yo Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Shakspeare. Worshipful sir ! is there no other way of 
 communicating but by person, or writing, or messages ? 
 
 Sir Thomas. I will consider and devise. At present I 
 can think of none so satisfactory. 
 
 . . And now did the great clock over the gateway strike. 
 And Bill Shakspeare did move his lips, even as Sir Thomas 
 had moved his erewhile in ejaculating. And when he had 
 wagged them twice or thrice after the twelve strokes of the 
 clock were over, again he ejaculated with voice also, saying, 
 
 " Mercy upon us ! how the day wears ! Twelve strokes ! 
 Might I retire, please your worship, into the chapel for about 
 three quarters of an hour, and perform the service * as 
 ordained ? " 
 
 Before Sir Thomas could give him leave or answer, did 
 Sir Silas cry aloud, 
 
 " He would purloin the chalice, worth forty-eight shill- 
 ings, and melt it down in the twinkling of an eye, he is so 
 crafty." 
 
 But the knight was more reasonable, and said, reprov- 
 ingly, 
 
 " There now, Silas ! thou talkest widely, and verily in 
 malice, if there be any in thee." 
 
 " Tiy him," answered Master Silas ; J' I don't kneel where 
 he does. Could he have but his wicked will of me he would 
 chop my legs off, as he did the poor buck's." 
 
 Sir Thomas. No, no, no ; he hath neither guile nor revenge 
 in him. We may let him have his way, now that he hath 
 taken the right one. 
 
 Sir Silas. Popery ! sheer popery ! strong as hartshorn ! 
 Your papists keep these outlandish hours for their masses and 
 mummery. Surely we might let God alone at twelve o'clock ! 
 Have we no bowels ? 
 
 * Let not this countenance the opinion that Shakspeare was a 
 Roman Catholic. His contempt of priests may have originated from 
 the unfairness of Silas. Friars he treats kindly, perhaps in return for 
 somewhat less services than Friar Lawrence's to Romeo.^- 
 
 [1- In ist ed., after words in substance the same as given here, there 
 was added: "for Shakspeare was grateful. The words quoted by 
 him from some sermon, now lost, prove him no friend to the filchings 
 and swindling of popery."]
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 71 
 
 Shahspeare. Gracious sir ! I do not urge it ; and the time 
 is now passed by some minutes. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Art thou popishly inclined, William ? 
 
 Shahspeare. Sir, I am not popishly inclined ; I am not 
 inclined to pay tribute of coin or understanding to those who 
 rush forward with a pistol at my breast, crying, " Stand, or 
 you are a dead man." I have but one guide in faith, a power- 
 ful, an almighty one. He will not suffer to waste away and 
 vanish the faith for which he died. He hath chosen in all 
 countries pure hearts for its depositaries ; and I would rather 
 take it from a friend and neighbour, intelligent and righteous, 
 and rejecting lucre, than from some foreigner educated in the 
 pride of cities or in the moroseness of monasteries, who sells 
 me what Christ gave me, his own flesh and blood. 
 
 I can repeat by heart what I read above a year agone, 
 albeit I cannot bring to mind the title of the book in which I 
 read it. These are the words. 
 
 " The most venal and sordid of all the superstitions that 
 have swept and darkened our globe may, indeed, like African 
 locusts, have consumed the green corn in very extensive 
 regions, and may return periodically to consume it ; but the 
 strong, unwearied labourer who sowed it hath alway sown it 
 in other places less exposed to such devouring pestilences. 
 Those cunning men who formed to themselves the gorgeous 
 plan of universal dominion were aware that they had a better 
 chance of establishing it than brute ignorance or brute force 
 could supply, and that soldiers and their paymasters were 
 subject to other and powerfullcr fears than the transitory ones 
 of war and invasion. What they found in heaven they 
 seized ; and what they wanted they forged. 
 
 " And so long as there is vice and ignorance in the world, 
 so long as fear is a passion, their dominion will prevail ; but 
 their dominion is not, and never shall be, universal. Can we 
 wonder that it is so general ? Can we wonder that anything 
 is wanting to give it authority and effect, when every learned, 
 every prudent, every powerful, every ambitious man in Europe, 
 for above a thousand years, united in the league to consolidate 
 it? 
 
 " The old dealers in the shambles, where Christ's body is
 
 72 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 exposed for sale in convenient marketable slices,^^ h^ve not 
 covered with blood and filth the whole pavement. Beautiful 
 usages are remaining still, kindly affections, radiant hopes, and 
 ardent aspirations ! 
 
 " It is a comfortable thing to reflect, as they do, and as we 
 may do unblamably, that we are uplifting to our Guide and 
 Maker the same incense of the heart, and are uttering the very 
 words, which our dearest friends in all quarters of the earth, 
 nay in heaven itself, are offering to the throne of grace at the 
 same moment. 
 
 " Thus are we together through the immensity of space. 
 What are these bodies ? Do they unite us ? No : they 
 keep us apart and asunder even while we touch. Realms and 
 oceans, worlds and ages, open before two spirits bent on 
 heaven. What a choir surrounds us when we resolve to live 
 unitedly and harmoniously in Christian faith ! " 
 
 Sir Thomas. Now, Silas, what sayest thou ? 
 
 Sir Si/as. Ignorant fool ! 
 
 Shakspeare. Ignorant fools are bearable, Master Silas ! 
 your wise ones are the worst. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Prithee no bandying of loggerheads. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Or else what mortal man shaU: say 
 Whose shins may suffer in the fray ? 
 
 Sir Thomas, Thou reasonest aptly and timest well. And 
 surely, being now in so rational and religious a frame of mind, 
 thou couldst recall to memory a section or head or two of the 
 sermon holden at St Mary's. It would do thee and us as 
 much good as Lighten our darkness, or Forasmuch as it hath 
 pleased ; and somewhat less than three quarters of an hour 
 (maybe less than one quarter) sufiiceth. 
 
 Sir Silas. Or he hangs without me. I am for dinner in 
 half the time. 
 
 [13 In I St ed. the following note was printed: " It is a pity that 
 the old divines should have indulged, as they often did, in such images 
 as this. Some readers in search of argumentative subtility, some in 
 search of sound Christianity, some in search of pure English undefiled, 
 have gone through with them ; and their labours (however heavy) 
 have been well repaid."]
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 7 
 
 Sir Thomas. Silas ! Silas ! he hangeth not with thee or 
 without thee. 
 
 Sir Silas. He thinketh himself a clever fellow ; but he 
 (look ye) is the cleverest that gets off. 
 
 " I hold quite the contrary," quoth Will Shakspeare, wink- 
 ing at Master Silas from the comfort and encouragement he 
 had just received touching the hanging. 
 
 And Master Silas had his answer ready, and shewed that 
 he was more than a match for poor Willy in wit and poetry. 
 
 He answered thus : — 
 
 " If winks are wit, 
 Who wanteth it ? 
 
 Thou hadst other bolts to kill bucks withal. In wit, sirrah, 
 thou art a mere child." 
 
 Shakspeare. Little dogs are jealous of children, great ones 
 fondle them. 
 
 Sir Thomas. An that were written in the Apocrypha^ in 
 the very teeth of Bel and the Dragon, it could not be truer. 
 I have witnessed it with my own eyes over and over. 
 
 ^/> Silas. He will take this for wit, likewise, now the 
 arms of Lucy do seal it. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Silas, they may stamp wit, they may further 
 wit, they may send wit into good company, but not make it. 
 
 Shakspeare. Behold my wall of defence ! 
 
 Sir Silas. An thou art for walls, I have one for thee from 
 Oxford, pithy and apposite, sound and solid, and trimmed up 
 becomingly, as a collar of brawn with a crown of rosemary, or 
 a boar's head with a lemon in the mouth. 
 
 Shakspeare. Egad, Master Silas, those are your walls for 
 lads to climb over, an they were higher than Babel's. 
 
 Sir Silas. Have at thee ! 
 
 Thou art a wall 
 To make the ball 
 Rebound from. 
 
 Thou hast a back 
 For beadle's crack 
 
 To sound from, to sound from.
 
 74 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 The foolishest dolts are the ground-plot of the most wit, as 
 the idlest rogues are of the most industry. Even thou hast 
 brought wit down from Oxford. And before a thief is 
 hanged, parliament must make laws, attorneys must engross 
 them, printers stamp and publish them, hawkers cry them, 
 judges expound them, juries weigh and measure them with 
 offences, then executioners carry them into effect. The 
 farmer hath already sewn the hemp, the ropemaker hath 
 twisted it ; sawyers saw the timber, carpenters tack together 
 the shell, grave-diggers delve the earth. And all this truly 
 for fellows like unto thee. 
 
 Shakspeare. Whom a God came down from heaven to save! 
 
 Sir Thomas. Silas ! he hangeth not. William, I must 
 have the heads of the sermon, six or seven of 'em ; thou hast 
 whetted my appetite keenly. How ! dost duck thy pate into 
 thy hat ? nay, nay, that is proper and becoming at church ; we 
 need not such solemnity. Repeat unto us the setting forth at 
 St Mary's. 
 
 . . Whereupon did William Shakspeare entreat of Master 
 Silas that he would help him in his ghostly endeavours, by 
 repeating what he called the preliminary prayer ; which prayer 
 I find nowhere in our ritual, and do suppose it to be one of 
 those Latin supplications used in our learned universities now 
 or erewhile. 
 
 I am afeard it hath not the approbation of the strictly 
 orthodox, for inasmuch as Master Silas at such entreaty did 
 close his teeth against it, and with teeth thus closed did say, 
 Athanasius-wise, " Go and be damned ! " 
 
 Bill was not disheartened, but said he hoped better, and 
 began thus : 
 
 " ' My brethren ! ' said the preacher, * or rather let me 
 call you my children, such is my age confronted with yours, 
 for the most part,- — my children, then, and my brethren (for 
 here are both), believe me, killing is forbidden.' " 
 
 Sir Thomas. This, not being delivered unto us from the 
 pulpit by the preacher himself, we may look into. Sensible 
 man ! shrewd reasoner ! What a stroke against deer-stealers ! 
 how^full of truth and ruth ! Excellent discourse ! 
 
 Shakspeare. The last part was. the best.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 75 
 
 Sir Thomas. I always find it so. The softest of the 
 cheesecake is left in the platter when the cnast is eaten. He 
 kept the best bit for the last, then ? He pushed it under the 
 salt, eh ? He told thee — 
 
 Shalispeare. Exactly so. 
 
 Sir Thomas. What was it ? 
 
 Shalispeare. "Ye shall not kill." 
 
 Sir Thomas. How ! did he run in a circle like a hare ? 
 One of his mettle should break cover and off across the 
 countiy like a fox or hart. 
 
 Shakspeare. " And yet ye kill time when ye can, and 
 are uneasy when ye cannot." 
 
 . . Whereupon did Sir Thomas say, aside unto himself, 
 but within my hearing, 
 
 " Faith and troth ! he must have had a head in at the 
 window here one day or other." 
 
 Shakspeare. " This sin cryeth unto the Lord." 
 
 Sir Thomas. He was wrong there. It is not one of those 
 that cry ; mortal sins cry. Surely he could not have fallen 
 into such an error ! it must be thine ; thou misunderstoodest 
 him. 
 
 Shakspeare. Mayhap, sir ! A great heaviness came over 
 me ; I was oppressed in spirit, and did feel as one awakening 
 from a dream. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Godlier men than thou art do often feel the 
 right hand of the Lord upon their heads in like manner. It 
 followeth contrition, and precedeth conversion. Continue. 
 
 Shakspeare. " My brethren and children," said the teacher, 
 " whenever ye want to kill time call God to the chase, and 
 bid the angels blow the horn ; and thus ye are sure to kill 
 time to your heart's content. And ye may feast another day, 
 and another after that — " 
 
 Then said Master Silas unto me, concernedly, 
 
 " This is the mischief-fullest of all the devil's imps, to talk 
 in such wise at a quarter past twelve ! " 
 
 But William went straight on, not hearing him, 
 
 " * — upon what ye shall, in such pursuit, have brought 
 home with you. Whereas, if ye go alone, or two or three 
 together, nay, even if ye go in thick and gallant company.
 
 76 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 and yet provide not that these be with ye, my word for it, 
 and a powerfuller word than mine, ye shall return to your 
 supper tired and jaded, and rest little when ye want to rest 
 most.' " 
 
 " Hast no other head of the Doctor's ? " quoth Sir 
 Thomas. 
 
 " Verily none," replied Willy, " of the morning's discourse, 
 saving the last words of it, which, with God's help, I shall 
 always remember." 
 
 « Give us them, give us them," said Sir Thomas. 
 
 " He wants doctrine ; he wants authority ; his are grains 
 of millet ; grains for unfledged doves ; but they are sound, 
 except the crying. 
 
 Deliver unto us the last words ; for the last of the 
 preacher, as of the hanged, are usually the best." 
 
 Then did William repeat the concluding words of the 
 discourse, being these : 
 
 " ' As years are running past us, let us throw something on 
 them which they cannot shake off in the dust and hurry of 
 the world, but must carry with them to that great year of all, 
 whereunto the lesser of this mortal life do tend and are sub- 
 
 servient.' " 
 
 Sir Thomas, after a pause, and after having bent his knee 
 under the table, as though there had been the church-cushion, 
 said unto us, 
 
 " Here he spake through a glass, darkly, as blessed Paul 
 hath it." 
 
 Then turning toward Willy, 
 
 " And nothing more ? " 
 
 " Nothing but the glory, '^ quoth Willy, " at which there 
 is always such a clatter of feet upon the floor, and creaking of 
 benches, and rustling of gowns, and bustle of bonnets, and 
 justle of cushions, and dust of mats, and treading of toes, and 
 punching of elbows, from the spitefuller, that one wishes to be 
 fairly out of it, after the scramble for the peace of God is at an 
 end—" 
 
 Sir Thomas threw himself back upon his armchair, and ex- 
 claimed in wonderment, " How ! " 
 
 Shakspeare. " . . And in the midst of the service again,
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 'j'] 
 
 were it possible. For nothing is painfulier than to have the 
 pail shaken ofF the head when it is brim-full of the waters of 
 life, and we are walking staidly under it." 
 
 Sir Thomas. Had the learned Doctor preached again in 
 the evening, pursuing the thread of his discourse, he might, 
 peradventure, have made up the deficiencies I find in him. 
 
 Shakspeare. He had not that opportunity. 
 
 Sir Thomas. The more's the pity. 
 
 Shakspeare. The evening admonition, delivered by him 
 unto the household — 
 
 Sir Thomas. What ! and did he indeed shew wind enough 
 for that ? Prithee out with it, if thou didst put it into thy 
 tablets. 
 
 Shakspeare. Alack, sir ! there were so many Latin words, 
 I fear me I should be at fault in such an attempt. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Fear not ; we can help thee out between us, 
 were there a dozen or a score. 
 
 Shakspeare. Bating those latinities, I do verily think I 
 could tie up again most of the points in his doublet. 
 
 Sir Thomas. At him then ! What was his bearing ? 
 
 Shakspeare. In dividing his matter, he spooned out and 
 apportioned the commons in his discourse, as best suited the 
 quality, capacity, and constitution of his hearers. To those 
 in priests' orders he delivered a sort of catechism. 
 
 Sir Silas. He catechise grown men ! He catechise men 
 in priests' orders ! — being no bishop, nor bishop's ordinary ! 
 
 Shakspeare. He did so ; it may be at his peril. 
 
 Sir Thomas. And what else ? for catechisms are baby's 
 pap. 
 
 Shakspeare. He did not catechise, but he admonished the 
 richer gentlemen with gold tassels for their top-knots. 
 
 Sir Silas. I thought as much. It was no better in my 
 time. Admonitions fell gently upon those gold tassels ; and 
 they ripened degrees as glass and sunshine ripen cucumbers. 
 We priests, forsooth, are catechised ! The worst question to 
 any gold tasseller is, " How do you do ? " Old Alma Mater 
 coaxes and would be coaxed. But let her look sharp, or 
 spectacles may be thrust upon her nose that shall make her 
 eyes water. Aristotle could make out no royal road to wis-
 
 78 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 doni ; but this old woman of ours will shew you one, an you 
 tip her. 
 
 Tilley valley ! * catechise priests, indeed ! 
 
 Sir Thomas. Peradventure he did it discreetly. Let us 
 examine and judge him. Repeat thou what he said unto 
 them. 
 
 Shahspeare. " Many," said he, " are ingenuous, many are 
 devout, some timidly, some strenuously, but nearly all flinch, 
 and rear, and kick, at the slightest touch, or least inquisitive 
 suspicion of an unsound part in their doctrine. And yet, my 
 brethren, we ought rather to flinch and feel sore at our own 
 searching touch, our own serious inquisition into ourselves. 
 Let us preachers, who are sufficiently liberal in bestowing our 
 advice upon others, inquire of ourselves whether the exercise 
 of spiritual authority may not be sometimes too pleasant, tick- 
 ling our breasts with a plume from Satan's wing, and turning 
 our heads with that inebriating poison which he hath been seen 
 to instil into the very chalice of our salvation. Let us ask 
 ourselves in the closet whether, after we have humbled our- 
 selves before God in our prayers, we never rise beyond the 
 due standard in the pulpit ; whether our zeal for the truth be 
 never over-heated by internal fires less holy ; whether we 
 never grow stiffly and sternly pertinacious, at the very time 
 when we are reproving the obstinacy of others ; and whether 
 we have not frequently so acted as if we believed that opposi- 
 tion were to be relaxed and borne away by self-sufficiency and 
 intolerance. Believe me, the wisest of us have our catechism 
 to learn ; and these, my dear friends, are not the only ques- 
 tions contained in it. No Christian can hate ; no Christian 
 can malign. Nevertheless, do we not often both hate and 
 malign those unhappy men who are insensible to God's 
 mercies ? And I fear this unchristian spirit swells darkly, 
 with all its venom, in the marble of our hearts, not because 
 our brother is insensible to these mercies, but because he is in- 
 sensible to our faculty of persuasion, turning a deaf ear unto 
 our claim upon his obedience, or a blind or sleepy eye upon 
 the fountain of light, whereof we deem ourselves the sacred 
 
 * Tilley 'valley Was the favourite adjuration of James the Second. 
 It appears in the comedies of Shakspeare.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 79 
 
 reservoirs. There is one more question at which ye will 
 tremble when ye ask it in the recesses of your souls ; I do 
 tremble at it, yet must utter it. Whether we do not more 
 warmly and erectly stand up for God's word because it came 
 from our mouths, than because it came from his ? Learned 
 and ingenious men may indeed find a solution and excuse for 
 all these propositions ; but the wise unto salvation will cry, 
 ' Forgive me, O my God, if, called by thee to walk in thy 
 way, I have not swept this dust from the sanctuary ! ' " 
 
 Sir Thomas. All this, methinks, is for the behoof of clerks 
 and ministers. 
 
 Shakspeare. He taught them what they who teach others 
 should learn and practise. Then did he look toward the 
 young gentlemen of large fortune ; and lastly his glances fell 
 upon us poorer folk, whom he instructed in the duty we owe 
 to our superiors. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Ay, there he had a host. 
 
 Shalispeare. In one part of his admonition he said, 
 
 " Young gentlemen ! let not the highest of you who hear 
 me this evening be led into the delusion, for such it is, that 
 the founder of his family was originally a greater or a better 
 man than the lowest here. He willed it, and became it. He 
 must have stood low ; he must have worked hard ; and with 
 tools, moreover, of his own invention and fashioning. He 
 waved and whistled off ten thousand strong and importunate 
 temptations ; he dashed the dice-box from the jewelled hand 
 of Chance, the cup from Pleasure's, and trod under foot the 
 sorceries of each ; he ascended steadily the precipices of 
 Danger, and looked down with intrepidity from the summit ; 
 he overawed Arrogance with Sedateness ; he seized by the 
 horn and overleaped low Violence ; and he fairly swung 
 Fortune round. 
 
 " The very high cannot rise much higher ; the very low 
 may : the truly great must have done it. 
 
 ' This is not the doctrine, my friends, of the silkenly and 
 lawnly religious ; it wears the coarse texture of the fisherman, 
 and walks uprightly and straightforward under it. I am 
 speaking now more particularly to you among us upon whom 
 God hath laid the incumbrances of wealth, the sweets whereof
 
 8o Longer Prose Works. 
 
 bring teazing and poisonous things about you, not easily sent 
 away. What now are your pretensions under sacks of money ? 
 or your enjoyments under the shade of genealogical trees ? 
 Are they rational ? Are they real ? Do they exist at all i 
 Strange inconsistency ! to be proud of having as much gold 
 and silver laid upon you as a mule hath, and yet to carry it 
 less composedly ! The mule is not answerable for the con- 
 veyance and discharge of his burden : you are. Stranger in- 
 fatuation still ! to be prouder of an excellent thing done by 
 another than by yourselves, supposing any excellent thing to 
 have actually been done ; and, after all, to be more elated on 
 his cruelties than his kindnesses, by the blood he hath spilt 
 h an by the benefits he had conferred ; and to acknowledge 
 less obligation to a well-informed and well-intentioned pro- 
 genitor than to a lawless and ferocious barbarian. Would stocks 
 and stumps, if they could utter words, utter such gross 
 stupidity ? Would the apple boast of his crab origin, or the 
 peach of his prune ? Hardly any man is ashamed of being 
 inferior to his ancestors, although it is the very thing at which 
 the great should blush, if, indeed, the great in general de- 
 scended from the worthy. I did expect to see the day, and 
 although I shall not see it, it must come at last, when he shall 
 be treated as a madman or an impostor who dares to claim 
 nobility or precedency and cannot shew his family name in the 
 history of his country. Even he who can shew it, and who 
 cannot write his own under it in the same or as goodly 
 characters, must submit to the imputation of degeneracy, from 
 which the lowly and obscure are exempt. 
 
 " He alone who maketh you wiser maketh you greater ; 
 and it is only by such an implement that Almighty God him- 
 self effects it. When he taketh away a man's wisdom he 
 taketh away his strength, his power over others and over him- 
 self. What help for him then ! He may sit idly and swell 
 his spleen, saying, IVho is this ? 'who is that ? and at the 
 question's end the spirit of inquiry dies away in him. It 
 would not have been so if, in happier hour, he had said within 
 himself, Who am IP what am I ? and had prosecuted the 
 search in good earnest. 
 
 " When we ask who this man is, or who that man is, we
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 8i 
 
 do not expect or hope for a plain answer ; we should be 
 disappointed at a direct, or a rational, or a kind one. We 
 desire to hear that he was of low origin, or had committed 
 some crime, or been subjected to some calamity. Whoever 
 he be, in general we disregard or despise him, unless we 
 discover that he possesseth by nature many qualities of mind 
 and body which he never brings into use, and many accessories 
 of situation and fortune which he brings into abuse every day. 
 According to the arithmetic in practice, he who makes the 
 most idlers and the most ingrates is the most worshipful. But 
 wiser ones than the scorers in this school will tell you how 
 riches and power were bestowed by Providence that generosity 
 and mercy should be exercised ; for, if every gift of the 
 Almighty were distributed in equal portions to every creature, 
 less of such virtues would be called into the field ; consequently 
 there would be less of gratitude, less of submission, less of 
 devotion, less of hope, and, in the total, less of content." 
 
 Here he ceased, and Sir Thomas nodded, and said, 
 
 " Reasonable enough ! nay, almost too reasonable ! 
 
 But where are the apostles ? Where are the disciples ? 
 Where are the saints ? Where is hell-fire ? 
 
 Well ! patience ! we may come to it yet. Go on, 
 Will ! " 
 
 With such encouragement before him, did Will Shakspeare 
 take breath and continue : 
 
 " * We mortals are too much accustomed to behold our 
 superiors in rank and station as we behold the leaves in the 
 forest. While we stand under these leaves, our protection and 
 refuge from heat and labour, we see only the rougher side of 
 them, and the gloominess of the branches on which they hang. 
 In the midst of their benefits we are insensible to their utility 
 and their beauty, and appear to be ignorant that if they were 
 placed less high above us we should derive from them less 
 advantage.' " 
 
 Sir Thomas. Ay ; envy of superiority made the angels 
 kick and run restive. 
 
 Shakspeare. May it please your worship ! with all my 
 faults, I have ever borne due submission and reverence toward 
 my superiors.
 
 82 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Very right ! very scriptural ! But most 
 folks do that. Our duty is not fulfilled unless we bear 
 absolute veneration ; unless we are ready to lay down our 
 lives and fortunes at the foot of the throne, and every thing 
 else at the foot of those who administer the laws under virgin 
 majesty. 
 
 Shakspeare. Honoured sir ! I am quite ready to lay down 
 my life and fortune, and all the rest of me, before that great 
 virgin. 
 
 Sir Silas. Thy life and fortune, to wit ! 
 
 What are they worth ? A June cob-nut, maggot and all. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Silas, we will not repudiate nor rebuff his 
 Magdalen, that bringeth a pot of ointment. Rather let us 
 teach and tutor than twit. It is a tractable and conducible 
 youth, being in good company. 
 
 Sir Silas. Teach and tutor ! Hold hard, sir ! These 
 base varlets ought to be taught but two things : to bow as be- 
 seemeth them to their betters, and to hang perpendicular. We 
 have authority for it, that no man can add an inch to his 
 stature ; but by aid of the sheriff I engage to find a chap who 
 shall add two or three to this whorseson's.* 
 
 Sir Thomas. Nay, nay, now, Silas ! the lad's mother was 
 always held to be an honest woman. 
 
 Sir Silas. His mother may be an honest woman for me. 
 
 Shakspeare. No small privilege, by my faith ! for any 
 woman in the next parish to thee. Master Silas ! 
 
 Sir Silas. There again ! out comes the filthy runlet from 
 the quagmire, that but now lay so quiet with all its own in it. 
 
 Shakspeare. Until it was trodden on by the ass that could 
 not leap over it. These, I think, are the words of the fable. 
 
 Sir Thomas. They are so. 
 
 Sir Silas. What fable ? 
 
 * Whoreson, if we may hazard a conjecture, means the son of a 
 woman of ill-repute. In this we are borne out by the context. It 
 appears to have escaped the commentators on Shakspeare. 
 
 Whoreson, a word of frequent occurrence in the comedies ; more 
 rarely found in the tragedies. Although now obsolete, the expression 
 proves that there were (or were believed to be) such persons formerly. 
 
 The Editor is indebted to two learned friends for these two remarks, 
 which appear no less just than ingenious.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 83 
 
 Sir Thomas. Tush ! don't press him too hard ; he wants 
 not wit, but learning. 
 
 Sir Silas. He wants a rope's-end ; and a rope's-end is 
 not enough for him, unless we throw in the other. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Peradventure he may be an instrument, a 
 potter's clay, a type, a token. 
 
 I have seen many young men, and none like unto him. 
 He is shallow but clear ; he is simple, but ingenuous. 
 
 Sir Silas. Drag the ford again, then. In my mind he is 
 as deep as the big tankard ; and a mouthful of rough burrage 
 will be the beginning and end of it. 
 
 Sir Thomas. No fear of that. Neither, if rightly reported 
 by the youngster, is there so much doctrine in the doctor as 
 we expected. He doth not dwell upon the main ; he is 
 worldly ; he is wise in his generation, — he says things out of 
 his own head. 
 
 Silas, that can't hold ! We want props, fulcrums, I 
 think you called 'em to the farmers ; or was it stimulums P 
 
 Sir Silas. Both very good words. 
 
 Sir Thomas. I should be mightily pleased to hear thee 
 dispute with that great don. 
 
 Sir Silas. I hate disputations. Saint Paul warns us against 
 them. If one wants to be thirsty, the tail of a stockfish is as 
 good for it as the head of a logician. 
 
 The doctor there, at Oxford, is in flesh and mettle ; but 
 let him be sleek and gingered as he may, clap me in St Mary's 
 pulpit, cassock me, lamb-skin me, give me pink for my 
 colours, glove me to the elbow, heel-piece me half an ell high, 
 cushion me before and behind, bring me a mug of mild ale 
 and a rasher of bacon, only just to con over the text withal ; 
 then allow me fair play, and as much of my own way as he 
 had, and the devil take the hindermost. I am his man at any 
 time. 
 
 Sir Thomas. I am fain to believe it. Verily, I do think, 
 Silas, thou hast as much stuff in thee as most men. Our beef 
 and mutton at Charlecote rear other than babes and sucklings. 
 
 I like words taken, like thine, from black-letter books. 
 They look stiff and sterling, and as though a man might dig 
 about 'em for a week, and never loosen the lightest.
 
 84 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Thou hast alway at hand either saint or devil, as occasion 
 needeth, according to the quality of the sinner, and they never 
 come uncalled for. Moreover, Master Silas, I have observed 
 that thy hell-fire is generally lighted up in the pulpit about the 
 dog-days. 
 
 . . Then turned the worthy knight unto the youth, saying, 
 
 " 'Twere well for thee, William Shakspeare, if the learned 
 doctor had kept thee longer in his house, and had shewn unto 
 thee'^the, danger of idleness, which hath often led unto deer- 
 stealing and poetry. In thee we already know the one, al- 
 though the distemper hath eaten but skin-deep for the present ; 
 and we have the testimony of two burgesses on the other. 
 The pursuit of poetry, as likewise of game, is unforbidden to 
 persons of condition." 
 
 Shakspeare. Sir, that of game is the more likely to keep 
 them in it. 
 
 Sir Thomas. It is the more knightly of the two ; but 
 poetry hath also her pursuers among us. I myself, in my 
 youth, had some experience that way ; and I am fain to blush 
 at the reputation I obtained. His honour, my father, took me 
 to London at the age of twenty ; and, sparing no expense in 
 my education, gave fifty shillings to one Monsieur Dubois to 
 teach me fencing and poetry, in twenly lessons. In vacant 
 hours he taught us also the laws of honour, which are different 
 from ours. 
 
 In France you are unpolite unless you solicit a judge or his 
 wife to favour your cause ; and you inevitably lose it. In 
 France there is no want of honour where there is no want of 
 courage ; you may lie, but you must not hear that you lie. I 
 asked him what he thought then of lying ; and he replied, — 
 
 '<C'est selon." 
 
 " And suppose you should overhear the whisper ? " 
 
 ** Ah, parbleu ! Cela m'irrite ; cela me pousse au bout." 
 
 I was going on to remark that a real man of honour 
 could less bear to lie than to hear it ; when he cried, at the 
 words real man of honour, — 
 
 " Le voila. Monsieur ! le voila ? " and gave himself such a 
 blow on the breast^as convinced me the French are a brave 
 people.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 85 
 
 He told us that nothing but his honour was left him, but 
 that it supplied the place of all he had lost. It was dis- 
 covered some time afterward that M. Dubois had been guilty 
 of perjury, had been a spy, and had lost nothing but a dozen 
 or two of tin patty-pans, hereditary in his family, his father 
 having been a cook on his own account. 
 
 William, it is well at thy time of life that thou shouldst 
 know the customs of far countries, particularly if it should be 
 the will of God to place thee in a company of players. Of 
 all nations in the world, the French best understand the stage. 
 If thou shouldst ever write for it, which God forbid, copy 
 them very carefully. Murders on their stage are quite decor- 
 ous and cleanly. Few gentlemen and ladies die by violence 
 who would not have died by exhaustion. For they rant and 
 rave until their voice fails them, one after another ; and those 
 who do not die of it die consumptive. They cannot bear to 
 see cruelty ; they would rather see any image than their own. 
 These are not my observations, but were made by Sir Everard 
 Starkeye, who likewise did remark to Monsieur Dubois, that 
 " cats, if you hold them up to the looking-glass, will scratch 
 you terribly ; and that the same fierce animal, as if proud of 
 its cleanly coat and velvety paw, doth carefully put aside what 
 other animals of more estimation take no trouble to conceal." 
 
 " Our people," said Sir Everard, " must see upon the stage 
 what they never could have imagined ; so the best men in 
 the world would earnestly take a peep of hell through a chink, 
 whereas the worser would skulk away." 
 
 Do not thou be their caterer, William ! Avoid the writ- 
 ing of comedies and tragedies. To make people laugh is 
 uncivil, and to make people cry is unkind. And what, after all, 
 are these comedies and these tragedies ? They are what, for 
 the benefit of all future generations, I have myself described 
 them, — 
 
 " The whimsies of vi^antons and stories of dread, 
 That make the stout-hearted look under the bed." 
 
 Furthermore,^let me warn thee against the same on account of 
 the vast charges thou must stand at. We Englishmen cannot 
 find it in our hearts to murder a man without much difficulty.
 
 86 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 hesitation, and delay. We have little or no invention for 
 pains and penalties ; it is only our acutest lawyers who have 
 wit enough to frame them. Therefore it behooveth your 
 tragedy-man to provide a rich assortment of them, in order to 
 strike the auditor with awe and wonder. And a tragedy- 
 man, in our country, who cannot afford a fair dozen of stabbed 
 males, and a trifle under that mark, of poisoned females, and 
 chains enow to moor a whole navy in dock, is but a scurvy 
 fellow at the best. Thou wilt find trouble in purveying these 
 necessaries ; and then must come the gim-cracks for the 
 second course, — gods, goddesses, fates, furies, battles, mar- 
 riages, music, and the maypole. Hast thou within thee 
 wherewithal ? 
 
 . . " Sir ! " replied Billy, with great modesty, " I am 
 most grateful for these ripe fruits of your experience. To 
 admit delightful visions into my own twilight chamber is not 
 dangerous nor forbidden. Believe me, sir, he who indulges 
 in them will abstain from injuring his neighbour ; he will see 
 no glory in peril, and no delight in strife. 
 
 The world shall never be troubled by any battles and 
 marriages of mine, and I desire no other music and no other 
 maypole than have lightened my heart at Stratford." 
 
 Sir Thomas, finding him well-conditioned and manageable, 
 proceeded : 
 
 " Although I have admonished thee of sundry and insur- 
 mountable impediments, yet more are lying in the pathway. 
 We have no verse for tragedy. One in his huriy hath 
 dropped rhyme, and walketh like unto the man who wanteth 
 the left-leg stocking. Others can give us rhyme indeed, but 
 can hold no longer after the tenth or eleventh syllable. Now 
 Sir Everard Starkeye, who is a pretty poet, did confess to 
 Monsieur Dubois the potency of the French tragic verse, 
 which thou never canst hope to bring over. 
 
 " ' I wonder. Monsieur Dubois ! ' said Sir Everard, ' that 
 your countrymen should have thought it necessary to transport 
 their heavy artilleiy into Italy. No Italian could stand a 
 volley of your heroic verses from the best and biggest pieces. 
 With these brought into action, you never could have lost the 
 battle of Pavia.'
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. S>y 
 
 Now my friend Sir Everard is not quite so good a his- 
 torian as he is a poet ; and Monsieur Dubois took advantage 
 of him. 
 
 ' Pardon ! Monsieur Sir Everard ! ' said Monsieur Dubois, 
 smiling at my friend's slip, * We did not lose the battle 
 of Pavia. We had the misfortune to lose our king, who 
 delivered himself up, as our kings always do, for the good 
 and glory of his country.' 
 
 ' How was this ? ' said Sir Everard, in surprise. 
 
 ' I will tell you. Monsieur Sir Everard ! ' said Monsieur 
 Dubois. ' I had it from my own father, who fought in the 
 battle, and told my mother, word for word. 
 
 * The king seeing his household troops, being only one 
 thousand strong, surrounded by twelve regiments, the best 
 Spanish troops, amounting to eighteen thousand four hundred 
 and forty- two, although he doubted not of victory, yet thought 
 he might lose many brave men before the close of the day, 
 and rode up instantly to King Charles, and said, 
 
 ' " My brother ! I am loath to lose so many of those brave 
 men yonder. Whistle off your Spanish pointers, and I agree 
 to ride home with you." 
 
 * And so he did. But what did King Charles ? Abus- 
 ing French loyalty, he made our Francis his prisoner, would 
 you believe it ? and treated him worse than ever badger was 
 treated at the bottom of any paltry stable-yard, putting upon 
 his table beer and Rhenish wine and wild boar.' 
 
 " I have digressed with thee, young man," continued the 
 knight, much to the improvement of my knowledge, T do 
 reverentially confess, as it was of the lad's. " We will now," 
 said he, " endeavour our best to sober thee, finding that 
 Dr Glaston hath omitted it." 
 
 " Not entirely omitted it," said William, gratefully ; " he 
 did after dinner all that could be done at such a time toward 
 it. The doctor could, however, speak only of the Greeks 
 and Romans, and certainly what he said of them gave me but 
 little encouragement." 
 
 Sir Thomas. W hat said he ? 
 
 Shahspeare. He said, " The Greeks conveyed all their 
 wisdom into their theatre, — their stages were churches and
 
 88 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 parliament-houses ; but what was false prevailed over what 
 was true. They had their own wisdom, the wisdom of the 
 foolish. Who is Sophocles, if compared to Doctor Ham- 
 mersley of Oriel ? or Euripides, if compared to Doctor 
 Prichard of Jesus ? Without the Gospel, light is darkness ; 
 and with it, children are giants. 
 
 " William, I need not expatiate on Greek with thee, since 
 thou knowest it not, but some crumbs of Latin are picked up 
 by the callowest beaks. The Romans had, as thou findest, 
 and have still, more taste for murder than morality, and, as 
 they could not find heroes among them, looked for gladiators. 
 Their only very high poet employed his elevation and strength 
 to dethrone and debase the Deity. They had several others, 
 who polished their language and pitched their instiniments 
 with admirable skill ; several who glued over their thin and 
 flimsy gaberdines many bright feathers from the widespread 
 downs of Ionia, and the richly cultivated rocks of Attica. 
 
 " Some of them have spoken from inspiration ; for thou art 
 not to suppose that from the 'heathen were withheld all the 
 manifestations of the Lord. We do agree at Oxford that the 
 Pollio of Virgil is our Saviour. True, it is the dullest and 
 poorest poem that a nation not very poetical hath bequeathed 
 unto us ; and even the versification, in which this master ex- 
 celled, is wanting in fluency and sweetness. I can only 
 account for it from the weight of the subject. Two verses, 
 which are fairly worth two hundred such poems, are from an- 
 other pagan ; he was forced to sigh for the church without 
 knowing her. He saith, 
 
 May I gaze upon thee when my latest hour is come I 
 May I hold thy hand when mine faileth me ! 
 
 This, if adumbrating the church, is the most beautiful thought 
 that ever issued from the heart of man ; but if addressed to a 
 v/anton, as some do opine, is filth from the sink, nauseating 
 and insufferable. 
 
 " William ! that which moveth the heart most is the best 
 poetry ! it comes nearest unto God, the source of all power." 
 
 Sir Thomas. Yea ; and he appeareth unto me to know 
 more of poetry than of divinity. Those ancients have little
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 89 
 
 flesh upon the body poetical, and lack the savour that sufficeth. 
 The Song of Solomon drowns all their voices : they seem but 
 whistlers and guitar-players compared to a full-cheeked trum- 
 peter ; they standing under the eaves in some dark lane, he 
 upon a well-caparisoned stallion, tossing his mane and all his 
 ribbons to the sun. I doubt the doctor spake too fondly of 
 the Greeks ; they were giddy creatures. William, I am loath 
 to -be hard on them ; but they please me not. There are 
 those now living who could make them bite their nails to the 
 quick, and turn green as grass with envy. 
 
 Shahpeare. Sir, one of those Greeks, methinks, thrown 
 into the pickle-pot, would be a treasure to the housewife's 
 young gherkins.i^ 
 
 Sir Thomas. Simpleton ! simpleton ! but thou valuest them 
 justly. Now attend. If ever thou shouldst hear, at Oxford 
 or London, the verses I am about to repeat, prithee do not 
 communicate them to that fiery spirit Mat Atterend. It 
 might not be the battle of two hundreds, but two counties ; a 
 sort of York and Lancaster war, whereof I would wash my 
 hands. Listen ! 
 
 . . And now did Sir Thomas clear his voice, always high 
 and sonorous, and did repeat from the stores of his memory 
 these rich and proud verses, — 
 
 " ' Chloe ! mean men must ever make mean loves ; 
 They deal in dog-roses, but I in cloves. 
 They are just scorch 'd enough to blow their fingers ; 
 I am a phoenix downright burnt to cinders.' " 
 
 At which noble conceits, so far above what poor Bill had 
 ever imagined, he lifted up his eyes to heaven, and exclaimed, 
 
 " The world itself must be reduced to that condition before 
 such glorious verses die? Chloe and Clove! Why, sir! 
 Chloe wants but a V toward the tail to become the very 
 thing ! Never tell me that such matters can come about of 
 themselves. And how truly is it said that we mean men deal 
 in dog-roses ! 
 
 Sir, if it were permitted me to swear on that holy Bible, 
 I would swear I never until this day heard that dog-roses were 
 
 [" First ed. reads: "jerkins."]
 
 90 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 our provender ; and yet did I, no longer ago than last summer, 
 write, not indeed upon a dog-rose, but upon a sweet-briar, 
 what would only serve to rinse the mouth withal after the 
 clove." 
 
 Sir Thomas. Repeat the same, youth. We may haply 
 give thee our counsel thereupon. 
 
 . . Willy took heart, and lowering his voice, which hath 
 much natural mellowness, repeated these from memory : 
 
 " My briar that smelledst sweet 
 When gentle spring's first heat 
 
 Ran through thy quiet veins, — 
 Thou that wouldst injure none, 
 But wouldst be left alone, 
 Alone thou leavest me, and nought of thine remains. 
 
 What ! hath no poet's lyre 
 O'er thee, sweet-breathing briar, 
 
 Hung fondly, ill or well ? 
 And yet methinks with thee 
 A poet's sympathy, 
 Whether in weal or woe, in life or death, might dwell. 
 
 Hard usage both must bear, 
 Few hands your youth will rear, 
 
 Few bosoms cherish you ; " 
 Your tender prime must bleed 
 Ere you are sweet, but freed 
 From life, you then are prized ; thus prized are poets too." 
 
 Sir Thomas said, with kind encouragement, " He who be- 
 ginneth so discreetly with a dog-rose, may hope to encompass 
 a damask- rose ere he die." 
 
 Willy did now breathe freely. The commendation of a 
 knight and magistrate worked powerfully within him ; and Sir 
 Thomas said furthermore, 
 
 " These short matters do not suit me. Thou mightest have 
 added some moral about life and beauty : poets never handle 
 roses without one ; but thou art young, and mayest get into 
 the train." 
 
 Willy made the best excuse he could ; and no bad one it 
 was, the knight acknowledged ; namely, that the sweet-briar 
 was not really dead, although left for dead.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 91 
 
 "Then," said Sir Thomas, "as life and beauty would not 
 serve thy turn, thou mightest have had full enjoyment of the 
 beggar, the wayside, the thieves, and the good Samaritan ; 
 enough to tapestry the bridal chamber of an empress." 
 
 William bowed respectfully, and sighed. 
 
 " Ha ! thou hast lost them, sure enough, and it may not be 
 quite so fair to smile at thy quandary," quoth Sir Thomas. 
 
 " I did my best the first time," said Willy, " and fell short 
 the second." 
 
 " That, indeed, thou must have done," said Sir Thomas. 
 " It is a grievous disappointment, in the midst of our lamenta- 
 tions for the dead, to find ourselves balked. I am curious to 
 see how thou couldst help thyself. Don't be abashed ; I am 
 ready for even worse than the last." 
 
 Bill hesitated, but obeyed : 
 
 And art thou yet alive ? 
 And shall the happy hive 
 
 Send out her youth to cull 
 Thy sweets of leaf and flower, 
 And spend the sunny hour 
 With thee, and thy faint heart with murmuring music lull ? 
 
 Tell me what tender care. 
 Tell me what pious prayer, 
 
 Bade thee arise and live. 
 The fondest-favoured bee 
 Shall whisper nought to thee 
 More loving than the song my grateful muse shall give. 
 
 Sir Thomas looked somewhat less pleased at the conclusion 
 of these verses than at the conclusion of the former, and said, 
 gravely, 
 
 " Young man ! methinks it is betimes that thou talkest of 
 having a muse to thyself; or even in common with others. It 
 is only great poets who have muses ; I mean to say who have 
 the right to talk in that fashion. The French, I hear, Phahus 
 it and muse-me it right and left ; and boggle not to throw all 
 nine, together with mother and master, into the compass of a 
 dozen lines or thereabout. And your Italian can hardly do 
 without 'em in the multiplication-table. We Englishmen do 
 let them in quietly, shut the door, and say nothing of what
 
 92 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 passes. I have read a whole book of comedies, and ne'er a 
 muse to help the lamest." 
 
 Shakspeare. Wonderful forbearance ! I marvel how the 
 poet could get through. 
 
 Sir Thomas. By God's help. And I think we did as 
 well without 'em ; for it must be an unabashable man that ever 
 shook his sides in their company. They lay heavy restraint 
 both upon laughing and crying. In the great master Virgil of 
 Rome, they tell me they come in to count the ships, and having 
 cast up the sum total, and proved it, make off again. Sure 
 token of two things, — first, that he held 'em dog-cheap ; 
 secondly, that he had made but little progress (for a Lombard 
 born) in book-keeping at double entry. 
 
 He, and every other great genius, began with small subject- 
 matters, gnats and the like. I myself, similar unto him, wrote 
 upon fruit. I would give thee some copies for thy copying, 
 if I thought thou wouldst use them temperately, and not render 
 them common, as hath befallen the poetry of some among the 
 brightest geniuses. I could shew thee how to say new things, 
 and how to time the same. Before my day, nearly all the 
 flowers and fruits had been gathered by poets, old and young, 
 from the cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop on the wall ; roses 
 went up to Solomon, apples to Adam, and so forth. 
 
 Willy ! my brave lad ! I was the first that ever handled a 
 quince, I '11 be sworn. 
 
 Hearken ! 
 
 " Chloe ! I would not have thee wince, 
 That I unto thee send a quince. 
 I would not have thee say unto 't 
 Begone ! and trample 't underfoot, 
 For, trust me, 'tis no fulsome fruit. 
 It came not out of mine own garden, 
 But all the way from Henly in Arden, 
 Of an uncommon fine old tree. 
 Belonging to John Asbury. 
 And if that of it thou shalt eat, 
 Twill make thy breath e'en yet more sweet ; 
 As a translation here doth shew, 
 On fruit-trees, by Jean Mirabeau. 
 The frontispiece is printed so.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc, 93 
 
 But eat it with some wine and cake, 
 Or it may give the belly-ache.* 
 This doth my worthy clerk indite, 
 I sign, 
 
 Sir Thomas Lucy, Knight." 
 
 Now, Willy, there is not one poet or lover in twenty who 
 careth for consequences. Many hint to the lady what to do, 
 few what not to do ; although it would oftentimes, as in this 
 case, go to one's heart to see the upshot. 
 
 . . "Ah, sir," said Bill, in all humility, "I would make 
 bold to put the parings of that quince under my pillow, for 
 sweet dreams and insights, if Doctor Glaston had given me 
 encouragement to continue the pursuit of poetry. Of a surety 
 it would bless me with a bedful of churches and cmcifixions, 
 duly adumbrated." 
 
 Whereat Sir Thomas, shaking his head, did inform him, 
 
 " It was in the golden age of the world, as pagans call it, 
 that poets of condition sent fruits and flowers to their beloved, 
 with posies fairly penned. We, in our days, have done the 
 like. But manners of late are much corrupted on the one 
 side, if not on both. 
 
 Willy ! it hath been whispered that there be those who 
 would rather have a piece of brocade or velvet for a stomacher 
 than the touchingest copy of verses, with a bleeding heart at 
 the bottom." 
 
 Shakspeare. Incredible ! 
 
 Sir Thomas. 'Tis even so ! 
 
 Shakspeare. They must surely be rotten fragments of 
 the world before the flood, — saved out of it by the devil. 
 
 Sir Thomas. I am not of that mind. 
 
 Their eyes, mayhap, fell upon some of the bravery cast 
 ashore from the Spanish AiTnada. In ancienter days, a few 
 pages of good poetry outvalued a whole ell of the finest 
 Genoa. 
 
 Shakspeare. When will such days return ? 
 
 * Belly-ache, a disorder once not uncommon in England. Even the 
 name is now almost forgotten ; yet the elder of us may remember at 
 least the report of it, and some, perhaps, even the complaint itself, in 
 our school-days. It usually broke out about the cheri7 season ; and 
 in some cases made its appearance again at the first nutting.
 
 94 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Sir Thomas. It is only within these few years that corrup- 
 tion and avarice have made such ghastly strides. They 
 always did exist, but were gentler. 
 
 My youth is waning, and has been nigh upon these seven 
 years, I being now in my forty-eighth. 
 
 Shakspeare. I have understood that the god of poetry 
 is in the enjoyment of eternal youth ; I was ignorant that his 
 sons were. 
 
 Sir Thomas. No, child ! we are hale and comely, but 
 must go the way of all flesh. 
 
 Shakspeare. Must it, can it, be ? 
 
 Sir Thomas. Time was, my smallest gifts were acceptable, 
 as thus recorded : 
 
 From my fair hand, O will ye, will ye 
 Deign humbly to accept a gilly- 
 
 Flower for thy bosom, sugared maid ! 
 Scarce had I said it ere she took it, 
 And in a twinkling, faith ! had stuck it. 
 
 Where e'en proud knighthood might have laid. 
 
 . . William was now quite unable to contain himself, 
 and seemed utterly to have forgotten the grievous charge 
 against him ; to such a pitch did his joy o'erleap his jeopardy. 
 
 Master Silas in the meantime was much disquieted ; and 
 first did he strip away all the white feather from every pen in 
 the ink-pot, and then did he mend them, one and all, and 
 then did he slit them with his thumb-nail, and then did he 
 pare and slash away at them again, and then did he cut off the 
 tops, until at last he left upon them neither nib nor plume, nor 
 enough of the middle to serve as quill to a virginal. It went to 
 my heart to see such a power of pens so wasted ; there could 
 not be fewer than five. Sir Thomas was less wary than usual, 
 being overjoyed. For great poets do mightily affect to have 
 little poets under them ; and little poets do forget themselves 
 in great company, as fiddlers do, who hail felloiv ivell met 
 even with lords. 
 
 Sir Thomas did not intenoipt our Bill's wild gladness. I 
 never thought so worshipful a personage could bear so much. 
 At last he said unto the lad : 
 
 " I do bethink me, if thou hearest much more of my poetry, 
 and the success attendant thereon, good Doctor Glaston
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 95 
 
 would tear thy skirt off ere he could drag thee back from the 
 occupation." 
 
 Shahspeare. I fear me, for once, all his wisdom would 
 sluice out in vain. 
 
 Sir Thomas. It was reported to me that when our virgin 
 queen's highness (her Dear Dread's * ear not being then 
 poisoned) heard these verses, she said before her courtiers, to 
 the sore travail of some, and heart's content of others, — 
 
 " We need not envy our young cousin James of Scotland 
 his ass's bite of a thistle, having such flowers as these gilly- 
 flowers on the chimney-stacks of Charlecote." 
 
 I could have told her highness that all this poetry, from 
 beginning to end, was real matter of fact, well and truly 
 spoken by mine own self. I had only to harness the rhymes 
 thereunto, at my leisure. 
 
 Shahspeare. None could ever doubt it. Greeks and 
 Trojans may fight for the quince ; neither shall have it 
 
 While a Warwickshire lad 
 
 Is on earth to be had, 
 
 With a wand to wag 
 
 On a trusty nag, 
 
 He shall keep the lists 
 
 With cudgel or fists. 
 
 And black shall be whose eye 
 
 Looks evil on Lucy, 
 
 Sir Thomas. Nay, nay, nay ! do not trespass too soon upon 
 heroics. Thou seest thou canst not hold thy wind beyond 
 eight lines. What wouldst thou do under the heavy mettle 
 that should have wrought such wonders at Pavia, if thou 
 findest these petards so troublesome in discharging ? Surely, 
 the good doctor, had he entered at large on the subject, would 
 have been very particular in urging this expostulation. 
 
 Shahspeare. Sir, to my mortification I must confess that I 
 took to myself the counsel he was giving to another ; a young 
 gentleman who, from his pale face, his abstinence at table, his 
 cough, his taciturnity, and his gentleness, seemed already more 
 than^half poet. To him did Doctor Glaston urge, with all 
 his zeal and judgment, many arguments against the vocation ; 
 
 * Sir Thomas borrowed this expression from Spenser.
 
 96 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 telling him that, even in college, he had few applauders, being 
 the first, and not the second or third, who always are more for- 
 tunate ; reminding him that he must solicit and obtain much 
 interest with men of rank and quality, before he could expect 
 their favour ; and that without it the vein chilled, the nerve 
 relaxed, and the poet was left at next door to the bellman. 
 " In the coldness of the world," said he, " in the absence of 
 ready friends and adherents, to light thee upstairs to the 
 richly tapestried chamber of the muses, thy spirits will abandon 
 thee, thy heart will sicken and swell within thee : overladen, 
 thou wilt make, O Ethelbert ! a slow and painful progress, 
 and ere the door open, sink. Praise giveth weight unto the 
 wanting, and happiness giveth elasticity unto the heavy. As 
 the mightiest streams of the unexplored world, America, run 
 languidly in the night,* and await the sun on high to contend 
 with him in strength and grandeur, so doth genius halt and 
 pause in the thraldom of out-spread darkness, and move on- 
 ward with all his vigour then otily when creative light and 
 jubilant warmth surround him." 
 
 Ethelbert coughed faintly ; a tinge of red, the size of a 
 rose-bud, coloured the middle of his cheek ; and yet he seemed 
 not to be pained by the reproof. He look fondly and affec- 
 tionately at his teacher, who thus proceeded : 
 
 " My dear youth, do not carry the stone of Sisyphus on thy 
 shoulder to pave the way to disappointment. If thou writest 
 but indifferent poetry none will envy thee, and some will 
 praise thee ; but nature, in her malignity, hath denied unto 
 thee a capacity for the enjoyment of such praise. In this she 
 hath been kinder to most others than to thee ; we know 
 wherein she hath been kinder to thee than to most others. If 
 thou writest good poetry many will call it flat, many will call 
 it obscure, many will call it inharmonious ; and some of these 
 will speak as they think ; for, as in giving a feast to great 
 numbers, it is easier to possess the wine than to procure the 
 cups, so happens it in poetry ; thou hast the beverage of thy 
 own growth, but canst not find the recipients. What is 
 simple and elegant to thee and me, to many an honest man is 
 
 * Humboldt notices this.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 97 
 
 flat and sterile ; what to us is an innocently sJy allusion, to as 
 worthy a one as either of us in dull obscurity ; and that more- 
 over which swims upon our brain, and which throbs against 
 our temples, and which we delight in sounding to ourselves 
 when the voice has done with it, touches their ear, and awakens 
 no harmony in any cell of it. Rivals will run up to thee 
 and call thee a plagiary, and, rather than that proof should be 
 wanting, similar words to some of thine will be thrown in thy 
 teeth out of Leviticus and Deuteronomy. 
 
 "Do you desire calm studies ? Do you desire high 
 thoughts ? Penetrate into theology. What is nobler than to 
 dissect and discern the opinions of the gravest men upon the 
 subtilest matters ? And what glorious victories are those over 
 Infidelity and Scepticism ! How much loftier, how much 
 more lasting in their effects, than such as ye are invited unto 
 by what this ingenious youth hath contemptuously and truly 
 called 
 
 ' The swaggering drum, and trumpet hoarse with rage.' 
 And what a delightful and edifying sight it is, to see hundreds 
 of the most able doctors, all stripped for the combat, each 
 closing with his antagonist, and tugging and tearing, tooth and 
 nail, to lay down and establish truths which have been floating 
 in the air for ages, and which the lower order of mortals are 
 forbidden to see, and commanded to embrace. And then 
 the shouts of victory ! And then the crowns of amaranth 
 held over their heads by the applauding angels ! Besides, 
 these combats have other great and distinct advantages. 
 Whereas, in the carnal, the longer ye contend the more blows 
 do ye receive ; in these against Satan, the more fiercely and 
 pertinaciously ye drive at him, the slacker do ye find him ; 
 every good hit makes him redden and rave with anger, but 
 diminishes its effect. 
 
 " My dear fiiends, who would not enter a service in which 
 he may give blows to his mortal enemy, and receive none ; and 
 in which not only the eternal gain is incalculable, but also the 
 temporal, at four-and-twenty, may be far above the emolument 
 of generals, who, before the priest was born, had bled profusely 
 for their country, established her security, brightened her glory, 
 and augmented her dominions ? " 
 
 G
 
 9S Longer Prose Works. 
 
 . . At this pause did Sir Thomas turn unto Sir Silas, and 
 asked, — 
 
 " What sayest thou, Silas ? " 
 
 Whereupon did Sir Silas make answer, 
 
 " 1 say it is so, and was so, and should be so, and shall be 
 so. If the queen's brother had not sopped the priests and 
 bishops out of the Catholic cup, they could have held the 
 Catholic cup in their own hands, instead of yielding it into his. 
 They earned their money ; if they sold their consciences for it, 
 the business is theirs, not ours. I call this facing the devil 
 with a vengeance. We have their coats ; no matter who 
 made 'em ; we have 'em, I say, and we will wear 'em ; and 
 not a button, tag, or tassel, shall any man tear away." 
 
 Sir Thomas then turned to Willy, and requested him to 
 proceed with the doctor's discourse, who thereupon con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " ' Within your own recollections, how many good, quiet, 
 inoffensive men, unendowed with any extraordinary abilities, 
 have been enabled, by means of divinity, to enjoy a long life 
 in tranquillity and affluence ? ' 
 
 " Whereupon did one of the young gentlemen smile, and, 
 on small encouragement from Doctor Qlaston to enounce the 
 cause thereof, he repeated these verses, which he gave after- 
 ward unto me. 
 
 " ' In the names on our books 
 
 Was standing Tom Flooke's, 
 Who took in due time his degrees; 
 
 Which when he had taken, 
 
 Like Ascham or Bacon, 
 By night he could snore and by day he could sneeze. 
 
 " ' Calm, pithy, pragmatical,* 
 
 Tom Flooke he could at a call 
 Rise up like a hound from his sleep ; 
 
 And if many a quarto 
 
 He gave not his heart to, 
 If pellucid in lore, in his cups he was deep. 
 
 " ' He never did harm, 
 
 And his heart might be warm, 
 For his doublet most certainly was so ; 
 
 * Pragmatical here means only precise.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 99 
 
 And now has Tom Flooke 
 A quieter nook 
 Than ever had Spenser or Tasso. 
 
 " ' He lives in his house, 
 
 As still as a mouse, 
 Until he has eaten his dinner; 
 
 But then doth his nose 
 
 Outroar all the woes 
 That encompass the death of a sinner. 
 
 " ' And there oft has been seen 
 
 No less than a dean 
 To tarry a week in the parish, 
 
 In October and March, 
 
 When deans are less starch, 
 And days are less gleamy and garish. 
 
 " ' That Sunday Tom's eyes 
 
 Lx)ok'd always more wise, 
 He repeated more often his text ; 
 
 Two leaves stuck together 
 
 (The fault of the weather) 
 And . . . the rest ye shall hear in my next. 
 
 " ' At mess he lost quite 
 
 His small appetite, 
 By losing his friend the good dean; 
 
 The cook's sight must fail her ! 
 
 The eggs sure are staler 1 
 The beef, too ! Why, what can it mean ? 
 
 " 'He turned off the butcher. 
 
 To the cook could he clutch her, 
 What his choler had done there's no saying — 
 
 'Tis verily said 
 
 He smote low the cock's head. 
 And took other pullets for laying.' 
 
 " On this being concluded, Doctor Glaston said he 
 shrewdly suspected an indigestion on the part of Mr Thomas 
 Flooke, caused by sitting up late and studying hard with Mr 
 Dean ; and he protested that theology itself should not cany 
 us into the rawness of the morning air, particularly in such 
 critical months as March and October, in one of which the 
 sap rises, in the other sinks, and there are many stars jvery 
 sinister."
 
 TOO Longer Prose Works. 
 
 . . Sir Thomas shook his head, and declared he would not 
 be uncharitable to rector, or dean, or doctor, but that certain 
 surmises swam uppermost. He then winked at Master Silas, 
 who said, incontinently, 
 
 " You have it. Sir Thomas ! The blind buzzards ! with 
 their stars and saps ! " 
 
 " Well, but Silas ! you yourself have told us over and over 
 again, in church, that there are arcanaJ" 
 
 " So there are ; I uphold it," replied Master Silas ; " but 
 a fig for the greater part, and a fig-leaf for the rest. As for 
 these signs, they are as plain as any page in the Revelations." 
 
 Sir Thomas, after short pondering, said, scoffing'ly, 
 
 " In regard to the rawness of the air having any effect 
 whatsoever on those who discourse orthodoxically on theo- 
 logy, it is quite as absurd as to imagine that a man ever caught 
 cold in a Protestant church. I am rather of opinion that it 
 was a judgment on the rector for his evil-mindedness toward 
 the cook, the Lord foreknowing that he was about to be 
 wilful and vengeful in that quarter. It was, however, more 
 advisedly that he took other pullets, on his own view of the 
 case, although it might be that the same pullets would suit 
 him again as well as ever, when his appetite should return ; 
 for it doth not appear that they were loath to lay, but laid 
 somewhat unsatisfactorily. 
 
 " Now, youth," continued his worship, " if in our clemency 
 we should spare thy life, study this higher elegiacal strain which 
 thou hast carried with thee from Oxford ; it containeth, over 
 and above an unusual store of biography, much sound moral 
 doctrine, for those who are heedful in the weighing of it. 
 And what can be more aflTecting than, 
 
 ' At mess he lost quite 
 His small appetite, 
 By losing his friend the good dean '? 
 
 And what an insight into character ! Store it up ; store it 
 up! Small appetite, particular; good dean, generick." 
 
 Hereupon did Master Silas jerk me with his indicative 
 joint, the elbow to wit, and did say in my ear, 
 
 " He means deanery. Give me one of those bones so full
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. loi 
 
 of marrow, and let my lord bishop have all the meat over it, 
 and welcome. If a dean is not on his stilts, he is not on his 
 stumps ; he stands on his own ground ; he is a noli-metangere- 
 iarian." 
 
 " What art thou saying of those sectaries, good Master 
 Silas ? " quoth Sir Thomas, not hearing him distinctly. 
 
 " I was talking of the dean," replied Master Silas. " He 
 was the very dean who wrote and sang that song called the 
 Tiuo Jacks" 
 
 " Hast it ? " asked he. 
 
 Master Silas shook his head, and, trybg in vain to recollect 
 it, said at last, 
 
 " After dinner it sometimes pops out of a filbert-shell in a 
 crack ; and I have known it float on the first glass of Here- 
 fordshire cider ; it also hath some affinity with very stiff and 
 old bottled beer ; but in a morning it seemeth unto me like a 
 remnant of over-night." 
 
 " Our memory waneth. Master Silas ! " quoth Sir Thomas, 
 looking seriously. " If thou couldst repeat it, without the 
 grimace of singing, it were not ill." 
 
 Master Silas struck the table with his fist, and repeated the 
 first stave angrily ; but in the second he forgot the admonition 
 of Sir Thomas, and did sing outright, 
 
 "Jack Calvin and Jack Cade, 
 Two gentles of one trade, 
 
 Two tinkers, 
 Very gladly would pull down 
 Mother Church and Father Crown, 
 And would starve or w^ouid drown 
 
 Right thinkers. 
 
 " Honest man ! honest man ! 
 Fill the can. fill the can, 
 
 They are coming! they are coming! they are coming ! 
 If any drop be left, 
 It might tempt "em to a theft . . . 
 
 Zooks ! it was only the ale that was humming," 
 
 " In the first stave, gramercy ! there is an awful verity," 
 quoth Sir Thomas ; " but I wonder that a dean should let his 
 skewer slip out, and his fat catch fire so wofully, in the second. 
 Light stuff, Silas, fit only for ale-houses."
 
 I02 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Master Silas was nettled in the nose, and answered, 
 
 " Let me see the man in Warwickshire, and in all the 
 counties round, who can run at such a rate with so light a 
 feather in the palm of his hand. I am no poet, thank God ! 
 but I know what folks can do, and what folks cannot do." 
 
 " Well, Silas," replied Sir Thomas, " after thy thanks- 
 giving for being no poet, let us have the rest of the piece." 
 
 " The rest ! " quoth Master Silas. " When the ale hath 
 done with its humming, it is time, methinks, to dismiss it. 
 Sir, there never was any more ; you might as well ask for 
 more after Amen or the see of Canterbury." 
 
 Sir Thomas was dissatisfied, and turned off the discourse ; 
 and peradventure he grew more inclined to be gracious unto 
 Willy from the slight rub his chaplain had given him, were 
 it only for the contrariety. When he had collected his 
 thoughts he was determined to assert his supremacy on the 
 score of poetry. 
 
 " Deans, I perceive, like other quality," said he, " cannot 
 run on long together. My friend, Sir Everard Starkeye, 
 could never overleap four bars. I remember but one com- 
 position of his, on a young lady who mocked at his incon- 
 sistency, in calling her sometimes his Grace and at other times 
 his Muse. 
 
 ' My Grace shall Fanny Carew be, 
 While here she deigns to stay ; 
 And (ah. how sad the change for me !) 
 My Muse when far away I ' 
 
 And when we laughed at him for turning his back upon her 
 after the fourth verse, all he could say for himself was, that he 
 would rather a game at all fours with Fanny, than ombre and 
 p'lcquet with the finest furbelows in Christendom. Men of 
 condition do usually want a belt in the course." 
 
 Whereunto said Master Silas, 
 
 " Men out of condition are quite as liable to lack it, 
 methinks." 
 
 " Silas ! Silas ! " replied the knight, impatiently, " piithee 
 keep to thy divinity, thy strong hold upon Zion ; thence none 
 that faces thee can draw thee without being bitten to the bone. 
 Leave poetry to me."
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 103 
 
 " With all my heart," quoth Master Silas, " I will never 
 ask. a belt from her, until I see she can afford to give a shirt. 
 She has promised a belt, indeed, — not one, however, that doth 
 much improve the wind, — to this lad here, and will keep her 
 word ; but she was forced to borrow the pattern from a Car- 
 thusian friar, and somehow it slips above the shoulder." 
 
 " I am by no means sure of that," quoth Sir Thomas. 
 " He shall have fair play. He carrieth in his mind many 
 valuable things, whereof it hath pleased Providence to ordain 
 him the depository. He hath laid before us certain sprigs of 
 poetry from Oxford, trim as pennyroyal, and larger leaves of 
 household divinity, the most mildly-savoured ; pleasant in health 
 and wholesome in sickness." 
 
 " I relish not such mutton-broth divinity," said Master 
 Silas. " It makes me sick in order to settle my stomach." 
 
 " We may improve it," said the knight, " but first let us 
 hear more." 
 
 Then did William Shakspeare resume Dr Glaston's dis- 
 course. 
 
 " ' Ethelbert ! I think thou walkest but little ; otherwise I 
 should take thee with me, some fine fresh morning, as far as 
 unto the first hamlet on the Cherwell. There lies young 
 Wellerby, who, the year before, was wont to pass many hours 
 of the day poetising amid the ruins of Godstow nunnery. It 
 is said that he bore a fondness toward a young maiden in 
 that place, formerly a village, now containing but two old 
 farm-houses. In my memory there were still extant several 
 dormitories. Some love-sick girl had recollected an ancient 
 name, and had engraven on a stone with a garden-nail, which 
 lay in rust near it, 
 
 POORE ROSAMUND. 
 
 I entered these precincts, and beheld a youth of manly form 
 and countenance, washing and wiping a stone with a handful 
 of wet grass ; and on my going up to him, and asking what he 
 had found, he shewed it to me. The next time I saw him 
 was near the banks of the Cherwell. He had tried, it 
 appears, to forget or overcome his foolish passion, and had 
 applied his whole mind unto study. He was foiled by his
 
 I04 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 competitor ; and now he sought consolation in poetry. 
 Whether this opened the wounds that had closed in his 
 youthful breast, and malignant Love, in his revenge, poisoned 
 it ; or whether the disappointment he had experienced in 
 finding others preferred to him, first in the paths of fortune, 
 then in those of the muses ; he was thought to have died 
 broken-hearted. 
 
 " ' About half a mile from St John's College is the termina- 
 tion of a natural terrace, with the Cherwell close under it, in 
 some places bright with yellow and red flowers glancing and 
 glowing through the stream, and suddenly in others dark with 
 the shadows of many different trees, in broad, overbending 
 thickets, and with rushes spear-high, and party-coloured flags. 
 
 " ' After a walk in Midsummer, the emersion of our hands 
 into the cool and closing grass is surely not the least among 
 our animal delights. I was just seated, and the first sensation 
 of rest vibrated in me gently, as though it were music to the 
 limbs, when I discovered by a hollow in the herbage that 
 another was near. The long meadow-sweet and blooming 
 burnet half concealed from me him whom the earth was about 
 to hide totally and for ever. 
 
 " ' Master Batchelor,' said I, ' it is ill-sleeping by the water- 
 side.' 
 
 " ' No answer was returned. I arose, went to the place, 
 and recognised poor Wellerby. His brow was moist, his 
 cheek was warm. A few moments earlier, and that dismal 
 lake whereunto and wherefrom the waters of life, the buoyant 
 blood, ran no longer, might have received one vivifying ray 
 reflected from my poor casement. I might not indeed have 
 comforted ; I have often failed ; but there is one who never 
 has ; and the strengthener of the bruised reed should have 
 been with us. 
 
 " ' Remembering that his mother did abide one mile further 
 on, I walked forward to the mansion, and asked her what 
 tidings she lately had received of her son. She replied that, 
 having given up his mind to light studies, the fellows of the 
 college would not elect him. The master had warned him 
 beforehand to abandon his selfish poetry, take up manfully the 
 quarterstaff of logic, and wield it for St John's, come who
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 105 
 
 would into the ring. " We want our man, " said he to me, 
 " and your son hath f^iiled us in the hour of need. Madam, 
 he hath been foully beaten in the schools by one he might 
 have swallowed, with due exercise." 
 
 " ' " I rated him, told him I was poor, and he knew it. 
 He was stung, and threw himself upon my neck, and wept. 
 Twelve days have passed since, and only three rainy ones. I 
 hear he has been seen upon the knoll yonder; but hither he 
 hath not come. I tnast he knows at last the value of time, 
 and I shall be heartily glad to see him after this accession of 
 knowledge. Twelve days, it is true, are rather a chink than a 
 gap in time ; yet, O gentle sir, they are that chink which 
 makes the vase quite valueless. There are light words which 
 may never be shaken otf the mind they fall on. My child, 
 who was hurt by me, will not let me see the marks." 
 
 " ' " Lady," said I, " none are left upon him. Be com- 
 forted ! thou shalt see him this hour. All that thy God hath 
 not taken is yet thine." She looked at me earnestly, and 
 would have then asked something, but her voice failed her. 
 There was no agony, no motion, save in the lips and cheeks. 
 Being the widow of one who fought under Hawkins, she 
 remembered his courage and sustained the shock, saying 
 calmly, " God's will be done ! I pray that he find me as 
 worthy as he findeth me willing to join them." 
 
 " ' Now, in her unearthly thoughts she had led her only son 
 to the bosom of her husband ; and in her spirit (which often 
 is permitted to pass the gates of death with holy love) she left 
 them both with their Creator. 
 
 *' ' The curate of the village sent those who should bring 
 home the body ; and some days afterward he came unto me, 
 beseeching me to write the epitaph. Being no friend to stone- 
 cutters' charges, I entered not into biography, but wrote these 
 few words : 
 
 JOANNES WELLERBY, 
 
 LITERARUM QU^SIVIT GLORIAM, 
 
 VIDET DEI.' "
 
 ro6 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 "Poor tack ! poor tack ! " sourly quoth Master Silas. " If 
 your wise doctor could say nothing more about the fool, who 
 died like a rotten sheep among the darnels, his Latin might 
 have held out for the father, and might have told people he 
 was as cool as a cucumber at home, and as hot as pepper in 
 battle. Could he not find room enough on the whinstone, to 
 tell the folks of the village how he played the devil among the 
 dons, burning their fingers when they would put thumbscrews 
 upon us, punching them in the weasand as a blacksmith 
 punches a horse-shoe, and throwing them overboard like bilge- 
 water ? 
 
 " Has Oxford lost all her Latin ? Here is no cap'itani 
 Jilius ; no more mention of family than a Welshman would 
 have allowed him ; no hic jacet ; and, worse than all, the 
 devil a tittle of spe redemptlon'ts, or anno Domini" 
 
 " Willy ! " quoth Sir Thomas, " I shrewdly do suspect 
 there was more, and that thou hast forgotten it." 
 
 " Sir ! " answered Willy, " I wrote not down the words, 
 fearing to mis-spell them, and begged them of the doctor, 
 when I took my leave of him on the morrow ; and verily he 
 wrote down all he had repeated. I keep them always in the 
 tin-box in my waistcoat-pocket, among the eel-hooks, on a 
 scrap of paper a finger's length and breadth, folded in the 
 middle to fit. And when the eels are running, I often take 
 it out and read it before I am aware. I could as soon forget 
 my own epitaph as this." 
 
 " Simpleton ! " said Sir Thomas, with his gentle, compas- 
 sionate smile ; " but thou hast cleared thyself." 
 
 Sir Silas. I think the doctor gave one idle chap as much 
 solid pudding as he could digest, with a slice to spare for 
 another. 
 
 Shakspeare. And yet after this pudding the doctor gave 
 him a spoonful of custard, flavoured with a little bitter, which 
 was mostly left at the bottom for the other idle chap. 
 
 . . Sir Thomas not only did endure this very goodnaturedly, 
 but deigned even to take in good part the smile upon my coun- 
 tenance, as though he were a smile collector, and as though 
 his estate were so humble that he could hold his laced bonnet 
 (in all his bravery) for bear and fiddle.
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 107 
 
 He then said unto Willy, 
 
 " Place likewise this custard before us." 
 
 " There is but little of it ; the platter is shallow," replied 
 he ; " 'twas suited to Master Ethelbert's appetite. The con- 
 tents were these : 
 
 " ' The things whereon thy whole soul brooded in its inner- 
 most recesses, and with all its warmth and energy, will pass un- 
 prized and unregarded, not only throughout thy lifetime but long 
 after. For the higher beauties of poetry are beyond the capa- 
 city, beyond the vision of almost all. Once perhaps in half a 
 century a single star is discovered, then named and registered, 
 then mentioned by five studious men to five more ; at last some 
 twenty say, or repeat in writing, what they have heard about 
 it. Other stars await other discoveries. Few and solitary 
 and wide asunder are those who calculate their relative dis- 
 tances, their mysterious influences, their glorious magnitude, 
 and their stupendous height. 'Tis so, believe me, and ever 
 was so, with the truest and best poetry. Homer, they say, 
 was blind ; he might have been ere he died, — that he sat 
 among the blind, we are sure. 
 
 " ' Happy they who, like this young lad from Stratford, 
 write poetry on the saddle-bow when their geldings are jaded, 
 and keep the desk for better pui-poses.' 
 
 " The young gentlemen, like the elderly, all turned their 
 faces toward me, to my confusion, so much did I remark of 
 sneer and scoff at my cost. Master Ethelbert was the only 
 one who spared me. He smiled and said, 
 
 " ' Be patient ! From the higher heavens of poetry, it is 
 long before the radiance of the brightest star can reach the 
 world below. We hear that one man finds out one beauty, 
 another man finds out another, placing his observatory and in- 
 struments on the poet's grave. The worms must have eaten 
 us before it is rightly knov/n what we are. It is only when 
 we are skeletons that we are boxed and ticketed, and prized and 
 shewn. Be it so ! I shall not be tired of waiting.' " 
 
 " Reasonable youth ? " said Sir Thomas ; " yet both he and 
 Glaston walk rather astraddle, methinks. They might have 
 stepped up to thee more straightforwardly, and told thee the 
 trade ill suiteth thee, having little fire, little fantasy, and little
 
 lo8 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 learning. Furthermore, that one poet, as one bull, sufficeth 
 for two parishes, and that where they are stuck too close to- 
 gether they are apt to fire, like haystacks. I have known it 
 myself; I have had my malignants and scoffers." 
 
 Shakspeare. I never could have thought it ! 
 
 Sir Thomas. There again ! Another proof of thy inex- 
 perience. 
 
 Shakspeare. Mat Atterend ! Mat Atterend ! where wert 
 thou sleeping ? 
 
 Sir Thomas. I shall now from my own stores impart unto 
 thee what will avail to tame thee, shewing the utter hopeless- 
 ness of standing on that golden weathercock which supporteth 
 but one at a time. 
 
 The passion for poetry wherewith Monsieur Dubois would 
 have inspired me, as he was bound to do, being paid before- 
 hand, had cold water thrown upon it by that unlucky one. Sir 
 Everard. He ridiculed the idea of male and female rhymes, 
 and the necessity of trying them as rigidly by the eye as by 
 the ear ; saying to Monsieur Dubois that the palate, in which 
 the French excel all mortals, ought also to be consulted in 
 their acceptance or rejection. Monsieur Dubois told us that 
 if we did not wish to be taught French verse, he would teach 
 us English. Sir Everard preferred the Greek ; but Monsieur 
 Dubois would not engage to teach the mysteries of that poetry 
 in fewer than thirty lessons, having (since his misfortunes) 
 forgotten the letters and some other necessaries. 
 
 The first poem T ever wrote was in the character of a 
 shepherd, to Mistress Anne Nanfan, daughter of Squire Fulke 
 Nanfan, of Worcestershire, at that time on a visit to the 
 worshipful family of Compton at Long Compton. 
 
 We were young creatures, — I but twenty-four and seven 
 months (for it was written on the 14th of May), and she 
 well-nigh upon a twelvemonth younger. My own verses, the 
 first, are neither here nor there ; indeed, they were imbedded in 
 solid prose, like lampreys and ram's-horns ^^ in our limestone, 
 
 [15 In isted. there was a note here running thus: " It is doubtful 
 whether Doctor Buckland will agree with Sir Thomas that these 
 petrifactions are ram's-liorns and lampreys."]
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 109 
 
 and would be hard to get out whole. What they are may be 
 seen by her answer, all in verse : 
 
 Faithful shepherd ! dearest Tommy I 
 I have received the letter from ye, 
 And mightily delight therein. 
 But mother, she says, " Nanny ! Nanny ! 
 
 Hoiv, being staid and prudent, can ye 
 
 Think of a man and not of sin / ' 
 
 Sir shepherd ! I held down my head, 
 And " Mother ! fe,for shame > " I said ; 
 
 All I could say would not content her ; 
 Mother she would for ever harp on't, 
 " A man's no better than a sarpent, 
 
 And not a crumb more innocenter . ' 
 
 I know not how it happeneth ; but a poet doth open before 
 a poet, albeit of baser sort. It is not that I hold my poetry 
 to be better than some other in time past, it is because I 
 would shew thee that I was virtuous and wooed virtuously, 
 that I repeat it. Furthermore, I wished to leave a deep im- 
 pression on the mother's mind that she was exceedingly wrong 
 in doubting my innocence. 
 
 Shakspeare. Gracious Heaven ! and was this too doubted ? 
 
 Sir Thomas. Maybe not ; but the whole race of men, the 
 whole male sex, wanted and found in me a protector. I 
 shewed her what I was ready to do. 
 
 Shakspeare. Perhaps, sir, it was for that very thing that 
 she put the daughter back and herself forward. 
 
 Sir Thomas. I say not so ; but thou mayest know as much 
 as befitteth, by what follows : 
 
 Worshipful lady ! honoured madam ! 
 I at this present truly glad am 
 
 To have so fair an opportunity 
 Of saying I would be the man 
 To bind in wedlock Mistress Anne, 
 
 Living with her in holy unity. 
 
 And for a jointure I will gi'e her 
 A good two hundred pounds a year 
 
 Accruing from my landed rents. 
 Whereof see t'other paper, telling 
 Lands, copses, and grown woods for felling. 
 
 Capons, and cottage tenements.
 
 T lo Longer Prose Works. 
 
 And who must come at sound of horn, 
 And who pays but a barley-corn, 
 
 And who is bound to keep a whelp, 
 And what is brought me for the pound. 
 And copyholders, which are sound, 
 
 And which do need the leech's help. 
 
 And you may see in these two pages 
 Exact their illnesses and ages, 
 
 Enough (God willing) to content ye; 
 Who looks full red, who looks fuU yellow. 
 Who plies the mullen, who the mallow, 
 
 Who fails at fifty, who at twenty. 
 
 Jim Yates must go ; he's one day very hot. 
 And one day ice ; I take a heriot ; 
 
 And poorly, poorly's Jacob Burgess. 
 The doctor tells me he has pour'd 
 Into his stomach half his hoard 
 
 Of anthelminticals and purges. 
 
 Judith, the wife of Ebenezer 
 
 Fillpots, won't have him long to tease her ; 
 
 Fillpots blows hot and cold like Jim, 
 And, sleepless lest the boys should plunder 
 His orchard, he must soon knock under ; 
 
 Death has been looking out for him. 
 
 He blusters ; but his good yard land 
 Under the church, his ale-house, and 
 
 His Bible, which he cut in spite. 
 Must all fall in ; he stamps and swears 
 And sets his neighbours by the ears — 
 
 Fillpots, thy saddle sits not tight ! 
 
 Thy epitaph is ready : " Here 
 Lies one ivkom all his friends did fear 
 
 More than they ever feared the Lord ; 
 In peace he zuas at times a Christian ; 
 In strife, ivhat stubborner Philistian ! 
 
 Sing, sing his psalm ivith one accord." ^^ 
 
 [16 In ist ed. there was an additional verse between this and the 
 next. It ran thus : 
 
 " And he who lent my lord his wife 
 Has but a very ticklish life ; 
 
 Although she won him many a hundred, 
 Twon't do ; none comes with briefs and wills. 
 And all her gainings are gilt pills 
 
 From the sick madman that she plundered."]
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 1 1 1 
 
 And the brave lad who sent the bluff 
 Olive-faced Frenchman (sure enough) 
 
 Screaming and scouring like a plover, 
 Must follow ; him I mean who dash'd 
 Into the water and then thrash'd 
 
 The cullion past the town of Dover. 
 
 But first there goes the blear old dame 
 Who nurs'd me ; you have heard her name, 
 No doubt, at Compton, Sarah Salways ; 
 There are twelve groats at once, beside 
 The frying-pan in which she fried 
 Her pancakes. 
 
 Madam, I am always, etc.. 
 
 Sir Thomas Lucr, Knight. 
 
 I did believe that such a clear and conscientious exposure 
 of my affairs would have brought me a like return. My 
 letter was sent back to me with small courtesy. It may be 
 there was no paper in the house, or none equalling mine in 
 whiteness. No notice was taken of the rent-roll ; but between 
 the second and third stanzas these four lines were written, in a 
 very fine hand : 
 
 Most honour'd knight. Sir Thomas ! two 
 
 For merry Nan will never do ; 
 
 Now under favour let me say't, 
 
 She will bring more herself than that. 
 
 I have reason to believe that the worthy lady did neither 
 write nor countenance the same, perhaps did not ever know o 
 them. She always had at her elbow one who jogged it when 
 he listed, and although he could not overrule the daughter, he 
 took especial care that none other should remove her from his 
 tutelage, even when she had fairly grown up to woman's 
 estate. 
 
 Now, after all this condescension and confidence, promise 
 me, good lad, promise that thou wilt not edge and elbow me. 
 Never let it be said, when people say. Sir Thomas luas a poet 
 tuhen he iv'iUed it. So is Bill Shakspeare ! It beseemeth not 
 that our names do go together cheek by jowl in this familiar 
 fashion, like an old beagle and a whelp, in couples, where if 
 the one would, the'other would not.
 
 1 1 2 liOnger Prose Works, 
 
 Sir Silas. Sir, while these thoughts are passing in your 
 mind, remember there is another pair of couples out of which 
 it would be as well to keep the cur's neck. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Young man ! dost thou understand Master 
 Silas ? 
 
 Shakspeare. But too well. Not those couples in which it 
 might be apprehended that your worship and my unworthiness 
 should appear too close together ; but those sorrowfuller which 
 peradventure might unite Master Silas and me in our road to 
 Warwick and upward. But I resign all right and title unto 
 these as willingly as I did unto the other, and am as ready to 
 let him go alone. 
 
 Sir Silas. If we keep wheeling and wheeling, like a flock 
 of pigeons, and rising again when we are within a foot of the 
 ground, we shall never fill the craw. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Do thou then question him, Silas. 
 
 Sir Silas. I am none of the quomm ; the business is none 
 of mine. 
 
 . . Then Sir Thomas took Master Silas again into the bay 
 window, and said softly, 
 
 " Silas, he hath no inkling of thy meaning. The business is 
 a ticklish one. I like not over much to meddle and make 
 therein." 
 
 Master. Silas stood dissatisfied awhile, and then answered, 
 
 " The girl's mother, sir, was housemaid and sempstress in 
 your own family, time back, and you thereby have a right over 
 her unto the third and fourth generation." 
 
 " I may have, Silas," said his worship, " but it was no 
 longer than four or five years agone that folks were fain to 
 speak maliciously of me for only finding my horse in her 
 hovel." 
 
 Sir Silas looked red and shiny as a ripe strawberry on a 
 Snitterfield tile, and answered somewhat peevishly, 
 
 " The same folks, I misgive me, may find the rogue's there 
 any night in the week." 
 
 Whereupon replied Sir Thomas, mortifiedly, 
 
 " I cannot think it, Silas ! I cannot think it." 
 
 And after some hesitation and disquiet, 
 
 " Nay, I am resolved I will not think it ; no man, friend 
 or enemy, shall push it into me.' 
 
 >>
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 1 1 ^ 
 
 o 
 
 " Worshipful sir," answered Master Silas, " I am as reso- 
 lute as any one in what I would think and what I would not 
 think, and never was known to fight dunghill in either 
 cockpit. 
 
 " Were he only out of the way, she migiit do her duty, but 
 what doth she now ? 
 
 " She points his young beard for him ; persuading him it 
 grows thicker and thicker, blacker and blacker ; she washes 
 his ruff, stiffens it, plaits it, tries it upon his neck, removes the 
 hair from under it, pinches it with thumb and forefinger, pre- 
 tending that he hath moiled it, puts her hand all the way 
 round it, setting it to rights, as she calleth it — 
 
 " Ah, Sir Thomas ! a louder whistle than that will never 
 call her back again when she is off with him." 
 
 Sir Thomas was angered, and cried tartly, 
 
 " Who whistled ? I would know." 
 
 Master Silas said submissively, — 
 
 " Your honour, as wrongfully I fancied." 
 
 " Wrongfully, indeed, and to my no small disparagement 
 and discomfort," said the knight, verily believing that he had 
 not whistled ; for deep and dubious were his cogitations. 
 
 " I protest," went he on to say, " I protest it was the 
 wind of the casement ; and if I live another year I will put a 
 better in the place of it. Whistle indeed ! for what ? I care 
 no more about her than about an unfledged cygnet, — a child,* 
 a chicken, a mere kitten, a crab-blossom in the hedge." 
 
 The dignity of his worship was wounded by Master Silas 
 unaware, and his wrath again turned suddenly upon poor 
 William. 
 
 " Hark-ye, knave ! hark-ye again, ill-looking stripling, 
 lanky from vicious courses ! 1 will reclaim thee from them ; 
 I would do what thy own father would, and cannot. Thou 
 shalt follow his business." 
 
 " I cannot do better, may it please your worship ! " said 
 the lad. 
 
 " It shall lead thee unto wealth and respectability," said the 
 
 * She was then twenty-eight years of age. Sir Thomas must have 
 spoken of her from earlier recollections. Shakspeare was in his 
 twentieth year. 
 
 H
 
 114 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 knight, somewhat appeased by his ready compliancy and low, 
 gentle voice. " Yea, but not here ; no witches, no wantons 
 (this word fell gravely and at full-length upon the ear), no 
 spells hereabout. 
 
 " Gloucestershire is within a measured mile of thy dwell- 
 ing. There is one at Bristol, formerly a parish-boy, or little 
 better, who now writeth himself gentleman in large, round 
 letters, and hath been elected, I hear, to serve as burgess in 
 parliament for his native city ; just as though he had eaten a 
 capon or turkey-poult in his youth, and had actually been at 
 grammar school and college. When he began, he had not 
 credit for a goat-skin ; and now, behold ye ! this very coat 
 upon my back did cost me eight shillings the dearer for him, 
 he bought up wool so largely." 
 
 Shakspeare. May it please your worship ! if my father so 
 ordereth, I go cheerfully. 
 
 Sir Thomas. Thou art grown discreet and dutiful : I am 
 fain to command thy release, taking thy promise on oath, and 
 some reasonable security, that thou wilt abstain and withhold 
 in future from that idle and silly slut, that sly and scoffing 
 giggler, Hannah Hathaway, with whom, to the heartache of 
 thy poor, worthy father, thou wantonly^keepest company. 
 
 . . Then did Sir Thomas ask Master Silas Gough for 
 the Book of Life, bidding him deliver it into the right hand 
 of Billy, with an eye upon him that he touch it with both 
 lips ; it being taught by the Jesuits, and caught too greedily 
 out of their society and communion, that whoso toucheth it 
 with one lip only, and thereafter sweareth falsely, cannot be 
 called a perjurer, since peijury is breaking an oath. But 
 breaking half an oath, as he doth who toucheth the Bible or 
 crucifix with one lip only, is no more perjury than breaking 
 an eggshell is breaking an egg, the shell being a part, and the 
 egg being an integral. 
 
 William did take the Holy Book with all due reverence 
 the instant it was offered to his hand. His stature seemed to 
 rise therefrom as from a pulpit, and Sir Thomas was quite 
 edified. 
 
 " Obedient and conducible youth ! " said he. " See there,
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 1 1 5 
 
 Master Siias ! what hast thou now to say against him i Who 
 sees farthest ? " 
 
 j^" The man from the gallows is the most likely, bating his 
 nightcap and blinker," said Master Silas, peevishly. " He 
 hath not outwitted me yet." 
 
 " He seized upon the Anchor of Faith like a martyr," said 
 Sir Thomas, " and even now his face burns red as elder-wine 
 before the gossips." 
 
 Shakspeare. I await the further orders of your worship 
 from the chair. 
 
 Sir Thomas. I return and seat myself. 
 . . And then did Sir Thomas say with great complacency 
 and satisfaction in the ear of Master Silas, 
 
 " What civility, and deference, and sedateness of mind, 
 Silas 1 " 
 
 But Master Silas answered not. 
 Shakspeare. Must I swear, sir ? 
 
 Sir Thomas. Yea, swear ; be of good courage. I protest 
 to thee by my honour and knighthood, no ill shall come unto 
 thee therefrom. Thou shalt not be circumvented in thy simple- 
 ness and inexperience. 
 
 . . Willy, having taken the Book of Life, did kiss it 
 piously, and did press it unto his breast, saying, 
 
 " Tenderest love is the growth of my heart, as the grass is 
 of Alvescote mead. 
 
 " May I lose my life or my friends, or my memory, or my 
 reason ; may I be viler in my own eyes than those men are — " 
 Here he was interrupted, most lovingly, by Sir Thomas, 
 who said unto him, 
 
 " Nay, nay, nay 1 poor youth ! do not tell me so ! they are 
 not such very bad men, since thou appealest unto Cassar, — that 
 is, unto the judgment-seat." 
 
 Now his worship did mean the two witnesses, Joseph and 
 Euseby ; and, sooth to say there be many worse. But 
 William had them not in his eye ; his thoughts were else- 
 where, as will be evident, for he went on thus : 
 
 " — if ever I forget or desert thee, or ever cease to worship * 
 and cherish thee, my Hannah ! " 
 
 * It is to be feared that his taste for venison outlasted that for 
 matrimony, spite of this vow.
 
 1 1 6 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Sir Silas. The madman ! the audacious, desperate, out- 
 rageous villain ! Look-ye, sir ! where he flung the Holy 
 Gospel ! Behold it on the holly and box-boughs in the 
 chimney-place, spreaden all abroad, like a lad about to be 
 whipped ! 
 
 Sir Thomas, Miscreant knave ! I will send after him 
 forthwith ! 
 
 Ho, there ! is the caitiff at hand, or running off ? 
 
 . . Jonas Greenfield the butler did budge forwaVd after a 
 while, and say, on being questioned, 
 
 " Surely, that was he ! Was his nag tied to the iron gate 
 at the lodge. Master Silas ? " 
 
 Sir Silas. What should I know about the thief's nag, 
 Jonas Greenfield ? 
 
 " And didst thou let him go, Jonas, — even thou ? " said 
 Sir Thomas. " What ! are none found faithful ? " 
 
 " Lord love your worship," said Jonas Greenfield ; " a man 
 of threescore and two may miss catching a kite upon wing. 
 Fleetness doth not make folks the faithfuUer, or that youth 
 yonder beats us all in faithfulness. 
 
 " Look ! he darts on like a greyhound whelp after a leveret. 
 He, sure enough, it was ! I now remember the sorrel mare 
 his father bought of John Kinderley last Lammas, swift as he 
 threaded the trees along the park. He must have reached 
 Wellesbourne ere now at that gallop, and pretty nigh Walton- 
 hill." 
 
 Sir Thomas. Merciful Christ ! grant the country be rid of 
 him for ever ! What dishonour upon his friends and native 
 town ! A reputable wool-stapler's son turned gipsy and poet 
 for life. 
 
 Sir Silas. A Beelzebub ; he spake as bigly and fiercely 
 as a soaken yeoman at an election feast, — this obedient and 
 conducible youth ! 
 
 Sir Thomas. It was so written. Hold thy peace, Silas !
 
 Citation and Examination, etc. 1 1 7 
 
 POST-SCRIPTUM 
 
 BY ME, EPHRAIM BARNETT. 
 
 Twelve days are over and gone since William Shakspeare did 
 leave our parts. And the spinster, Hannah Hathaway, is in 
 sad doleful plight about him ; forasmuch as Master Silas 
 Gough went yesterday unto her, in her mother's house at 
 Shottery, and did desire both her and her mother to take heed 
 and be admonished, that if ever she, Hannah, threw away one 
 thought after the runagate William Shakspeare, he should 
 swing. 
 
 The girl could do nothing but weep ; while as the mother 
 did give her solemn promise that her daughter should never 
 more think about him all her natural life, reckoning from the 
 moment of this her promise. 
 
 And the maiden, now growing more reasonable, did promise 
 the same. But Master Silas said, 
 
 " / doubt you lu'tU, though.^^ 
 
 " iVo," said the mother, " / answer for her she shall not 
 think of him, even if she see his ghost. ^' 
 
 Hannah screamed, and swooned, the better to forget him. 
 And Master Silas went home easier and contenteder. For 
 now all the worst of his hard duty was accomplished ; he 
 having been, on the Wednesday of last week, at the speech of 
 Master John Shakspeare, Will's father, to inquire whether the 
 sorrel mare was his. To which question the said Master John 
 Shakspeare did answer, " TeaJ" 
 
 " Enough said ! " rejoined Master Silas. 
 
 " Horse-stealing is capital. We shall bind thee over to appear 
 against the culprit, as prosecutor, at the next assizes." 
 
 May the Lord in his mercy give the lad a good deliverance, 
 if so be it be no sin to wish it ! 
 
 October i, a.d. 1582. 
 
 LAUS DEO. 
 
 E. B.
 
 PERICLES AND ASPASIA.
 
 TO HIS EXCELLENCY 1 
 THE EARL OF MULGRAVE, 
 lord lieutenant of ireland. 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 When an author is desirous of prefixing an illustrious name to 
 his title-page, it has usually been thought proper, of late, to 
 solicit the permission. T, who never ask anything of any man, 
 would least of all ask this ; and were it peradventure in my 
 hands, should be apt to let it di-op out of them. Long before 
 you were in possession of power (you will remember) I prog- 
 nosticated it from the aspect of the times. I clearly saw the 
 necessity of your becoming more than a man of rank, or even 
 of genius. Your Excellency will correct the faults, and inas- 
 much as sagacity, integrity, firmness, and moderation can do 
 it, will compensate for the iniquities and atrocities of six cen- 
 turies : you will unite Great Britain and Ireland ; which our 
 princes and parliaments, until now, have never wisely planned 
 nor honestly intended. 
 
 With the high respect due to your Excellency from every 
 friend of peace and justice in both countries, 
 
 I am, 
 
 &c. 
 
 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 
 
 [1 Omitted in 2nd ed. For further information on the relations be- 
 tween Landor and this nobleman, see Mr Colvin's Lamior, p. 207.]
 
 ADVERTISEMENT.2 
 
 He who opens these Letters for a History of the Times, will 
 be disappointed. Did he find it in a Montague's or a Wal- 
 pole's ? And yet perhaps he ran over them with pleasure. 
 If he cannot do the same here, if he regrets that many are 
 wanting of Pericles, let him take comfort in learning by heart 
 the two first " Tears " of Thucydides, and in repeating, as he 
 walks along, the sterling and strenuous orations they contain. 
 It is easy to throw pieces of history into letters : many have 
 done it ; but there is no species of composition so remote from 
 veri-similitude. Who can imagine to himself a couple of 
 correspondents sitting down for such a purpose, and never 
 turning their eyes toward any other object ? Better stand on 
 the fragments of antiquity, and look about us. 
 
 It was difficult to avoid every expression and every thought 
 attributed to Pericles by the ancients, and'particularly in com- 
 posing the orations ; yet this has been done. The longer of 
 them, which he might be conceived to have spoken on many 
 occurrences, as general and statesman, have been omitted. 
 
 Villa Fksolana, July 4, 1835. , 
 
 [2 Omitted in 2nd ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 123 
 
 PERICLES AND ASPASIA. 
 I. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Cleone ! I write from Athens. I hasten to meet your re- 
 proaches, and to stifle them in my embrace. It was wrong to 
 have left Miletus at all : it was wrong to have parted from you 
 without entrusting you with my secret. No, no, neither was 
 wrong. I have withstood many tears, my sweet Cleone, but 
 never yours ; you could always do what you would with me ; 
 and I should have been wind-bound by yoif on the Meander, 
 as surely and inexorably as the fleet at Aulis by Diana. 
 
 Ionia is far more beautiful than Attica, Miletus than 
 Athens ; for about Athens there is no verdure — no spacious 
 and full and flowing river ; few gardens, many olive-trees, so 
 many indeed that we seem to be in an eternal cloud of dust.^ 
 However, when the sea-breezes blow, this tree itself looks 
 beautiful ; it looks, in its pliable and undulating branches, 
 irresolute as Ariadne * when she was urged to fly, and pale as 
 Orithyia ^ when she was borne away. 
 
 [3 " And the hills oversmoked behind by the faint grey olive-trees " 
 — R. Bro-wning — Uf in a Villa — Doivn in the CityJ^ 
 
 [* " For thus of old fair Ariadne freed 
 
 Bold Theseus from the weight of his emprise 
 For love of him ; and vf\\\i him on his ship 
 The maiden fled, fearing her father's wrath." 
 
 Apollonius Rhodius, iii. 997.] 
 
 P " And Zetes and swift Calais thither came, 
 They, whom the daughter of Erectheus bore 
 To the rough wind god far in wintry Thrace. 
 For as the maiden Oreithyia danced 
 Beside Ilissus, eager Boreas came 
 And snatched her from the fair Athenian land." 
 
 Apollonius Rhodius, i. 210.]
 
 124 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 II. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Come out, Aspasia, from among those olives. You would 
 never have said a word about any such things, at such a time, 
 unless you had met with an adventure. When you want to 
 hide somewhat, you always run into the thickets of poetiy. 
 Pray leave Ariadne with Bacchus,^ she cannot be safer ; and 
 Orithyia with Boreas, if you have any reverence for the 
 mysteries of the gods. Now I have almost a mind to say, 
 tell me nothing at all of what has happened to you since you 
 left us. This would punish you as you deserve, for you know 
 that you are dying to tell it. The venerable and good- 
 natured old widow, Epimedea, will have trouble enough, I 
 foresee, with her visitor from Asia. The Milesian kid will 
 overleap her gardenwall, and browse and butt everywhere. I 
 take it as a matter of certainty that you are with her, for 
 I never heard you mention any other relative in Athens, and 
 she was, I remember, the guest of your house. How she 
 loved you, dear good woman ! She would have given your 
 father, Axiochus, all her wealth for you. But when you 
 were seven years old you were worth seven times over what 
 you are now. I loved you then myself. Well, I am resolved 
 to relieve you of your secret. 
 
 Prodigal scatterer of precious hopes, and of smiles that 
 seem to rise from the interest you feel, and not from the 
 interest you excite, what victim have you crowned with 
 flowers, and selected to fall at your altar ? 
 
 III. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Spirit of divination ! how dared you find me out ? And 
 how dared you accuse me of poetizing ? You who poetize 
 
 [6 " With Theseus fled her courage and her voice, 
 And thrice in vain she tried to fly ; and thrice 
 Stood trembling like a reed within the marsh, 
 Unstable as wind-shaken ears of corn, 
 Till Bacchus spake and bade her fear no more. 
 But welcome truer love than Theseus gave." 
 
 Ovid, Ars Amandi, i. 551.J
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 125 
 
 more extravagantly yourself. Mine, I do insist upon it, is no 
 worse than we girls in general are apt to write ; " and no 
 better," you will reply, " than we now and then are condemned 
 to listen to, or disposed to read." 
 
 Poetry is the weightless integument that our butterflies 
 always shed in our path ere they wing their way towards us. 
 It is precisely of the same form, colour, and substance, for the 
 whole generation. Are all mine well ? and all yours ? I 
 shall be very angry to hear that mine are. If they do not 
 weep, and look wan, and sicken, why then I must, out of very 
 spite. But may the Gods, in their wisdom, keep not only 
 their hearts, but their persons too, just where they are ! I 
 intend to be in love here at Athens. It is true, I do assure 
 you, when I have time, and idleness, and courage for it. 
 
 Ay, ay, now your eyes are running over all the rest of the 
 letter. Well, what have you found ? where is the place ? t 
 will keep you in suspense no longer. As soon as there was 
 any light at all, we discovered, on the hill above the city, 
 crowds of people and busy preparations. You are come to it. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 I WAS determined to close my letter when your curiosity was 
 at the highest, that you might flutter and fall from the clouds 
 like Icarus. I wanted two things ; first, that you should bite 
 your lip, an attitude in which you alone look pretty ; and 
 secondly, that you should say half angiily, " This now is 
 exactly like Aspasia." I will be remembered ; and I will 
 make you look just as I would have you. 
 
 How fortunate ! to have arrived at Athens, at dawn, on the 
 twelfth of Elaphebolion.^ On this day begin the festivals of 
 Bacchus, and the theatre is thrown open at sunrise. 
 
 What a theatre ! what an elevation ! what a prospect of 
 city and port, of land and water, of porticoes and temples, of 
 men and heroes, of demi-gods and gods ! 
 
 It was indeed my wish and intention, when I left Ionia, to 
 be present at the first of the Dionysiacs : but how rarely are 
 
 [7 Our March.]
 
 126 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 wishes and intentions so accomplished, even when winds and 
 waters do not interfere ! 
 
 I will now tell you all. No time was to be lost, so I 
 hastened on shore in the dress of an Athenian boy, who came 
 over with his mother from Lemnos. In the giddiness of 
 youth, he forgot to tell me that, not being yet eighteen years 
 old, he could not be admitted, and he left me on the steps. 
 My heart sank within me, so many young men stared and 
 whispered ; yet never was stranger treated with more civility. 
 Crowded as the theatre was (for the tragedy had begun), 
 every one made room for me. When they were seated, and I 
 too, I looked toward the stage ; and behold there lay before 
 me, but afar off, bound upon a rock, a more majestic form, 
 and bearing a countenance more heroic, I should rather say 
 more divine, than ever my imagination had conceived ! I 
 know not how long it was before I discovered that as many 
 eyes were directed toward me as toward the competitor of the 
 gods. I was neither flattered by it nor abashed. Every 
 wish, hope, sigh, sensation, was successively with the champion 
 of the human race, with his antagonist Zeus, and his creator 
 iEschylus. How often, O Cleone, have we throbbed with 
 his injuries ! how often hath his vulture torn our breasts ! how 
 often have we thrown our arms around each other's neck, and 
 half-renounced the religion of our fathers ! Even your image, 
 inseparable at other times, came not across me then : Pro- 
 metheus stood between us. He had resisted in silence and 
 disdain the cruellest tortures that Almightlness could inflict ; 
 and now arose the Nymphs of Ocean, which heaved its vast 
 waves before us ; and now they descended with open arms and 
 sweet benign countenances, and spake with pity ; and the 
 insurgent heart was mollified and quelled. 
 I sobbed — I dropt. 
 
 v. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Is this telling me all ? you faithless creature ! There is much 
 to be told when Aspasia faints in the theatre : and Aspasia in 
 disguise !
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 127 
 
 My sweet and dear Aspasia ! with all your beauty, of which 
 you cannot but be conscious, how is it possible you could have 
 hoped to be undetected ? Certainly there never was any 
 woman, or even any man, so little vain as you are. Formerly 
 you were rather so about your poetry : but now you really write 
 it well, you have overcome this weakness ; nay, you doubt 
 whether your best verses are tolerable. You have told me 
 this several times, and you always say what you think, unless 
 when any one might be hurt or displeased. I am glad the 
 observation comes across me, for I must warn you upon it. 
 
 Take care then, Aspasia ! do not leave off entirely all dis- 
 simulation. It is as feminine a virtue, and as necessary to a 
 woman, as religion. If you are without it, you will have a 
 grace the less, and (what you could worse spare) a sigh the 
 more. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 I WAS not quite well when I wrote to you. When I am not 
 quite well I must always write to you ; I am better after it. 
 
 Where did I leave off? 
 
 Ah, Cleone ! Cleone ! I have learnt your lesson ; I am 
 dissembling ; it must not be with you. My tears are falling. 
 I acted unworthily. And are these tears indeed for my fault 
 against you ? I cannot tell ; if I could, I would candidly. 
 Every thing that has happened, every thing that shall happen 
 hereafter, I will lay upon your knees. Counsel me — direct 
 me. Even were I as sensible as you are, I should not be able 
 to discover my own faults. The clearest eyes do not see the 
 cheeks below, nor the brow above them. 
 
 To proceed then in my narrative. Every thing appeared 
 to me an illusion but the tragedy. What was divine seemed 
 human, and what was human seemed divine. 
 
 An apparition of resplendent and unearthly beauty threw 
 aside, with his slender arms, the youth, philosophers, magis- 
 trates, and generals, that surrounded me, with a countenance as 
 confident, a motion as rapid, and a command as unresisted as 
 a god. 
 
 " Stranger ! " said he, " I come from Pericles, to offer 
 you my assistance."
 
 I 28 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 * 
 
 I looked in his face ; it was a child's. 
 " We have attendants here who shall conduct you from the 
 crowd," said he. 
 
 " Venus and Cupid ! " cried one. 
 " We are dogs," growled another. 
 " Worse ! " rejoined a third, " we are slaves." 
 " Happy man ! happy man ! if thou art theirs," whispered 
 the next in his ear, and followed us close behind. 
 
 I have since been informed that Pericles, who sate below us 
 on the first seat, was the only man who did not rise. No 
 matter ; why should he ? why did the rest ? But it was very 
 kind in him to send his cousin ; I mean it was very kind for 
 so proud a man. 
 
 Epimedea wept over me when I entered her house, and 
 
 burned incense before the Gods, and led me into my chamber. 
 
 " I have a great deal to say to you, my dear Aspasia ; but 
 
 you must go to sleep : your bath shall be ready at noon ; but 
 
 be sure you sleep till then," said she. 
 
 I did indeed sleep, and (will you believe it?) instantly and 
 soundly. Never was bath more refreshing, never was reproof 
 more gentle, than Epimedea's. 
 
 I found her at my pillow when I awoke, and she led me to 
 the marble conch. 
 
 " Dear child ! " said she, when I had stept in, *' you do 
 not know our customs. You should have come at once to my 
 house ; you never should have worn men's clothes : indeed 
 you should not have gone to the theatre at all ; but, being 
 there, and moreover in men's habiliments, you should have 
 taken care not to have fainted, as they say you did. My hus- 
 band, Thessalus, would never hear of fainting ; he used to tell 
 me it was a bad example. But he fainted at last, poor man ! 
 and — I minded his admonition. Why ! what a lovely child 
 you are grown, my little Aspasia ! Is the bath too hot ? 
 Aspasia ! can it be ? why, you are no child at all 1 " 
 
 I really do believe that this idle discourse of Epimedea, 
 which will tire you perhaps, was the only one that would not 
 have wearied out my spirits. It neither made me think nor 
 answer. What a privilege ! what a blessing ! how seldom to 
 be enjoyed in our conferences with the silly ! Ah ! do not
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 129 
 
 let me wrong the kind ^ Epimedea ! Those are not silly who 
 have found the way to our hearts ; and far other names do 
 they deserve who open to us theirs. 
 
 VII, 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 The boy about whom I wrote to you in my letter of yester- 
 day is called Alcibiades.* He lisps and blushes at it. His 
 cousin, Pei-icles, you may have heard, enjoys the greatest 
 power and reputation, both as an orator and a general, of any 
 man in Athens. Early this morning the beautiful child 
 came to visit me, and told me that when his cousin had 
 finished his studies, which he usually had done about three 
 hours after sunrise, he would desire him to come also. 
 
 I replied, " By no means do it, my beautiful and brave 
 protector! Surely, on considering the matter, you will think 
 you are taking too great a liberty with a person so distin- 
 guished." 
 
 " I take no liberties with any other," he said. 
 
 When I expressed in my countenance a little sui-prise at his 
 impetuosity, he came forward and kissed my brow. Then, 
 said he, more submissively, " Pardon my rudeness. I like 
 very well to be told what to do by those who are fond of 
 me ; but never to be told what not to do ; and the more fond 
 they are of me the less I like it. Because when they tell me 
 what to do, they give me an oppoitunity of pleasing them ; 
 but when they tell me what not to do, it is a sign that I have 
 displeased, or am likely to displease them. Beside — I believe 
 there are some other reasons, but they have quite escaped me*" 
 
 " It is time I should return," said he, " or I shall forget 
 all about the hour of his studies (I mean Pericles), and mine 
 
 too." 
 
 [« First ed. : " kind-hearted."] 
 
 * He had no right to be at the theatre ; but he might have taken 
 the liberty, for there was nobody in Athens whom he feared, even in 
 his childhood. Thucydides calls him a youth in the twelfth year of 
 the Peloponnesian war. He was, on the mother's side, grandson of 
 Megacles, whose grand-daughter Isodoce, married Cimon : her father 
 Euryptolemus was cousin-german to Pericles.
 
 130 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 I would not let him go, however, but inquired who were 
 his teachers, and repeated to him many things from Sappho, 
 and Alcseus, and Pindar, and Simonides. He was amazed, 
 and told me he preferred them to Fate and Necessity, Pytho 
 and Pythonissa. 
 
 I would now have kissed him in my turn, but he drew 
 back, thinking (no doubt) that I was treating him like a child 
 — that a kiss is never given but as the price of pardon, and 
 that I had pardoned him before for his captiousness. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 AsPAsiA ! I foresee that henceforward you will admire the 
 tragedy of Promotheus more than ever. But do not tell any 
 one, excepting so fond a friend as Cleone, that you prefer the 
 author to Homer. I agree with you that the conception of 
 such a drama is in itself a stupendous effort of genius ; that 
 the execution is equal to the conception ; that the character of 
 Promotheus is more heroic than any in heroic poetry ; and 
 that no production of the same extent is so magnificent and so 
 exalted. But the Iliad is not a region, it is a continent ; and 
 you might as well compare this prodigy to it as the cataract of 
 the Nile to the Ocean. In the one we are overpowered by 
 the compression and burst of the element ; in the other we 
 are carried over an immensity of space, bounding the earth, 
 not bounded by her, and having nothing above but the 
 heavens. 
 
 Let us enjoy, whenever we have an opportunity, the delight 
 of admiration, and perform the duties of reverence. May 
 others hate what is admirable ! We will hate likewise, O my 
 Aspasia ! when we can do no better. I am unable to fore- 
 tell the time when this shall happen : it lies, I think, beyond 
 the calculations of Meton. 
 
 I am happy to understand that the Athenians have such a 
 philosopher among them. Hitherto we have been inclined to 
 suppose that philosophy at Athens is partly an intricate tissue 
 of subtile questions and illusory theories, knotted with syllo- 
 gisms ; and partly an indigested mass of unexamined assertions
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. i 3 1 
 
 and conflicting dogmas. The lonians are more silent, con- 
 templative, and recluse. Knowing that Nature will not de- 
 liver her oracles in the crowd, nor by sound of trumpet, they 
 open their breasts to her in solitude, with the simplicity of 
 children, and look earnestly in her face for a reply. Meton, 
 and Democritus,^ and Anaxagoras, may perhaps lay their 
 hands upon the leapings of your tettinxes,^° and moderate 
 their chiqaing, but I apprehend that the genius of the people 
 will always repose upon the wind-skins of the sophists. 
 Comedy might be their corrector ; but Comedy seems to 
 think she has two offices to perform ; from one side of the 
 stage to explode absurdity, and from the other to introduce 
 indecency. She might, under wise regulations (and these she 
 should impose upon herself), render more service to a state 
 than Philosophy could in whatsoever other character. And I 
 wonder that Aristophanes, strong in the poetical faculty, and 
 unrivalled in critical acuteness, should not perceive that a 
 dominion is within his reach which is within the reach of no 
 moital beside ; a dominion whereby he may reform the 
 manners, dictate the pursuits, and regulate the affections of his 
 countrymen. Perhaps he never could have done it so effect- 
 ually, had he been better and begun otherwise ; but having, 
 however unworthy might have been the means and methods, 
 seized upon their humours, they now are as pliable to him as 
 waxen images to Thessalian witches.^^ He keeps them 
 
 [^ Diogenes Laertius says of him, " He was deeply versed in 
 physics and ethics ; moreover, he was well skilled in mathematics and 
 all fitting knowledge, and had a full acquaintance with the various 
 arts. He it was who used to say, ' Speech is the shadow of 
 action.' "] 
 
 |-io "The Athenians were the first who laid aside arms and adopted 
 an easier and more luxurious way of life. Quite recently, the old- 
 fashioned refinement of dress still lingered among the elder men of 
 their richer class, who wore under-garments of linen, and bound back 
 their hair in a knot with golden clasps in the form of grasshoppers 
 (tettinx)." — ThucTjdides , i. 6. Jo'wett's iranslation.'\ 
 
 pi « por this Thessalian land has evil herbs 
 
 Springing from every crag and stones that heed 
 The witches when they chant their fatal charms." 
 
 — Lucan, Pharsal'ia^
 
 132 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 before the fire he has kindled, and he has only to sing the right 
 song. 
 
 Beware, my dear Aspasia, never to offend him ; for he^^ 
 holds more terrors at his command than iEschylus. The 
 tragic poet rolls the thunder that frightens, the comic wields 
 the lightning that kills. Aristophanes has the power of toss- 
 ing you among the populace of a thousand cities for a thousand 
 years. 
 
 A great poet is more powerful than Sesostris,^^ and a wicked 
 one more formidable than Phalaris.^* 
 
 IX. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Epimedea has been with me in my chamber. She asked me 
 whether the women of Ionia had left off wearing ear-rings. 
 I answered that I believed they always had worn them, and 
 that they were introduced by the Persians, who received ^^ them 
 from nations more remote. 
 
 " And do you think yourself too young," said she, " for such 
 an ornament?" producing at the same instant a massy pair, 
 inlaid with the largest emeralds. " Alas ! alas ! " said she, 
 " your mother neglected you strangely.' There is no hole in 
 the ear, right or left ! We can mend that, however ; I 
 know a woman who will bring us the prettiest little pan of 
 charcoal, with the prettiest little steel rod in it ; and, before 
 you can cry out, one ear lets light through. These are yours," 
 said she, " and so shall every thing be when I am gone ^^ — 
 house, garden, quails, leveret." 
 
 " Generous Epimedea ! " said I, " do not say things that 
 pain me. I will accept a part of the present ; I will wear 
 these beautiful emeralds on one arm. Thinking of nailing 
 
 [12 First ed. : " He."] 
 
 [!•* The great Ramses, King of Egypt. Herodotus tells how he 
 conquered all Arabia, Asia Minor, Thrace, and Scythia.] 
 
 p4 a But him who burned men with fire within a brazen bull 
 Phaiaris, that had no pity, men tell of everywhere with hate." — 
 Pindar, Pyth., i. 185. Mr E. Myers" Translation.'] 
 
 [15 First ed. : " had received."] 
 
 £16 (I When I am gone," not in ist ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 
 
 1 
 
 1 1 
 
 them in my ears, you resolve to make me steady, but I am 
 unwilling they should become dependencies of Attica." 
 
 "All our young women wear them ; the Goddesses too." 
 
 " The Goddesses are in the right," said I ; " their ears are 
 marble, but I do not believe any one of them would tell us 
 that women were made to be the settings of pearls and 
 emeralds." 
 
 I had taken one, and was about to kiss her, when she 
 said, " Do not leave me an odd ear-ring : put the other in the 
 hair." 
 
 " Epimedea," said I, " I have made a vow never to wear 
 on the head any thing but one single flower, a^" single wheat- 
 ear, green or yellow and ivy, or vine-leaves : the number of 
 these are not mentioned in the vow." 
 
 «' Rash child ! " said Epimedea, shaking her head ; " I 
 never made but two vows ; one was when I took a husband." 
 
 " And the other ? Epimedea ! " 
 
 " No matter," said she ; " it might be, for what I know, 
 never to do the like again." 
 
 X. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Pericles has visited me. After many grave and gentle in- 
 quiries, often suspended, all relating to my health ; and after 
 praises of Miletus and pity for my friends left behind, he told 
 me that, when he was quite assured of my recovery ^^ from the 
 fatigues of the voyage, he hoped I would allow him to collect 
 from me, at my leisure hours, the information he wanted on 
 the literature of Ionia. Simple-hearted man ! in praising the 
 authors of our country, he showed me that he knew them 
 perfectly, from first to last. And now indeed his energy was 
 displayed : I thought he had none at all. With how sonorous 
 and modulated a voice did he repeat the more poetical pas- 
 sages of our elder historians ! and how his whole soul did lean 
 upon Herodotus ! Happily for me, he observed not my 
 enthusiasm. And now he brought me into the presence of 
 
 {}' First ed. : " one."] p First ed. : -'perfect recovery."']
 
 1 34 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Homer. " We claim him," said he ; " but he is yours. 
 Observe with wliat pr.rtiality he always dwells on Asia ! How 
 infinitely more civilized are Glaucus and Sarpedon than any 
 of the Grecians he was called upon to celebrate ! Priam, 
 Paris, Hector, what polished men ! Civilisation has never 
 made a step in advance, and never will, on those countries ; 
 she had gone so far in the days of Homer. He keeps Helen 
 pretty rigorously out of sight, but he opens his heart to the 
 virtues of Andromache. What a barbarian is the son of a 
 goddess ! ^^ Pallas must seize him by the hair to avert the 
 murder of his leader ; but at the eloquence of the Phrygian 
 king the storm of the intractable homicide bursts in tears." 
 
 " And iEschylus," said I, but could not continue : blushes 
 rose into my cheek, and pained me at the recollection of my 
 weakness. 
 
 " He has left us," said Pericles, who pretended not to have 
 perceived it ; 20 « j ^m grieved that my prayers were inadequate 
 to detain him. But what prayers or what expostulations can 
 influence the lofty mind, labouring and heaving under injustice 
 and indignity ? ^Eschylus knew he meiited, by his genius ^i 
 and his services, the gratitude and admiration of the Athenians. 
 He saw others preferred before him, and hoisted sail. At 
 the rumour of his departure, such was the consternation, as if 
 the shield of Pallas in the Parthenon had dropt from her 
 
 [}^ So said he, and grief came upon Peleus'son, and hisheart within his 
 shaggy breast 'was divided in counsel, whether to draw his keen blade 
 from his thigh and so slay Atreides, or to assuage his anger and curb 
 his soul. MHiile yet he doubted thereof in heart and soul, and was 
 drawing his great sword from its sheath, Athene came to him from 
 heaven, sent forth of the white-armed goddess Hera, whose heart loved 
 both alike and had care for them. She stood behind Peleus' son and 
 caught him by his golden hair. — Iliad, i. Thus spake Priam and 
 stirred within Achilles desire to make ament for his father. And he 
 touched the old man's hand and gently moved him back. And as 
 they both bethought them of their dead, so Priam for man-slaying 
 Hector wept sore as he was fallen before Achilles' feet, and Achilles 
 wept for his own father and now again for Patroklos, and their moan 
 went up throughout the house. — 7//W, xxiv. Messrs Lang, Leaf, and 
 Myers'' Translation.'^ 
 
 [-" First ed.: "who perceived it but pretended not."] 
 
 [-1 First ed. : " both by his genius.'"]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 135 
 
 breast upon the pavement. That glory shines now upon the 
 crown of Hiero 2- which has sunk for Athens." 
 
 " You have still great treasures left," said I : for he was 
 moved. 
 
 " True," replied he, " but will not every one remark, who 
 hears the observation, that we know not how to keep them, 
 and have never weighed them ? " 
 
 I sate silent ; he resumed his serenity. 
 
 " We ought to change places," said he, " at the feet of the 
 poets, ^schylus, I see, is yours ; Homer is mine. Aspasia 
 should be a Pallas to Achilles ; and Pericles a subordinate 
 power, comforting and consoling the afflicted demi-god. Im- 
 petuosity, impatience, resentment, revenge itself, are pardon- 
 able sins in the very softest of your sex : on brave endurance 
 rises our admiration." 
 
 " I love those better who endure with constancy," said I. 
 
 " Happy ! " replied he, " thrice happy ! O Aspasia, the 
 constancy thus tried and thus rewarded ! " 
 
 He spoke with tenderness ; he rose with majesty ; bowed 
 to Epimedea ; touched gently, scarcely at all, the hand I pre- 
 sented to him, bent over it, and departed. 
 
 XI. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 I TOLD you I would love, O Cleone ! but I am so near it that 
 I dare not. 
 
 Tell me what I am to do ; I can do anything but write 
 and think. 
 
 Pericles has not returned. 
 
 I am nothing here in Athens. 
 
 Five days are over ; six almost. 
 
 O what long days are these of Elaphebolion ! 
 
 \^ The reasons, which induced ^schylus to leave Athens, can only 
 be conjectured. It is not improbable that he disliked the changes in 
 the constitution introduced by Pericles. It is possible that the charge 
 of impiety which, Aristotle tells us, was brought against him may 
 have compelled him to take refuge at the court of Hiero of Syracuse. 
 There he would have found Pindar settled already.]
 
 136 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 xn. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Take heed, Aspasia ! All orators are deceivers ; and Pericles 
 is the greatest of orators. 
 
 I will write nothing more, lest you should attend in pre- 
 ference to any other part of my letter. 
 
 Yes ; I must repeat my admonition : I must speak out 
 plainly ; I must try other words — stronger — more frightful. 
 Love of supremacy, miscalled political glory, finds most, and . 
 leaves all, dishonest. 
 
 The Gods and Goddesses watch over and preserve you, and 
 send you safe home again ! 
 
 XIII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Fear not for me, Cleone ! Pericles has attained the summit 
 of gloiy ; and the wisdom and virtue that acquired it for him 
 are my sureties. 
 
 A great man knows the value of greatness ; he dares not 
 hazard it, he will not squander it. Imagine you that the con- 
 fidence and affection of a people, so acute, so vigilant, so 
 jealous, as the Athenians, would have rested so firmly and 
 constantly on one inconstant and infirm ? 
 
 If he loves me the merit is not mine ; the fault will be it 
 he ceases. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 CLEONE TO aspasia. 
 
 I MUST and will fear for you, and the more because I per- 
 ceive 2^ you are attracted as the bees are, by an empty sound, 
 the fame of your admirer. You love Pericles for that very 
 quality which ought to have set you on your guard against 
 him. In contentions for power, the philosophy and the poetry 
 of life are dropped and trodden down. Domestic affections 
 
 [23 First ed. : " perceive that."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 137 
 
 can no more bloom and flourish in the hardened race-course 
 of politics, than flowers can find nourishment in the pavement 
 of the streets. In the politician the whole creature is facti- 
 tious ; if ever he speaks as before, he speaks either from 
 memory or invention. 
 
 But such is your beauty, such your genius, it may alter the 
 nature of things. Endowed with the power of Circe, you 
 will exert it oppositely, and restore to the most selfish and most 
 voracious of animals the uprightness and dignity of man. 
 
 XV. 
 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 It is not wisdom in itself, O Aspasia ! it is the manner of im- 
 parting it that affects the soul, and alone deserves the name of 
 eloquence. I have never been moved by any but yours. 
 
 Is it the beauty that shines over it, is it the voice that ripens 
 it, giving it those lovely colours, that delicious freshness ; is it 
 the modesty and diffidence with which you present it to us, 
 looking for nothing but support ? Sufficient were any one of 
 them singly ; but all united have come forward to subdue me, 
 and have deprived me of my courage, my self-possession, and 
 my repose. 
 
 I dare not hope to be beloved, Aspasia ! I did hope it once 
 in my life, and have been disappointed.-^,: Where I sought for 
 happiness, none is offered me : I have neither the sunshine nor 
 the shade. 
 
 So unfortunate -^ in earlier days, ought I, ten years later, to 
 believe that she, to whom the earth, with whatever is beautiful 
 and graceful in it, bows prostrate, will listen to me as her 
 lover ? I dare not ; too much have I dared already. But if, 
 O Aspasia ! I should sometimes seem heavy and dull in 
 
 [24 " For though his wife, who was his relation and had been first 
 married to Hipponicus, by whom she had Collias the rich, brought 
 him two sons, Xanthippus and Paralus, yet they lived so ill together 
 that they parted by consent. She was married to another." — Lang- 
 homes Plutarch, Life of Pericles.^ 
 
 [-5 First ed. : " If then I was so unfortunate."]
 
 138 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 conversation, when happier men surround you, pardon my 
 infirmity. 
 
 I have only one wish — I may not utter it : I have only one 
 fear — this at least is not irrational, and I will own it ; — the 
 fear that Aspasia could never be sufficiently happy with me. 
 
 XVI. 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 Do you doubt, O Pericles, that I shall be sufficiently happy 
 with you ? This doubt of yours assures me that 1 shall 
 be. 
 
 I throw aside my pen to crown the Gods ; and I worship 
 thee first, O Pallas ! who protectest the life, enlightenest 
 the mind, establishest the power, and exaltest the glory of 
 Pericles. 
 
 r 
 
 XVII. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 I TREMBLE both for you and your lover. The people of 
 Athens may applaud at first the homage paid to beauty and 
 genius ; nevertheless there are many whose joy will spring from 
 malignity, and who will exult at what they think. (I know not 
 whether quite unjustly) a weakness in Pericles. 
 
 I shall always be restless about you. Let me confess to 
 you, I do not like your sheer democracies. What are they good 
 for ? Why, yes, they have indeed their use ; the filth and 
 ferment of the compost are necessary for raising rare plants. 
 
 O how I wish we were again together in that island on our 
 river, which we called the Fortunate ! It was almost an 
 island when your father cut across the isthmus of about ten 
 paces, to preserve the swan-nest. 
 
 Xeniades has left Miletus. We know not whither he is 
 gone, but we presume to his mines in Lemnos. It was always 
 with difficulty he could be persuaded to look after his affairs. 
 He is too rich, too young, too thoughtless. But since you 
 left Miletus, we have nothing here to detain him.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 139 
 
 I wish I could trifle with you about your Pericles. Any 
 wager,-^ he is the only lover who never wrote verses upon 
 you. 
 
 In a politician a verse is an ostracism. 
 
 XVIII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 t 
 
 My Pericles (mine, mine he is) 1ms written verses upon me; 
 not many, nor worth his prose, even the shortest sentence of 
 it. But you will read them with pleasure for their praises of 
 Miletus. 
 
 No longer ago than yesterday an ugly young philosopher 
 declared his passion for me, as you shall see. I did not write 
 anything back to Pericles — I did to the other. I will not run 
 the risk of having half my letter left unread by you, in your 
 hurry to come into the poetry. 
 
 Here it all is. 
 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Flower of Ionia's fertile plains, 
 
 Where Pleasure leagued with Virtue reigns, 
 
 Where the Pierian Maids of old, 
 
 Yea, long ere Uion's tale was told. 
 
 Too pure, too sacred for our sight, 
 
 Descended with the silent night 
 
 To young Arctinus,-'' and Mseander 
 
 Delay'd his course for Melesander ! 
 
 If there be city on the earth 
 
 Proud in the children of her birth, 
 
 Wealth, science, beauty, story, song. 
 
 These to Miletus all belong. 
 
 To fix the diadem on his brow 
 
 For ever, one was wanting — thou. 
 
 I could not be cruel to such a suitor, even if he asked me 
 for pity. Love makes one half of every man foolish, and the 
 other half cunning. Pericles touched me on the side of 
 
 [^ First ed. : " Any wager upon it."] 
 
 [-" Arctinus of Miletus, the most famous of the cyclic poets, was at 
 one time believed to have written before the time of Homer.]
 
 140 Longer Prose Works, 
 
 Miletus, and Socrates came up to me straightforward from 
 Prometheus. 
 
 SOCRATES TO ASPASIA. 
 I. 
 
 He who stole fire from heaven, 
 
 Long heav'd his bold and patient breast ; 'twas riven 
 
 By the Caucasian bird and bolts of Jove. 
 
 Stolen that fire have I, 
 
 And am enchain'd to die 
 
 By every jealous Power that frowns above. 
 
 I call not upon thee again 
 
 To hear my vows and calm my pain, 
 
 Who sittest high enthron'd 
 Where Venus rolls her gladsome star, 
 
 Propitious Love ! But thou disown'd 
 By sire and mother, whosoe'er they are, 
 Unblest in form and name. Despair ! 
 Why dost thou follow that bright demon ? why 
 His purest altar art thou always nigh ? 
 
 I was sorry that Socrates should suffer so much for me. 
 Pardon the fib, Cleone ! — let it pass — I was sorry just as 
 we all are upon such occasions, and wrote him this consolation. 
 
 O thou who sittest with the wise, 
 And searchest higher lore. 
 
 And openest regions to their eyes 
 Unvisited before ! 
 
 I'd run to loose thee if I could, 
 
 Nor let the vulture taste thy blood. 
 
 But, pity ! pity I Attic bee ! 
 
 'Tis happiness forbidden me. 
 
 Despair is not for good or wise, 
 And should not be for love ; 
 
 We all must bear our destinies 
 And bend to those above.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 141 
 
 Birds flying o'er tiie stormy seas 
 Alight upon their proper trees, 
 Yet wisest men not always know 
 Where they should stop, or whither go. 
 
 XIX. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 I AM quite ashamed of Alcibiades — quite angry with him. 
 What do you imagine he has been doing ? He listened to my 
 conversation with Pericles, on the declaration of love from the 
 Philosopher Bound, and afterwards to the verses I repeated in 
 answer to his, which pleased my Pericles extremely, not per- 
 haps for themselves, but because I had followed his advice in 
 writing them, and had returned to him with the copy so 
 speedily. 
 
 Alcibiades said he did not like them at all, and could write 
 better himself. We smiled at this ; and his cousin said, " Do 
 then, my boy! " 
 
 Would you believe it? he not only wrote, but I fear (for 
 he declares he did) actually sent these: 
 
 O Satyr-son of Sophroniscus ! ^8 
 Would Alcon cut me an hibiscus, 
 I'd wield it as the goatherds do, 
 And swing thee a sound stroke or two, 
 Bewilder, if thou canst, us boys, 
 Us, or the sophists, with thy toys. 
 Thy kalokagathons — beware ! 
 Keep to the good, and leave the fair. 
 
 Could he really be the composer ? what think you ? or did 
 he get any of his wicked friends to help him ? The verses 
 are very bold, very scandalous, very shocking. I am vexed 
 and sorry ; but what can be done ? We must seem to know 
 nothing about the matter. 
 
 The audacious little creature — not very little, he is within 
 
 [28 if I say then, that he (Socrates) is exactly like the masks of 
 Silenus, which may be seen in the statuaries' shops, sitting with pipes 
 and flutes in their mouths ; and they are made to open in the middle 
 and have figures of the gods inside them. . . . You yourself will not 
 deny, Socrates, that your face is like that of a Satyr." — Alcibiades in 
 the Symposium. Joiveti's Dialogues of Plato. Vol. ii. p. 66.1
 
 142 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 four ^^ fingers of my height — is half in love with me. He 
 flames up at the mention of Socrates — can he be jealous ? 
 
 Pericles tells me that the philosophers here are as susceptible 
 of malice as of love. It may be so, for the plants which are 
 sweet in some places are acrid in others. 
 
 He said to me, smiling, " I shall be represented in their 
 schools as a sophist, because Aspasia and Alcibiades were 
 unruly. O that boy ! who knows but his mischievous verses 
 will be a reason sufficient, in another year, why I am unable to 
 command an army or harangue an assembly of the people ? 
 
 XX. 
 
 XENIADES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Aspasia ! Aspasia ! have you forgotten me ? have you for- 
 gotten us P Our childhood was one, our earliest youth was 
 undivided. Why should you not see me ? Did you fear that 
 you would have to reproach me for any fault I have committed ? 
 This would have pained you formerly ; ah, how lately ! 
 
 Your absence — not absence, flight — has broken my health, 
 and left me fever and frenzy. Eumedes is certain I 
 can only recover my health by composure. Foolish man ! as 
 if composure were more easy to recover than health. Was 
 there ever such a madman as to say, " You will never have 
 the use of your limbs again unless you walk and run ! " 
 
 I am weary of advice, of remonstrance, of pity, of every- 
 thing ; — above all, of life. 
 
 Was it anger (how dared I be angry with you ?) that with- 
 held me from imploring the sight of you ? Was it pride ? 
 Alas ! what pride is left me ? I am preferred no longer ; I 
 am rejected, scorned, loathed. Was it always so ? Well 
 may I ask the question ; for every thing seems uncertain to 
 me but my misery. At times I know not whether I am mad 
 or dreaming. No, no, Aspasia ! the past was a dream, the 
 present is a reality. The mad and the dreaming do not shed 
 tears as I do. And yet in these bitter tears are my happiest 
 
 [29 First ed.: "three."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 143 
 
 moments ; and some angry demon knows it, and presses my 
 temples that there shall fall but few. 
 
 You refused to admit me. I asked too little, and deserved 
 the refusal. Come to me. This you will not refuse, unless 
 you are bowed to slavery. Go, tell your despot this, with my 
 curses and defiance. 
 
 I am calmer, but insist. Spare yourself, Aspasia, one tear, 
 and not by an effort, but by a duty. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Of all men living, what man do you imagine has come to 
 Athens ? Insensate ! now you know. What other, so beloved, 
 would ever have left Miletus ! I wish I could be convinced 
 that your coldness or indifference had urged him to this ex- 
 travagance. I can only promise you we will not detain him. 
 Athens is not a refuge for the perfidious or the flighty. But 
 if he is unfortunate ; what shall we do with him ? Do ? I 
 will tell him to return. Expect him hourly. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 ASPASIA TO XENIADES. 
 
 I AM pained to my innermost heart that you are ill. 
 
 Pericles is not the person you imagine him. Behold his 
 billet ! And cannot you think of me with equal generosity ? 
 
 True, we saw much of each other in our childhood, and 
 many childish things we did together. This is the reason why 
 I went out of your way as much as I could afterward. There 
 is another too. I hoped you would love more the friend that 
 I love most. How much happier would she make you than 
 the flighty Aspasia ! We resemble each other too much, 
 Xeniades ! we should never have been happy, so ill-mated. 
 Nature hates these alliances : they are like those of brother 
 and sister. I never loved any one but Pericles. None else 
 attracts the admiration of the world. I stand, O Xeniades ! 
 
 [30 Not in I St ed.]
 
 144 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 not only above slavery, but above splendour, in that serene 
 light which Homer describes as encompassing the Happy on 
 Olympus. I will come to visit you within the hour ; be 
 calm, be contented ! love me, but not too much, Xeniades ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 Xeniades, whom I loved a little in my childhood, and (do not 
 look serious now, my dearest Pericles ! ) a very little afterward, 
 is sadly ill. He was always, I know not how, extravagant in 
 his wishes, although not so extravagant as many others ; and 
 what do you imagine he wishes now ? He wishes — but he is 
 veiy ill, so ill he cannot rise from his bed — that I would go 
 and visit him. I wonder whether it would be quite consider- 
 ate : I am half inclined to go, if you approve of it. 
 
 Poor youth ! he grieves me bitterly. 
 
 I shall not weep before him ; I have wept so much here. 
 Indeed, indeed, I wept, my Pericles, only because I had 
 written too unkindly. 
 
 XXIV. 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Do what your heart tells you : yes, Aspasia, do all it tells 
 you. Remember how august it is. It contains the temple, 
 not only of Love, but of Conscience ; and a whisper is heard 
 from the extremity of the one to the extremity of the other. 
 
 Bend in pensiveness, even in sorrow, on the flowery bank of 
 youth, whereunder runs the stream that passes irreversibly ! let 
 the garland drop into it, let the hand be refreshed by it — but 
 — may the beautiful feet of Aspasia stand firm ! 
 
 XXV. 
 XENIADES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 You promised you would return. I thought you only broke 
 hearts, not promises.
 
 Pericles and Aspasla. 145 
 
 It is now broad daylight : I see it clearly, although the 
 blinds are closed. A long sharp ray cuts off one corner of 
 the room, and we shall hear the crash presently. 
 
 Come ; but without that pale silent girl : I hate her. 
 Place her on the other side of you, not on mine. 
 
 And this plane-tree gives no shade whatever. We will sit 
 in some other place. 
 
 No, no ; I will not have you call her to us. Let her play 
 where she is — the notes are low — she plays sweetly. 
 
 XXVI. 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 See what incoherency ! He did not write it, not one word. 
 The slave who brought it, told me that he was desired by the 
 guest to write his orders, whenever he found his mind com- 
 posed enough to give any. 
 
 About four hours after my departure, he called him, mildly, 
 and said, " I am quite recovered." 
 
 He gave no orders, however, and spake nothing more for 
 some time. At last he raised himself up, and rested on his 
 elbow, and began (said the slave) like one inspired. The 
 slave added, that finding he was indeed quite well again, both 
 in body and mind, and capable of making as fine poetry as any 
 man in Athens, he had written down every word with the 
 greatest punctuality ; and that, looking at him for more, he 
 found he had fallen into as sound a slumber as a reaper's. 
 
 " Upon this I ran off with the verses," said he. 
 
 XXV1I.31 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Comfort him. But you must love him, if you do. Well ! 
 comfort him. Forgive my inconsiderateness. You will not 
 love him now. You would not receive him when your bosom 
 was without an occupant. And yet you saw him daily. 
 Others, all others, pine away before him. I wish I could 
 
 pi Not in I St ed.] 
 
 K
 
 146 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 solace my soul with poetry, as you have the power of doing.. 
 In all the volumes I turn over, I find none exactly suitable to 
 my condition : part expresses my feelings, part flies off from 
 them to something more light and vague. I do not believe 
 the best writers of love poetry ever loved. How could they 
 write if they did ? where could they collect the thoughts, the 
 words, the courage ? Alas ! alas ! men can find all these, 
 Aspasia, and leave us after they have found them. But in 
 Xeniades there is no fault whatever : he never loved me : he 
 never said he did : he fled only from my immodesty in loving 
 him. Dissembler as I was, he detected it. Do pity him, and 
 help him : but pity me too, who am beyond your help. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Tears, O Aspasia, do not dwell long upon the cheeks of 
 youth. Rain drops easily from the bud, rests on the bosom 
 of the maturer flower, and breaks down that one only which 
 hath lived its day. 
 
 Weep, and perform the offices of friendship. The season 
 of life, leading you by the hand, will not permit you to linger 
 at the tomb of the departed ; and Xeniades, when your first 
 tear fell upon it, entered into the number of the blessed. 
 
 XXIX. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 What shall I say to you, tender and sweet Cleone ! The 
 wanderer is in the haven of happiness — the restless has found 
 rest. 
 
 Weep not ; I have shed all your tears — not all — they burst 
 from me again. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 O ! HE was too beautiful to live ! Is there anything that 
 shoots through the world so swiftly as a sunbeam ! Epialtes
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 147 
 
 has told me everything. He sailed back without waiting at 
 the islands ; by your orders, he says. 
 
 What hopes could I, with any prudence, entertain ? The 
 chaplet you threw away would have cooled and adorned my 
 temples ; but how could he ever love another who had once 
 loved you ? I am casting my broken thoughts before my 
 Aspasia : the little shells upon the shore, that the storm has 
 scattered there, and that heedless ^^ feet have trampled on. 
 
 I have prayed to Venus ; but I never prayed her to turn 
 toward me the fondness that was yours. I fancied, I even 
 hoped, you might accept it ; and my prayer was — " Grant I 
 may never love ! " Afar from me, O Goddess ! be the 
 malignant warmth that dries up the dews of friendship. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Pericles has insisted on it that I should change the air, and 
 has recommended to me an excursion to the borders of the 
 state. 
 
 " If you pass them a little way," said he, " you will come 
 to Tanagra, and that will inflame you with ambition." 
 
 The honour in which I hold the name of Corinna induced 
 me to undertake a journey to her native place. Never have 1 
 found a people so hospitable as the inhabitants. Living at a 
 distance from the sea, they are not traders, nor adventurers, 
 nor speculators, nor usurers, but cultivate a range of pleasant 
 hills, covered with vines. Hermes is the principal God they 
 worship ; yet I doubt whether a single prayer was ever offered 
 up to him by a Tanagrian for success in thieveiy. 
 
 The beauty of Corinna ■^^ is no less celebrated than her poetry. 
 
 [32 Not in 1st ed.] 
 
 [33 Now of Corinna, the only woman who ever wrote poetry in 
 Tanagra, there is a statue in an open place in the city, and in the 
 gymnasium there is a picture showing her with the fillet round her 
 hair which she won at Thebes, when she overcame Pindar in singing ; 
 and I think she got the victory partly because she sang not as Pindar
 
 148 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 I remarked, that the women speak of it with great exultation, 
 while the men applaud her genius ; and I asked my vener- 
 able host, Agesilaus, how he could account for it ? 
 
 " I can account for nothing that you ladies do," said he, 
 " although I have lived among you seventy-five years : I only 
 know that it was exactly the contrary while she was living. 
 We youths were rebuked by you ^'^ when we talked about her 
 beauty ; and the rebuke was only softened by the candid con- 
 fession, that she was clever — in her ivay.^^ 
 
 " Come back with me to Athens, O Agesilaus ! " said I, 
 " and we will send Aristophanes to Tanagra." 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 I HAVE been reading all the poetry of Corinna that I could 
 collect. Certainly it is better than Hesiod's, or even than 
 Myrtis's,''^ who taught her and Pindar, — not the rudiments of 
 the art, for this is the only art in which the rudiments are in- 
 communicable, — but what was good, what was bad, in her 
 verses, why it was so, and how she might correct the worse 
 and improve the better. 
 
 Hesiod, who is also a Boeotian, is admirable for the purity 
 of his life and soundness of his precepts, but there is hardly a 
 trace of poetry in his ploughed field. 
 
 I find in all his writings but one verse worth transcribing, 
 and that only for the melody. 
 
 " In a soft meadow, and on vernal flowers." 
 
 did in the Dorian dialect, but so that the ^olians could more easily 
 understand her. and chiefly because she must have been the most 
 beautiful woman of her day, if one may judge from the portrait. — 
 Pausanias, ix. 22. 3.] 
 
 P^ Not in I St ed.] 
 
 [35 Not a line of Myrtls is known to have survived. Plutarch 
 (Qusestiones Grscje, c. 40) has, however, preserved the subject of one 
 of her poems. A fragment of Corinna runs thus : " For my part I 
 blame the clear-voiced Myrtis, that being a woman she went to con- 
 tend with Pindar ; " but the allusion is obscure.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 149 
 
 I do not wonder he was opposed to Homer.^'^ What an 
 advantage to the enemies of greatness (that is, to mankind) 
 to be able to match one so low against one so lofty ! 
 
 The Greek army before Troy would have been curious to 
 listen to a dispute between Agamemnon and Achilles, but 
 would have been transported with ecstacy to have been 
 present at one between the king of men and Thersites. 
 
 There are few who possess all the poetry of any voluminous 
 author. I doubt whether there are ten families in Athens in 
 which all the plays of iEschylus are preserved. Many keep 
 what pleases them most : few consider that every page of a 
 really great poet has something in it which distinguishes him 
 from an inferior order : something which, if insubstantial as 
 the aliment, seizes at least as a solvent to the aliment, of strong 
 and active minds. 
 
 I asked my Pericles what he thought of Hesiod. 
 
 " I think myself more sagacious," said he. 
 
 " Hesiod found out that half was more than all ; 3" I have 
 found out that one is." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 A SLAVE brought to me, this morning, an enormous load of 
 papers, as many as he could carry under both arms. They 
 are treatises by the most celebrated philosophers. Some 
 hours afterward, when the sun was declining, Pericles came 
 in, and asked me if I had examined or looked over any por- 
 tion of them. I told him I had opened those only which 
 bore the superscription of famous names, but, that unless he 
 
 [38 Now about this time Ganuktor was celebrating funeral games at 
 Chalcis for Epidauras his father, king of Euboea, and summoned to 
 them all men who were famous, whether for strength and swiftness of 
 foot or for wisdom. Thither by chance came Homer and Hesiod, 
 and many of the notable men of Chalcis were present as judges of the 
 contest between the poets. And, though both acquitted themselves 
 well, they say that Hesiod had the better. — The Contest of Hesiod and 
 Horner^ 
 
 \^ Fools the kings are; for they know not how much more the 
 half is than the whole ; nor all the sweetness of a diet on herbs. — 
 Hesiod, Works and Days, 40.]
 
 150 l>onger Prose Works. 
 
 would assist me, I was hopeless of reconciling one part with 
 another in the same writers. 
 
 J, " The first thing requisite," said I, " is, that as many as 
 
 /are now at Athens should meet together, and agree upon a 
 
 nomenclature of terms. From definitions we may go on to 
 
 I propositions ; but we cannot make a step unless the foot rpsts 
 
 somewhere." 
 
 He smiled at me. " Ah, my Aspasia ! " said he, " Philo- 
 I sophy does not bring her sons together ; she portions them off 
 ) early, gives them a scanty stock of worm-eaten furniture, a 
 j chair or two on which it is dangerous to sit down, and at 
 / least as many arms as utensils ; then leaves them : they seldom 
 i meet afterward." 
 
 ( " But could not they be brought together by some friend of 
 j the mother ? " said I, laughing. 
 
 I " Aspasia," answered he, " you have lived but few years in 
 the world, and with only one philosopher — Yourself." 
 
 " I will not be contented with a compliment," said I, 
 " and least of all from you. Explain to me the opinions of 
 those about you." 
 
 He traced before me the divergences of every sect — from 
 our countryman Thalcs to those now living. Epimedea sat 
 with her eyes wide open, listening attentively. When he 
 went away, I asked her what she thought of his discourse. 
 She half closed her eyes, not from weariness, but (as many 
 do) on bringing out of obscurity into light a notable dis- 
 covery ; and, laying her forefinger on my arm, " You have 
 turned his head," said she. "He will do no longer; he 
 used to be plain and coherent ; and now — did ever mortal 
 talk so widely ? I could not understand one word in twenty, 
 and what I could understand was sheer nonsense." 
 
 " Sweet Epimedea ! " said I, " this is what I should fancy 
 to be no such easy matter." 
 
 " Ah ! you are growing like him already," said she ; " I 
 should not be surprised to find, some morning, a cupola ^^ at 
 the top of this pretty head." 
 
 [38 " His person in other respects was well turned, but his head was 
 disproportionately long. For this reason almost all his statues have 
 the head covered with a helmet, the statuaries choosing, I suppose, to 
 hide that defect." — Lang/iome's Plutarch — Pericles.~\
 
 Pericles and Aspasia 151 
 
 Pericles, I think I never told you, has a little elevation on 
 the crown of his ; I should rather say his head has a crown, 
 others have none. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Do, my dear Aspasia, continue to write to me about the 
 poets ; and if you think there is anything of Myrtis or 
 Corinna, which is wanting to us at Miletus, copy it out. I 
 do not always ^^ approve of the Trilogies. Nothing can be 
 more tiresome — hardly anything more wicked — than a few^^ of 
 them. It may be well, occasionally, to give something of the 
 historical form to the dramatic, as it is, occasionally, to give 
 something of the dramatic to the historical ; but never to turn 
 into ridicule and buffoonery the virtuous, the unfortunate, or 
 the brave. Whatever the Athenians may boast of their ex- 
 quisite judgment, their delicate perceptions, this is a perversion 
 of intellect in its highest place, unworthy of a Thracian. 
 There are many bad tragedies both of ^schylus and 
 Sophocles, but none without beauties — few without excel- 
 lences. I tremble then at your doubt. In another century it 
 may be impossible to find a collection of the whole, unless 
 some learned and rich man, like Pericles, or some protecting 
 king, like Hiero, should preserve them in his library. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Prudently have you considered how to preserve all valuable 
 authors. The cedar doors of a royal library fly open to re- 
 ceive them : ay, there they will be safe — and untouched. 
 
 Hiero is, however, no barbarian. He deserves a higher 
 station than a throne ; and he is raised to it. The protected 
 
 [39 Not in I St ed.] 
 
 [« First ed.: " many."]
 
 152 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 have placed the protector where neither the malice of men nor 
 the power of Gods can reach him — beyond Time — above 
 Fate. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 From the shortness of your last, I am quite certain that you 
 are busy for me in looking out pieces of verse. If you can- 
 not find any of Myrtis or Corinna, you may do what is 
 better ; you may compose a panegyric on all of our sex who 
 have excelled in poetry. This will earn for you the same 
 good office, when the world shall produce another Aspasia. 
 
 Having been in Bceotia, you must also know a great deal 
 more of Pindar than we do. Write about any of them ; they 
 all interest me ; and my mind has need of exercise. It is 
 still too fond of throwing itself down on one place. 
 
 xxxvii. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 And so, Cleone, you wish me to write a eulogy on Myrtis 
 and Corinna, and all the other poetesses that ever lived ; and 
 this is for the honour of our sex ! Ah, Cleone ! no studied 
 eulogy does honour to any one. It is always considered, and 
 always ought to be, as a piece of pleading, in which the 
 pleader says everything the most in favour of his client, in the 
 most graceful and impressive manner he can. There is a city 
 of Greece, I hear, in which reciprocal flatteiy is so necessary, 
 that, whenever a member of the assembly dies, his successor is 
 bound to praise him before he takes the seat.^i 
 
 I do not speak this from my own knowledge ; indeed I could 
 hardly believe in such frivolity, until I asked Pericles if it 
 were true ; or rather, if there were any foundation at all for 
 the report. 
 
 " Perfectly true," said he ; " but the citizens of this city 
 
 [•*! Probably aimed at the French Academy.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 153 
 
 are now become our allies ; therefore do not curl your lip, or 
 I must uncurl it, being an archon." 
 
 Myrtis and Corinna have no need of me. To read and 
 recommend their works, to point out their beauties and defects, 
 is praise enough. 
 
 " How ! " methinks you exclaim. <' To point out de- 
 fects ! is that praising ? " 
 
 Yes, Cleone ; if with equal good faith and accuracy you 
 point out their beauties too. It is only thus a fair estimate 
 can be made ; and it is only by such fair estimate that a 
 writer can be exalted to his proper station. If you toss up 
 the scale too high, it descends again rapidly below its equipoise ; 
 what it contains drops out, and people catch at it, scatter it, 
 and lose it. 
 
 We not only are inclined to indulge in rather more than a 
 temperate heat (of what we would persuade ourselves is 
 wholesome severity) toward the living, but even to peer some- 
 times into the tomb, with a wolfish appetite for an unpleasant 
 odour. 
 
 We must patronise, we must pull down ; in fact, we must 
 be in mischief, men or women. 
 
 If we are capable of showing what is good in another, and 
 neglect to do it, we omit a duty ; we omit to give rational 
 pleasure, and to conciliate right good-will ; nay more, we are 
 abettors, if not aiders, in the vilest fraud, the fraud of purloin- 
 ing from respect. We are entrusted with letters of great 
 interest : what a baseness not to deliver them ! 
 
 XXXVIIl. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 It is remarkable that Athens, so fertile in men of genius, 
 should have produced no women of distinction ; while Boeotia, 
 by no means celebrated for brightness of intellect in either sex, 
 presented to the admiration of the world her Myitis and 
 Corinna. At the feet of Myrtis it was, that Pindar gathered 
 into his throbbing breast the scattered seeds of poetry ; and 
 it was under the smile of the beautiful Corinna that he drew 
 his inspiration and wove his immortal crown.
 
 154 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 He never quite overcame his grandiloquence. The animals 
 we call half-asses, by a word of the sweetest sound, although 
 not the most seducing import, he calls 
 
 " The daughters of the tempest-footed steeds ! " ^^ 
 
 Fortune ! that the children of so illustrious a line should 
 carry sucking-pigs into the market-place, and cabbage-stalks 
 out of it ! 
 
 XXXIX. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 I 
 
 Will you always leave off, Aspasia, at the very moment you 
 have raised our expectations to the highest ? A witticism, and 
 a sudden spring from your seat, lest we should see you smile 
 at it — these are your ways ; shame upon you ! Are you de- 
 termined to continue all your life in making every one wish 
 something ? 
 
 Pindar should not be treated like ordinary men. 
 
 XL. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE." 
 
 1 HAVE not treated Pindar like an ordinary man ; I conducted 
 him into the libraiy of Cleone, and left him there. However, 
 I would have my smile out, behind the door. The verse I 
 quoted, you may be sure, is much admired by the learned, and 
 no less by the brave and worthy men whom he celebrates for 
 charioteership, and other such dexterities ; but, we of old 
 Miletus, have been always taught that words should be sub- 
 ordinate to ideas, and we never place the pedestal on the head 
 of the statue. 
 
 Now, do not tell any body that I have spoken a single word 
 
 [^- Aristotle says of Simonides that " A man who had won a race 
 with a team of mules offered him a small sum to write an ode in praise 
 of their victory, but the poet declined to demean his art to praise a 
 mule ; when, however, a more suitable sum was offered, he then wrote 
 ' Hail ye daughters of the tempest-footed steeds ; ' yet none the less 
 were the mules still daughters of asses on the one side." — Rhetoric, iii. 
 2. 1405.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 155 
 
 in dispraise of Pindar. Men are not too apt to admire what 
 is admirable in their superiors, but, on the contrary, are apt to 
 detract from them, and to seize on any thing which may tend 
 to lower them. Pindar would not have written so exquisitely 
 if no fault had ever been found with him. He would have 
 wandered on among such inquiries as those he began in : — 
 
 " Shall J sing the ivide-spread'ing and noble Ismenus ? or the 
 beautiful and ivhite-anhled Melie ? or the glorious Cadmus ? or 
 the mighty Hercules ? or the blooming Bacchus ? " 
 
 Now, a poet ought to know what he is about before he 
 opens his lips. He ought not to ask, like a poor fellow in the 
 street, " Good people ! nvhat song luill you have ? " This, 
 however, was not the fault for which he was blamed by 
 Corinna. In our censures, we are less apt to consider the 
 benefit we may confer than the ingenuity we can display. 
 
 She said, " Pindar ! you have brought a sack of corn to soiv 
 a perch of land ; and, instead of sprinkling it about, you have 
 emptied the sack at the first stepj^ 
 
 Enough : this reproof formed his character : it directed his 
 beat, it singled his aim, it concentrated his forces. It was not 
 by the precepts of Corinna, it was not by her example, it was 
 by one witticism of a wise and lovely woman, that he far 
 excels all other poets in disdain of triviality and choice of 
 topics. He is sometimes veiy tedious to us in his long stories 
 of families, but we may be sure he was not equally so to those 
 who were concerned in the genealogy. We are amused at 
 his cleverness in saving the shoulder of Pelops^^ from the de- 
 vouring jaw of a hungry God. No doubt he mends the 
 matter ; nevertheless he tires us. 
 
 Many prefer his Dithyrambics to his Olympian, Isthmian, 
 Pythian, and Nemean Odes : I do not ; nor is it likely that 
 he did himself. We may well suppose that he exerted the 
 most power on the composition, and the most thought on the 
 correction, of the poems he was to recite before kings and 
 nations, in honour of the victors at those solemn games. Here 
 the choruses and bands of music were composed of the first 
 singers and players in the world ; in the others there were no 
 
 [■*3 See Mr E. Myers' translation of Pindar, p. 4, for the passage 
 referred to.]
 
 156 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 performers but such as happened to assemble on ordinary 
 festivals, or at best at a festival of Bacchus. In the Odes 
 performed at the games, although there is not always perfect 
 regularity of corresponding verse, there is always enough of it 
 to satisfy the most fastidious ear. In the Dithyrambics there 
 is no order whatsoever, but verses and half-verses of every 
 kind, cemented by vigorous and sounding prose. 
 
 I do not love dances upon stilts ; they may excite the 
 applauses and acclamations of the vulgar, but we, Cleone, 
 exact the observance of established rules, and never put on 
 slippers, however richly embroidered, unless they pair. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 We hear that between Athens and Syracuse there has always 
 been much communication. Let me learn what you have 
 been able to collect about the lives of Pindar and iEschylus 
 in Sicily. 
 
 Is it not strange that the two most high-minded of poets 
 should have gone to reside in a foreign land, under the 
 dominion of a king ? 
 
 I am ashamed of my question already. Such men are 
 under no dominion. It is not in their nature to offend 
 against the laws, or to think about what they are, or who 
 administers them ; and they may receive a part of their sus- 
 tenance from kings, as well as from cows and bees. We will 
 reproach them for emigration, when we reproach a man for 
 lying down in his neighbour's field, because the grass is softer 
 in it than in his own. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 ASPASIA TO cleone. 
 
 Not an atom have I been able to collect in regard to the two 
 poets, since they went to the court of Hiero ; but I can give 
 you as correct and as fidl information as if I had been seated 
 between them all the while. 
 
 Hiero was proud of his acquisition ; the courtiers despised
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 157 
 
 them, vexed them whenever they could, and entreated them 
 to command their services and rely upon their devotion. 
 What more ? They esteemed each other ; but poets are very 
 soon too old for mutual love. 
 
 He who can add one syllable to this, shall have the hand of 
 Cleone. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Torturing girl ! and you, Aspasia, may justly say, ungrateful 
 girl ! to me. You did not give me what I asked for, but you 
 gave me what is better, a glimpse of you. This is the manner 
 in which you used to trifle with me, making the heaviest 
 things light, the thorniest tractable, and throwing your own 
 beautiful brightness wherever it was most wanted. 
 
 But do not slip from me again, ^schylus, we know, is 
 dead ; we hear that Pindar is. Did they die abroad ? 
 
 Ah poor Xeniades ! how miserable to be buried by the 
 stranger ! 
 
 XLIV. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 tEschylus, at the close of his seventieth year, died in Sicily. 
 I know not whether Hiero received him with all the distinc- 
 tion he merited, or rewarded him with the same generosity as 
 Pindar ; nor indeed have I been able to learn, what would 
 very much gratify me, that Pindar, who survived him four 
 years, and died lately, paid those honours to the greatest man 
 of the most glorious age since earth rose out of chaos, which 
 he usually paid with lavish hand to the prosperous and power- 
 ful. I hope he did ; but the words luealth and gold occur 
 too often in the poetry of Pindar. 
 
 Perhaps I may wrong him, for a hope is akin to a doubt ; 
 it may be that I am mistaken, since we have not all his poems 
 even here in Athens. Several of these too, particularly the 
 Dithyrambics, are in danger of perishing. The odes on the 
 victors of the games will be preserved by the vanity of the
 
 158 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 families they celebrate ; and, being thus safe enough for many 
 years, their own merit will sustain them afterward. It is 
 owing to a stout nurse that many have lived to an extreme 
 old age. 
 
 Some of the odes themselves are of little value in regard to 
 poetry, but he exercises in all of them as much dexterity as 
 the worthies he applauds had displayed in their exploits. 
 
 To compensate the disappointment you complained of, I 
 will now transcribe for you an ode of Corinna to her native 
 town, being quite sure it is not in your collection. Let me 
 first inform you that the exterior of the best houses in Tanagra 
 is painted with historical scenes, adventures of Gods, allegories, 
 and other things ; and under the walls of the city flows the 
 Thermodon. This it is requisite to tell you of so small and 
 so distant a place. 
 
 CORINNA TO TANAGRA. 
 From Athens. 
 
 Tanagra ! think not I forget 
 
 Thy beautifully-storied streets ; 
 Be sure my memory bathes yet 
 
 In clear Thermodon, and yet greets 
 The blythe and liberal shepherd-boy, 
 Whose sunny bosom swells with joy 
 When we accept his matted rushes 
 Upheav'd with sylvan fruit ; away he bounds, and blushes. 
 
 2. 
 A gift I promise : one I see 
 
 Which ■^ thou with transport wilt receive, 
 The only proper gift for thee. 
 
 Of which no mortal shall bereave 
 In later times thy mouldering walls, 
 Until the last old turret falls ; 
 A crown, a crown from Athens won, 
 A crown no God can wear, beside Latona's son. 
 
 3- 
 
 There may be cities who refuse 
 
 To their own child the honours due, 
 
 And look ungently on the Muse ; 
 But ever shall those cities rue 
 
 \^ First ed. : " I promise to bring back with me what."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasiii. i 59 
 
 The dry, unyielding, niggard breast, 
 Offering no nourisliment, no rest. 
 To that yoilng head which soon shall rise 
 Disdainfully, in might and glory, to the skies. 
 
 Sweetly where cavern'd Dirce ^^ flows 
 Do white-arm'd maidens chaunt my lay. 
 
 Flapping the while with laurel-rose 
 The honey-gathering tribes away ; 
 
 And sweetly, sweetly, Attic tongues 
 
 Lisp your Corinna's early songs ; 
 
 To her with feet more graceful come 
 The verses that have dwelt in kindred breasts at home. 
 
 5- 
 O let thy children lean aslant 
 
 Against the tender mother's knee. 
 And gaze into her face, and want 
 
 To know what magic there can be 
 In words that urge some eyes to dance, 
 While others as in holy trance 
 Look up to heaven ; be such my praise ! 
 Why linger ? I must haste, or lose the Delphic bays. 
 
 XLV. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Epimedea, it appears, has not corrupted very grossly your 
 purity and simplicity in dress. Yet, remembering your obser- 
 vation on armlets, I cannot but commend your kindness and 
 sufferance in wearing her emeralds. Your opinion was for- 
 merly, that we should be careful not to subdivide our persons. 
 The arm is composed of three parts ; no one of them is too 
 long. Now the armlet intersects that portion '^^ of it which 
 must be considered as the most beautiful. In my idea of the 
 matter, the sandal alone is susceptible of gems, after the zone 
 has received the richest. The zone is necessary to our 
 vesture, and encompasses the person, in every quarter of the 
 
 f*5 A fountain near Thebes.] 
 
 ps First ed. : •• that very portion."]
 
 i6o Longer Prose Works. 
 
 humanized world, in one invariable manner. The hair too is 
 divided by nature in the middle of the head. There is a 
 cousinship between the hair and the flowers ; and from this 
 relation the poets have called by the same name the leaves and 
 it. They appear on the head as if they had been seeking one 
 another. Our national dress, very different from the dresses 
 of barbarous nations, is not the invention of the ignorant or 
 the slave ; but the sculptor, the painter, and the poet, have 
 studied how best to adorn the most beautiful object of their 
 fancies and contemplations. The Indians, who believe that 
 human pains and sufferings are pleasing to the deity, make 
 incisions in their bodies, and insert into them imperishable 
 colours. They also adorn the ears and noses and foreheads of 
 their Gods. These were the ancestors of the Egyptian ; we 
 chose handsomer and better-tempered ones for our worship, 
 but retained the same decorations in our sculpture, and to a 
 degree which the sobriety of the Egyptian had reduced ^'^ and 
 chastened. Hence we retain the only mark of barbarism 
 which dishonours our national dress, the use of ear-rings. If 
 our statues should all be broken by some convulsion of the 
 earth, would it be believed by future ages that, in the country 
 and age of Sophocles, the women tore holes in their ears to let 
 rings into, as the more brutal of peasants do with the snouts of 
 sows ! 
 
 XLVI. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Cleone, I do not know whether I ought to write out for you 
 anything of Mimnermus. What is amatory poetry without its 
 tenderness ? and what was ever less tender than his ? Take 
 however the verses, such as they are. Whether they make 
 you smile or look grave, without any grace of their own they 
 must bring one forward. Certainly they are his best, which 
 cannot be said of every author out of whose rarer works I 
 have added something to your collection. 
 
 [^^ First ed. : " had merely reduced."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. i6i 
 
 1 wish not Thasos rich in mines, 
 
 Nor Naxos girt around with vines, 
 
 Nor Crete, nor Samos.'*^ the abodes 
 
 Of those who govern men and Gods, 
 
 Nor wider Lydia, where the sound 
 
 Of tymbrels shakes the thymy ground. 
 
 And with white feet and with hoofs cloven 
 
 The dedal dance is spun and woven : 
 
 Meanwhile each prying younger thing 
 
 Is sent for water to the spring. 
 
 Under where red Priapus rears 
 
 His club amid the junipers ; 
 
 Tn this whole world enough for me 
 
 Is any spot the Gods decree ; 
 
 Albeit the pious and the wise 
 
 Would tarry where, like mulberries, 
 
 In the first hour of ripeness fall 
 
 The tender creatures, one and all. 
 
 To take what falls with even mind 
 
 Jove wills, and we must be resign'd. 
 
 XLVII. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 There is less effrontery in those verses of Mimnermus than in 
 most he has written. He is among the many poets who never 
 make us laugh or weep ; among the many whom we take into 
 the hand like pretty insects, turn them over, look at them for 
 a moment, and toss them into the grass again. The earth 
 swarms with these ; they live their season, and others similar 
 come into life the next. 
 
 I have been reading works widely different from theirs ; the 
 Odes of the lovely Lesbian. I think she has injured the 
 phaleucian "^^ verse, by transposing one foot and throwing it 
 backward. How greatly more noble and more sonorous are 
 those hendecasyllabics commencing the Scholion on Harmodius 
 
 j-48 a The Samians believe that Here was born in their island on the 
 bank of the river Imbrasus, under the very agnus castus tree which 
 grows there to this day near the temple of that goddess." — Pausanias, 
 vii. 4. 3.] 
 
 j-49'j'he change of metre introduced by Sappho may be seen by 
 comparing the metre of Tennyson's " Oh, you chorus of indolent re- 
 viewers " with the true Sapphic line. " Heard the sudden thunder of 
 wings behind her" — from Swinburne's "Sappho."]
 
 1 62 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 and Aristogiton, than the very best of hers, which, to my ear, 
 labor and shuffle in their movement. Her genius was wonder- 
 ful, was prodigious. I am neither blind to her beauties nor 
 indifferent to her sufferings. We love for ever those whom 
 we have wept for when we were children : we love them 
 more than even those who have wept for us. Now, I have 
 grieved for Sappho, and so have you, Aspasia ! we shall not 
 therefore be hard judges of her sentiments or her poetry. 
 
 Frequently have we listened to the most absurd and ex- 
 travagant praises of the answer she gave Alcasus, when he 
 told her he wished to say something, but shame prevented him. 
 This answer of hers is a proof that she was deficient in deli- 
 cacy ^*^ and in tenderness. Could Sappho be ignorant how 
 infantinely inarticulate is early love ? Could she be ignorant 
 that shame and fear seize it unrelentingly by the throat, while 
 hard-hearted impudence stands at ease, prompt at opportunity, 
 and profuse in declarations ? 
 
 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. 
 
 The best Ode of Sappho, the Ode to Anactoria, 
 " Happy as any God is he," &c. 
 
 shows the intemperance and disorder of passion. The de- 
 scription of her malady may be quite correct, but 1 confess 
 my pleasure ends at the first strophe, where it begins with the 
 generality of readers. I do not desire to know the effects of 
 the distemper on her body, and I run out of the house into 
 the open air, although the symptoms have less in them of con- 
 tagion than of unseemliness. Both Sophocles and Euripides 
 excite our sympathies more powerfully and more poetically. 
 
 [■50 First ed. : "both in delicacy." The question and answer are as 
 under: — 
 
 Akaus — Violet weaving, pure, softly smiling Sappho 
 
 I would say something did not shame prevent me. 
 Sappho — Were thy desire for fair and noble things. 
 
 Did not your tongue design some evil speech, 
 
 Shame would not dash your eyes, 
 
 But rightly would you say your desire.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 163 
 
 I will not interfere any farther with your reflections ; and 
 indeed when I began, I intended to remark only the injustice 
 of Sappho's reproof to Alcaeus in the first instance, and the 
 justice of it in the second, when he renewed his suit to her 
 after he had fled from battle.^ We find it in the only 
 epigram attributed to her. 
 
 He who from battle runs away 
 May pray and sing, and sing and pray ; 
 Nathless, Alcseus, howsoe'er 
 Dulcet his song and warm his pray'r 
 And true his vows of love may be, 
 He ne'er shall run away with me. 
 
 In my opinion no lover should be dismissed with contumely,- 
 or without the expression of commiseration, unless he has com- 
 mitted some bad action. O Aspasia ! it is hard to love, and 
 not to be loved again. I felt it early ; I still feel it. There 
 is a barb beyond the reach of dittany ; but years, as they roll 
 by us, benumb in some degree our sense of suffering. Season 
 comes after season, and covers as it were with soil and herbage 
 the flints that have cut us so cruelly in our course. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Alc^iius, often admirable in his poetry, was a vain-glorious and 
 altogether worthless man. I must defend Sappho. She pro- 
 bably knew his character at the beginning, and sported a witti- 
 cism (not worth much) at his expense. He made a pomp 
 and parade of his generosity and courage, with which in truth 
 he was ^ scantily supplied, and all his love lay commodiously 
 at the point of his pen, among the rest his first. 
 
 He was unfit for public life, he was unfit for private. Per- 
 verse, insolent, selfish, he hated tyranny because he could not 
 
 [1 From the battle in the Thracian Chersonese between the 
 Mytilenians and the Athenians. 
 
 " Safe came Alcaeus thence ; but not his shield ; 
 
 That in the temple of the grey-eyed goddess 
 • Athenian soldiers for a trophy hung." — Alcaus.^ 
 [2 First ed. : " but scantily."]
 
 164 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 be a tjrant. Sufficiently well-born, he was jealous and in- 
 tolerant of those who were nothing less so, and he wished they 
 were all poets that he might expose a weakness the more in 
 them. For rarely has there been one, however virtuous, with- 
 out some vanity and some invidiousness ; despiser of the 
 humble, detractor of the high, iconoclast of the near, and 
 idolater of the distant. 
 
 Return we to Alcseus. Factitious in tenderness, factitious 
 in heroism, addicted to falsehood, and unabashed at his fond- 
 ness for it, he attacked and overcame every rival in that quarter. 
 He picked up all the arrows that were shot against him, re- 
 cocted all the venom of every point, and was almost an 
 Archilochus in satire. 
 
 I do not agree with you in your censure of Sappho. There 
 is softness by the side of power, discrimination by the side of 
 passion. In this, however, I do agree with you, that her 
 finest ode is not to be compared to many choruses in the 
 tragedians. We know that Sappho felt acutely ; yet Sappho 
 is never pathetic. Euripides and Sophocles are not remark- 
 able for their purity, the intensity, or the fidelity of their loves, 
 yet they touch, they transfix, the heart. Her imagination, her 
 whole soul, is absorbed in her own breast : she is the prey of 
 the passions : they are the lords and masters.^ 
 
 Sappho has been dead so long, and we live so far from 
 Lesbos, that we have the fewer means of ascertaining the truth 
 or falsehood of stories told about her. Some relate that she 
 was beautiful, some that she was deformed. Lust, it is said, 
 is frequently the inhabitant of deformity ; and coldness is 
 experienced in the highest beauty. I believe the former case 
 is more general than the latter, but where there is great 
 regularity of features I have often remarked a correspondent 
 regularity in the affections and the conduct. 
 
 XLIX. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Do you remember the lively Hegemon whose curls you pressed 
 down with your forefinger to see them spring up again ? Do 
 
 [3 In I St ed. this letter ends here.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 165 
 
 you remember his biting it for the liberty you had taken ; and 
 his kissing it to make it well ; and his telling you that he was 
 not quite sure whether some other kisses, here and there, might 
 not be requisite to prevent the spreading of the venom ? And 
 do you remember how you turned pale ? and how you laughed 
 with me, as we went away, at his thinking you turned pale 
 because you were afraid of it ? The boy of fifteen, as he was 
 then, hath lost all his liveliness, all his assurance, all his wit ; 
 and his radiant beauty has taken another character. His 
 cousin Praxinoe, whom he was not aware of loving, until she 
 was betrothed to Callias, a merchant of Samos, was married a 
 few months ago. There are no verses I read oftener than the 
 loose Dithyrambics of poor Hegemon. Do people love any 
 where else as we love here at Miletus ? But perhaps the fond- 
 ness of Hegemon may abate after a time ; for Hegemon is not 
 a woman. How long and how assiduous are we in spinning 
 that thread, the softest and finest in the web of life, which 
 Destiny snaps asunder in one moment ! 
 
 HEGEMON TO PRAXINOE. 
 
 Is there any season, O my soul, 
 When the sources of bitter tears dry up, 
 And the uprooted flowers take their places again 
 Along the torrent-bed ? 
 
 Could I wish to live, it would be for that season, 
 To repose my limbs and press my temples there. 
 But should I not speedily start away 
 
 In the hope to trace and follow thy steps ! 
 
 Thou art gone, thou art gone, Praxinoe I 
 And hast taken far from me thy lovely youth. 
 Leaving me nought that was desirable in mine. 
 Alas ! alas ! what hast thou left me ? 
 
 The helplessness of childhood, the solitude of age. 
 The laughter of the happy, the pity of the scorner, 
 A colourless and broken shadow am I, 
 Seen glancing in troubled waters. 
 
 My thoughts too are scattered ; thou hast cast them off; 
 They beat against thee, they would cling to thee, 
 But they are viler than the loose dark weeds, 
 Without a place to root or rest in.
 
 1 66 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 I would throw them across my lyre ; they drop from it ; 
 My lyre will sound only two measures ; 
 That Pity will never, never come, 
 
 Or come to the sleep that awakeneth not unto her. 
 
 L. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Tell Hegemon that his verses have made a deeper impression 
 than his bite, and that the Athenians, men and women, are 
 pleased with them. He has shown that he is a poet, by not 
 attempting to show that he is overmuch of one. Forbear to 
 inform him that ive Athenians disapprove of irregularity in 
 versification : we are Httle pleased to be rebounded from the 
 end of a line to the beginning, as it often happens, and to be 
 obliged to turn back and make inquiries in regard to what we 
 have been about. There have latterly been many composi- 
 tions in which it is often requisite to read twice over the 
 verses which have already occupied more than a due portion 
 of our time in reading once. The hop-skip-and-jump is by 
 no means a pleasant or a graceful exercise, but it is quite in- 
 tolerable when we invert it to a jump-skip-and-hop. I take 
 some liberty in these strange novel compounds, but no greater 
 than our friend Aristophanes has taken, and not only without 
 reproof or censure, but with great commendation for it. 
 However, I have done it for the first and last time, and before 
 the only friend with whom they can be pardonable. Hence- 
 forward, I promise you, Cleone, I will always be Attic, or 
 what is gracefuUer and better,"^ Ionian. You shall for ever 
 hear my voice in my letters, and you shall know it to be mine, 
 and mine only. Already I have had imitators in the style of 
 my conversations, but they have imitated others too, and this 
 hath saved me. In mercy and pure beneficence to me, the 
 Gods have marred the resemblance. Nobody can recognise 
 me in my metempsychosis. Those who had hoped and heard 
 better of me, will never ask themselves,' " Was Aspasia so 
 wordy, so inelegant, affected, and perverse ? " Inconsiderate 
 friends have hurt me worse than enemies could do : they have 
 
 [* First ed. : « better still."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 167 
 
 hinted that the orations ^ of Pericles have been retouched by 
 my pen. Cleone ! the Gods themselves could not correct his 
 language. Human ingenuity, with all the malice and im- 
 pudence that usually accompany it, will never be able to 
 remodel a single sentence, or to substitute a single word, in 
 his speeches to the people. What wealth of wisdom has he 
 not thrown away lest it encumber him in the Agora ! How 
 much more than ever was carried into it by the most popular 
 of his opponents ! Some of my expressions may have escaped 
 from him in crowded places ; some of his cling to me in 
 retirement : we cannot love without imitating ; and we are as 
 proud in the loss of our onginality as of our freedom. I am 
 sorry that poor Hegemon has not had an opportunity of ex- 
 periencing all this. Persuade his friends never to pity him, 
 truly or feignedly, for pity keeps the wound open : persuade 
 them rather to flatter him on his poetry, for never was there 
 poet to whom the love of praise was not the iirst and most 
 constant of passions. His friends will be the gainers by it : 
 he will divide among them all the affection he fancies he has 
 reserved for Praxinoe. With most men, nothing seems to 
 have happened so long ago as an affair of love. Let nobody 
 hint this to him at present. It is among the many truths that 
 ought to be held back ; it is among the many that excite a 
 violent opposition at one time, and obtain at another (not much 
 later) a very ductile acquiescence ; he will receive it hereafter 
 (take my word for him) with only one slight remonstrance — 
 you are too hard upon us lovers : then follows a shake of the 
 head, not of abnegation, but of sanction, like Jupiter's. 
 
 Praxinoe, it seems, is married to a merchant, poor girl ! I 
 
 [5 " Socrates : That I should be able to speak is no great wonder, 
 Menexenus, considering that I have an excellent mistress in the art 
 of rhetoric, — she who made so many good speakers, and one who was 
 the best among the Hellenes — Pericles, the son of Xanthippus. 
 
 " Menexenus : And who is she ? 1 suppose you mean Aspasia. 
 
 " Socrates : Yes, I do . . . But yesterday I heard Aspasia composing 
 a funeral speech for the dead. For she had been told, as you were 
 saying, that the Athenians were going to choose a speaker, and she 
 repeated the sort of speech which he should deliver, partly improvis- 
 ing and partly from previous thought, putting together fragments of 
 the funeral oration which Pericles spoke and she, I believe, composed." 
 — Menexenus. Joivett^s Dialogues of Flato.'\
 
 i68 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 do not like these merchants. Let them have wealth in the 
 highest, but not beauty in the highest ; cunning and calcula- 
 tion can hardly merit both. At last they may aspire, if any 
 civilised country could tolerate it, to honours and distinctions. 
 These too let them have, but at Tyre and Carthage. 
 
 LI. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 How many things in poetry, as in other matters, are likely to 
 be lost because they are small ! Cleobuline of Lindos wrote 
 no long poem. Her lover was Cycnus of Colophon. There 
 is not a single verse of her's in all that city ; proof enough 
 that he took no particular care of them. At Miletus she was 
 quite unknown, not indeed by name, but in her works until 
 the present month, when a copy of them was offered to me 
 for sale. The first that caught my eyes was this : 
 
 Where is the swan of breast so white 
 It made my bubbling life run bright 
 On that one spot, and that alone, 
 On which he rested ; and I stood 
 Gazing: now swells the turbid flood; 
 Summer and he for other climes aie flown ! 
 
 I will not ask you at present to say anything in praise of 
 Cleobuline, but do be grateful to Myrtis and Corinna ! 
 
 LII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Grateful I am, and shall for ever be, to Myrtis and Corinna ; 
 but what odour of bud or incense can they wish to be lavished 
 on the empty sepulchre, what praises of the thousand who 
 praise in ignorance, or of the learned who praise from tradition, 
 when they remember that they subdued and regulated the 
 proud unruly Pindar, and agitated with all their passion the 
 calm pure breast of Cleone ! 
 
 Send me the whole volume of Cleobuline ; transcribe no- 
 thing more. To compensate you as well as I can, and indeed 
 I think the compensation is not altogether an unfair one, here 
 are two little pieces from Myrtis, autographs, from the library 
 of Pericles.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 169 
 
 Artemia, while Arion sighs, 
 Raising her white and taper finger, 
 Pretends to loose, yet makes to linger, 
 
 The ivy that o'ershades her eyes. 
 
 "Wait, or you shall not have the kiss," 
 Says she ; but he, on wing to pleasure, 
 " Are there not other hours for leisure ? 
 ) For love is any hour like this ? " 
 
 Artemia ! faintly thou respondest, 
 As falsely deems that fiery youth ; 
 A God there is who knows the truth, 
 
 A God who tells me which is fondest. 
 
 Here is another, in the same hand, a clear and elegant one. 
 Men may be negligent in their hand-writing, for men may be 
 in a hurry about the business of life ; but I never knew either 
 a sensible woman or an estimable one whose writing was 
 disorderly. 
 
 Well, the verses are prettier than my reflection, and equally 
 true. 
 
 1 tvill not love I 
 
 . These sounds have often 
 
 Burst from a troubled breast ; 
 Rarely from one no sighs could soften, 
 
 Rarely from one at rest. 
 
 Myrtis and Corinna, like Anacreon and Sappho who pre- 
 ceded them, were temperate in the luxuries of poetry. They 
 had enough to do with one feeling ; they were occupied enough 
 with one reflection. They culled but few grapes from the 
 bunch, and never dragged it across the teeth, stripping off 
 ripe and unripe. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 The verses of Myrtis, which you sent me last, are somewhat 
 less pleasing to me than those others of hers which I send you 
 in return. A few loose ideas on the subject (I know 
 not whether worth writing) occur to me at this moment. 
 Formerly we were contented with schools of philosophy ; we
 
 1 70 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 now begin to talk about schools of poetry. Is not that absurd ? 
 There is only one school, the universe ; one only school- 
 mistress, Nature. Those who are reported to be of such or 
 such a school, are of none, they have played the truant. 
 Some are more careful, some more negligent, some bring many 
 dishes, some fewer, some little seasoned, some highly. 
 Ground however there is for the fanciful appellation. The 
 young poets at Miletus are beginning to throw off their allegi- 
 ance to the established and acknowledged laws of Athens, and 
 are weary of following in the train of the graver who have 
 been crowned. The various schools, as they call them, 
 have assumed distinct titles ; but the largest and most flourish- 
 ing of all would be discontented, I am afraid, with the pro- 
 perest I could inscribe it with, the queer. We really have at 
 present in our city more good poets than we ever had ; and 
 the queer might be among the best if they pleased. But 
 whenever an obvious and natural thought presents itself, they 
 either reject it for coming without imagination, or they phry- 
 giani%e it with such biting and hot curling-irons, that it rolls 
 itself up impenetrably. Tliey declare to us that pure and 
 simple imagination is the absolute perfection of poetry ; and if 
 ever they admit a sentence or reflection, it must be one which 
 requires a whole day to unravel and wind it smoothly on the 
 distaff. 
 
 To me it appears that poetry ought neither to be all body 
 nor all soul. Beautiful features, limbs compact, sweetness of 
 voice, and easiness of transition, belong to the Deity who in- 
 spires and represents it. We may loiter by the stream and 
 allay our thirst as it runs, but we should not be forbidden the 
 larger draught from the deeper well. 
 
 FROM MYRTIS. 
 
 Friends, whom she look'd at blandly from her couch 
 And her white wrist above it, gem-bedewed, 
 Were arguing with Pentheusa : she had heard 
 Report of Creon's death, whom years before 
 She listened to, well-pleas'd ; and sighs arose; 
 For sighs full often fondle with reproofs 
 And will be fondled by them.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia, i 7 1 
 
 When I came, 
 After the rest, to visit her, she said, 
 
 Myrtis I hoiv kind I Who better Inoivs than thou 
 The pangs of love ? and my Jirst love ivas he ! 
 
 Tell me, if ever, Eros ! are reveal'd 
 Thy secrets to the earth, have they been true 
 To any love who speak about the first ? 
 What ! shall these holier lights, like twinkling stars 
 In the few hours assign'd them, change their place. 
 And, when comes ampler splendour, disappear? 
 Idler I am, and pardon, not reply. 
 Implore from thee, thus questioned ; well I know 
 Thou strikest, like Olympian Jove, but once. 
 
 Liv. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Lysicles, a young Athenian, fond of travelling, has just re- 
 turned to us from a voyage in Thrace.*^ A love of observa- 
 tion, in other words curiosity, could have been his only motive, 
 for he never was addicted to commerce, nor disciplined in 
 philosophy ; and indeed were he so, Thrace is hardly the 
 country he would have chosen. I believe he is the first that 
 ever travelled with no other intention than to see the cities 
 and know the manners of barbarians. He represents the soil 
 as extremely fertile in its nature, and equally well cultivated, 
 and the inhabitants as warlike, hospitable, and courteous. All 
 this is credible enough, and perhaps as generally known as 
 might be expected of regions so remote and perilous. But 
 Lysicles will appear to you to have assumed a little more than 
 the fair privileges of a traveller, in relating that the people 
 have so imperfect a sense of religion as to bury the dead in 
 the temples of the Gods, and the priests so avaricious and 
 shameless as to claim money for the permission of this im- 
 piety. He told us, furthermore, that he had seen a mag- 
 nificent temple, built on somewhat of a Grecian model, in the 
 interior of which there are many flat marbles fastened with 
 iron cramps against the walls, and serving for monuments. 
 
 [^ Probably these Thracian institutions are more likely to be dis- 
 coverable in England than in that country.]
 
 172 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Continuing his discourse, he assured us that these monuments, 
 although none are ancient, are of all forms and dimensions, as 
 if the Thracians were resolved to waste and abolish the sym- 
 metry they had adopted, and that they are inscribed in an 
 obsolete language ; so that the people whom they might 
 animate and instruct, by recording brave and virtuous actions, 
 pass them carelessly by, breaking off now and then a nose from 
 a conqueror, and a wing from an agathodemon. 
 
 Thrace is governed by many princes. One of them. Teres 
 an Odrysan," has gained great advantages in war. No doubt, 
 this is uninteresting to you, but it is necessary to the course of 
 my narration. Will you believe it ? yet Lysicles is both 
 intelligent and trustworthy — will you believe that, at the 
 return of the Thracian prince to enjoy the fruits of his victory, 
 he ordered an architect to build an arch for himself and his 
 army to pass under, on their road into the city ? As if a 
 road, on such an occasion, ought not rather to be widened 
 than narrowed ! If you will not credit this of a barbarian, 
 who is reported to be an intelligent and prudent man in other 
 things, you will exclaim, I fear, against the exaggeration of 
 Lysicles and my credulity, when I relate to you on his 
 authority that, to the same conqueror, by his command, there 
 has been erected a column sixty cubits high, supporting his 
 effigy in marble ! 
 
 Imagine the general of an army standing upon a column of 
 sixty cubits to show himself! A crane might do it after a 
 victoiy over a pigmy ; or it might aptly represent the virtues 
 of a rope-dancer, exhibiting how little he was subject to 
 dizziness. 
 
 I will write no more about it, for really I am beginning to 
 think, that some pretty Thracian has given poor Lysicles a 
 love-potion, and that it has affected his brain.^ 
 
 ['' Teres not only governed the larger part of Thrace, but influenced 
 many of the free and independent states in that country, and led into 
 the field the GetKs, the Agrianians, the Leseans, and the Pceonians. 
 [First ed. : " Thucydides says that to coast his kingdom re- 
 quired four days and four nights for the swiftest vessel sailing before 
 the wind ; and that by land an expeditious walker would hardly 
 cross it in thirteen days.'"] Sitalces, the son of Teres, ravaged all 
 Macedonia in the reign of Perdiccas.] 
 
 [3 In ist ed. : "affected his brain a little."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 173 
 
 LV. , 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Never will I believe that a people, however otherwise ignorant 
 and barbarous, yet capable of turning a regular arch and of 
 erecting a lofty column, can be so stupid and absurd as you 
 have represented. What ! bury dead bodies in the temples ! 
 cast them out of their own houses into the houses of the Gods ! 
 Depend upon it, Aspasia, they were the bones of victims ; 
 and the strange uncouth inscriptions commemorate votive offer- 
 ings, in the language of the priests, whatever it may be. So 
 far is clear. Regarding the arch, Lysicles saw them removing 
 it, and fancied they were building it. This mistake is really 
 ludicrous. The column, you must have perceived at once, 
 was erected, not to display the victor, but to expose the van- 
 quished. A blunder very easy for an idle traveller to commit. 
 Few of the Thracians, I conceive, even in the interior, are so 
 utterly ignorant of Grecian arts, as to raise a statue at 
 such a height above the ground, that the vision shall not com- 
 prehend all the features easily, and the spectator see and con- 
 template the object of his admiration, as nearly and in the same 
 position as he was used to do in the Agora. 
 
 The monument of the greatest man should be only a bust 
 and a name. If the name alone is insufficient to illustrate the 
 bust, let them both perish. 
 
 Enough about Thracians ; enough about tombs and monu- 
 ments. Two pretty Milesians, Agapenthe and Peristera, who 
 are in love with you for loving me, are quite resolved to kiss 
 your hand. You must not detain them long with you : 
 Miletus is not to send all her beauty to be kept at Athens 
 We have no such treaty. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 There is such a concourse of philosophers, all anxious to show 
 Alcibiades the road to Virtue, that I am afraid they will com- 
 pletely block it up before him. Among the rest is my old 
 friend Socrates, who seems resolved to transfer to him all the
 
 1 74 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 philosophy he designed for me, with very little of that which 
 I presented to him in return. 
 
 And (would you believe it ?) Alcibiades, who began with 
 ridiculing him, now attends to him with as much fondness as 
 Hyacynthus did to Apollo. The graver and uglier philo- 
 sophers, however they differ on other points, agree in these ; that 
 beauty does not reside in the body, but in the mind ; that 
 philosophers are the only true heroes ; and that heroes alone 
 are entitled to the privilege of being implicitly obeyed by the 
 beautiful. 
 
 Doubtless there may be very fine pearls in very uninviting 
 shells ; but our philosophers never wade knee-deep into the 
 beds, attracted rather to what is bright externally. 
 
 , LVII. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Alcibiades ought not to have captious or inquisitive men about 
 him. I know not what the sophists are good for ; I only 
 know they are the very worst instructors. Logic, however 
 unperverted, is not for boys ; argumentation is among the most 
 dangerous of early practices, and sends away both fancy and 
 modesty. The young mind should be nourished with simple 
 and grateful food, and not too copious. It should be little 
 exercised until its nerves and muscles show themselves, and 
 even then rather for air than anything else. Study is the bane 
 of boyhood, the aliment of youth, the indulgence of manhood, 
 and the restorative of age. 
 
 I am confident that persons like you and Pericles see little 
 of these sharpers who play tricks upon words. It is amusing 
 to observe how they do it, once or twice. As there are some 
 flowers which you should smell but slightly to extract all that 
 is pleasant in them, and which, if you do otherwise, emit 
 what is unpleasant or noxious, so there are some men with 
 whom a slight acquaintance is quite sufficient to draw out all 
 that is agreeable, a more intimate one would be unsatisfactory 
 and unsafe.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 175 
 
 LVIII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Pericles rarely says he likes anything ; but whenever he is 
 pleased, he expresses it by his countenance, although when he 
 is displeased he never shows it, even by the faintest sign. It 
 was long before I ventured to make the observation to him. 
 He replied, 
 
 " It would be ungrateful and ungentle not to return my 
 thanks for any pleasure imparted to me, when a smile has the 
 power of conveying them. I never say that a thing pleases / 
 me while it is yet undone or absent, lest I should give some- 
 body the trouble of performing or producing it. As for what 
 is displeasing, I really am very insensible in general to matters 
 of this nature ; and when I am not so, I experience more of 
 satisfaction in subduing my feeling than I ever felt of dis- 
 pleasure at the occurrence which excited it. Politeness is in 
 itself a power, and takes away the weight and galling from 
 every other we may exercise. I foresee," he added, " that 
 Alcibiades will be an elegant man, but I apprehend he will 
 never be a polite one. There is a difference, and a greater 
 than we are apt to perceive or imagine. Alcibiades would 
 win without conciliating : he would seize and hold, but would 
 not acquire. The man who is determined to keep others fast 
 and firm, must have one end of the bond about his own breast, 
 sleeping and waking." 
 
 LIX. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Agapenthe and Peristera, the bearers of your letter, came 
 hither in safety and health, late as the season is for navigation. 
 They complain of our cold climate in Athens, and shudder at 
 the sight of snow upon the mountains in the horizon. 
 
 Hardly had they been with me, before the housewives and 
 sages were indignant at their effrontery. In fact, they gazed 
 in wonder at the ugliness of our sex in Attica, and at the 
 gravity of philosophers, of whom stories so ludicrous are 
 related. I do not think I shall be able to find them lovers
 
 1 76 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 here. Peristera ^ hath lost a Httle of her dove-like faculty 
 (if ever she had much), at the report which has been raised 
 about her cousin and herself. Dracontides was very fond of 
 Agapenthe ; she, however, was by no means so fond of him, 
 which is always the case when young men would warm us at 
 their fire before ours is kindled. For, honestly to confess the 
 truth, the very best of us are more capricious than sensitive, 
 and more sensitive than grateful. Dracontides is not indeed 
 a man to excite so delightful a feeling. He is confident that 
 Peristera must be the cause of Agapenthe's disinclination to 
 him ; for how is it possible that a young girl of unperverted 
 mind could be indifferent to Dracontides ? Unable to discover 
 that any sorceress was employed against him, he turned his 
 anger toward Peristera, and declared in her presence that her 
 malignity alone could influence so abusively the generous mind 
 of Agapenthe. At my request the playful girl consented to 
 receive him. Seated upon an amphora in the aviaiy, she was 
 stroking the neck of a noble peacock, while the bird pecked at 
 the berries on a branch of arbutus in her bosom. Dracontides 
 entered, conducted by Peristera, who desired her cousin to 
 declare at once whether it was by any malignity of her's that 
 he had hitherto failed to conciliate her regard. 
 
 " O the ill-tempered, frightful man ! " cried Agapenthe ; 
 " does any body that is not malicious ever talk of malignity ? " 
 
 Dracontides went away, calling upon the Gods for 
 justice. 
 
 The next morning a rumour ran throughout Athens,!^ how 
 he had broken off his intended nuptials, on the discovery that 
 Aspasia had destined the two lonians to the pleasures of 
 Pericles. Moreover, he had discovered that one of them, he 
 would not say which, had certainly threads of several colours 
 in her threadcase, not to mention a lock of hair, whether of a 
 dead man or no, might by some be doubted ; and that the 
 other was about to be consigned to Pyrilampes, in exchange 
 for a peacock and sundry smaller birds. 
 
 "9 " Peristera " is the Greek for "dove."] 
 
 "1" These scandals were actually current in Athens. — See Plutarch's 
 Life of Pericles, and Mahaffy's Greek Lfe and Thought for a rather im- 
 probable explanation of them.]
 
 Periclas and Aspasia. '^ll 
 
 No question could be entertained of the fact, for the girls 
 were actually in the house, and the birds in the aviary. 
 
 Agapenthe declares she waits only for the spring, and will 
 then leave Athens for her dear Miletus, where she never heard 
 such an expression as malignity. 
 
 " O what rude people the Athenians are ! " said she. 
 
 LX. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Rather than open my letter again, I write another. 
 
 Agapenthe's heart is won by Mnasylus. I never suspected 
 it. 
 
 On his return out of Thessaly (whither I fancy he went on 
 purpose) he brought a cage of nightingales. There are few of 
 them in Attica ; and none being kept tame, none remain with 
 us through the winter. Of the four brought by Mnasylus, 
 one sings even in this season of the year. Agapenthe and 
 Peristera were awakened in the morning by the song ^^ of a 
 bird, like a nightingale, in the aviaiy. They went down to- 
 gether ; and over the door they found these verses. 
 
 Maiden or youth, who standest here, 
 Think not, if haply -we. should fear 
 A stranger's voice or stranger's face, 
 (Such is the nature of our race,) 
 That w^e would gladly fly again 
 To gloomy wood or windy plain. 
 Certain we are we ne'er should find 
 A care so provident, so kind, 
 Altho' by flight we repossest 
 The tenderest mother's warmest nest. 
 O may you prove, as well as we, 
 That even in Athens there may be 
 A sweeter thing than liberty. 
 
 " This is surely the handwriting of Mnasylus," said 
 Agapenthe. 
 
 " How do you know his hand-writing ? " cried Peristera. 
 A blush and a kiss, and one gentle push, were the answer. 
 
 [1^ First ed. : " thrilling song.'"] 
 M
 
 178 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Mnasylus, on hearing the sound of footsteps, had retreated 
 behind a thicket of laurustine and pyracanthus, in which the 
 aviary is situated, fearful of bringing the gardener into reproof 
 for admitting him. However, his passion was uncontrollable ; 
 and Peristera declares, although Agapenthe denies it, that he 
 caught a kiss upon each of his cheeks by the interruption. 
 Certain it is, for they agree in it, that he threw his arms around 
 them both as they were embracing, and implored them to con- 
 ceal the fault of poor old Alcon, " who shewed me," said he, 
 " more pity than Agapenthe will ever shew me." 
 
 " why did you bring these birds hither ? " said she, trying 
 to frown. 
 
 " Because you asked," replied he, " the other day, whether 
 we had any in Attica, and told me you had many at home." 
 
 She turned away abruptly, and, running up to my chamber, 
 would have informed me why. 
 
 Superfluous confidence ! Her tears wetted my cheek. 
 
 "Agapenthe!" said I, smiling, "are you sure you have 
 cried for the last time, I ivhat rude people the Athenians 
 
 are 
 
 /" 
 
 LXI. 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 1 APPREHEND, O Pcriclcs, not only that I may become an 
 object of jealousy and hatred to the Athenians, by the notice 
 you have taken of me, but that you yourself, which affects me 
 greatly more, may cease to retain the whole of their respect 
 and veneration. 
 
 Whether, to acquire a great authority over the people, some 
 things are not necessary to be done on which Virtue and 
 Wisdom are at variance, it becomes not me to argue or con- 
 sider ; but let me suggest the inquiry to you, whether he who 
 is desirous of supremacy should devote the larger portion of his 
 time to one person. 
 
 Three affections of the soul predominate ; Love, Religion, 
 and Power. The first two are often united ; the other stands 
 widely apart from them, and neither is admitted nor seeks ad- 
 mittance to their society. I wonder then how you can love
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 179 
 
 so truly and tenderly. Ought I not rather to say I did 
 wonder i Was Pisistratus ^^ affectionate ? Do not be angry ? 
 It is certainly the first time a friend has ever ventured to dis- 
 cover a resemblance, although you are habituated to it from 
 your opponents. In these you forgive it ; do you in mc ? 
 
 LXII. 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Pisistratus was affectionate : the rest of his character you 
 know as well as I do. You know that he was eloquent, that 
 he was humane, that he was contemplative, that he was 
 learned ; that he not only was profuse to men of genius, but 
 cordial, and that it was only with such men he was familiar 
 and intimate. You know that he was the greatest, the wisest, 
 the most virtuous, excepting Solon and Lycurgus, that ever 
 ruled any portion of the human race. Is it not happy and 
 glorious for mortals, when, instead of being led by the ears, 
 under the clumsy and violent hand of vulgar and clamorous 
 adventurers, a Pisistratus leaves the volumes of Homer and the 
 conversation of Solon, for them ? 
 
 We may be introduced to Power by Humanity, and at first 
 may love her less for her own sake than for Humanity's, but 
 by degrees we become so accustomed to her as to be quite un- 
 easy without her. 
 
 Religion and Power, like the Cariatides in sculpture, never 
 face one another ; they sometimes look the same way, but 
 oftener stand back to back. 
 
 [12 " Pericles in his youth stood in great fear of the people. For in 
 his countenance he was like Pisistratus the Tyrant and he perceived 
 the old men were much struck by a further resemblance in the sweet- 
 ness of his voice, the volubility of his tongue, and the roundness of his 
 
 periods The comic writers abuse him in a most malignant 
 
 manner, giving his friends the name of the newPisistridae." — Ferldes, 
 LangJwrnes Blutarch. "Pisistratus had an affable and engaging 
 manner. He was a liberal benefactor to the poor, and even to his 
 enemies he behaved with great candour. He counterfeited so dexter- 
 ously the good qualities which nature had denied him, that he gained 
 more credit than the real possessors of them, and stood foremost in the 
 public esteem in point of moderation and equity." — Langhornes 
 Plutarch, Solon. '\
 
 i8o Longer Prose Works. 
 
 We will argue about them one at a time, and about the 
 other in the triad too ; let me have the choice. 
 
 LXIII. 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 We must talk over again the subject of your letter ; no, not 
 talk, but write about it. 
 
 I think, Pericles, you who are so sincere with me, are 
 never quite sincere with others. You have contracted this 
 bad habitude from your custom of addressing the people. But 
 among friends and philosophers, would it not be better to 
 speak exactly as we think, whether ingeniously or not ? In- 
 genious things, I am afraid, are never perfectly true : however, 
 I would not exclude them, the difference being very wide 
 between perfect truth and violated truth ; I would not even 
 leave them in a minority ; I would hear and say as many as 
 may be, letting them pass current for what they are worth. 
 Anaxagoras rightly remarked that Love always makes us 
 better, Religion sometimes, Power never. 
 
 LXIV. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Pericles was delighted with your letter on education. I wish 
 he were as pious as you are ; occasionally he appears so. I 
 attacked him on his simulation, but it produced a sudden and 
 powerful effect on Alcibiades. You will collect the whole 
 from a summary of our conversation. 
 
 " So true," ^^ said he, " is the remark of Anaxagoras, 
 that it was worth my while to controvert it. Did you not 
 observe the attention paid to it by young and old ? I was un- 
 willing that the graver part of the company should argue to- 
 morrow with Alcibiades, on the nature of love, as they are 
 apt to do, and should persuade him that he would be the 
 better for it. 
 
 " On this consideration, I said, while you were occupied, 
 ' O Anaxagoras ! if we of this household knew not how 
 
 P First ed. : " very true."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. i8i 
 
 religious a man you are, your discourse would in some degree 
 lead us to countenance the suspicion ^^ of your enemies. 
 Religion is never too little for us ; it satisfies all the desires of 
 the soul. Love is but an atom of it, consuming and consumed 
 by the stubble on which it falls. But when it rests upon the 
 Gods, it partakes of their nature, in its essence pure and eternal. 
 Love indeed works great miracles. Like the ocean. Love 
 embraces the earth ; and by Love, as by the ocean, whatever 
 is sordid and unsound is borne away.' " ^^ 
 
 *' ' Love indeed works great marvels,' said Anaxagoras, 
 ' but I doubt whether the ocean, in such removals, may not 
 perad venture be the more active of the two.' " 
 
 " ' Acknowledge at least,' said I, * that the flame of Love 
 purifies the temple it burns in.' " 
 
 " Only when first lighted," said Anaxagoras. " Generally 
 the heat is either spent or stifling soon afterward ; and the 
 torch, when it is extinguished, leaves an odour very different 
 from myrrh and frankincense." 
 
 " I think, Aspasia, you entered while he was speaking these 
 words." 1" 
 
 He had turned the stream. Pericles then proceeded. 
 " Something of power," said he, " hath been consigned to 
 me by the favour and indulgence of the Athenians. I do not 
 dissemble that I was anxious to obtain it ; I do not dissemble 
 that my vows and supplications for the prosperity of the 
 country were unremitted. It pleased the Gods to turn to- 
 ward me the eyes of my fellow citizens, but had they not 
 blessed me with religion they never would have blessed me 
 with power, better and more truly called an influence on their 
 hearts and their reason, a high and secure place in the acropolis 
 of their affections. Yes, Anaxagoras ! yes, Medon ! I do 
 say, had they not blessed me with it ; for, in order to 
 obtain it, I was obliged to place a daily and a nightly watch 
 over my i'' thoughts and actions. In proportion as authority 
 
 \}^ First ed. : " suspicions."] 
 
 [15 In ist ed. : "As in the ocean that embraces the earth, whatever 
 is sordid is borne away and disappears in it, so the flame of love 
 purifies the temple it burns in." " Only," etc.] 
 
 [IS This sentence does not occur in the ist ed.] 
 
 [17 First ed. : "all my thoughts."]
 
 1 82 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 was consigned to me, I found it both expedient and easy to 
 grow better, time not being left me for sedentary occupations 
 or frivolous pursuits, and every desire being drawn on and 
 absorbed in that mighty and interminable, that rushing, reno- 
 vating, and purifying one, which comprehends our country. 
 If any young man would win to himself the hearts of the wise 
 and brave, and is ambitious of being the guide and leader of 
 them, let him be assured that his virtue will give him power, 
 and power will consolidate and maintain his virtue. Let him 
 never then squander away the inestimable hours of youth in 
 tangled and trifling disquisitions, with such as perhaps have an 
 interest in perverting or unsettling his opinions, and who specu- 
 late into his sleeping thoughts and dandle his nascent passions ; 
 but let him start from them with alacrity, and walk forth with 
 firmness ; let him early take an interest in the business and 
 concerns of men ; and let him, as he goes along, look stead- 
 fastly at the statues of those who have benefited his country, 
 and make with himself a solemn compact to stand hereafter 
 among them." 
 
 I had heard the greater part of this already, all but the com- 
 mencement. At the conclusion Alcibiades left the room ; I 
 feared he was conscious that something in it was too closely 
 applicable to him. How I rejoiced when I saw him enter 
 again, with a helmet like Pallas's on his head, a spear in his 
 hand, crying, " To Sparta, boys ! to Sparta ! " 
 
 Pericles whispered to me, but in a voice audible to those 
 who sate farther off, " Alcibiades, I trust, is destined to abolish 
 the influence and subvert the power of that restless and 
 troublesome rival." 
 
 LXV. 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 I DISBELIEVE, O Pericles, that it is good for us, that it is good 
 for men, women, or nations, to be without a rival. 
 
 Acquit me now of any desire that, in your generosity, you 
 should resolve on presenting me with such a treasure, for I am 
 without the ability of returning it. But have you never 
 observed how many graces of person and demeanour we women
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 183 
 
 are anxious to display, in order to humble a rival, which we 
 were unconscious of possessing until opposite charms provoked 
 them ? 
 
 Sparta can only be humbled by the prosperity and liberality 
 of Athens. She was ever jealous and selfish ; Athens has 
 been too often so. It is only by forbearance toward dependent 
 states, and by kindness toward the weaker, that her power can 
 long preponderate. Strong attachments are strong allies. This 
 truth is so clear as to be colourless, and I should fear that you 
 would censure me for writing what almost a child might have 
 spoken, were I ignorant that its importance hath ^^ made little 
 impression on the breasts of statesmen. I admire your wisdom 
 in resolving to increase no farther the domains of Attica ; to ^^ 
 surround her with the outworks of islands,' and 20 more closely 
 with small independent communities. It is only from such as 
 these that virtue can come forward neither hurt nor heated ; 
 the crowd is too dense for her in larger. But what is mostly 
 our consideration, it is only such as these that are sensible of 
 benefits. They cling to you afflictedly in your danger ; the 
 greater Hook on with folded arms, nod knowingly, cry sad 
 work ! when you are worsted, and turn their backs on you 
 when you are fallen. 
 
 LXVI. 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 There are things, Aspasia, beyond the art of Phidias. He 
 may represent Love leaning upon his bow and listening to 
 Philosophy ; but not for hours together : he may representy 
 Love, while he is giving her a kiss for her lesson, tying her ^ 
 arms behind her : loosing them again must be upon another 
 marble. 
 
 LXVII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 The philosophers are less talkative in our conversations, now 
 Alcibiades has given up his mind to mathematics and strategy, 
 and seldom comes among them. 
 
 [1* First ed. 
 [19 First ed, 
 [20 First ed. 
 
 " the important truth has."] 
 "and in designing to."] 
 " and to encompass her."]
 
 184 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Pericles told me they will not pour out the rose-water for 
 their beards, unless into a Corinthian or golden vase. 
 
 " But take care," added he, " to offend no philosopher of 
 any sect whatever. Indeed, to offend any person is the next 
 foolish thing to being offended. I never do it, unless when it 
 is requisite to discredit somebody who might otherwise have 
 the influence to diminish my estimation. Politeness is not 
 always a sign of wisdom ; but the want of it always leaves 
 room for a suspicion of folly, if folly and imprudence are the 
 same. I have scarcely had time to think of any blessings that 
 entered my house with you, beyond those which encompass 
 myself ; yet it cannot but be obvious that Alcibiades hath now 
 an opportunity of improving his manners, such as even the 
 society of scholastic men will never countervail. This is a 
 high advantage on all occasions, particularly in embassies. 
 Well-bred men require it, and let it pass : the ill-bred catch 
 at it greedily ; as fishes are attracted from the mud, and 
 netted, by the shine of flowers and shells." 
 
 LXVIII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. _ 
 
 At last I have heard him speak ^i in public. 
 
 Apollo may shake the rocks of Delphi, and may turn the 
 pious pale ; my Pericles rises with serenity ; his voice hath at 
 once left his lips and entered the heart of Athens. The 
 violent and desperate tremble in every hostile city ; a thunder- 
 bolt seems to have split in the centre, and to have scattered its. 
 sacred fire unto the whole circumference of Greece. 
 
 The greatest of prodigies are the prodigies of a mortal ; they 
 are, indeed, the only ones : with the Gods there are none. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! the eloquence and the wisdom, the courage 
 and the constancy of my Pericles, must have their end ; and 
 
 [-1 " For adding, as the divine Plato expresses it, the loftiness of the 
 imagination and all commanding energy, with which Philosophy 
 supplied him, to the native powers of genius, and making use of 
 whatever he found to his purpose in the study of nature to dignify 
 the art of speaking, he far excelled all other orators." — Langhorne' s 
 Plutarch, Pericles J\
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 185 
 
 the glorious shrine, wherein they stand pre-eminent, must one 
 day drop into the deformity of death ! 
 
 O Aspasia ! of the tears thou art shedding, tears of pride, 
 tears of fondness, are there none (in those many) for thyself? 
 Yes ; whatever was attributed to thee of grace or beauty, so 
 valuable for his sake whose partiality assigned them to thee, 
 must go first, and all that he loses is a loss to thee ! weep then 
 on. 
 
 LXIX. 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Do you love me ? do you love me ? Stay, reason upon it, 
 sweet Aspasia ! doubt, hesitate, question, drop it, take it up 
 again, provide, raise obstacles, reply directly. Oracles are 
 sacred, and there is a pride in being a diviner. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 I WILL do none of those things you tell me to do ; but I will 
 say something you forgot to say, about the insufficiency of 
 Phidias. 
 
 He may represent a hero with unbent brows, a sage with 
 the lyre of Poetry in his hand, Ambition with her face half- 
 aveited from the City, but he cannot represent, in the same 
 sculpture, at the same distance. Aphrodite higher than Pallas. 
 He would be derided if he did ; and a great man can never 
 do that for which a little man may deride him. 
 
 I shall love you even more than I do, if you will love 
 yourself more than me. Did ever lover talk so ? Pray tell 
 me, for I have forgotten all they ever talked about. But, 
 Pericles ! Pericles ! be careful to lose nothing of your glory, 
 or you lose all that can be lost of me ; my pride, my happi- 
 ness, my content ; everything but my poor weak love : keep 
 glory then for my sake !
 
 1 86 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 LXXI. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 I AM not quite certain that you are correct in your decision, 
 on the propriety of sculpturing the statues of our deities from 
 one sole material. Those, however, of mortals and nymphs 
 and Genii should be marble, and marble only. But you will 
 pardon a doubt, a long doubt, a doubt for the chin to rest 
 upon in the palm of the hand, when Cleone thinks one thing 
 and Phidias another. 1 debated with Pericles on the subject. 
 " In my opinion," said he, " no material for statuary is so 
 beautiful as marble ; and, far from allowing that two or more 
 materials should compose one statue, I would not willingly see 
 an interruption made in the figure of a God or Goddess, even 
 by the folds of drapery. I would venture to take the cestus ^2 
 from Venus, distinguishing her merely by her own peculiar 
 beauty. But in the representations of the more awful Powers, 
 who are to be venerated and worshipped as the patrons and 
 protectors of cities, we must take into account the notions of 
 the people. In their estimate, gold and ivory ^3 give splendour 
 and dignity to the Gods themselves, and our wealth displays 
 their power ! Beside . . . but bring youj ear closer . . . when 
 
 p2 (f Therewith from her breast she (Aphrodite) loosed the 
 broidered girdle, fair wrought, wherein are all her enchantments ; 
 therein are love and desire and loving converse, that steals the wits 
 even of the wise." — Iliad, xiv. 216. Messrs Lang, Leaf and Myers'' 
 translation .^ 
 
 [-3 Socrates. — Then when 1 agree that Phidas is a good worlcman, 
 "Well," he will say, "do you think Phidias was ignorant of the 
 Beautiful you talk, of? " " Why in the name of goodness? " I shall 
 ask. " Because he did not make the eyes of Athene of gold, nor the 
 rest of the face, nor the feet, nor the hands, but of ivory," he will 
 answer: " if, as you say, it would have looked most beautiful in gold. 
 Plainly he made the mistake through want of culture, because he was 
 unaware that gold is the substance which makes everything beautiful 
 wherever it appears." When he says this, what answer are we to 
 make, Hippias ? " Hippias. — No difficulty. We will say that he 
 made it right; fori conceive that ivory is beautiful too. Socrates. — 
 " For what reason, then," he will ask, " did he make the centres of 
 the eyes not of ivory but of stone, taking care to get as great a simi- 
 larity as possible in the stone to the ivory ? Is beautiful stone also a 
 beautiful thing ? " Shall we say yes, Hippias ? Hippias. — Yes, cer- 
 tainly — when it is in place. — Plato, Hippias MuJor.'\
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 187 
 
 they will not indulge us with their favour, we may borrow 
 their cloaks and ornaments, and restore them when they have 
 recovered their temper." 
 
 LXXII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 After I had written to you, we renewed our conversation on 
 the same subject. I enquired of Pericles whether he thought 
 the appellation of golden 2* was applied to Venus for her 
 precious gifts, or for some other reason. His answer was : 
 
 " Small statues of Venus are more numerous than of any 
 other deity : and the first that were gilt in Greece, I believe, 
 were hers. She is worshipped, you know, not only as the 
 Goddess of beauty, but likewise as the Goddess of fortune. 
 In the foimer capacity we are her rapturous adorers for five 
 years perhaps ; in the latter we persevere for life. Many 
 carry her image with them on their journeys, and there is 
 scarcely a house in any part of Greece wherein it is not a 
 principal ornament." 
 
 I remarked to him that Apollo, from the colour of his hair 
 and the radiance of his countenance, would be more appro- 
 priately represented in gold, and yet that the poets were un- 
 mindful to call him golden.-^ 
 
 " They never found him so," said he ; " but Venus often 
 smiles upon them in one department. Little images of her 
 are often of solid gold, and are placed on the breast or under 
 the pillow. Other deities are seldom of such diminutive size, 
 or such precious materials. It is only of late that they have 
 even borne the semblance of them. The Egy}5tians, the in- 
 ventors of all durable colours, and indeed of everything else 
 that is durable in the arts, devised the means of investing other 
 metals with dissolved gold ; the Phoenicians, barbarous and in- 
 different to elegance and refinement, could only cover them 
 with lamular incrustations. By improving the inventions of 
 Egypt, bronze, odious in its own proper colour for the human 
 
 [2^ e.g., " What life is there, what joy, without golden Aphrodite ? " 
 — Mimnermus, i. I.] 
 
 ["'' First ed. : " the golden."]
 
 1 88 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 figure, and more odious for Divinities, assumes a splendour and 
 majesty which almost compensate for marble itself." 
 " Metal," said I, " has the advantage in durability." 
 " Surely not," answered he ; " and it is more exposed to 
 invasion and avarice. But either of them, under cover, may 
 endure many thousand years, I apprehend, and without corro- 
 sion. The temples of Egypt, which have remained two 
 thousand, are fresh at this hour as when they were first 
 erected : and all the violence of Cambyses 26 and his army, 
 bent on effacing the images, have done little more harm, if you 
 look at them from a short distance, than a single fly would do 
 in a summer day, on a statue of Pentelican marble. The 
 Egyptians have laboured more to commemorate the weaknesses 
 of man than the Gi'ecians to attest his energies. This how- 
 ever must be conceded to the Egyptians ; that they are the 
 only people on earth to whom destruction has not been the 
 first love and principal occupation. The works of their hands 
 will outlive the works of their intellect : here at least I glory 
 in the sure hope that we shall differ from them. Judgment 
 and perception of the true and beautiful will never allow our 
 statuaries to represent the human countenance as they have 
 done, in granite, and poqihyry, and basalt. Their statues 
 have resisted Time and War ; ours will vanquish Envy and 
 Malice. 
 
 " Sculpture has made great advances in my time ; Painting 
 still greater ; for until the last forty years it was inelegant and 
 rude. Sculpture can go no farther ; Painting can : she may 
 add scenery and climate to her forms. She may give to 
 Philoctetes, not only the wing of the sea-bird, wherewith he 
 cools the throbbing of his wound ; not only the bow and the 
 quiver at his feet, but likewise the gloomy rocks, the Vulcanian 
 vaults, and the distant fires of Lemnos, the fierce inhabitants 
 subdued by pity, the remorseless betrayer, and the various 
 emotions of his retiring friends. Her reign is boundless, but 
 the fairer and the richer part of her dominions lies within the 
 Odyssea. Painting by degrees will perceive her advantages 
 over Sculpture ; but if there are paces between Sculpture and 
 
 [-^ Cambyses is said to have attempted to destroy the colossal statue 
 of Memnon in Egypt.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 189 
 
 Painting, there are parasangs between Painting and Poetry. 
 The difference is that of a lake confined by mountains, and a 
 river ininning on through all the varieties of sceneiy, perpetual 
 and unimpeded. Sculpture and Painting are moments of 
 life ; Poetiy is life itself, and every thing around it and above 
 it. 
 
 " But let us turn back again to the position we set out 
 from, and offer due reverence to the truest diviners of the 
 Gods. Phidias in ten days is capable of producing what 
 would outlive ten thousand years, if man were not resolved to 
 be the subverter of man's glory. The Gods themselves will 
 vanish away before their images." 
 
 O Cleone ! this is painful to hear. I wish Pericles, and I 
 too, were somewhat more religious : it is so sweet and 
 graceful. 
 
 LXXIII, 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 She, O Aspasia, who wishes to be more religious, hath much 
 religion, although the volatility of her imagination and the 
 velocity of her pursuits do not permit her to settle fixedly on 
 the object of it. How could I have ever loved you so, if I 
 believed the Gods would disapprove of my attachment, as they 
 certainly would if you under-rated their power and goodness ! 
 They take especial care both to punish the unbeliever, and to 
 strike with awe the witnesses of unbelief. I accompanied my 
 father, not long since, to the temple of Apollo, and when we 
 had performed the usual rites of our devotion, there came up 
 to us a young man of somewhat pleasing aspect, with whose 
 family ours was anciently on terms of intimacy. After my 
 father had made the customary inquiries, he conversed with us 
 about his travels. He had just left Ephesus, and said he had 
 spent the morning in a comparison between Diana's temple 
 and Apollo's. He told us that they are similar in design ; 
 but that the Ephesian -" Goddess is an ugly lump of dark- 
 
 [27 Now the Ionian land has a most happy mingling of seasons, and 
 you can find there temples such as there are nowhere else. For magni- 
 tude and wealth that of Diana at Ephesus takes the first place, and 
 next come two unfinished temples of Apollo, one in the Branchids at 
 Miletus, and the other at Clarus, in the territory of Colophon. — 
 Pausanias, vii. 5. 4. J
 
 190 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 coloured stone ; while our Apollo is of such transcendent 
 beauty that, on first beholding him, he wondered any other 
 God had a worshipper. My father was transported with joy 
 at such a declaration. 
 
 " Give up the others," said he ; " worship here, and rely 
 on prosperity." 
 
 " Were I myself to select," answered he, " any deity in 
 preference to the rest, it should not be an irascible, or 
 vindictive, or unjust one." 
 
 " Surely not," cried my father ... "it should be Apollo; 
 and our Apollo ! What has Diana done for any man, or any 
 woman ? I speak submissively . . . with all reverence . . . 
 I do not question." 
 
 The young man answered, " I will forbear to say a word 
 about Diana, having been educated in great fear of her : but 
 surely the treatment of Marsyas by Apollo was bordering on 
 severity." 
 
 " Not a whit," cried my father, " if understood righdy." 
 
 " His assent to the request of Phaeton," continued the 
 young man, "knowing (as he did) the consequences, seems a 
 little deficient in that foresight which belongs peculiarly to the 
 God of prophecy." 
 
 My father left me abruptly, ran to the font, and sprinkled 
 first himself, then me, lastly the guest, with lustral water. 
 
 " We mortals," continued he gravely, " should not presume 
 to argue on the Gods after our own inferior nature and limited 
 capacities. What appears to have been cruel might have been 
 most kindly provident." 
 
 " The reasoning is conclusive," said the youth ; " you have 
 caught by the hand a benighted and wandering dreamer, and 
 led him from the brink of a precipice. I see nothing left 
 now on the road-side but the skin of Marsyas, and it would be 
 folly to start or flinch at it." 
 
 My father had a slight suspicion of his sincerity, and did 
 not invite him to the house. He has attempted to come, 
 more than once, evidently with an earnest desire to explore 
 the truth. Several days together he has been seen on the very 
 spot where he made the confession to my father, in deep 
 thought, and, as we hope, under the influence of the Deity.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 191 
 
 I forgot to tell you that this young person is Thraseas, son 
 of Phormio the Coan. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 If ever there was a youth whose devotion was ardent, and 
 whose face (I venture to say, although 1 never saw it) was 
 prefigured for the offices of adoration, I suspect it must be 
 Thraseas, son of Phormio the Coan. 
 
 Happy the man who, when every thought else is dismissed, 
 comes last and alone into the warm and secret foldings of a 
 letter ! 
 
 LXXV. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Alcibiades entei'ed the library one day when I was writing 
 out some verses. He discovered what I was about, by my 
 hurry in attempting to conceal them. 
 
 " Alcibiades ! " said I, " we do not like to be detected in 
 anything so wicked as poetry. Some day or other I shall 
 perhaps have my revenge, and catch you committing the same 
 sin with more pertinacity." 
 
 " Do you fancy," said he, " that I cannot write a verse or 
 two, if I set my heart upon it ? " 
 
 " No," replied I ; " but I doubt whether your heart, in its 
 lightness and volubility, would not roll off so slippery a plinth. 
 We remember your poetical talents, displayed in all their 
 brightness on poor Socrates." 
 
 " Do not laugh at Socrates," said he. " The man is by 
 no means such a quibbler and impostor as some of his dis- 
 ciples 2^ would represent him, making him drag along no easy 
 mule-load, by Hercules I no summer robe, no every-day ves- 
 ture, no nurse of an after-dinner nap, but a trailing, trouble- 
 some, intricate piece of sophistry, interwoven with flowers and 
 sphynxes, stolen from an Egyptian temple, with dust enough 
 
 [-8 With this attack on Plato, compare the Imaginary Conversation 
 between Diogenes and Plato. Landor was no believer in Plato.]
 
 192 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 in it to blind all the crocodiles as far as to the cataracts, and 
 to dry up the Nile at its highest overflow. He is rather fond 
 of strangling an unwary interloper with a string of questions, 
 of which it is difficult to see the length or the knots, until the 
 two ends are about the throat : but he lets him off easily when 
 he has fairly set his mark on him. Anaxagoras tells me that 
 there is not a school in Athens where the scholars are so 
 jealous and malicious, while he himself is totally exempt from 
 those worst and most unphilosophical of passions ; that the 
 parasitical weed grew up together with their very root, and 
 soon overtopped the plant, but that it only hangs to his rail- 
 ing. Now Anaxagoras envies nobody, and only perplexes us 
 by the admiration of his generosity, modesty, and wisdom. 
 
 " I did not come hither to disturb you, Aspasia ! and will 
 retire when I have given you satisfaction, or revenge ; this, I 
 think, is the word. Not only have I written verses, and, as 
 you may well suppose, long after those upon the son of 
 Sophroniscus, but verses upon love." 
 
 " Are we none of us in the secret ? " said I. 
 
 " You shall be," said he ; " attend and pity." 
 
 I must have turned pale, I think, for I shuddered. He 
 repeated these, and relieved me. 
 
 I love to look on lovely eyes, 
 
 And do not shun the sound of sighs, 
 
 If they are level with the ear ; 
 But if they rise just o'er my chin, 
 O Venus ! how I hate their din ! 
 
 My own I am too weak to bear. 
 
 LXXVI.29 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Do you remember little Artemidora, the mild and bashful 
 girl, whom you compared to a white blossom on the river, sur- 
 rounded by innumerable slender reeds, and seen only at inter- 
 vals as they waved about her, making way to the breeze, and 
 quivering and bending ? Not having seen her for some time, 
 and meeting Deiphobos who is intimate with her family, I 
 
 P Not in ist ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia, 193 
 
 ventured to ask whether he had been lately at the house. He 
 turned pale. Imprudent and indelicate as I am, I accused 
 him instantly, with much gaiety, of love for her. Accused ! 
 O Aspasia, how glorious is it in one to feel more sensibly than 
 all others the beauty that lies far beyond what they ever can 
 discern ! From their earthly station they behold the sun's 
 bright disk : he enters the palace of the God. Externally 
 there is fire only : pure inextinguishable aether fills the whole 
 space within, and increases the beauty it displays. 
 
 " Cleone ! " said he, " you are distressed at the appre- 
 hension of having pained me. Believe me, you have not 
 touched the part where pain lies. Were it possible that a 
 creature so perfect could love me, I would reprove her indis- 
 cretion ; I would recall to her attention what surely her eyes 
 might indicate at a glance, the disparity of our ages ; and I 
 would teach her, what is better taught by friendship than by 
 experience, that youth alone is the fair price of youth. How- 
 ever, since there is on either side nothing but pure amity, 
 there is no necessity for any such discourse. My soul could 
 hardly be more troubled if there were. Her health is declin- 
 ing while her beauty is scarcely yet at its meridian. I will not 
 delay you, O Cleone ! nor will you delay me. Rarely do I 
 enter the temples ; but I must enter here before I sleep. 
 Artemis and Amphrodite may perhaps hear me ; but I entreat 
 you, do you also, who are more pious than I am, pray and 
 implore of their divine goodness, that my few years may be 
 added to hers ; the few to the many, the sorrowful (not then 
 so) to the joyous." 
 
 He clasped my hand : I withdrew it, for it burnt me. 
 Inconsiderate and indelicate before, call me now (what you 
 must ever think me) barbarous and inhuman. 
 
 Lxxvn.30 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 The largest heart, O Cleone, is that which only one can rest 
 upon or impress ; the purest is that which dares to call itself 
 impure ; the kindest is that which shrinks rather at its own 
 
 po Not in I St ed.]
 
 194 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 inhumanity than at another's. Cleone barbarous ! Cleone 
 inhuman ! Silly girl ! you are fit only to be instructress to 
 the sillier Aspasia. In some things (in this for instance) I am 
 wiser than you. I have truly a great mind to make you blush 
 again, and so make you accuse yourself a second time of indis- 
 cretion. After a pause, I am resolved on it. Now then. 
 Artemidora is the very girl who preferred you to me both for 
 manners and beauty. Many have done the same no doubt, 
 but she alone to my face. When we were sitting, one even- 
 ing in autumn, with our feet in the Masander, her nurse con- 
 ducted her towards us. We invited her to sit down between 
 us, which at first she was afraid of doing, because the herbage 
 had recovered from the drought of summer and had become 
 succulent as in spring, so that it might stain her short white 
 dress. But when we showed her how this danger might be 
 avoided, she blushed, and, after some hesitation was seated. 
 Before long, I enquired of her who was her little friend, and 
 whether he was handsome, and whether he was sensible, and 
 whether he was courageous, and whether he was ardent. She 
 answered all these questions in the affirmative, excepting the 
 last, which she really did not understand. At length came 
 the twilight of thought that showed her bhishes. I ceased to 
 persecute her, and only asked her which of us she liked the 
 best and thought the most beautiful. " I like Cleone the best," 
 said she, " and think her the most beautiful, because she took 
 my hand and pitied my confusion when such very strange 
 questions were put to me." However, she kissed me when 
 she saw I was concerned at my impropriety : maybe a part 
 of the kiss was given as a compensation for the severity of her 
 sentence. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 We are but pebbles in a gravel walk, 
 Some blacker and some whiter, pebbles still, 
 Fit only to be trodden on. 
 
 These words were introduced into a comedy, lately written 
 by Polus, a remarkably fat person and who appears to have
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 195 
 
 enjoyed life and liberty as much as any citizen in Athens. I 
 happen to have rendered some services to Philonides,^! the 
 actor, to whom the speech is addressed. He brought me the 
 piece before its representation, telling me that Polus and his 
 friends had resolved to applaud the passage, and to turn their 
 faces toward Pericles. I made him a little present, on condi- 
 tion that, in the representation, he should repeat the following 
 verses in reply, instead of the poet's. 
 
 Fair Polus ! 
 Can such fierce winds blow over such smooth seas ! 
 I never saw a pebble in my life 
 So richly set as thou art : now, by Jove, 
 He who would tread upon thee can be none 
 Except the proudest of the elephants. 
 The tallest and the surest-footed beast 
 In all the stables of the kings of Ind. 
 
 The comedy was interrupted by roars of laughter : the 
 friends of Polus slunk away, and he himself made many a 
 violent effort to do the same ; but Amphicydes, who stood 
 next, threw his arms round his neck, crying, 
 
 " Behold another Codms ! devoting himself for his country. 
 The infernal Powers require no black bull for sacrifice ; they 
 are quite satisfied. Eternal peace with Boeotia ! eternal praise 
 to her ! what a present ! where was he fatted ? " 
 
 We had invited Polus to dine with us, and now condoled 
 with him on his loss of appetite. The people of Athens were 
 quite out of favour with him. 
 
 " I told them what they were fit for," cried he, " and they 
 proved it. Amphicydes ... I do not say he has been at 
 Sparta ... I myself saw him, no long time ago, on the road 
 that leads to Megara . . . that city rebelled soon after. His 
 wife died strangely : she had not been married two years, and 
 had grown ugly and thin : he might have used her for a broom 
 if she had hair enough . . . perhaps he did ; odd noises have 
 been heard in the house. I have no suspicion or spite against 
 any man living . . . and, praise to the Gods ! I can live 
 without being an informer." 
 
 P Philonides was a friend of Aristophanes, under whose name the 
 latter brought out some of his earlier plays. He was probably not an 
 actor, but a dramatic poet. Polus is an imaginary character.]
 
 196 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 We listened with deep interest, but could not understand 
 the allusion, as he perceived by our looks. 
 
 " You will hear to-morrow," said he, " how unworthily I 
 have been treated. Wit draws down Folly on ^- us, and she 
 must have her fling. It does not hit ; it does not hit." 
 
 Slaves brought in a ewer of water, with several napkins. 
 They were not lost upon Polus, and he declared that those 
 two boys had more sagacity and intuition than all the people 
 in the theatre. 
 
 " In your house and your administration, O Pericles, every 
 thing is timed well and done well, without our knowing how. 
 Dust will rise," said he, " dust will rise ; if we would not 
 raise it we must never stir. They have begun with those who 
 would reform their manners ; they will presently carry their 
 violence against those who maintain and execute the laws." 
 
 Supper was served. 
 
 « A quail, O best Polus ! " * 
 
 " A quail, O wonderful ! may hurt me ; but being recom- 
 mended ..." 
 
 It disappeared. 
 
 " The breast of that capon ..." 
 
 " Capons, being melancholic, breed melancholy within." 
 
 " Coriander-seed might correct it, together with a few of 
 those white plump pine-seeds." 
 
 " The very diside ration ! " 
 
 It was corrected. 
 
 [32 First ed. : "upon."] 
 
 * O best ! O ivonderful I O lady I ^ &c. fl ^eXTiare : fi 0av/J.a<ne : 
 fi SeaTTOiva. Conversation was never carried on without these terms, 
 even among Philosophers, as we see in Plato, &c. 
 
 [33 In the 1st ed. this note continues: "The editor has thought it 
 his duty to be quite literal in translating, fi /SeXrtffTe : O davfj-acrie: 
 ii decTTTOLva, &c. Conversation was never carried on without them, 
 even among philosophers, as we see in Plato, &c. An apology ought 
 to be offered for not adorning the text with the Greek, it being the 
 fashion to enrich the toilet with antiquities. Poverty must plead for 
 the editor ; when he publishes the Letters of Cleopatra, he promises his 
 fair friends that he v/ill be more liberal of the Coptick ; the original 
 Greek being lost, and the Coptick being the only known version."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 197 
 
 " Tunny under oil, with marjoram and figs, pickled locusts, 
 and pistachioes. Your ^^ stomach seems delicate." 
 
 " Alas ! indeed it is decHning. Tunny ! tunny ! I dare 
 not, O festoon of the Graces ! I dare not verily. Chian 
 wine alone can appease its seditions." 
 
 They were appeased. 
 
 Some livers were offered him, whether of fish or fowl, I 
 know not, for I can hardly bear to look at that dish. He 
 waved them away, but turned suddenly round, and said, 
 « Youth ! I think I smell fennel." 
 
 " There is fennel, O mighty one ! " replied the slave, 
 " and not fennel only, but parsley and honey, pepper and 
 rosemary, garlic from Salamis, and ..." 
 
 " Say no more, say no more ; fennel is enough for moder- 
 ate men, and brave ones. It reminds me of the field of 
 Marathon." 35 
 
 The field was won ; nothing was left upon it. 
 
 Another slave came forward, announcing loudly and pomp- 
 ously, " Gosling from Brauron ! Sauce, pinines, mustard- 
 seed, capers, fenu-greck, sesamum, and squills." 
 
 " Squills ! " exclaimed Polus, " they soothe the chest. It 
 is not every cook that is deep in the secrets of nature. 
 Brauron ! an ancient city ; I have friends in Brauron ; I will 
 taste, were it only for remembrance of them." 
 
 He made several essays, several pauses. 
 
 " But when shall we come to the squills ? " said he, turn- 
 ing to the slave ; " the qualities of the others are negative." 
 
 The whole dish was presently. 
 
 " Our pastry," said I, " O illustrious Polus ! is the only 
 thing I can venture to recommend at table ; the other dishes 
 are merely on sufferance ; but, really, our pastry is good ; I 
 usually dine entirely upon it." 
 
 " Entirely ! " cried he, in amaze. 
 
 " With a glass of water," added I, " and some grapes, fresh 
 or dry." 
 
 " To accompany you, O divine Aspasia ! though in good 
 truth this said pastry is but a sandy sort of road ; no great 
 way can be made in it." 
 
 [^ First ed.: "for your."] 
 
 ps ('Marathon " in Greek means Fennel."]
 
 198 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 The diffident Polus was not a bad engineer however, and 
 he soon had an opportunity of admiring the workmanship at 
 the bottom of the salver. 
 
 Two dishes of roast meat were carried to him. I know 
 not what one was, nor could Polus easily make up his mind 
 upon it ; experiment following experiment. Kid however 
 was an old acquaintance. 
 
 " Those who kill kids," said he, " deserve well of their 
 country, for they grow up mischievous : the Gods, aware of 
 this, make them very eatable. They require some manage- 
 ment, some skill, some reflection ; mint, shalot, dandelion, 
 vinegar : strong coercion upon 'em. Chian wine, boy ! " 
 
 " What does Pericles eat ? " 
 
 " Do not mind Pericles. He has eaten of the quails, and 
 some roast fish, besprinkled with bay-leaves ^^ for sauce." 
 
 " Fish ! ay, that makes him so vigilant. Cats ..." 
 
 Here he stopt, not, however, without a diversion in his 
 favour from me, observing that he usually dined on vegetables, 
 fish, and some bird : that his earlier meal was his longest, con- 
 fectionary, honey, and white bread, composing it." 
 
 " And ^^ Chian or Lesbian ? " 
 
 " He enjoys a little wine after dinner, preferring the 
 lighter and subacid." 
 
 " Wonderful man ! " cried he ; " and all from such fare as 
 that ! " 
 
 When he rose from table he seemed by his countenance 
 to be quiet again at heart ; nevertheless he said in my ear, 
 with a sigh, " Did I possess the power of Pericles, or the per- 
 suasion of Aspasia, by the Immortals ! I would enrich the 
 galleys with a grand dotation. Every soul of them would I 
 — yes, every soul of them — monsters of ingratitude, hypocrites, 
 traitors, they should for Egypt, for Carthage, Mauritania, 
 Numidia. He will find out before long what dogs he has 
 been skimming the kettle for." 
 
 It required an effort to be perfectly composed, at a simile 
 which I imagine has never been used in the Greek language 
 since the days of Medea ; but I cast down my eyes, and said 
 
 [^8 First ed. : " dried bay leaves."] 
 [37 ot in I St ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasla. 199 
 
 consolatorily, " It is difficult to do justice to such men as 
 Pericles and Polus." 
 
 He would now have let me into the secret, but others saved 
 
 me.^s 
 
 Our farmers, in the number of their superstitions, entertain 
 a firm belief that any soil is rendered more fertile by burying 
 an ass's head in it. On this idea is founded the epigram I 
 send to you : It raised a laugh at dinner. 
 
 Leave me thy head when thou art dead, 
 
 Speusippus ! prudent farmers say 
 An ass's skull makes plentiful 
 
 The poorest soil ; and ours is clay. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Anaxagoras is the true, firm, constant friend of Pericles : the 
 golden lamp that shines pei-petually on the image I adore. 
 Yet sometimes he speaks severely. On one of these occasions, 
 Pericles took him by the hand, saying, 
 
 " O Anaxagoras ! sincere and ardent lover of Truth ! why 
 do not you love her in such a manner as never to let her see 
 you out of humour ? " 
 
 "Because," said Anaxagoras, "you divide my affections 
 with her, much to my shame." 
 
 Pericles was called away on business ; I then said, 
 " O Anaxagoras ! is not Pericles a truly great man ? " 
 He answered, " If Pericles were a truly great man, he 
 would not wish to appear different from what he is ; he would 
 know himself, and make others know him ; he seems to guard 
 against both. Much is wanting to constitute his greatness. 
 He possesses, it is true, more comprehensiveness and concen- 
 tration than any living ; perhaps more than any since Solon ; 
 but he thinks that power over others is better than power over 
 himself; as if a mob were worth a man, and an acclamation 
 were worth a Pericles." 
 
 "But," said I, "he has absolute command over himself; 
 
 ps In ist ed. this letter ends here.]
 
 200 Longer Prose Works, 
 
 and it is chiefly by exerting it that he has obtained an ascend- 
 ency over the minds of others." 
 
 " Has he rendered them wiser and more virtuous ? " said 
 he. 
 
 " You know best," replied I, " having lived much longer 
 among them." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Anaxagoras, " I may wrong him ; perhaps 
 he has saved them from worse disasters." 
 
 " You think him then ambitious ! " said I, with some 
 sadness. 
 
 " Ambitious ! " cried he, " how so ? He might have been 
 a philosopher, and he is content to be a ruler." 
 
 I was ill at ease. 
 
 "Come," said I, "Anaxagoras! come into the garden 
 with me. It is rather too warm indeed out of doors, but we 
 have many evergreens, high and shady, and those who, like 
 you and me, never drink wine, have little to dread from the 
 heat." 
 
 Whether the ilexes and bays and oleanders struck his im- 
 agination, and presented the simile I cannot tell, but he thus 
 continued in illustration of his discourse. 
 
 " There are no indeciduous plants, Aspasia ! the greater 
 part lose their leaves in winter, the rest in summer. It is thus 
 with men. The generality yield and are stript under the first 
 chilly blasts that shake them. They who have weathered 
 these, drop leaf after leaf in the sunshine. The virtues by 
 which they arose to popularity, take another garb, another 
 aspect, another form, and totally disappear. Be not uneasy ; 
 the heart of Pericles will never dry up, so many streams run 
 into it." 
 
 He retired to his studies ; I spoke but little that evening, 
 and slept late. 
 
 LXXX. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 How can I ever hope to shew you, in all its brightness, the 
 character of my friend ? I will tell you how ; by following 
 Love and Truth. Like most others who have no genius, I 
 do not feel the want of it, at least not here.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 201 
 
 A shallow water may reflect the sun as perfectly as a 
 deeper. 
 
 The words of Anaxagoras stuck to me like thistles. I 
 resolved to speak in playfulness with the object of our 
 conversation. First I began to hint at enemies. He 
 smiled. 
 
 " The children in my orchard," said he, " are not yet 
 grown tall enough to reach the fruit ; they may throw at it, 
 but can bring none down." 
 
 " Do tell me, O Pericles ! " said I, " now we are insepar- 
 able for ever, how many struggles with yourself (to say nothing 
 of others) you must have had, before you attained the position 
 you have taken." 
 
 " It is pleasanter," answered he, " to think of our glory than 
 of the means by which we acquired it." 
 
 " When we see the horses that have won at the Olympian 
 games, do we ask what oats they have eaten to give them such 
 velocity and strength ? Do those who swim admirably ever 
 trouble their minds about the bladders they swam upon in 
 learning, or inquire what beasts supplied them ? When the 
 winds are filling our sails, do we lower them and delay our 
 voyage, in order to philosophise on the particles of air compos- 
 ing them, or to speculate what region produced them, or what 
 becomes of them afterward ? " 
 
 LXXXI. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 At last, Aspasia, you love indeed. The perfections of your 
 beloved interest you less than the imperfections, which you no 
 sooner take up for reprehension, than you admire, embrace, 
 and defend. Happy, happy, Aspasia ! but are you wise, and 
 good, and equable, and fond of sincerity, as formerly ? Nay, 
 do not answer me. The Gods forbid that I should force you 
 to be ingenious, and love you for it. How much must you 
 have lost before you are praised for that ! 
 
 Archelaus, of all our philosophers the most quiet man, and 
 the most patient investigator, will bring you this. He desires 
 to be the hearer of Anaxagoras.
 
 202 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 I RECEIVED our countryman with great pleasure. He was 
 obliged to be my hearer for several hours : I hope his patience 
 will never be so much tried by Anaxagoras. I placed them 
 together at table ; but Anaxagoras would not break through 
 his custom ; nothing of philosophy. Our repast would have 
 been even less talkative than usual, had not Anaxagoras asked 
 our guest whether the earlier Milesian authors, poets or 
 historians, had mentioned Homer. 
 
 " I find not a word about him in any one of them," replied 
 he, " although we have the works of Cadmus and Phocylides, 
 the former an admirable historian, the latter an indifferent 
 poet, but not the less likely to mention him, and they are sup- 
 posed to have lived within three centuries of his age. Permit 
 my first question to you, in my search after truth, to be this ; 
 whether his age were not much earlier ? " 
 
 " This is not the only question," said Anaxagoras, " on 
 which you will hear from me the confession of my utter 
 ignorance. I am interested in everything that relates to the 
 operations of the human mind ; and Pericles has in his 
 possession eveiy author whose works have been transcribed. 
 The number will appear quite incredible to you ; there cannot 
 be fewer than two hundred. I find poetry to which is attri- 
 buted an earlier date than to Homer's ; but stupidity and 
 barbarism are no convincing proofs. I find Cretan, Ionian, 
 Laconlan, and Boeotian, written certainly more than three 
 centuries ago ; the language is not copious, is not fluent, is not 
 refined. Pericles says it is all of it inharmonious : of this I 
 cannot judge, he can. Dropides and Mimnermus wrote no 
 better verses than the servant girls sing upon our staircases. 
 Archilochus and Alcman, who lived a century earlier, com- 
 posed much grander ; but where there is at once ferocity and 
 immodesty, either the age must have been barbarous, or the 
 poet must have been left behind it. Sappho was in reality the 
 reviver of poetry, teaching it to humanize and delight ; 
 Simonides brought it to perfection. The muse of Lesbos, as 
 she is called, and Alcasus, invented each a novel species of
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 203 
 
 strophe. Aspasia prefers the poetry of Sappho, and the metre 
 of Alcseus,^^ which however, I think she informs us, is less 
 adapted to her subjects than her own is." 
 
 " It appears to me," said I, " that everyone who felt strong 
 in poetry was ambitious of being an inventor in its measures. 
 Archilochus, the last of any note, invented the iambic." 
 
 " True, O Aspasia ! " said Pericles, " but not exactly in 
 the sense usually received. He did not invent, as many 
 suppose, the senarian iambic, which is coeval almost with the 
 language itself, and many of which creep into the closest 
 prose compositions, but he was the first who subjoined a 
 shorter to it, the barb to the dart, so fatal to Cleobule and 
 Lycambes." ^o 
 
 " His first," said I, " is like the trot of a mastif, his second 
 is like the spring at the throat. 
 
 " Homer alone has enriched the language with sentences 
 full of harmony. How long his verse was created, how long 
 his Gods had lived before him, how long he himself before us, 
 is yet uncertain, although Herodotus * is of opinion that he is 
 nearer to us than Pericles and Anaxagoras admit. But these 
 two philosophers place sun, moon, and stars, beyond all 
 reasonable limits ; I know not how far off." 
 
 "We none of us know," said Pericles ; "but Anaxagoras 
 hopes that, in a future age, human knowledge will be more 
 extensive and more correct ; and Meton has encouraged us in 
 our speculations. The heavenly bodies may keep their secrets 
 two or three thousand years yetj^^^ but one or other will betray 
 
 j-39 II Whose titian angels Gabriel, Abdiel, 
 
 Starred from Jehovah's gorgeous armouries 
 
 Tower, as the deep domed empyrean 
 
 Rings to the roar of an angel onset." — Tennyson.'] 
 
 [* Lycambes was the father of Neobule, who at first accepted 
 Archilochus as a suitor for her hand and then rejected him. Both she 
 and her father were so stung by the libels that he afterwards published 
 against them that they hanged themselves.] 
 
 * The life of Homer appended to the works of Herodotus is 
 spurious. 
 
 \*K First ed. : " more."]
 
 204 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 them to some wakeful favourite, some Endymion'*- beyond 
 Latmos, perhaps in regions undiscovered, certainly in uncalcu- 
 lated times. Men will know more of them than they will ever 
 know of Homer. Our knowledge on this miracle of our 
 species is unlikely to increase." 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Pericles, who is acknowledged to have a finer ear than any 
 of our poets or rhetoricians, is of opinion that the versification 
 in all the books, of both Iliad and Odyssea, was modulated by 
 the same master key. Sophocles too, certainly less jolted than 
 you would suppose, by the deep ruts, angular turns, and inces- 
 sant jerks of the iambic, tells me that he finds no other heroic 
 verses at all resembling it in the rhythm, and that, to his 
 apprehension, it is not dissimilar in the two poems. 
 
 But I must continue, while I remember them perfectly, the 
 words of Pericles. 
 
 "The Ulysses of the Iliad and Odyssea is not the same, 
 but the Homer is. Might not the poet have collected, in his 
 earlier voyages, many wonderful tales about the chieftain of 
 Ithaca ; about his wanderings and return ; about his wife and 
 her suitors ? Might not afterward the son or grandson have 
 solicited his guest and friend to place the sagacious, the 
 courageous, the enduring man, among the others whom he was 
 celebrating in detached poems, as leaders against Troy ? He 
 describes with precision everything in Ithaca : it is evident he 
 must have been upon the spot. Of all other countries, of 
 Sicily, of Italy, of Phrygia, he quite as evidently writes from 
 tradition and representation. Phrygia was subject to the 
 Assyrian kings at the time when he commences his siege. 
 The Greeks, according to him, had been ravaging the country 
 many years, and had swept away many cities. What were the 
 
 j-42 u But Endymion, if we care to listen to legends, fell asleep once 
 upon a time on Latmos, a mountain in Caria. Nor, I think, is he yet 
 awake again, and what cares he though the Moon eclipse herself to 
 kiss him as he lies asleep there having lulled him to slumber to that 
 end." — Cicero, Tusc. Diput, i. 38.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 205 
 
 Assyrian kings doing ? Did the Grecians lose no men by war, 
 by climate, by disease, by time, in the whole ten years ? Their 
 horses must have been strong and long-lived ; an excellent 
 breed ! to keep their teeth and mettle for live-and-twenty. I 
 should have imagined that some of them must have got lamed, 
 some few perhaps foundered ; surely here and there a chariot 
 can have had but one remaining, and he, in all probability, not 
 in the very best condition. I cannot but think that Homer 
 took from Sesostris the shield that he has given to Achilles. 
 The Greeks never worked gold so skilfully as in this shield, 
 until our own Phidias taught them ; and even he possesses not 
 the art of giving all the various colours to the metal which are 
 represented as designating the fruitage, and other things in- 
 cluded in this stupendous work, and which the Egyptians in 
 his time, and long earlier, understood.'*^ How happened it 
 that the Trojans had Greek names, and the leader of the 
 Greeks an Egyptian one ? When I was at Byzantion,^-* I had 
 the curiosity to visit the imaginary scene of their battles, I saw 
 many sepulchral monuments, of the most durable kind, conical 
 elevations of earth, on which there were sheep and goats at 
 pasture. There were ruins beyond, but neither of a great city 
 nor of an ancient one. The only ancient walls I saw were 
 on the European coast ; those of Byzantion, which Aspasia 
 claims as the structure of Miletus, and which the people of 
 Megara tell us were founded by their forefathers, less than two 
 centuries ago. But neither Miletus nor Megara was built 
 when these walls were entire. They belong to the unknown 
 world, and are sometimes called Pelasgian, sometimes Cyclo- 
 pian ; appellations without meaning ; signs that signify 
 nothing ; inscriprions that point out the road to places where 
 there is neither place nor road. Walls of this massive struc- 
 
 [43 The passage "I . . . understood" is not in the ist ed.] 
 [«"Now the w^alls of Byzantion are exceeding strong. For the 
 facing of them is buih with thick four-sided square stones, bound to- 
 gether with brazen clamps, and the interior of the walls is strengthened 
 with earth works and other fortifications, so that the whole seems to 
 be one thick wall, and on the top the wall is so made that men can 
 go upon it and is well fortified. And there are many towers of great 
 size jutting out from the wail, with loop-holes round each of them." 
 — Dion Cassias, Ixxiv. lo.]
 
 2o6 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 ture surround the ruins of Phocsea,'*^ destroyed by Cyrus ; 
 they are also found in Tyrrhenia. Our acropolis was sur- 
 mounted by such, until the administration of Themistocles, 
 who removed the stones to serve as foundations to the works 
 in the harbour ; the occasion being urgent, and the magnitude 
 of the blocks being admirably proper for that solid structure." 
 Cleone ! are you tired ? rest then. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Several times had Pericles been silent, expecting and inviting 
 our guests to assist him in the investigation. 
 
 " I have no paradox to maintain, no partiality to defend," 
 said he. " Some tell us that there were twenty Homers, 
 some deny that there was ever one. It were idle and foolish 
 to shake the contents of a vase in order to let them settle at 
 last. We are pei-jDetually laboring to destroy our delight, our 
 composure, our devotion to superior power. Of all the 
 animals upon earth we least know what is good for us. My 
 opinion is, that what is best for us is our admiration of good. 
 No man living venerates Homer more than 1 do. He was 
 the only author I read when I was a boy, for our teachers are 
 usually of opinion that wisdom and poetry are like fruit for 
 children, unwholesome if too fresh. Simonides had indeed 
 grown somewhat sound; Pindar was heating ; ^schylus ... ay, 
 but ^schylus was almost at the next door. Homer then 
 nourished my fancy, animated my dreams, awoke me in the 
 morning, marched with me, sailed with me, taught me morals, 
 taught me language, taught me music, and philosophy, and 
 war. 
 
 [■45 u'pjig Phcenician King of Tarlessus in Spain regarded the Phocseans 
 with so much favour as at first to beg them to quit Ionia and settle in 
 whatever part of his country they liked. Afterwards finding that he 
 could not prevail upon tliem to agree to this, and hearing that the 
 Mede was growing great in their neighbourhood, he gave them money 
 to build a wall about their town, and certainly he must have given it 
 with a bountiful hand, for the town is many furlongs in circuit, and 
 the wall is built entirely of great blocks of stone skilfully fitted to- 
 gether." — Raivlhison's Herodotus.']
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 207 
 
 " Ah, were he present at this hour among us ! that I might 
 ask him how his deities entered Troy. In Phrygia there was 
 but one Goddess, the mother of all the Gods, Cybele. Un- 
 like our mortal mothers, she was displeased if you noticed lier 
 children ; indeed, she disowned them. Her dignity, her 
 gravity,'^^ her high antiquity, induced the natives of the islands, 
 and afterward the other Greeks, to place their little Gods 
 under her protection, and to call her their mother. Jupiter 
 had his Ida, but not the Phrygian ; and Pallas was worshipped 
 in her citadels, but not above the streams of Simois and Sca- 
 mander. Our holy religion has not yet found its way far 
 beyond us ; like the myrtle and olive, it loves the sea-air, and 
 flourishes but upon few mountains in the interior. The Cabiri '^'^ 
 still hold Samothrace ; and we may almost hear the cries of 
 human victims in the north. 
 
 " If there were any true history of the times we are explor- 
 ing, perhaps we might find in it that many excursions, com- 
 bined and simultaneous, had utterly failed ; and that the 
 disasters of many chiefs engaged in them were partly concealed 
 from the nations they governed by the sacred veil of poetiy. 
 Of those who are reputed to have sailed against Troy, none 
 returned prosperous, none with the men he had led out ; most 
 were forbidden to land again upon their native shores, and some 
 who attempted it were slain. Such is usually the fate of the 
 unsuccessful. It is more probable that the second great naval 
 expedition of the Greeks went out to avenge the disasters of 
 the first, the Argonautic ; and the result was nearly the same. 
 Of the Argonauts few returned. Sparta lost her Castor and 
 Pollux ; Thessaly her Jason ; and I am more disposed to 
 believe that the head of Orpheus rolled down the Phasis than 
 down the Hebms. 
 
 " The poets gave successes which the Gods denied. But 
 these things concern us little ; tlie poet is what we seek. 
 Needless is it to remark that the Iliad is a work of much 
 
 [*^ First ed. : "consequence."] 
 
 [^^ The meaning and origin of the sacred rites celebrated to the 
 Cabiri, or instituted by them in Samothrace or elsewhere, were un- 
 known to the ancients themselves. Human sacrifices were unknown 
 in Athens almost up to the time of Pericles, if the story of the sacrifice 
 performed before the Persian war be correct.]
 
 2o8 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 reflection and various knowledge ; the Odyssea is the marvel- 
 lous result of a vivid and wild imagination. Aspasia prefers 
 it. Homer, in nearly the thirty years which I conceive to 
 have intervened between the fanciful work and the graver, had 
 totally lost his pleasantries. Polyphemus could amuse him no 
 longer ; Circe lighted up in vain her fires of cedar-wood ; 
 Calypso had lost her charms ; her maidens were mute around 
 her ; the Lestrigons lay asleep ; the Syrens sang, 
 
 " Come hither, O passer by ! come hither, 
 O glory of the Achaians, 
 
 and the smooth waves quivered with the sound, but the haip 
 of the old man had no chord that vibrated. 
 
 " In the Odyssea he invokes the Muse ; in the Iliad he 
 invokes her as a Goddess he had invoked before. He begins 
 the Odyssea as the tale of a family, to which he would listen 
 as she rehearsed it ; the Iliad is a song of warriors and divini- 
 ties, worthy of the Goddess herself to sing before the world. 
 
 " Demonstrate that metaphors are discoverable, drawn from 
 things believed to have been uninvented in the Homeric age ; 
 what does it prove ? merely that Homer, who lived among the 
 islands, and among those who had travelled into all the known 
 regions of the world, had collected more knowledge than the 
 shepherds and boar-hunters on the continent. 
 
 " Demonstrate that some books in the compilation retain 
 slight traces of a language not exactly the same as the others. 
 What then ? Might they not have been composed while he 
 visited countries in which that dialect was indigenous ? or 
 might they not have been found there at the first collection of 
 the songs, having undergone some modification from the 
 singers, adapted to the usages and phraseology of the 
 people ? 
 
 " Who doubts that what was illegible or obscure in the time 
 of Lycurgus,'*^ was rendered clearer by the learned Spartan ? 
 
 [■48 K There (in Asia) also he (Lycurgus) probably met with Homer's 
 poems which were preserved by the posterity of Cleophylus. Observ- 
 ing that many moral sentences and much political knowledge were 
 intermixed with his stories, which had an irresistible charm, he col- 
 lected them into one body and transcribed them with pleasure, in order 
 to take them home with him. For his glorious poetry was not yet 
 fully known in Greece." — Lan^homes Plutarch, Lycurgus. The allusion 
 to Crete is the result of a misunderstanding of the passage.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 209 
 
 That some Cretan words, not the Dorian of Sparta, had crept 
 in ; that others were substituted ; that Solon,**^ Pisistratus, and 
 Hipparchus, had also to correct a few of these corrections, 
 and many things more ? They found a series of songs ; 
 never was there a series of such length without an oversight or 
 gap. 
 
 " Shall the salpinx be sounded in my ear ? Homer may 
 have introduced it by way of allusion in one poem, not want- 
 ing it in the other. The Grecians of his time never used it 
 in battle ; eastern nations did ; and perhaps had he known the 
 Phrygians better, its blasts would have sounded on the plains 
 of Troy. He would have discovered that trumpets had been 
 used among them for many ages. We possess no knowledge 
 of any nation who cultivated the science of music so early, or 
 employed so great a variety of wind instruments, unless it be 
 the Sidonian. Little did he know of Phrygia, and as little do 
 we know of him. His beautiful creation lies displayed before 
 us ; the creator is hidden in his own splendour. I can more 
 easily believe that his hand constructed the whole, than that 
 twenty men could be found, at nearly the same time, each of 
 genius sufficient for the twentieth part ; because in many cen- 
 turies there arose not a single one capable of such a production 
 as that portion. 
 
 " Archilochus and Simonides are excellent only in their 
 shorter poems ; they could not have whistled so well through- 
 out a long march. Difficulties are to be overcome on bofh 
 sides. We have no grammarians worthy of the appellation ; 
 none in any district of Greece hath studied the origin and 
 etymology of his language. We sing like the birds, equally 
 ignorant whence our voice arises. What is worse, we are 
 fonder of theories than of truth, and believe that we have not 
 room enough to build up anything, until we subvert what we 
 
 [■^^ Solon is said to have compelled the reciters of the Homeric poems 
 to adhere to the proper order of the incidents, while to Pisistratus is 
 supposed to be due the first critical edition of the Iliad and Odyssey. 
 Hipparchus Plato calls " the oldest and wisest of the sons of Pisis- 
 tratus, who, among many other proofs of his wisdom, was the first to 
 bring Homer's works to Athens, and caused the rhapsodists to recite 
 them at each alternate feast of the Panathenaia, as is done to this 
 day. " — Hipparchus.']
 
 2IO Longer Prose Works. 
 
 find before us. Be it so ; but let it be only what is obnoxious, 
 what opposes our reason, what disturbs our tranquillity of 
 mind ; not what shows us the extent of the one, the potency 
 of the other, and, consoling us for being mortal, assures us that 
 our structures may be as durable as those of the Gods themselves. 
 The name of Homer will be venerated as long as the holiest 
 of theirs ; I dare not say longer ; I dare not say by wiser 
 men. I hope I am guilty of no impiety ; I should aggravate 
 it by lowering Homer, the loftiest of their works." 
 
 LXXXV.l 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 We are losing, day by day, one friend or other. Artemidora 
 of Ephesus was betrothed to Elpenor, and their nuptials, it 
 was believed, were at hand. How gladly would Artemidora 
 have survived Elpenor. I pitied her almost as much as if she 
 had. I must ever love true lovers on the eve of separation. 
 These indeed were little known to me until a short time 
 before. We became friends when our fates had made us 
 relatives. On these occasions there are- always many verses, 
 but not always so true in feeling and in fact as those which I 
 shall now transcribe for you : 
 
 " Artemidora ! Gods invisible, 
 While thou art lying faint along the couch, 
 Have tied the sandal to thy veined feet. 
 And stand beside thee, ready to convey 
 Thy weary steps where other rivers flow. 
 Refreshing shades will waft thy weariness 
 Away, and voices like thine own come nigh 
 Soliciting, nor vainly, thy embrace." 
 Artemidora sigh'd, and would have press'd 
 The hand now pressing hers, but was too weak. 
 Fate's - shears were over her dark hair unseen 
 While thus Elpenor spake : He look'd into 
 Eyes that had given light and life erewhile 
 
 [^Not in I St ed.] 
 
 [2 In the version of this poem published in the Hellenics, 1846, 
 this line reads, " Iris stood over her dark hair unseen." Cf. Virgil, 
 ^neid, iv. 693, etc. In the reprint the last three lines of the poem 
 are omitted — to my mind a noteworthy improvement.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 2 1 1 
 
 To those above them, those now dim with tears 
 And watchfulness. Again he spake of joy- 
 Eternal. At that word, that sad word, joy, 
 Faithful and fond her bosom heav'd once more. 
 Her head fell back : one sob, one loud deep sob 
 Swell'd through the darken 'd chamber; 'twas not hers : 
 With her that old boat incorruptible. 
 Unwearied, undiverted in its course, 
 Had plash'd the water up the farther strand. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Aristophanes often dines with us ; nevertheless he is secretly 
 an enemy of Pericles, and, fearing to offend him personally, is 
 satirical on most of our friends. Meton, whose character you 
 know already, great in astronomy, great in geometry, great in 
 architecture, was consulted by Pericles on beautifying the 
 streets of the city, which are close and crooked. No sooner 
 had Aristophanes heard this, than he began to compose a 
 comedy, entitled The Birds.^ He has here represented our 
 quiet contemplative Meton, with a rule and compass in his 
 hands, uttering the most ludicrous absurdities. Meton is a 
 plain, unassuming, inoffensive man, and never speaks inconsid- 
 erately. The character is clumsily drawn ; but that fault was 
 easily corrected, by representing poor Meton under the 
 chastisement of the cudgel. There is so much wit in this, I 
 doubt whether any audience can resist it. There is magic in 
 every stroke, and what was amiss is mended and made whole 
 again ere the hammer falls. How easy a way of setting all 
 things to rights, with only one dissentient voice ! 
 
 P " Meton. — These are instruments ; 
 
 An atmospherical, geometrical scale. 
 
 First you must understand that the atmosphere 
 
 Is framed in a manner altogether partly 
 
 In the fashion of a furnace or a funnel. 
 
 I take this circular arc with the movable arm, 
 
 And so by shifting it round till it coincides 
 
 At the angle— you understand me? 
 
 Peisthetairus. — Not in the least I 
 
 Meton. — I obtain a true division with the quadrature 
 
 Of the equilateral circle. Here I trace 
 
 Your market place," etc. 
 
 — Freres Aristophanes. The Birds, 1. 1220.]
 
 2 12 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 In the same Comedy is ridiculed the project of Pericles, on 
 a conformity of weights and measures in Attica and her 
 dependencies. More wit ! another beating ! 
 
 When Aristophanes made us the next visit, Pericles, after 
 greeting him with much good-nature, and after various con- 
 versations with him seemed suddenly to recollect something, 
 and, with more familiarity than usual, took him gently by the 
 elbow, led him a little aside, and said with a smile, and in a 
 low voice, 
 
 " My dear friend Aristophanes ! I find you are by no 
 means willing to receive the same measure as you give ; but 
 remember, the people have ordered the adjustment, the surest 
 preservative against fraud, particularly that by which the 
 poorer are mostly the sufferers. Take care they do not 
 impeach you, knowing as you do how inefficient is my pro- 
 tection. It is chiefly on such an occasion I should be sorry 
 to be in a minority." 
 
 Aristophanes blushed and looked alarmed. Pericles took 
 him by the hand, whispering in his ear, " Do not let us enter 
 into a conspiracy against Equity, by attacking the unifoiTnity 
 of weights and measures ; nor against Comedy, by giving the 
 magistrates a pretext to forbid its representation." 
 
 Aristophanes turned toward Pantarces, who stood near him, 
 and said, 
 
 " I can write a comedy as well as most ; Pericles can act 
 one better than any." 
 
 Aristophanes, in my opinion, might have easily been the 
 first lyric poet now living, except Sophocles and Euripides ; 
 he^ chose rather to be the bitterest satirist. How many, 
 adorned with all the rarities of intellect, have stumbled on the 
 entrance into life, and have made a wrong choice on the very 
 thing which was to determine their course for ever ! This 
 is among the reasons, and perhaps is the principal one, why the 
 wise and the happy are two distinct classes of men. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 I HAD retired before Aristophanes went home. On my 
 return, it was evident that some one present had inveighed
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 213 
 
 against the poet's effrontery, for I was in time to catch these 
 words of Pericles. 
 
 " Why should I be angry with the writers of comedy ? 
 Is it because they tell me of the faults I find in myself? 
 Surely not ; for he who finds them in himself may be quite 
 certain that others have found them in him long before, and 
 have shown much forbearance in the delay. 
 
 " Is it because I am told of those I have not discovered in 
 me? Foolish indeed were this. I am to be angry, it seems, 
 because a man forewarns me that I have enemies in my 
 chamber who will stab me when they find me asleep and 
 because he helps me to catch them and disarm them. 
 
 " But it is such an indignity to be ridiculed ! I incurred a 
 greater when I threw myself into the way of ridicule : a 
 greater still should I suffer if I tried whether it could be 
 remedied by resentment." 
 
 Ridicule often parries resentment, but resentment never yet 
 parried ridicule. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 ASPASIA TO HERODOTUS. 
 
 Herodotus ! if there is any one who admires your writings 
 more than another, it is I. No residence in Attica will ever 
 make me prefer the dialect to ours ; no writer will charm my 
 ear as you have done ; and yet you cannot bring me to believe 
 that the sun ^ is driven out of his course by storms ; nor any 
 of the consequences you deduce from it, occasioning the 
 overflow of the Nile. The opinion you consider as unfounded, 
 namely, that it arises from the melting of the snows, and from 
 the periodical rains on the mountains of Ethiopia, is however 
 that of Pericles and Anaxagoras, who attribute it also to 
 
 [■* " I will therefore explain what I think to be the reason of the 
 Nile's swelling in the summer months. During the winter the sun is 
 driven out of his usual course by the storms, and removes to the upper 
 part of Libya. This is the whole secret in the fewest possible words, 
 for it stands to reason that the country to which the sun-god approaches 
 the nearest, and which he passes most directly over, will be scantest of 
 water, and that there the streams which feed the rivers will shrink 
 the most." — Raivlinsori's Herodotus, ii. 22.]
 
 2 1 4 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Thales, in their estimation the soundest and shrewdest of 
 philosophers. They appear to have veiy strange notions about 
 the sun, about his magnitude, his position, and distance ; and I 
 doubt whether you could persuade them that the three stoutest 
 winds are able to move him one furlong. I am a great 
 doubter, you see ; but they, I do assure you, are greater. 
 Pericles is of opinion that natural philosophy has made but 
 little progress ; and yet that many more discoveries have burst 
 open before the strenuous inquirer than have been manifested 
 to the world ; that some have been suppressed by a fear of the 
 public, and some by a contempt for it. 
 
 " In the intellectual," said he, " as in the physical, men 
 grasp you firmly and tenaciously by the hand, creeping close 
 at your side, step for step, while you lead them into darkness ; 
 but when you conduct them into sudden light, they start and 
 quit you." 
 
 O Herodotus ! may your life and departure be happy ! 
 But how can it be expected ! No other deities have ever 
 received such honours as you have conferred upon the 
 Muses ; 5 and alas, how inefficient are they to reward or 
 protect their votaries ! 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 The tragedy of Phrynicus, on the devastation of our city by 
 the Persians, will outlast all the cities now flourishing on 
 earth.* Heavy was the mulct to which the poet was con- 
 demned by the Athenians for the tears he drew from them in 
 the theatre. 
 
 [5 " The great Olympian games were then going on, and Hero- 
 dotus, deeming this to be the chance which he had much desired, and 
 seeing a full assembly of the greatest men come together from all 
 parts, going into the portico of the temple of Olympian Zeus, pro- 
 claimed himself not a spectator, but one who would contend in the 
 games, and by reciting his history so charmed the bystanders that they 
 gave to each of the nine books of his history the name of one of the 
 nine Muses." — Luclan, Herodotus, i.] 
 
 *This tragedy, which produced a more powerful effect than any 
 other on record, has failed however to fulfil the prophecy of Cleone : 
 the Ode of Aletheia, on which she places so small a value, has out- 
 lived it.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 215 
 
 Is it not remarkable that we have never found any Milesian 
 poem on the same subject ? Surely there must have been 
 several. Within how short a period have they perished 1 
 Lately, in searching the houses of such inhabitants as were 
 suspected of partiality to the interests of Lacedaemon, these 
 verses were discovered. They bear the signature of Aletheia, 
 daughter of Charidemus and Astyage. 
 
 We have often heard her story. Often have we sat upon 
 the mound of ruins under which she lies buried : often have 
 we plucked from it the white cyclamen, sweetest of all sweet 
 odours, and played with its stiff reverted little horns, pouring 
 forth a parsimonious fragrance, won only when we applied to 
 them tenderly and closely. 
 
 Whether poor Aletheia gave for life more than life's value, 
 it were worse than curiosity to inquire. She loved her de- 
 liverer ; and, at the instigation of many less gentle, she was 
 slain for loving him. When the city was again in possession 
 of the citizens, she was stoned to death for favouring the 
 invader ; and her mother rushed forward and shared it. 
 These are things you know ; her poem, her only one extant, 
 you do not. You will find in it little of poetry, but much of 
 what is better and rarer, true affection. 
 
 ALETHEIA TO PHRAORTES. 
 
 Phraortes ! where art thou ? 
 The flames were panting after us, their darts 
 Had pierced to many hearts 
 Before the Gods, who heard nor prayer nor vow ; 
 
 Temples had sunic to earth, and other smoke 
 
 O'er riven ahars broke 
 
 Than curled from myrrh and nard, 
 
 When like a God among 
 
 Arm'd host and unarm'd throng 
 Thee I discern'd, implored, and caught one brief regard. 
 
 Thou passest : from thy side 
 Sudden two bowmen ride 
 And hurry me away. 
 Thou and all hope were gone . . 
 They loos'd me . . and alone 
 In a closed tent mid gory arms I lay.
 
 2 1 6 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 How did my tears then burn 
 When, dreading thy return, 
 Behold thee reappear ! 
 Nor helm nor sword nor spear . . . 
 
 In violet gold-hem'd vest 
 Thou earnest forth . . too soon ! 
 Fallen at thy feet, claspt to thy breast, 
 I struggle, sob, and swoon. 
 
 " O send me to my mother ! . . bid her come, 
 And take my last farewell ! 
 One blow 1 . . enough for both . . one tomb 
 'Tis there our happy dwell." 
 
 Thou orderest : call'd and gone 
 At once they are * who breathe for thy command, 
 Thou stoodest nigh me, soothing every moan. 
 
 And pressing in both thine my hand, 
 
 Then, and then only, when it tore 
 
 My hair to hide my face ; 
 And gently did thy own bend o'er 
 The abject head war-doom'd to dire disgrace. 
 
 Ionian was thy tongue, _ 
 
 And when thou badest me to raise 
 That head, nor fear in aught thy gaze, 
 
 I dared look up . . but dared not long. 
 
 " Wait, maiden, wait I if none are here 
 Bearing a charm to charm a tear, 
 There may (who knows?) be found at last 
 Some solace for the sorrow past." 
 
 My mother, ere the sounds had ceas'd, 
 Burst in, and drew me down: 
 
 Her joy o'erpowered us both, her breast 
 Covered lost friends and ruin'd town. 
 
 Sweet thought I but yielding now 
 To many harsher ! By what blow 
 Art thou dissevered from me? War, 
 
 That hath career'd too far, 
 Closeth his pinions . . " Come, Phraortes come 
 
 To thy fond friends at home ! " 
 
 [6 First ed.: "are they."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 217 
 
 Thus beckons Love . . Away then, wishes wild I 
 O may thy mother be as blest 
 As one whose eyes will sink to rest 
 Blessing thee for her rescued child I 
 
 Ungenerous still my heart must be : 
 Throughout the young and festive train 
 Which thou revisitest again 
 May none be happier (this I fear) than she ! 
 
 xc. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Perhaps I like the Ode of Aletheia more than you do, because 
 you sent it me ; and you perhaps would have liked it more 
 than I, had I sent it you. There are writings which must lie 
 long upon the straw before they mellow to the taste ; and 
 there are summer fruits that cannot abide the keeping. 
 
 My heart assures me that Aletheia, had she lived, might 
 have excelled in poetiy ; and the loss of a lover is a help to 
 it. We must defer our attempts to ascertain her station in the 
 world of poetry : for we never see the just dimensions of what 
 is close before our eyes. Faults are best discovered near, and 
 beauties at some distance. 
 
 Aletheia, who found favour with Cleone, is surely not un- 
 worthy to take her seat in the library of Pericles. 
 
 I will look for a cyclamen to place within the scroll : I 
 must find it and gather it, and place it there myself. Sweet 
 hapless Aletheia ! 
 
 xci. 
 
 aspasia to cleone. 
 
 Nothing is pleasanter to me than exploring in a library. 
 What a delight in being a discoverer ! Among a loose ac- 
 cumulation of poetry, the greater part excessively bad, the 
 verses I am about to transcribe are perhaps the least so. 
 
 Life passes not as some men say, 
 If you will only urge his stay, 
 
 And treat him kindly all the while. 
 He flies the dizzy strife of towns. 
 Cowers before thunder-bearing frowns, 
 But freshens up again at song and smile.
 
 2 1 8 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Ardalia I we will place him here, 
 And promise that nor sigh nor tear 
 
 Shall ever trouble his repose. 
 What precious seal will you impress 
 To ratify his happiness ? 
 That rose thro' which you breathe ? — Come, bring that rose. 
 
 XCII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Knowing how desirous I have always been to learn the history 
 of Athens for these last fifty years, and chiefly that part of it 
 which my Pericles has partaken so largely ; and to reward my 
 forbearance in abstaining from every close and importunate 
 inquiry, he placed a scrap of paper in my hands this morning. 
 
 " Read that," said he. 
 
 It was no easy matter : few sentences would have been 
 legible without my intei-preter ; indeed there were not many 
 unerased. 
 
 " This speech," replied he, " occupied me one whole 
 night, and somewhat of the next morning : I had so very 
 much not to say." 
 
 Aware that the party of Cimon wouldlnterest the people in 
 his behalf, so that a leader from among his relatives or friends 
 might be proposed and brought forward, Pericles was resolved 
 to anticipate these exertions. See his few words. 
 
 " We have lost, O Athenians ! not a town, nor a battle ; 
 these you would soon regain ; but we have lost a great man, 
 a true lover of his country, Cimon, son of Miltiades. 
 
 " T well remember the grief you manifested at the necessity 
 of removing him, for a time, from among the insidious men 
 who would have worked upon his generous temper, ductile as 
 gold. Never could I have believed I had sufficient interest 
 with some I see before me, firm almost unto hardness, whose 
 patriotism and probity had been the most alarmed ; but they 
 listened to me with patience, and revoked the sentence of 
 banishment. Cimon returned from Sparta, took the command 
 of your armies, vanquished the Persians, and imposed on them 
 such conditions as will humble their pride for ever. 
 
 " Our fathers were ungenerous to his : we will, as becomes
 
 Pericles and Aspasia, 219 
 
 us, pay their debts, and remove the dust from their memory. 
 Miltiades was always great, and only once unsuccessful ; ''' 
 Cimon was greater, and never unfortunate, but in the temporary 
 privation of your affections. History offers us no example of 
 so consummate a commander. 
 
 " I propose that a statue be erected to Cimon, son of Mil- 
 tiades, vanquisher of the Persians." 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 There are secrets which not even love should try to pene- 
 trate. I am afraid of knowing who caused the banishment of 
 Cimon ; ^ certainly he was impeached by Pericles, who 
 nevertheless praised him highly whenever his name was men- 
 tioned. He has allowed me to transcribe his speech after 
 the sentence of the judges, and with it his letter of recall. 
 
 TO THE ATHENIANS, 
 
 On the Banishment of Cimon. 
 
 In your wisdom, O Athenians, you have decreed that 
 Cimon, son of Miltiades, be exiled from our city. 
 
 Whatever may have been the errors or the crimes of Cimon, 
 much of them should, in justice to yourselves, and in humanity 
 to the prosecuted, be ascribed to the perversity of that faction, 
 which never ceases or relaxes in its attempts to thwart your 
 determinations, and to deprive you of authority at home, of 
 respect in the sight of Greece. 
 
 But I adjure you to remember the services both of Cimon 
 and of Miltiades ; and to afford the banished man no reason 
 or plea to call in question your liberality. Permit the rents of 
 his many farms in Attica to be carried to him in Sparta ; and 
 
 \J At the siege of Paros. For the discreditable story see Herodo- 
 tus, vi. 132.] 
 
 [-8 a Pericles likewise caused Cimon to be banished by the ostracism 
 as an enemy to the people ; a man who in birth and fortune had no 
 superior, who had gained very glorious victories over the barbarians, 
 and filled the city with money and other spoils, as we have stated." — 
 Langhorne's Plutarch, Pericles. \
 
 220 . Longer Prose Works. 
 
 let it never be said that a citizen of Athens was obliged to the 
 most illiberal and penurious people for a sustenance. Not 
 indeed that there is any danger of Sparta entertaining him too 
 honourably. She may pay for services ; but rather for those 
 which are to be performed, than for those which have been ; 
 and to the man rather who may do her harm, than to him who 
 can do it no longer. 
 
 Let us hope that, at some future day, Cimon may be aware 
 of his mistake, and regard with more veneration the image of 
 his father, than the throne of his father's enemy. 
 
 xciv. 
 
 LETTER OF PERICLES TO CIMON. 
 
 There are few cities, O Cimon, that have men for their in- 
 habitants. Whatever is out of Greece, and not Grecian, is 
 nearer the animal world than the intellectual : some even in 
 Greece are but midway. Leave them behind you ; return to 
 your countiy, and conquer her assailants. Wholesome is the 
 wisdom that we have gathered from misfortune,^ and sweet 
 the repose that dwells upon renown. 
 
 xcv.io 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Generally we are little apt to exaggerate merit. In our 
 maladies of tlie mind the cold fit usually is longer and more 
 intense than the hot, and our dreams are rarely of water in the 
 desert. We must have been among the departed before we 
 experience this sensation. In our road through life, we may 
 happen to meet with a man casting a stone reverentially to 
 enlarge the cairn of another, which stone he had carried in his 
 bosom to sling against that very other's head. Seriously, my 
 Cleone, I am inclined to think that even in these dark days 
 (as they are called) of literature we may occasionally catch a 
 
 P Not in I St ed., where this letter ends "and beautiful the life that 
 is the peristyle of immortality." Many of Landor's alterations, like 
 this one, seem to be intended to exclude all suspicion of post-classical 
 feeling.] 
 
 [10 Not in 1st ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 221 
 
 glimpse of poetry. We should be laughed at if we ventured 
 to compare the living with the dead, who always are prefer- 
 able, but there are choruses in Sophocles and Euripides as 
 pathetical as those tender words of Sappho in her invocation 
 to Hesperos : " Thou bringest the wine, thou bringest 
 the kid, thou bringest the maiden to her mother." Cer- 
 tainly these words are very unsophistical, and they who have 
 seen others weep at them, weep also. But pardon me if, 
 looking attentively, you find no letter in the sentence obliter- 
 ated by a tear of mine. Sometimes I fancy that the facility 
 and pliancy of our language is the reason why many of the 
 most applauded verses are written with more intenseness of 
 feeling and less expenditure of thought. What is graceful 
 must be easy ; but many things are very easy which are not 
 very graceful. There is a great deal even of Attic poetry in 
 which a slight covering of wax is drawn over a bundle of the 
 commonest tow and tatters : we must not bring it too near 
 the lamp. But it is something to abstain from an indulgence 
 in grossness, prolixity, and exaggeration, which are never the 
 signs of fertility, but frequently the reverse. This abstinence 
 is truly Attic, but Attic not exclusively : for Pindar has 
 given manifold examples of it, and is heavy and tedious, then, 
 only when he wipes away the foam off his bit with old stories 
 and dry genealogies. 
 
 SPEECH OF PERICLES. 
 
 On the Defection of Eubaa and Megara. 
 
 Euboea has rejected our authority and alliance, Megara our 
 friendship. Under what pretext ? That we have employed 
 in the decoration of our city the sums of money they stipu- 
 lated to contribute annually ; a subsidy to resist the Persians. 
 What ! must we continue a war of extermination with Persia, 
 when she no longer has the power to molest us ? when peace ^^ 
 
 j-11 u These events (Cimon's victories) so humbled the king of Persia 
 that lie came into that famous peace, which limited him to a distance 
 of a day's journey from the Grecian seas ; and by which he engaged 
 that none of his galleys or other ships of war should ever come within 
 the Cyanean and Chelidonian islands." — Langhome's Plutarch, Cimon.^
 
 222 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 has been sworn and proclaimed ? Do we violate the compact 
 with our confederates ? No ; men of Athens ! our fleets are 
 in harbour, every ship in good condition ; our arsenals are well- 
 stored ; and we are as prompt and as able now to repel aggres- 
 sion as we ever were. 
 
 Are our dues then to be withholden from us, because we 
 have anticipated our engagements ? because our navy and our 
 army are in readiness before they are wanted ? because, while 
 our ungrateful allies were plotting our ruin, we were watching 
 over their interests and providing for their security ? States, 
 like private men, are subject to the distemper of ingratitude, 
 erasing from their memory the impression of past benefits : but 
 it appears to be peculiar to the Megarians to recompense them 
 with hatred and animosity. Not only have we protected them 
 from aggression, by building for them the very walls ^^ from 
 which they now defy us ; but, when Mardonius sent against 
 them, at Mount Cithasron,!^ the whole force of the Median 
 cavalry, under the command of Magestius, and when they 
 called aloud to every near battalion of the Grecian army, and 
 when Pausanias in vain repeated the exhortation, three 
 hundred Athenians, led by Olympiodorus son of Lampon, 
 threw themselves forward from Erythras, and, after losing 
 many brave comrades, rescued from imminent death the fathers 
 of those degenerate men who are now in the vanguard of con- 
 spirators against us. Ingratitude may be left to the chastise- 
 ment of the Gods, but the sword must consolidate broken 
 treaties. No state can be respected if fragment after fragment 
 may be detached from it with impunity ; if traitors are per- 
 mitted to delude and discompose the contented, and to seduce 
 the ignorant from their allegiance ; if loyalty is proclaimed a 
 weakness, sedition a duty, conspiracy wisdom, and rebellion 
 
 [1- " The Megarians therefore, quitting the alliance of the Lacede- 
 monians, joined themselves to the Athenians, because the Corinthians 
 virere pressing hard upon their frontiers. Accordingly, the Athenians 
 put garrisons into Megara and Pege, and built for the Megarians the 
 long walls between Nisxa and Megara and garrisoned these also." — 
 Thucydides, i. 103. 4.] 
 
 [1* This incident, which took place shortly before the battle of 
 Platjea, is related by Herodotus, ix. 19. Magestios is usually called 
 Makistius or Masistius, the latter being the Greek spelling.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 223 
 
 heroism. It is a crime then for us to embellish our city ! it 
 is a reproach to enlarge and fortify our harbours ! In vain 
 have we represented to the clamorous and refractory, that their 
 annual contributions are partly due to us for past exertions, and 
 partly the price of our pi'otection at this time, and in future ; 
 and not against Persia only, but against pirates. Our enemies 
 have persuaded them that rebellion and war are better things 
 .... our enemies, who were lately theirs, and who by this 
 perfidious instigation are about to become so more cruelly than 
 ever. Are Athenians avaricious ? are Athenians oppressive ? 
 Even the slaves in our city have easier access to the comforts 
 and delights of life than the citizens of almost any other. 
 Until of late the Megarians were proud of our consanguinity,^^ 
 and refused to be called the descendants of Apollo, in hopes 
 to be acknowledged as the children of Pandion. Although 
 in later times they became the allies of Sparta, they cannot but 
 remember that we have always been their friends ; often their 
 deliverers ; and it is only for their dishonesty and perfidy that 
 we now are resolved at last to prohibit them from the advan- 
 tages of our ports. Sparta and Corinth have instigated them ; 
 Corinth, whose pride and injustice have driven ^^ Corcyra, 
 with her fleets, to seek deliverance in the Pirasus. What have 
 we to fear from so strange a union as that of Corinth and 
 Sparta ? Are any two nations so unlike ? so little formed for 
 mutual succour or for mutual esteem ? Hitherto we have 
 shared both our wealth and our dangers with Euboea. At the 
 conclusion of a successful war, at the signature of a most 
 honourable and advantageous peace, we are derided and re- 
 proached. What is it they discover to despise in us ? I will 
 tell you what it is. It is the timid step of blind men : this 
 they saw in us while they were tampering with Sparta. Not 
 ashamed of their seduction, they now walk hand in hand, with 
 open front, and call others to join in their infamy. They have 
 
 [1^ According to Pausanias, the Megarians connected the origin of 
 their city with Pandion, who was also king of Athens. There was, 
 however, another tradition relating that Megara derived its name 
 from Megareus, the son of Poseidon, who was killed during the suc- 
 cessful attack on the city made by Minos, king of Crete. After its 
 destruction the city was said to have been rebuilt by Apollo.] 
 
 [15 First ed. : " excited."]
 
 2 24 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 renounced our amity, they have spurned our expostulations, 
 they have torn our treaties, and they have defied our arms. 
 At the peril of being called a bad citizen, I lament your blind- 
 ness, O Megara and Eubcea ! 
 
 xcvi. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 I FIND, among the few records in my hands, that Pericles went 
 in person, and conquered the faithless Megara and the refractory 
 Euboea.1'5 Before he sailed to attack the island, he warned 
 the Athenians against an inconsiderate parsimony, which usually 
 terminates in fruitless expenditure. He told them plainly that 
 Euboea was capable of a protracted and obstinate resistance ; 
 and he admonished them that, whatever reverses the arms of 
 Athens might experience, they should continue the war, and 
 consider the dominion of the island a thing necessary to their 
 existence as a nation ; that whoever should devise or counsel 
 the separation of Euboea from Athens, be declared guilty of 
 treason, and punished with death. 
 
 " If Thebes, in a future war," said he, " should take posses- 
 sion of this productive country, and shut up, as she easily 
 might, the passage of the Euripus, she would gain an ascend- 
 ancy over us, from which we never could recover. Losses, 
 defeats, inadequate supplies, may tempt her ; she would always 
 have Sparta for an ally on such an occasion. Indeed, it is 
 wonderful that the Boeotians, as brave a race of men as any in 
 Greece, and stronger in body,!'' should not have been her 
 masters. Perhaps it is the fertility of her own territory that 
 kept her content with her possessions, and indisposed the cul- 
 tivators of so rich a soil from enterprise and hazard. Euboea 
 
 [16 The conquest of Megara did not take place, though the Athen- 
 ians took possession of Nissa, the port of that town. Pericles and 
 the Athenians were likely to be cautious at this particular time ; for 
 the reconquest of EubcEa took place not long after the disastrous battle 
 of Coronea, where an Athenian army under Tolmides had been crushed 
 by the Boeotians. The result of this defeat was the loss of all the 
 empire the Athenians possessed upon the mainland.] 
 
 [17 First ed. : " in the body."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 225 
 
 is no less fertile than Boeotia, from which she is separated by 
 the distance of a stone's throw. Give me fifty galleys, and 
 five thousand men, and Euboea shall fall ere Sparta can come 
 to her assistance." 
 
 XCVII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Perpetual as has been the wars of Attica, she is overpeopled.^^ 
 A colony hoisted sail for the Chersonese ; another to repeople 
 the ruined walls of Sybaris. Happy the families whose fathers 
 give them lands to cultivate, instead of keeping them in idle- 
 ness at home ; such are the founders of colonies. The 
 language of this city is spoken in Italy, in Sicily, in Asia, in 
 Africa, and even on the coast of Gaul, among the yelpings 
 and yells of Kimbers and Sicambers. 
 
 Surely the more beneficent of the Gods must look down 
 with delight on these fmit-trees planted in the forest. May 
 the healthfullest dews of heaven descend on them ! 
 
 We are now busied in the Propylasa ^^ ; they, although un- 
 finished, are truly magnificent. Which will remain the 
 longest, the traces of the walls or of the colonies ? Of the 
 future we know nothing, of the past little, of the present less ; 
 the mirror is too close to our eyes, and our own breath dims 
 it. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 I HAVE only time to send you a few perfumes and a few verses. 
 These I transcribe out of a little volume of Erinna ; 2° the 
 perfumes came to me from Syria. 
 
 j-18 "He likewise sent a colony of a thousand men to the Chersonese, 
 five hundred to Naxos, two hundred and fifty to Andros, one thousand 
 to the country of the Bisalli in Thrace and others into Italy who 
 settled in Sybaris and changed its name to Thurii." — Langhorne's Plut- 
 arch, Pericles. '\ 
 
 p9 a 'phe •vestibule of the citadel was finished in nine years by 
 Mnesicles, the architect." — Langhorne's Plutarch, Pericles.~\ 
 
 po a This waxen tablet from Lesbos holds Erinna's work ; and, 
 though it be but small, each cell is filled with the honey of the Muses. 
 For her three hundred verses are like to Homer's, and these she wrote
 
 2 26 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Blessed be the man whose beneficent providence gave the 
 flowers another Hfe ! We seem to retain their love when 
 their beauty has departed. 
 
 ERIN N A TO LEUCONOE. 
 
 If comfort is unwelcome, can I think 
 
 Reproof aught else will be ! 
 The cup I bring to cool thee, wilt thou drink, 
 
 Fever'd Leuconoe ? 
 
 Rather with Grief than Friendship wouldst thou dwell, 
 
 Because Love smiles no more ! 
 Bent down by culling bitter herbs, to swell 
 
 A cauldron that boils o'er. 
 
 XCIX. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Thanks for the verses ! I hope Leuconoe was as grateful 
 as I am, and as sensible to their power of soothing. 
 
 Thanks too for the perfumes ! Pericles is ashamed of 
 acknowledging he is fond of them ; but I am resolved to 
 betray one secret of his : I have caught him several times 
 trying them, as he called it. 
 
 How many things are there that people pretend to dislike, 
 without any reason, as far as we know, for the dislike or the 
 pretence 1 
 
 I love sweet odours. Surely my Cleone herself must have 
 breathed her very soul into these ! Let me smell them again : 
 let me inhale them into the sanctuary of my breast, lighted up 
 by her love for their reception. 
 
 But, ah Cleone ! what an importunate and exacting creature 
 is Aspasia 1 Have you no willows fresh-peeled ? none lying 
 upon the bank for baskets, white, rounded, and delicate as 
 your fingers ! How fragrant ^o they were formerly ! I have 
 seen none lately. Do you remember the cross old Herme- 
 sionax ! how he ran to beat us for breaking his twigs ? and 
 
 when but a maid of nineteen years. In fear of her mother, she stood 
 close to the spindle or weaving at the loom, she whom the Muses had 
 chosen for their servant." — Anthology, ix. 190.] 
 ["* First ed. : " very fragrant."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 227 
 
 how, after looking in our faces, he seated himself down again, 
 finished his basket, disbursed from a goat-skin a corroded clod 
 of rancid cheese, put it in, pushed it to us, forced it under my 
 arm, told us to carry it home tuith the Gods ! and lifted up 
 both hands and blest us ! 
 
 I do not wish that one exactly ; cheese is the cruellest of 
 deaths to me, and Pericles abhors it. 
 
 I am running over trifling occurrences which you must have 
 forgotten. You are upon the spot, and have no occasion 
 to recall to memory how the munificent old basket-maker 
 looked after us, no seeing his dog at our heels ; how we coaxed 
 the lean, shaggy, suspicious animal ; how many devices we 
 contrived to throw down, or let slip, so that the good man 
 might not observe -^ it, the pestilence you insisted on carrying ; 
 how many names we called the dog by, ere we found the tme 
 one, Cyrus ; how, when we had drawn him behind the 
 lentisk, we rewarded him for his assiduities, holding each an 
 ear nevertheless, that he might not carry back the gift to his 
 master ; and how we laughed at our fears, when a single jerk 
 of the head served at once to engulf the treasure and to dis- 
 engage him. 
 
 I shall always love the smell of the peeled willow. Have 
 you none for me ? Is there no young poplar then, with a 
 tear in his eye on bursting into bud ? I am not speaking by 
 metaphor and asiatically. I want the poplars, the willows, 
 the water-lilies, and the soft green herbage. How we enjoyed 
 it on the Meander ! what liberties we took with it ! robbing 
 it of the flowers it had educated, of those it was rearing, of 
 those that came confidently out to meet us, and of those that 
 hid themselves ; none escaped us. For these remembrances, 
 green is the colour I love best. It brings me to the Fortun- 
 ate Island and my Cleone ; it brings me back to Childhood, 
 the proud little nurse of Youth, brighter of eye and lighter of 
 heart than Youth herself. 
 
 These are not regrets, Cleone, they are respirations, neces- 
 sary to existence. You may call them half-wishes, if you 
 will. We are poor indeed, when we have no half-wishes left 
 
 P First ed. : " see."]
 
 2 28 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 us. The heart and the imagination close the shutters the 
 instant they are gone. 
 
 Do not chide me then for coming to you after the blossoms 
 and buds and herbage : do not keep to yourself all the grass 
 on the Meander. We used to share it ; we will now. I love 
 it wherever I can get a glimpse of it. It is the home of the 
 eyes, ever I'eady to receive them, and spreading its cool couch 
 for their repose. 
 
 c. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Demophile, poor honest faithful creature ! has yielded to her 
 infirmities. I have spent almost as many hours with her in 
 these last autumnal months, as I did in the earliest of my 
 existence. She could not carry me in her arms again, but she 
 was happy when mine were about her neck, and said they made 
 her stronger. Do you remember how often she dropt my 
 hand to take yours, because you never cried ? saying, 
 
 " People never weep nor work, themselves, who can make 
 others weep and work for them. That, little one will have 
 weeper and worker too about her presently. Look at her, 
 Cleone ! Cannot you look like that ? Have not you two lips 
 and two eyes ? Aspasia has not three. Try now ! Mind 
 how I do it ! " 
 
 Good simple heart ! 
 
 When she was near her end, she said to me, 
 
 " Do you ever go and read those names and bits of verses 
 on the stones yonder? You and Aspasia used formerly. 
 Some of them tell us to be sad and sorry for folks who died a 
 hundred years ago : others to imitate men and women we 
 never should have had a chance of seeing, had they been living 
 yet. All we can learn from them is this, that our city never 
 had any bad people in it, but has been filled with weeping and 
 wailing from its foundation upward." 
 
 These things puzzled Demophile : she was somewhat vext 
 that she could not well comprehend them, but praised the 
 Gods that our house was safe, when many others must have 
 been rent asunder : such a power of lamentation !
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 229 
 
 " My name," said she, " I believe, is a difficult and 
 troublesome one to pinfold in a tombstone : nobody has ever 
 tried how it would sound in verse : but, if you and Aspasia 
 think me worth remembering, I am sure you could do more 
 with it than others could ; and you would lead your little ones, 
 when the Gods have given you any, to come and see it, and 
 tell them many things of old Demophile." 
 
 I assured her that, if I outlived her, I would prove, in the 
 manner she wished, that my memory and love outlived her 
 likewise. 
 
 She died two days afterward. 
 
 Nothing is difficult, not even an epitaph, if we prefer the 
 thoughts that come without calling, and receive the first as the 
 best and truest. I would not close my eyes to sleep until I 
 had performed my promise. 
 
 Demophile rests here : we will not say 
 That she was aged, lest ye turn away ; 
 Nor that she long had suffered : early woes 
 Alone can touch you ; go, and pity those ! 
 
 CI. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Ah poor Demophile ! she remembered me then ! How 
 sorry 1 am I cannot tell her I remember her ! 
 
 Cleone ! there are little things that leave no little regrets. 
 I might have said kind words, and perhaps have done kind 
 actions, to many who now are beyond the reach of them. 
 One look on the unfortunate might have given a day's happi- 
 ness ; one sigh over the pillow of sickness might have ensured 
 a night's repose ; one whisper might have driven from their 
 victim the furies of despair. 
 
 We think too much upon ivhat the Gods have given us, and 
 too little luhy. 
 
 We both are young ; and yet we have seen several who 
 loved us pass away ; and we never can live over again as we 
 lived before. A portion of our lives is consumed by the 
 torch we follow at their funerals. We enter into another
 
 230 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 state of existence, resembling indeed and partaking of the 
 former, but another ! it contains the substance of the same 
 sorrows, the shadow of the same joys. Alas ! how true are 
 the words of the old poet. 
 
 We lose a life in every friend we lose, 
 And every death is painful but the last. 
 
 I often think of my beautiful nurse, Myrtale, now married 
 very happily in Clazomenai. My first verses were upon her. 
 These are the verses I thought so good, that I wrote a long 
 dissertation on the trochaic metre, to prove it the most mag- 
 nificent of metres ; and I mentioned in it all the poets that 
 ever wrote, from epigrammatic to epic, praising some and 
 censuring others, a judge without appeal upon all. 
 
 How you laughed at me ! Do you remember the lines ? I 
 wonder they are not worse than they are. 
 
 Myrtale ! may heaven reward thee 
 
 For thy tenderness and care I 
 Dressing me in all thy virtues, 
 
 Docile, duteous, gentle, fair. 
 
 One alone thou never heededst, " 
 
 I can boast that one alone ; 
 Grateful beats the heart thy nursling, 
 
 Myrtale ! 'tis all thy own. 
 
 CII. 
 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Receive old Lycoris, and treat her affably. She has much 
 influence in her tribe. The elderly of your sex possess no 
 small authority in our city, and I suspect that in others too 
 they have their sway. She made me tremble once. Philotas 
 asked her how she liked my speech, I forget upon what occa- 
 sion : she answered, 
 
 " His words are current words, and ring well ; but unless 
 he gives us more of them for the trouble of our attendance, 
 he shall not be archon, I promise him." 
 
 Now I know not how long I could protract a speech, nor 
 how long I could keep my head under water : these are
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 231 
 
 accomplishments I have never studied. Lycoris and I are 
 still friends however. In my favour she has waved her pro- 
 mise, and lets me be an 22 archon.* 
 
 ciii.23 
 
 ASPASlA TO CLEONE. 
 
 It is difficult and unsafe to pick up a pearl dropped by 
 Alcman. Usually it is moist with the salt of its habitation ; 
 and something not quite cleanly may be found adhering to it. 
 Here, however, is one which even my chaste Cleone may look 
 down on with complacency. 
 
 " So pure my love is, I could light 
 The torch on Aglae's wedding-night, 
 
 Nor bend its flame with sighs, 
 See, from beneatli, her chamber door 
 Unclose and bride maids trip before, 
 
 With undejected eyes." 
 
 Cupid stood near and heard this said, 
 And full of malice shook his head, 
 Then cried, " I'll trust him when he swears 
 He cannot mount the first three stairs ; 
 Even then I'll take one look below. 
 And see with my own eyes ' 'Tis so.' " 
 
 And even Mimnermus, who bears but an indifferent char- 
 acter with the chaste, is irreproachable in those verses, which 
 he appears to have written in the decline of life. 
 
 Love ran with me, then walk'd, then sate. 
 Then said, " Come, come ! it grows too late ;" 
 And then he would have gone — but — no, 
 You caught his eye ; he could not go. 
 
 [-2 First ed. reads : " be archon."] 
 
 * Plutarch says he never was archon ; he means perhaps first 
 archon. [The passage from Plutarch referred to in the note runs as 
 follows: — '• having never had the fortune to be chosen archon, thes- 
 mothetes, king of the sacred rites or polemarch. For persons were 
 of old appointed to those offices by lot." — Langhorne's Plutarch, 
 Per ides. '\ 
 
 [-3 Not in I St ed.]
 
 232 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 CIV. 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Send me a note whenever you are idle and thinking of me, 
 dear Aspasia ! Send it always by some old slave, ill-drest. 
 The people will think it a petition, or something as good, and 
 they will be sure to observe the pleasure it throws into my 
 countenance. Two winds at once will blow into my sails, 
 each helping me onward. 
 
 If I am tired, your letter will refresh me ; if occupied, it 
 will give me activity. Beside, what a deal of time we lose in 
 business ! 
 
 cv. 
 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 Would to heaven, O Pericles ! you had no business at all, 
 but the conversation of your friends. You must always be the 
 greatest man in the city, whoever may be the most popular. I 
 wish we could spend the whole day together ; must it never 
 be ? Are you not already in possession of all you ever con- 
 tended for ? 
 
 It is time, methinks, that you should leave off speaking in 
 public, for you begin to be negligent and incorrect. I am to 
 write you a note whenever I am idle and thinking of you ! 
 
 Pericles ! Pericles ! how far is it from idleness to think of 
 you ! We come to rest before we come to idleness. 
 
 cvi. 
 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 In our republic it is no easy thing to obtain an act of divorce 
 from power. It usually is delivered to us by the messenger of 
 Death, or presented in due form by our judges where the 
 oyster ^'^ keeps open house. 
 
 [^"The ostracism was conducted in the following manner: — 
 Every citizen took a piece of broken pot or a shell on which he wrote 
 the name of the person he wanted to have banished, and carried it to 
 a part of the market-place that was enclosed with wooden rails. The 
 magistrates then counted the number of the shells ; and if it amounted 
 not to six thousand, the ostracism stood for nothing. If it did, they 
 sorted the shells, and the person whose name was found on the greatest 
 number was declared an exile for ten years, but with permission to 
 enjoy his property Langkorne s Plutarch, Aristides.'\
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 233 
 
 Now, oysters are quite out of season in the summer of life ; 
 and life, just about this time, I do assure you, is often worth 
 keeping. I thought so even before I knew you, when I 
 thought but little about the matter. It is a casket not precious 
 in itself, but valuable in proportion to what Fortune, or 
 Industry, or Virtue, has placed within it. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 When Pericles is too grave and silent, I usually take up my 
 harp and sing to it ; for music is often acceptable to the ear 
 when it would avoid or repose from discourse. He tells me 
 that it not only excites the imagination, but invigorates 
 eloquence and refreshes memory : that playing on my hai-p to 
 him is like besprinkling a tessellated pavement with odoriferous 
 water, which brings out the images, cools the apartment, and 
 gratifies the senses by its fragrance. 
 
 " That instrument," said he, " is the rod of Hermes ; it 
 calls up the spirits from below, or conducts them back again 
 to Elysium. With what ecstacy do 1 throb and quiver under 
 those refreshing showers of sound ! " 
 
 Come sprinkle me soft music o'er the breast, 
 
 Bring me the varied colours into light 
 That now obscurely on its tablet rest, 
 
 Shew me its flowers and figures fresh and bright. 
 
 Waked at thy voice and touch, again the chords 
 
 Restore what restless years had moved away, 
 Restore the glowing cheeks, the tender \vords, 
 
 Youth's short-lived spring and Pleasure's summer-day. 
 
 I believe he composed these verses while I was playing, 
 although he disowns them, asking me whether I am willing. to 
 imagine that my execution is become so powerless. 
 
 You remember my old song : it was this I had been playing. 
 
 (Song.) 
 
 The reeds were green the other day, 
 Among the reeds we loved to play. 
 
 We loved to play while they were green.
 
 2 34 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 The reeds are hard and yellow now, 
 No more their tufted heads they bow 
 To beckon us behind the scene. 
 
 " What is it Hie? " my mother said 
 And laid her hand upon my head; 
 
 "Mother 1 I cannot tell indeed. 
 I've thought of all hard things 1 know, 
 I've thought of all the yellow too ; 
 
 It only can be like the reed." 
 
 CVlil. 
 AS PAS I A TO CLEONE. 
 
 Panenos 2^ is our best painter : he was educated by Pheidias, 
 who excels all the painters in correctness of design. Panenos 
 has travelled in Egypt, in which country, he tells us, the colours 
 are as fresh upon the walls of the temples as when they were 
 painted ; two thousand years ago. Pericles wishes to have a 
 representation of me in the beginning of every Olympiad. 
 Alas ! what an imprudence ! The most youthful lover never 
 committed one greater. _ 
 
 I will not send a stranger to you, Cleone ! I wUl send the 
 fugitive of Miletus when Epimedea was giving her the lecture 
 in the bath. Be quiet now ; say nothing ; even the bath 
 itself is quite imaginary. 
 
 Panenos plays upon the harp. I praised him for the sim- 
 plicity and melody of the tune, and for his execution. He 
 was but little pleased. 
 
 " Lady," said he to me, " a painter can be two things ; he 
 can be painter and statuary, which is much the easier : make 
 him a third, and you reduce him to nothing." 
 
 "Yet Pericles," said I, " plays rather well." 
 
 " Rather ive/I, I can believe," said he, " because I know 
 that his master was Damon, who was veiy skilful and very 
 
 [2» In the the temple of Zeus at Olympia " that part of the wall 
 which is opposite the door is simply painted blue, but all the rest is 
 painted with pictures by Panenos. . . . This Panenos was the brother 
 of Pheidias, and painted the picture of the battle of Marathon in the 
 Poecile at Athens." — Fausanias, v. 1 1. 5.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia, 235 
 
 diligent. Damon,"'^ like every clever composer I have met 
 with, or indeed ever heard of, was a child in levity and dissi- 
 pation. His life was half feast, half concert." 
 
 " But Panenos," said I, " surely we may be fond of music, 
 and yet stand a little on this side of idiocy." 
 
 " Aspasia ! " he replied, " he who loves not music is a beast 
 of one species ; he who overloves it is a beast of another, 
 whose brain is smaller than a nightingale's, and his heart than 
 a lizard's. Record me one memorable saying, one witticism, 
 one just remark, of any great musician, and I consent to 
 undergo the punishment of Marsyas. Some among them are 
 innocent and worthy men ; not many, nor the first. Dissipa- 
 tion, and, what is strange, selfishness, and disregard to punctu- 
 ality in engagements, are common and nearly general in the 
 more distinguished of them. 
 
 " O Music ! how it grieves me, that imprudence, intemper- 
 ance, gluttony, should open their channels into thy sacred 
 stream ! " 
 
 Panenos said this : let us never believe a word of it. He 
 himself plays admirably, although no composer. 
 
 cix. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 O Aspasia ! have you heard (you surely must) that the people 
 of Samos -^ have declared war against us ? It is hardly sixty 
 years since our beautiful city was captured and destroyed by 
 the Persians. In vain hath she risen from her ashes with fresh 
 splendour. Another Phrynicus will have perhaps to write 
 another tragedy upon us. 
 
 Is it an offence to be flourishing and happy ? 
 
 The unfortunate meet and embrace : the fortunate meet 
 and tear each other to pieces. What wonder that the right- 
 eous Gods allow to prosperity so brief a space ! 
 
 [-6 Plutarch gives a different account of Damon. " As for Damon, 
 he seems to have been a politician who, under the pretence of teach- 
 ing music, concealed his great abilities from the vulgar." — Langhornes 
 Plutarch, Pericles. '\ 
 
 [27" In the sixth year of the truce, war broke out between Samos 
 and Miletus concerning the town of Priene." — Thucydides, i. 115. 2.]
 
 236 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 ex. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Be composed and tranquil : read the speech of Pericles to the 
 Athenians. 
 
 SPEECH OF PERICLES. 
 
 " The Milesians, it appears, have sent embassadors to you, 
 O men of Athens ! not entreating the co-operation of your 
 arms, but the intei-position of your wisdom and integrity. 
 They have not spoken, nor indeed can they deem it necessary 
 to speak, of dangers recently undergone together with you, of 
 ancient, faithful, indissoluble alliances, or the glory of descend- 
 ing from the same forefathers. On this plea Miletus might 
 have claimed as a right what she solicits as a favour. 
 
 " Samos, O Athenians, has dared to declare war against 
 the people of Miletus. She envies us our commerce, and, un- 
 able to find a plea for assailing us, strikes our friend in our 
 sight, and looks impudently in our faces to see whether we 
 will resent it. 
 
 " No, Athenians, we will not resent it, until we have sent 
 embassadors, to ask her why she has taken up arms against the 
 peaceful and unoffending ? It were well were it pemiitted us 
 to abstain. Yes, I feel I am hazarding your favour by I'ecom- 
 mending delay and procrastination : but I do not apprehend 
 that we are losing much time. We have weapons, we have 
 ships, we have the same soldiers who quelled braver enemies. 
 The vanquished seem again to be filling up the ranks we have 
 thinned. They murmur, they threaten, they conspire, they 
 prepare (and preparation denounces it) hostility. Let them 
 come forth against us. Wealth rises up to our succour in that 
 harbour : Glory stands firm and bids them defiance on those 
 walls. 
 
 " Wait, wait ! twenty days only ; ten ; not ten ? 
 
 " Little becomes it me, O Athenians ! to oppose your 
 wishes or to abate your ardour. 
 
 " Depart then, heralds ! and carry with you war."
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 237 
 
 CXI. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 I HAVE asked Pericles to let me see all his speeches. He 
 declared to me that he has kept no copies, but promised that 
 he would attempt to recover some of them from his friends. 
 I was disappointed and grieved, and told him I was angry 
 with him. He answered thus, taking me by the hand. 
 
 " So, you really are angry that I have been negligent in the 
 preservation of my speeches, after all my labour in modelling 
 and correcting them. You are anxious that I should be 
 praised as a writer, by writers who direct the public in these 
 matters. Aspasia ! I know their value. Understand me 
 correctly and comprehensively. I mean partly the intrinsic 
 worth of their commendations, and partly (as we pay in the 
 price of our utensils) the fashion. I have been accused of 
 squandering away both the public money and my own : nobody 
 shall ever accuse me of paying three obols for the most grandly 
 embossed and most sonorous panegyric. I would excite the 
 pleasure (it were too much to say the admiration) of judicious 
 and thoughtful men ; but I would neither soothe nor irritate 
 these busybodies. I have neither honey nor lime for ants. 
 We know that good writers are often gratified by the commen- 
 dation of bad ones ; and that even when the learned and in- 
 telligent have brought the materials to crown their merits, they 
 have looked toward the door, at some petulant smirking page, 
 for the thread that was to bind the chaplet. Little do I wish 
 to hear what I am, much less what I am not. Enough for 
 me to feel the consciousness and effect of health and strength : 
 surely it is better than to be told by those who salute me that 
 I am looking very well. 
 
 " You may reply that the question turns not upon compli- 
 ments, but upon censure. 
 
 " Really I know not what my censurers may write, never 
 having had the advantage of reading their lucubrations ; all I 
 know is this, if I am not their Pericles, I am at least the 
 Pericles of Aspasia and the Athenians."
 
 238 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 CXII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 We were conversing on oratory and orators, when Anaxagoras 
 said, looking at Pericles and smiling, 
 
 " They are described by Hesiod in two verses, which he 
 applies to himself and the poets : 
 
 Lies very like the truth we tell, 
 And, when we wish it, truth as well." 
 
 Meton relaxed from his usual seriousness, but had no sus- 
 picion of the application, saying, 
 
 " Cleverly applied indeed ! " 
 
 Pericles enjoyed equally the simplicity of Meton and the 
 slyness of Anaxagoras, and said, 
 
 " Meton ! our friend Anaxagoras is so modest a man, that 
 the least we can do for him is to acknowledge his claims as 
 heir general to Hesiod. See them registered." 
 
 I have never observed the temper of Pericles either above 
 or below the enjoyment of a joke ; he invites and retaliates, 
 but never begins, lest he should appear to take a liberty. 
 
 There are proud men of so much delicacy, that it almost 
 conceals their pride, and perfectly excuses it. 
 
 Meton never talks, but answers questions with great polite- 
 ness, although with less clearness and precision than you would 
 expect. I remarked to him, one evening, that mathematicians 
 had great advantages over others in disputation, from the 
 habitude they had acquired of exactness in solving their 
 problems. 
 
 " We mathematicians," answered he, " lay claim to this 
 precision. I need not mention to you, Aspasia, that of all the 
 people who assemble at your house, I am the only one that 
 ever wants a thought or word. We are exact in our own 
 proper workmanship. Give us time and we can discover 
 what is false in logic ; but I never was acquainted with a 
 mathematician who was ready at correcting in himself a flaw of 
 ratiocination, or who produced the fitting thing in any mode- 
 rate time. Composition is quite beyond our sphere. I am 
 not envious of others ; but I often regret in myself that,
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 239 
 
 while they are dehvering their opinions freely and easily, I am 
 arranging mine ; and that, in common with all the mathe- 
 maticians of my acquaintance, I am no prompt debater, no 
 acute logician, no clear expositor, but begin in hesitation and 
 finish in confusion." 
 
 I assure you, Cleone, I have been obliged to give order and 
 regularity to these few words of the wise contemplative Meton, 
 and to remove from among them many that were superfluous 
 and repeated. When he had paused, I told him I some- 
 times wished he would exercise his powerful mind in con- 
 versation. 
 
 " I have hardly time," said he, " for study, much less 
 for disputation. Rarely have I known a disputant who, 
 however dexterous, did not either drive by Truth or over her, 
 or who stopped to salute her, unless he had something fine or 
 novel to display. He would stumble over my cubes and 
 spheres, and I should leave my leg in his noose." 
 
 " And yet Anaxagoras and you agree well together," 
 said I. 
 
 " Anaxagoras," replied he, " usually asks me short ques- 
 tions, and helps me himself to explain them. He comes to 
 me when I am alone, and would find no pleasure in showing 
 to others my perplexity. Seldom do I let him go again, until 
 he has given me some help or some incitement in my studies. 
 He suggests many things — " 
 
 , " Silence, good Meton ! " cried Anaxagoras, " or I may 
 begin to talk of a luminary whose light has not yet reached 
 the earth." 
 
 The three men smiled, they have some meaning uncom- 
 municated to me. Perhaps it is a remark of Pericles, in en- 
 couragement of Anaxagoras, that, while others pass before us 
 like a half-obol towlink across a dark alley, and dazzle and 
 disappear, his loftier light has not yet come down to the 
 intellects of his fellow-citizens ; or perhaps it may really have 
 a reference to some discoveiy in astronomy. 
 
 Pericles goes in person to command the expedition against 
 Samos. He promises me it will soon be ready to sail, and 
 tells me to expect him back again within a few months.
 
 240 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Artemon ^^ is preparing machines of great magnitude for the 
 attack of the city. He teaches me that the Samians are brave 
 and wealthy, and that no city is capable of such a resistance. 
 Certainly never were such preparations. I hope at least that 
 the report of them will detain your enemies at home, and at all 
 events that, before they land, you will leave Miletus and come 
 to me. The war is very popular at Athens : I dare say it is 
 equally so at Samos — equally so at Miletus. Nothing pleases 
 men like renewing their ancient alliance with the brutes, and 
 breaking off the more recent one with their fellow creatures. 
 
 War is it, O grave heads I that ye 
 With stern and stately pomp decree ? 
 Inviting all the Gods from far 
 To join you in the game of war ! 
 Have ye then lived so many years 
 To find no purer joy than tears ? 
 And seek ye now the highest good 
 In strife, in anguish, and in blood ? 
 Your wisdom may be more than ours, 
 But you have spent your golden hours, 
 And have methinks but little right 
 To make the happier fret and fight. 
 Ah ! when will come the calmer day 
 When these dark clouds shall pass away ? 
 When (should two cities disagree) 
 The young, the beauteous, and the free, 
 Rushing with all their force, shall meet, 
 And struggle with enibraces sweet. 
 Till they who may have sufTer'd most 
 Give in, and own the battle lost. 
 
 Philosophy does not always play fair with us. She often 
 eludes us when she has invited us, and leaves us when she has 
 led us the farthest way from home. Perhaps it is because we 
 have jumped up from our seats at the first lesson she would 
 give us, and the easiest, and the best. There are few words 
 in the precept, 
 
 |-28 « Pericles in this siege made use of battering engines, the 
 invention of which he much admired, it being then a new one ; and 
 he had Artemon, the engineer, along with him, who, on account of 
 his lameness, was carried about on a litter." — Langhomes Plutarch, 
 Pericles r^
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 241 
 
 Give pleasure : receive it : 
 
 Avoid giving pain: avoid receiving it. 
 
 For the duller scholar, who may find it difficult to learn the 
 whole, she cuts each line in the middle, and tells him kindly 
 that it will serve the purpose, if he will but keep it in his 
 memory. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Will you never be serious, even upon the most serious occa- 
 sions ? There are so many Grecian states, on both continents 
 and in the islands, that surely some could always be found 
 both willing and proper to arbitrate on any dissension. If 
 litigations are decided by arbiters when two men contend (as 
 they often are), surely it would be an easier matter with cities 
 and communities ; for they are not liable to the irritation 
 arising from violent words, nor to the hatred that springs up 
 afresh between two men who strive for property, every time 
 they come within sight. I believe the Greeks are the happiest 
 people upon earth, or that ever are likely to exist upon it ; and 
 chiefly from their separation into small communities, inde- 
 pendent governments, and laws made by the people for the 
 people ! But unless they come to the determination that no 
 war whatever shall be undertaken until the causes of quarrel 
 are examined, and the conditions of accommodation are pro- 
 posed 2^ by others, from whom impartiality is most reasonably 
 to be expected, they will exist without enjoying the greatest 
 advantage that the Gods have offered them. Religious men, 
 I foresee, will be sorry to displease the God of battles. Let 
 him have all the kingdoms of the world to himself, but I wish 
 he would resign to the quieter Deities our little Greece. 
 
 Preparations are going on here for resistance to the Samians, 
 and we hear that Athenian ships are cruising off their island. 
 
 In case of necessity, every thing is ready for my departure 
 to the sources of the Meander. I will prove to you that I am 
 not hurried nor frightened ; I have leisure to write out what 
 
 [^ First ed. : " both proposed and enforced."] 
 U
 
 242 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 perhajjs may be the last verses written in Miletus, unless we 
 are relieved. 
 
 LITTLE AGLAE. 
 
 TO HER FATHER, ON HER STATUE BEING CALLED LIKE HER. 
 
 Father! the little girl we see 
 Is not, I fancy, so like me . . 
 You never hold her on your knee. 
 
 When she came home the other day 
 You kiss'd her, but I cannot say 
 She kiss'd you first and ran away. 
 
 CXIV. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Herodotus, on returning from his victory at the Olympian 
 games, was the guest of Pericles. You saw him afterward ; 
 and he might have told you that Pericles was urgent with him 
 to remain at Athens. True, as a stranger, he would have 
 been without influence here in political affairs. It is evident 
 that he desires no such thing, but prefers, as literary men 
 should always do, tranquillity and retirement. These he may 
 enjoy in perfection where he is, and write the truth intrepidly. 
 Pericles has more than once heard from him. Life passes in 
 no part of the world so easily and placidly as among the 
 Grecian colonies in Italy. They rarely quarrel, they have 
 room enough, men enough, wealth enough, and not too much. 
 One petty tyrant has sprung up among them lately, and has 
 imprisoned, exiled, and murdered the best citizens. 
 
 Pericles was asked his advice what should be done with 
 him. He answered, 
 
 " I never interfere in the affairs of others. It appears to 
 me that, where you have nothing but a weazel to hunt, you 
 should not bring many dogs into the field, nor great ones ; but 
 in fact the ratcatcher is the best counsellor on these occasions : 
 he neither makes waste nor noise." 
 
 The tyrant, we hear, is sickening, and many epitaphs are 
 already composed for him : the shortest is. 
 
 The pigmy despot Mutinas lies here I 
 
 He was not godless ; no : his God was Fear.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 243 
 
 Herodotus tells, that throughout the lower Italy, poverty is 
 unknown ; every town well governed, every field well ploughed ; 
 every meadow well irrigated, every vineyard pruned scientifi- 
 cally. The people choose their higher magistrates from the 
 most intelligent, provided they are not needy. The only 
 offices that are salaried are the lower, which all the citizens 
 have an equal chance of attaining ; some by lot, some by 
 suffrage. This is the secret why the governments are peaceful 
 and durable. No rich man can become the richer for them ; 
 every poor man may, but honestly and carefully. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 CoRiNNA was honoured in her native place as greatly as abroad. 
 This is the privilege of our sex. Pindar and ^schylus left 
 their country, not because the lower orders were indifferent or 
 unjust to them, but because those who were born their equals 
 could not endure to see them rise their superiors. 
 
 What a war against the Gods is this ! 
 
 It seems as if it were decreed by a public edict, that no one 
 shall receive from them any gift above a certain value ; and 
 that, if they do receive it, they shall be permitted to return the 
 Gods no thanks for it in their native city. 
 
 So then ! republics must produce genius, and kings reward 
 it! 
 
 So then ! Hiero and Archelaiis ^o must be elevated to the 
 rank of Cimon and Pericles ! O shame ! O ignominy ! 
 
 What afflicts me deeply is the intelligence we receive that 
 Herodotus has left Ionia. He was crowned at the Olympian 
 games ; he was invited to a public festival in every city he 
 visited throughout the whole extent of Greece, even his own 
 was pleased with him, yet he too has departed — not to 
 Archelaiis or to Hiero, but to the retirement and tranquillity 
 of Italy. 
 
 I do believe, Aspasia, that studious men, who look so quiet, 
 are the most restless men in existence. 
 
 [30 Like ^schylus, Euripides also left Athens. He settled at the 
 court of Archelaiis in Thessaly. Herodotus, when he left Ionia, went 
 
 to Thurii.]
 
 244 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 ORATION OF PERICLES TO THE SOLDIERS ROUND SAMOS. 
 
 Little time is now left us, O Athenians, between the con- 
 sideration and the accomplishment of our duties. The justice 
 of the cause, when it was first submitted to your decision in 
 the Agora, was acknowledged with acclamations ; tlie success 
 of it you have insured by your irresistible energy. The port 
 of Samos is in our possession, and we have occupied all the 
 eminences round her walls. Patience is now as requisite to us 
 as to the enemy : for, although every city which can be sur- 
 rounded, can be captured, yet in some, where courage and 
 numbers have been insufficient to drive off the besieger, Nature 
 and Art may have thrown up obstacles to impede his progress. 
 Such is Samos ; the strongest foitress in Europe, excepting 
 only Byzantion.^^ But Byzantion fell befoie our fathers ; 
 and, unless she become less deaf to the reclamations of hon- 
 our, less indifferent to the sanctitude of treaties ; unless she 
 prefer her fellow-soldiers to her common enemy, freedom to 
 aristocracy, friends to strangers, Greeks to Asiatics, she shall 
 abase her Thracian fierceness before us. However, we will 
 neither spurn the suppliant nor punish the j-epentant : our arms 
 we will turn for ever, as we turn them now, against the mali- 
 cious rival, the alienated relative, the apostate confederate, and 
 the proud oppressor. Where a sense of dignity is faint and 
 feeble, and where reason hath lain unexercised and inert, many 
 nations have occasionally been happy, and even flourishing under 
 kings : but oligarchy hath ever been a curse to all, from its 
 commencement to its close. To remove it eternally from the 
 vicinity of Miletus, and from the well-disposed of that very 
 city by which hostilities are denounced against her, is at once 
 our interest and our duty. For oligarchs in every part of the 
 world are necessarily our enemies, since we have already ^^ 
 shown our fixed determination to aid and support with all our 
 strength the defenders of civility and freedom. It is not in 
 our power (for against our institutions and consciences we 
 Athenians can do nothing), it is not in our power, I repeat it, 
 
 pi " With the Samians, Byzantion also revolted." — Thucydides, i. 
 115.5.] 
 
 p- First ed.: "always."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 245 
 
 to sit idly by, while those who were our fellow-combatants 
 against the Persian, and who suffered from his aggression even 
 more than we did, are assailed by degenerate lonians, whose 
 usurpation rests on Persia.^^ We have enemies wherever 
 there is injustice done to Greeks ; and we will abolish that 
 injustice, and we will quell those enemies. Wherever there 
 are equal laws we have friends ; and those friends we will 
 succour, and those laws we will maintain. On which side do 
 the considerate and religious look forward to the countenance 
 of the Gods ? Often have they deferred indeed their righteous 
 judgments, but never have they deserted the long-suffering and 
 the brave. Upon the ground where we were standing when 
 you last heard my appeal to you, were not Xerxes and his 
 myriads encamped ? What drove them from it ? The wis- 
 dom, force, and fortitude, breathed into your hearts by the 
 immortal Gods. Preserve them with equal constancy ; and 
 your return, I promise you, shall not have been more glorious 
 from Salamis than from Samos. 
 
 cxvi.34 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 I MUST always send you poetry when I find it, whether in a 
 greater quantity or a smaller : not indeed all I happen to find ; 
 for certainly the most part, even of careful collection, is mere 
 trash. If there is a word too much in sense or sentiment, it 
 is no poem ; just as, if there is a syllable in a verse too much, 
 it is no metre. I speak only of these shorter ; not of those 
 which are long enough to stretch ourselves on and sleep in. 
 There are poetical cooks so skilful in dividing the tendons of 
 their cub-fed animals, that they contrive to fill a capacious 
 dish with a few couples of the most meagre and tottering. 
 From Athens you shall have nothing that is not Attic. I 
 wish I could always give you the names of the authors. 
 
 [33 " Certain of the Samians .... entered into a confederacy 
 with Pisuthnes, son of Hystaspes, who at that time was in power at 
 Sardis." — Thucydides, i. 115, 4.] 
 
 P'* Not in I St ed.]
 
 246 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Look at that fountain ! Gods around 
 
 Sit and enjoy its liquid sound. 
 
 Come, come : why should not we draw near ? 
 
 Let them look on : they cannot hear. 
 
 But if they envy what we do, 
 
 Say, have not Gods been happy too ? 
 
 The following were composed on a picture in which Cupid 
 is represented tearing a rosebud. 
 
 Ah Cupid ! Cupid ! let alone 
 
 That bud above the rest : 
 The Graces wear it in their zone 
 
 Thy mother on her breast. 
 Does it not grieve thee to destroy 
 
 So beautiful a flower? 
 If thou must do it, cruel boy, 
 
 Far distant be the hour ! 
 If the sweet bloom (so tinged with fire 
 
 From thy own torch) must die, 
 Let it, oh generous Love ! expire 
 
 Beneath a lover's sigh. 
 
 The next is, a Fawn to Eriopis, a wood-nymph, who had 
 permitted a kiss, and was sorry for it. 
 
 Tell me, Eriopis, why 
 
 Lies in shade that languid eye? 
 
 Hast thou caught the hunter's shout 
 
 Far from Dian and without 
 
 Any sister nymph to say 
 
 Whither leads the downward way ? 
 
 Trust me : never be afraid 
 
 of thy Fawn, my little maid, 
 
 He will never call thee Dear, 
 
 Press thy finger, pinch thy ear. 
 
 To admire it overspread 
 
 Swiftly with pellucid red. 
 
 Nor shall broad and slender feet 
 
 Under fruit-laid table meet. 
 
 Doth not he already know 
 
 All thy wandering, all thy woe ? 
 
 Come ! to weep is now in vain, 
 
 I will lead thee back again. 
 
 Slight and harmless was the slip 
 
 That but soil'd the sadden'd lip. 
 
 Now the place is shown to me 
 
 Peace and safety shall there be.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia, 247 
 
 CXVII. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Samos has fallen. Pericles will have given you this informa- 
 tion long before my letter can reach you, and perhaps the joy 
 of the light-hearted Athenians will be over ere then. So soon 
 dies away the satisfaction of great exploits, even of such as 
 have swept a generation from before us, have changed the for- 
 tunes of a thousand more, and indeed have shaken the last 
 link in the remotest. We hear, but perhaps the estimate is 
 exaggerated, that the walls of Miletus, of Ephesus, of Priene, 
 are, in comparison to Samos, as the fences of a farm-yard are 
 to them. Certain it is that the vanquished fleet was more 
 formidable than the united navies of Corinth and of Carthage, 
 which are rated as next in force to the Athenian. 
 
 By this conquest, we are delivered from imminent danger ; 
 yet, I am ashamed to say it, our citizens are ungrateful 
 already. It is by the exertions of the Athenians that they are 
 not slaves ; and they reason as basely as if they were. They 
 pretend to say that it was jealousy of Samos, and the sudden 
 and vast increase of her maritime power, but by no means any 
 affection for Miletus, which induced them to take up arms ! 
 Athens had just reason for hostility ; why should she urge, 
 in preference, unjust ones ? Alas ! if equity is supported by 
 violence, litde can be the wonder ^^ if power be preceded by 
 falsehood. Such a reflection may be womanish ; but are not 
 all peculiarly so which are quiet, compassionate, and consist- 
 ent ! The manly mind, in its continual course of impediments 
 and cataracts, receives and gives few true images ; our stagnant 
 life in this respect has greatly the advantage. 
 
 Xanthus, the friend (you remember) of poor Xeniades, 
 fought as a volunteer in the Athenian army, and was entrusted 
 with the despatches to our government. 
 
 " Xanthus ! " said the General, " your countrymen will 
 hereafter read your name, although it is not written here ; 
 for we conquerors of Samos are no little jealous one of 
 another. Go and congratulate the Milesians : they will un- 
 derstand us both." 
 
 ps First ed.: "wonderment."]
 
 248 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 I asked him many questions. He replied with much 
 simplicity, " I was always too much in it to know anything 
 about it. The principal thing I remember is, that Pericles (I 
 was told) smiled at me for a moment in the heat of battle, 
 and went on to another detachment." 
 
 cxvni. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 The wind, I understand, has delayed my last letter in har- 
 bour, and continues adverse. Every day we receive some 
 fresh vessel from Samos, and some new intelligence. True 
 is it, we discover, that the prevailing party had been supported 
 at once by the Peloponnesians and the Persians. The chas- 
 tisement of the delinquents is represented as much ^^ too mild. 
 " They would have made us slaves, let us make them so." 
 Such, with scourges and tortures, were the denunciations of the 
 people and the soldiery ; and more vehemently in Samos than 
 in Miletus. The leaders of the oligarchy (now supprest for 
 ever) were two men of low extraction, Lysimachus and 
 Elpenor. We daily hear some story, well known in Samos 
 only, of these incendiaries. Lysimachus was enriched by the 
 collocation of his wife with an old dotard, worn out by 
 gluttony and disordered in intellect. By his last testament, 
 made when he had lost his senses, he bequeathed her fifty 
 talents. The heirs refused to pay them ; and Lysimachus 
 would have pleaded her cause before the people, had they not 
 driven him away with shouts and stones. Nevertheless he 
 was thought a worthy champion of the faction, and the rather 
 as his hatred of his fellow-citizens and former companions 
 must be sincere and inextinguishable. Elpenor is far advanced 
 in age. His elder son was wounded by accident, and died 
 within the walls. Avarice and parsimony had always been 
 his characteristics, under the veil however of morality and 
 religion. The speech he made at the funeral is thus re- 
 ported, 
 
 " It hath been, O men of Samos ! the decree of the im- 
 mortal Gods, whose names be ever blessed ! ..." 
 
 [3^ First ed. : " very much."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 249 
 
 " Hold hard there ! Cannot you see that there are no 
 more sparks in the pyre? ... the wine smells sadly . . . 
 throw no more on them . . . take it home to the cellar "... 
 " to remove from my aged eyes, from my frail embraces, the 
 delight of my life, the staff of my declining years, all spent 
 in the service of my beloved countiy. It is true I have 
 another son, rising out of his adolescence . . . here beside 
 me ... O my child ! Molismogis ! Molismogis ! on such 
 a melancholy occasion dost thou, alas ! tie indissolubly and 
 wastefully that beautiful piece of packthread > ^7 Xhy poor 
 bereaved mother may want it ; and it will fail her in the hour 
 of need." 
 
 Two torches were borne before the funeral. One of them 
 presently gave signs rather prematurely emblematical of our 
 mortal state, and could be restored to its functions by no ex- 
 ertion of the bearer, first waving it gently toward its com- 
 panion, then shaking it with all his might, horizontally, verti- 
 cally, diagonally, then holding it down despondingly to the 
 earth. Elpenor beckoned to him, and asked him in his ear 
 how much he had paid for it. 
 " Half a drachma." 
 
 " Fraud ! " cried Elpenor, " fraud, even at the tomb ! 
 before the dead, and before the Gods of the dead ! From 
 whom did you make the purchase ? " 
 " From Gylippides, son of Agoracles." 
 " Tell Gylippides, son of Agoracles," calmly said Elpenor, 
 " that in my love of equity, in my duty to the state, in my 
 piety to the Gods, in my pure desire to preserve the tran- 
 quillity of his conscience, I cite him before the tribunal, unless 
 he refund an obol." Then aloud, " It was not in this 
 manner, O Athenians ! that our forefathers reverenced the 
 dead." 
 
 He gave way under his grief, and was carried back with 
 little commiseration. Elpenor is among the richest men in 
 Greece, unless the conquerors have curtailed his treasures. 
 It is but reasonable that every thing such men possess should 
 compensate the people for years of rapine, disunion, and 
 
 [37 First ed. Here follows " Hard knots ! hard knots ! hard fate ' 
 hard fate ! "]
 
 250 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 turbulence ; for the evil laws they enacted, and for the better 
 they mis-administered and perverted. 
 
 CX1X.38 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Worse verses, it may be, than any of those which you lately 
 sent to me affect me more. There is no giddiness in looking 
 down the precipices of youth : it is the rapidity and heat of 
 its course that brings the giddiness. When we are near its 
 termination a chilly thrill comes over us, whether we look 
 before or behind. Yet there is something like enchantment in 
 the veiy sound of the word youth, and the calmest heart, at 
 every season of life, beats in double time to it. Never expect 
 a compensation for what you send me, whether prose or 
 poetry : but expect a pleasure, because it has given me one. 
 Now here are the worse verses for the better, the Milesian for 
 the Attic. 
 
 We mind not how the sun in the mid sky- 
 Is hastening on ; but when the golden orb 
 Strikes the extreme of earth, and when the gulphs 
 Of air and Ocean open to receive him, 
 Dampness and gloom invade us ; then we think 
 Ah ! thus it is with youth. Too fast his feet 
 Run on for sight ; hour follows hour ; fair maid 
 Succeeds fair maid ; bright eyes bestar his couch ; 
 The cheerful horn awakens him ; the feast, 
 The revel, the entangling dance, allure, 
 And voices mellower than the Muse's own 
 Heave up his buoyant bosom on their wave. 
 A little while, and then — Ah Youth ! dear Youth ! 
 Listen not to my words . . but stay with me ! 
 When thou art gone, life may go too ; the sigh 
 That follows is for thee, and not for Life. 
 
 CXX. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Enough, enough is it for me to see my Pericles safe at home 
 again. Not a word has he spoken, not a question have T 
 
 [38 Not in 1st ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 251 
 
 asked him, about the odious war of Samos. He made in 
 Samos, I hear, a most impressive oration, to celebrate the 
 obsequies of these brave soldiers who fell. In Athens, where 
 all is exultation, he has rendered the slain the most glorious 
 and 39 triumphant, and the fatherless the proudest of the living. 
 But at last how little worth is the praise of eloquence ! 
 Elpenor and Lysimachus lead councils and nations ! Great 
 Gods ! Surely ye must pity us when we worship you . . . 
 we, who obey, and appear to reverence, the vilest of our 
 species ! I recover my step ; I will not again slip into this 
 offal. Come, and away to Xanthus. Ay, ay, Cleone ! 
 Simplicity, bravery, well-merited and well-borne distinction I 
 Take him, take him : we must not all be cruel ... to our- 
 selves. 
 
 cxxi. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 AsPAsiA ! you mistake. Grant me the presence of friendship 
 and the memory of love ! It is only in this condition that a 
 woman can be secure from fears and other weaknesses. I 
 may admire Xanthus ; and there is pleasure in admiration. 
 If I thought I could love him, I should begin to distrust and 
 despise myself. I would not desecrate my heart, even were 
 it in ruins ; but I am happy, very happy ; not indeed 
 altogether as I was in early youth . . . perhaps it was youth 
 itself that occasioned it. Let me think so ! Indulge me in 
 the silence and solitude of this one fancy. If there was any- 
 thing else, how sacred should it ever be to me ! Ah yes, 
 there was ! and sacred it is, and shall be. 
 
 Laodamia "^^ saw with gladness, not with passion, a God, 
 conductor of her sole beloved. The shade of Xeniades 
 follows the steps of Xanthus. 
 
 [39 First ed. : " of the."] 
 
 ['*<' Compare Wordsworth's poem, a favourite of Landor's.]
 
 252 Longer Prose Works, 
 
 CXXII. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Parties of pleasure are setting sail, every day almost, for 
 Samos. We begin to be very brave ; we women, I mean. 
 I suspect that no few of us take an unworthy delight in the 
 humiliation and misery of the fair Samians. Not having seen, 
 nor intending to see them myself, I can only tell you what I 
 have heard of their calamities. 
 
 Loud outcries were raised by the popular orators against 
 such of them as were suspected of favoring the Persian faction, 
 and it was demanded of the judges that they should be de- 
 ported and exposed for slaves. This menace, you may well 
 imagine, caused gieat anxiety and alarm, even among those who 
 appeared to be quite resigned to such a destiny while the gallant 
 young Athenians were around the walls. But, to be sold ! 
 and the Gods alone know to whom ! Old morose men, per- 
 haps, and jealous women ! Some ^^ suspect it was at the 
 instigation of Pericles that a much severer chastisement has 
 befallen them. They have been condemned to wear the 
 habiliments of Persians. Surely no refinement of cruelty can 
 surpass the decree, by which a Greek woman is divested of 
 that beautiful dress which alone can be called an ornament to 
 the female form. This decree has been carried into execu- 
 tion ; and you would pity even the betrayers of their country. 
 Whether in ignorance of what the Persian habit is, or from 
 spite and malice, the Samian ladies are obliged to wear sleeves 
 of sufficient amplitude to conceal a traitor in each ; and chains, 
 intersecting the forehead with their links and ornaments ; and 
 hair not divided along the whole summit of the head, but turned 
 back about the centre, to make them resemble the heads of 
 some poisonous snakes. Furthermore, the dresses are stripped 
 ignominiously off the shoulders, as for some barely conceivable 
 punishment, and fastened round the arms in such a manner 
 that, when they attempt to reach anything, or even to move, 
 they are constrained to shrug and writhe like the uncleanliest 
 persons. Beside, they are quite at the mercy of any wicked 
 
 [*^ First ed. : " We." These and other particulars concerning 
 Samos are more like satire than history.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 25 
 
 o 
 
 idler in the street, who, by one slight touch, or by treading on 
 the hem, might expose them far more undisguisedly to the 
 gazes of the multitude."*^ This barbarian garb has already 
 had such an effect, that two *^ have cast themselves into the 
 sea ; and others have entreated that they may, as was first 
 threatened, rather be sold for slaves. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Odious, as undoubtedly was the conduct of the Samian 
 oligarchy and priesthood, and liable as are all excesses to a 
 still farther exaggeration in the statement of them, you will 
 hardly believe the effronteiy of the successful demagogues. 
 Not contented with undeniable proofs, in regard to the enor- 
 mous and mismanaged wealth torn away from the priests of 
 Bacchus, they have invented the most improbable falsehood 
 that the malevolence of faction ever cast against the insolence 
 of power. They pretend that certain men, some of ancient 
 family, more of recent, had conspired to transmit the reins of 
 government to their elder sons. Possession for life is not long 
 enough ! They are not only to pass laws, but (whenever 
 it so pleases) to impede them ! They decree that the first 
 born male is to be the wisest and best of the family, and shall 
 legislate for all Samos ! Democracy has just to go one step 
 further, and to persuade the people (ready at such times to 
 believe anything) that the oligarchy had resolved to render 
 their power hereditary, not only for one generation, but for 
 seven. The nation, so long abused in its understanding, would 
 listen to and believe the report, ignorant that arbitrary power 
 has never been carried to such extravagance even in Persia 
 itself, although it is reported, that in India the lower orders of 
 people were hereditarily subject to the domination of a privi- 
 leged class. But this may be false ; and indeed it must be, if 
 what is likewise told us concerning them be true, which is, 
 that they have letters among them. 
 
 [*2The passage " Furthermore .... multitude " is not in 1st ed.] 
 [■*3 First ed. : " on many that they."]
 
 254 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 You have given me in your two last ^^ a great deal of curious 
 information, about the discoveries that the demagogues made, 
 or pretended to have made, in Samos. It is credible enough 
 that the ohgarchs were desirous of transmitting their authority 
 to their children : but that they believed so implicitly in the 
 infatuation of the citizens, or the immutability of human 
 events, as to expect a continuation of power in the same 
 families for seven generations, is too gross and absurd, even to 
 mislead an insurgent and infuriated populace. He indeed 
 must be composed of mud from the Nile, who can endure 
 with patience this rancorous fabrication. In Egypt, we are 
 told by Herodotus in his Erato, that the son of a herald is of 
 course a herald ; and, if any man hath a louder voice than he, it 
 goes for nothing. 
 
 Hereditary heralds are the proper officers of hereditary law- 
 givers ; and both are well worthy of dignity where the deities 
 are cats. 
 
 Strange oversight ! that no provision should ever have been 
 devised, to ensure in these tutelar and tmly household Gods 
 an equal security for lineal succession ! 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Abuses of many kinds, and of great enormity, have been de- 
 tected by the Samians in their overthrown government. What 
 exasperates the people most, and indeed the most justly, is the 
 discovery that the ruling families have grossly abused the 
 temples, to the high displeasure of the Gods. Sacrilege has 
 been carried to such a pitch, that some among them have 
 appointed a relative or dependent to the service of more than 
 one sanctuary. You remember that anciently all the worship 
 of this island was confined to Juno. She displeased the people, 
 I know not upon what occasion, and they suffered the greater 
 
 [« First ed. : " last letters."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 255 
 
 part of her fanes to fall in ruins, and transferred the richest of 
 the remainder to the priests of Bacchus. Several of those, 
 who had bent the knee before Juno, took up the thyrsus with 
 the same devotion. The people did indeed hope that the poor 
 and needy, and particularly such as had lost their limbs in war, 
 or their parents or their children by shipwreck, would be 
 succoured out of the wealth arising from the domains of the 
 priesthood ; and the rather as these domains were bequeathed 
 by religious men, whose whole soul rested upon Juno, and 
 whose bequest was now utterly frustrated, by taking them from 
 the sister of Jupiter and giving them exclusively to his son. 
 Beside, it was recollected by the elderly, that out of these vast 
 possessions aid was afforded to the state when the state required 
 it ; and that, wherever there stood one of these temples, hunger 
 and sickness, sorrow and despair, were comforted and as- 
 suaged. The people, it appears, derived no advantages from 
 the change, and only grew more dissatisfied and violent ; for, 
 if those who had officiated in the temples of Juno were a little 
 more licentious than became the ministers of a Goddess, they 
 did not run into the streets, and through the country places, 
 di^unk and armed ; nor did they seize upon the grapes, because 
 they belonged to Bacchus ; nor upon the corn, because it is 
 unwholesome to drink wine without bread ; nor upon the 
 cattle, because man cannot live on bread alone. These argu- 
 ments you may suspect of insufficiency : what then will you 
 think when you hear another reason of theirs, which is, that 
 the nation has no right to take from them what belongs to the 
 Goddess. The people cry, Hoiv then can it belong to you P 
 Pushed upon this side, they argue that they should not be 
 deprived of their salaries, because they are from land. What ! 
 reply the citizens. Are not gold and silver the products of land 
 also P But long possession . . . IVe 'will ranedy that too, as 
 •well as ive can. The soldiers and sailors have the most reason 
 to complain, when they see twelve priests in the enjoyment 
 of more salary than seven thousand of the bravest combatants. 
 The military are disbanded, and deprived of pay, at the instant 
 when their semces are no longer necessary ; yet no part, it 
 appears, of a superfluous and idle priesthood is to be reduced 
 or regulated ; on the contrary, it is rapacious and irreligious to
 
 256 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 take away three temples from a venerable occupant of four. 
 Was ever soldier so impudent as to complain that rations were 
 not allowed him in four detachments of his army ? The 
 downfall of the old faction will be of little benefit to Samos, 
 while these insults and iniquities press upon the people. 
 Unless those who are now entrusted with power resolve to 
 abolish the gross abuses of the priesthood, the wealth of which 
 is greater and worse applied in Samos than it is even in those 
 countries where the priests are sovrans, and venerated as deities, 
 little imports it by whom they are governed, or what Gods 
 they venerate. It is better to be ruled by the kings of Lace- 
 daemon, and wiser to salute in worship the sun of Persia. 
 Never surely will the island be pacified, until what was taken 
 from Juno shall also be taken from Bacchus, and until the 
 richest priest be reduced in his emoluments far below the level 
 of a polemarch. 
 
 cxxvi. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Those of your letters, my Cleone, whicji relate to the affairs 
 of Samos, and especially to the priests of Juno and Bacchus, 
 have led me into many reflections. The people of Athens are 
 the most religious of any upon earth ; but I doubt whether 
 they are the most just, the most generous, the most kindly. 
 There is not a friend, whatever benefit they may have received 
 from him, whom they would not abandon or denounce, on a 
 suspicion of irreverence to Pallas ; and those in general are the 
 most fanatical and furious whom, as Goddess of wisdom, she 
 has least favoured. Your neighbours, the Samians, are more 
 judicious in their worship of Juno. They know that, as long 
 as Jupiter hath a morsel of ambrosia, she will share it, although 
 he may now and then indulge in a draught of nectar to 
 which her lips have no access. The Samians have discovered 
 that wealth is not a requisite of worship, and that a temple 
 needs not a thousand parasangs of land for its inclosure. If 
 we believed that Gods could be jealous, we might fear that 
 there would be much ill-blood between Juno and Bacchus. 
 It is more probable that they will look on calmly, and let their 
 priests fight it out. The Persians in these matters are not
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 257 
 
 quite so silly as we are. Herodotus tells us that, instead of 
 altars and temples, the verdure of the earth is chosen for their 
 sacrifice ; and music and garlands, prayers and thanksgivings, 
 are thought as decent and acceptable as comminations and 
 blood. It does not appear that they are less moral, or less 
 religious, than those who have twenty Gods, and twenty 
 temples for each. The wiser men in Athens tell us that the 
 vulgar have their prejudices. Where indeed is the person who 
 never has repeated this observation ? Yet believe me, Cleone, 
 it is utterly untrue. The vulgar have not their prejudices : 
 they have the prejudices of those who ought to remove them 
 if they had any. Interested men give them, not their religion, 
 but clubs and daggers for enforcing it ; taking from them, in 
 return, their time, their labour, their benevolence, their under- 
 standing, and their wealth. And are such persons to be in- 
 vested with the authority of lawgivers, and the splendour of 
 satraps ? The Samians have decided that question. Priests 
 of Bacchus, let them diffuse the liberality and joyousness, and 
 curtail a little from the swaggering stateliness, of him whom 
 the poet calls in his dithyrambic. 
 
 The tiger-borne and mortal-mothered God. 
 
 CXXVII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 HEPHitsTioN,^^ whom I never have mentioned to you, and 
 whom indeed I hardly know by name, is going to Italy, and 
 has written this poem on the eve of his departure. It is said 
 that his verses are deficient in tenderness and amenity. Certain 
 it is, that he by no means indulges in the display of them, 
 whatever they may be. When Pericles had read the follow- 
 ing, I asked him what he thought of the author. " I think, 
 replied Pericles, " that he will never attempt to deprive me of 
 my popularity." 
 
 I am afraid he is an ill-tempered man : yet I hear he has 
 suffered on many occasions, and particularly in regard to his 
 
 [■*5 There can be little doubt that in describing this character Landor 
 was thinking of himself.]
 
 258 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 fortune, very great injustice with equally great unconcern. He 
 is never seen in the Agora, nor in the theatre, nor in the 
 temples, nor in any assemblage of the people, nor in any 
 society of the learned ; nor has he taken the trouble to enter 
 into a confederacy, or strike a bargain, as warier men do, with 
 any praiser ; no, not even for the loan of a pair of palms in 
 the Keramicos.**^ 
 
 I have now said all I believe you will think it requisite for 
 me to say, on a citizen so obscure and so indifferent a poet. 
 Yet even he, poor man ! imagines that his effusions must 
 endure. This is the most poetical thought I can find in him ; 
 but perhaps he may have written what is better than my 
 specimen. 
 
 THE IAMBICS OP HEPH^STION. 
 
 Speak not too ill of me, Athenian friends ! 
 
 Nor ye, Athenian sages, speak too ill ! 
 
 From others of all tribes am I secure. 
 
 I leave your confines : none whom you caress, 
 
 Finding me hungry and athirst, shall dip 
 
 Into Cephisus the grey bowl to quench 
 
 My thirst, or break the horny bread,- and scoop 
 
 Stiffly around the scanty vase, wherewith 
 
 To gather the hard honey at the sides, 
 
 And give it me for having heard me sing. 
 
 Sages and friends ! a better cause remains 
 
 For wishing no black sail upon my mast. 
 
 'TIS, friends and sages ! lest, when other men 
 
 Say words a little gentler, ye repent, 
 
 Yet be forbidden by stern pride to share 
 
 The golden cup of kindness, pushing back 
 
 Your seats, and grasping for a draught of scorn. 
 
 Alas ! shall this too, never lack'd before. 
 
 Be, when you most would crave it, out of reach ! 
 
 Thus, on the plank, now Neptune is invoked, 
 
 I warn you of your peril : I must live. 
 
 And ye, O friends 1 howe'er unwilling, may. 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 AsPAsiA ! I have many things to say in reply to your last 
 
 letter. 
 
 [*8 For here are the monuments of all the Athenians who fell in 
 battle by sea or land." — Pausanias, i. 294.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 259 
 
 Believe me, I can take little interest in any ill-tempered 
 man. Hephsestion is this, you tell me, and there is nothing 
 in his Iambics to make me doubt it. Neither do they contain, 
 you justly remark, any thing so characteristic of a poet as the 
 confidence he expresses that he shall live. All poets, good 
 and bad, are possessed by this confidence ; because the minds 
 of them all, however feeble, however incapacious, are carried 
 to the uttermost pitch of enthusiasm. In this dream, they 
 fancy they stand upon the same eminence, or nearly so, and 
 look unto the same distance. But no poet, or other writer, 
 supposing him in his senses, could ever think seriously that his 
 works will be eternal ; for whatever had a beginning must 
 also have an end ; and in this predicament are languages. 
 Like the fowls of the air, they are driven from the plains and 
 take refuge in the mountains, until at last they disappear, leav- 
 ing some few traces, some sounds imperfectly caught up. 
 Highly poetical works, or those in which eloquence is invested 
 with the richest attributes of poetry, are the only ones that can 
 prolong the existence of a dialect. Egypt and Phoenicia and 
 Chaldasa, beyond doubt, contain many treatises on the arts and 
 sciences, although unpublished, and preserved only by the 
 priesthood, or by the descendants of the authors and dis- 
 coverers. These are certainly to pass away before inventions 
 and improvements more important. But if there is any thing 
 of genius, in their hymns, fables, or histories, it will remain 
 among them, even when their languages shall have undergone 
 many variations : and afterward, when they are spoken no 
 longer, it will be incoi-porated with others, and finally be 
 claimed as original and indigenous by nations the most remote 
 and dissimilar. Many streams, whose fountains are now 
 utterly dried up, have flowed from afar to be lost in the ocean 
 of Homer. Our early companions, the animals of good old 
 ^sop, have spoken successively in every learned tongue. And 
 now a few words on that gentlest and most fatherly of 
 masters. Before we teach his fables to children, we should 
 study them attentively*'' ourselves. They were written for 
 the wisest and the most powerful, whose wisdom they might 
 increase, and whose power they might direct. There are 
 
 [^ First ed. : " very attentively."]
 
 26o Longer Prose Works. 
 
 many men, of influence and authority, apt enough to take 
 kindly a somewhat sharp bite from a dog or monkey, and to 
 be indignant at the slightest touch on the shoulder from a 
 fellow-creature. It is improbable that a fable will do many of 
 them much good, but it may do a little to one in twenty, and 
 the amount is by no means unimportant in that number of 
 generations. The only use of ^sop to children, after the 
 delight he gives them, is the possession of familiarity and 
 friendship with animals, in proportion as they appear to deserve 
 it : and a great use indeed it is. If I were not afraid that one 
 or other of these vigilant creatures might snap at me, I would 
 now begin to quarrel a little with you. And yet I think I 
 should have on my side some of the more sagacious, were I to 
 reprehend you for letting an ill-tempered man render you 
 supercilious and unjust. How do you know, pray, that 
 Hephasstion may not live ? and quite as long as he fancies he 
 shall ; a century, or two, or three. Even in the Iambics 
 there is a compression and energy of thought, which the best 
 poets sometimes want, and there is in them as much poetry as 
 was necessary on the occasion. The poet has given us, at one 
 stroke, the true impression of a feature in his character; which 
 few have done, and few can do, excepting those features ^^ 
 only which are nearly alike in the whole fraternity. 
 
 Doubtless we are pleased to take our daily walk by streams 
 that reflect the verdure and the flowers : but the waters of a 
 gloomy cavern may be as pellucid and pure, and more con- 
 genial to our graver thoughts and bolder imaginations. 
 
 For any high or any wide operation, a poet must be 
 endured, not with passion indeed, but with power and mastery 
 over it ; with imagination, with reflection, with observation, 
 and with discernment. There are however some things in 
 poetry which admit few of these qualities. Comedy, for 
 instance, would evaporate under too fervid a fancy : and the 
 sounds of the Ode would be dulled and deadened by being 
 too closely over -arched with the fruitage of reflection. Homer 
 in himself is subject to none of the passions ; but he sends 
 them all forth on his errands with as much precision and 
 velocity as Apollo his golden arrows. The hostile Gods, the 
 
 [^ Not in I St ed.j
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 261 
 
 veiy Fates themselves, must have wept with Piiam in the tent 
 before Achilles : Homer stands unmoved. 
 
 Aspasia ! there is every reason why a good-natured person 
 should make us good-natured, but none whatever why an ill- 
 natured one should make us ill-natured : neither of them ought 
 to make us unjust. You do not know Hephasstion, and you 
 speak ill of him on the report of others who perhaps know him 
 as little as you do. You would shudder if I ventured to 
 show you the position you have taken. Ill-tempered you 
 cannot be ; you would not be unfair : what if, in the opinion 
 of your friends, you should be a more shocking thing than 
 either ! what, in the name of the immortal Gods ! if I should 
 have found you, on this one occasion, a somnambulist on the 
 verge of vulgarity ! 
 
 Take courage : nobody has seen it but myself. If there 
 are bad people in the world, and may-be there are plenty, we 
 ought never to let it be thought that we are near enough to be 
 aware of it. 
 
 Again to Hephsestion. 
 
 It is better to be austere than ambitious : better to live out 
 of society than to court the worst. How many of the power- 
 ful, even within the confines of their own household, will be 
 remembered less affectionately and lastingly than tame sparrows 
 and talking daws ! and, among the number of those who are 
 destined to be known hereafter, of how many will the memory 
 be laden with contempt or with execration ! To the wealthy, 
 proud, and arrogant, the Gods have allotted no longer an 
 existence, than to the utensils in their kitchens or the vermin 
 in their sewers : while, to those whom such perishables would 
 depress and vilify, the same Eternal Beings have decreed and 
 ratified their own calm consciousness of plastic power, of im- 
 movable superiority, with a portion (immeasurably great) of 
 their wisdom, their authority and their duration. 
 
 cxxix. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 We have kept your birth-day, Aspasia ! 
 
 On these occasions I am reluctant to write anything.
 
 262 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Politeness, I think, and humanity, should always check the 
 precipitancy of congratulation. Nobody is felicitated on losing. 
 Even the loss of a bracelet or tiara is deemed no subject 
 for merriment and alertness in our friends and followers. 
 Surely then the marked and registered loss of an irreparable 
 year, the loss of a limb of life, ought to excite far other 
 sensations. 
 
 So long is it, O Aspasia ! since we have read any poetry 
 together, I am quite uncertain whether you know the Ode to 
 Asteroessa. 
 
 I. 
 
 Asteroessa ! many bring 
 
 The vows of verse and blooms of spring 
 
 To crown thy natal day. 
 Lo, my vowr too amid the rest I 
 Ne'er mayst thou sigh from that white breast, 
 
 " take them all a-way I " 
 
 For there are cares and there ara wrongs, 
 And witliering eyes and venom'd tongues ; 
 
 They now are far behind ; 
 But come they must : and every year 
 Some flowers decay, some thorns appear. 
 
 Whereof these gifts remind. 
 
 3- 
 
 Cease, raven, cease ! nor scare the dove 
 With croak around and swoop above ; 
 
 Be peace, be joy, within ! 
 Of all that hail this happy tide 
 My verse alone be cast aside I 
 
 Lyre ! cimbal ! dance 1 begin ! 
 
 Although there must be some myriads of Odes written on 
 the same occasion, yet, among the number '^^ on which I can 
 lay my hand, none conveys my own sentiments so completely. 
 
 Sweetest Aspasia, live on ! live on ! but rather live back 
 the past ! 
 
 r^s First ed. : « hundred or two."] 
 
 I
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 263 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 The Hecatompedon,^'' which many of the citizens begin to 
 call the Parthenon, is now completed, and waits but for the 
 Goddess. A small temple, raised by Cimon in honour of 
 Theseus, is the model. This, until lately, was the only beau- 
 tiful edifice in the Athenian dominions. Pericles is resolved 
 that Athens shall not only be the mistress, but the admiration 
 of the world, and that her architecture shall, if possible, keep 
 pace with her military and intellectual renown. Our country- 
 men, who have hitherto been better architects than the people 
 of Attica, think it indecorous and degrading that lonians, as 
 the Athenians are, shoiJd follow the fashion of the Dorians, 
 so inferior a race of mortals. Many grand designs were 
 offered by Ictinus to the approbation and choice of the public. 
 Those which he calls Ionian are the gracefuller. Craterus, a 
 young architect, perhaps to ridicule the finery and extravagance 
 of the Corinthians, exposed to view a gorgeous design of 
 slender columns and top-heavy capitals, such as, if ever carried 
 into execution, would be incapable of resisting the humidity of 
 the sea-breezes or even the action of the open air, uninfluenced 
 by them. These however would not be misplaced as indoor 
 ornaments, particularly in bronze or ivory ; and indeed small 
 pillars of such a character would be suitable enough to highly 
 ornamented apartments. I have conversed on the subject with 
 Ictinus, who remarked to me that what we call the Doric 
 column is in fact Egyptian, modified to the position and the 
 worship ; and that our noblest specimens are but reduced and 
 petty imitations of those ancient and indestructible supporters, 
 to the temples of Thebes, of Memphis, and Tentyra. He 
 smiled at the ridicule cast on the Corinthians, by the name 
 designating those florid capitals ; but agreed with me that, on 
 
 P" In the I St ed. this letter begins with the words "The Parthe- 
 non is now," etc. Phitarch, in the life of Pericles, says, " Ictinus 
 built the Hecatompedon called the Parthenon," but the exact sense of 
 the passage is uncertain, as indeed is the true relation of the Heca- 
 tompedon to the Parthenon. The Theseum was built after the Per- 
 sian war by Cimon, when he brought back from Scyros the bones of 
 the hero Theseus. — Fausanias, i. 17. 6.]
 
 264 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 a smaller scale, in gold or silver, they would serve admirably 
 for the receptacles of wax-lights on solemn festivals. He 
 praised the designs of our Ionian architects, and acknowledged 
 that their pillars alone deserved the appellation of Grecian, 
 but added that, in places liable to earthquakes, inundations, or 
 accumulations of sand, the solider column was in its proper 
 situation. The architraves of the Parthenon are chiseled by 
 the scholars of Phidias, who sometimes gave a portion of the 
 design. It is reported that two of the figures bear the marks 
 of the master's own hand ; he leaves it to the conjecture of 
 future ages which they are. Some of the young architects, 
 Ionian and Athenian, who were standing with me, disputed 
 not only on the relative merits of their architecture, but of their 
 dialect. One of them, Psamiades of Ephesus, ill enduring the 
 taunt of Brachys the Athenian, that the Ionian, from its open 
 vowels, resembled a pretty pulpy hand which could not close 
 itself, made an attack on the letter T usurping the place of S, 
 and against the augments. 
 
 " Is it not enough," said he, "that you lisp, but you must 
 also stammer ? " 
 
 Let us have patience if any speak against us, O Cleone ! 
 when a censure is cast on the architecture of Ictinus and on 
 the dialect of Athens. 
 
 cxxxi. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 When the weather is serene and bright, I think of the young 
 Aspasia ; of her liveliness, her playfulness, her invitations to 
 sit down on the grass ; and her challenges to run, to leap, to 
 dance, and, if nobody was near, to gambol. The weather at 
 this season is neither bright nor serene, and I think the more 
 of my Aspasia, because I want her more. Fie upon me ! 
 And yet on the whole, . 
 
 Happy to me has been the day, 
 
 The shortest of the year, 
 Though some, alas I are far away 
 Who made the longest yet more brief appear.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 265 
 
 I never was formed for poetry : I hate whatever I have 
 written, five minutes afterward. A weakly kid likes the warm 
 milk, and likes the drawing of it from its sources ; but place 
 the same before her, cold, in a pail, and she smells it and turns 
 away. 
 
 Among the Tales lately come out here, many contain 
 occasional poetiy. In the preface to one, the scene of which 
 lies mostly in Athens, the author says, 
 
 " My reader will do well to draw his pen across the verses : 
 they are not good for him. The olive, especially the Attic, 
 is pleasing to few the first time it is tasted." 
 
 This hath raised an outciy against him ; so that of the 
 whole fraternity he is the most unpopular. 
 
 " The Gods confound him with his Atticisms ! " exclaim 
 the sober-minded. " Is not the man contented to be a true 
 and hearty Carian ? Have we not roses and violets, lilies 
 and amaranths, crocuses and sowthistles ? Have we not pretty 
 girls and loving ones ; have we not desperate girls and cruel 
 ones, as abundantly as elsewhere ? Do not folks grieve and 
 die to his heart's content ? We possess the staple : and, by 
 Castor and Pollux ! we can bleach it and comb it and twist it, 
 as cleverly as the sharpest of your light-fingered locust-eaters." 
 
 You will soon see his works, among others more volumin- 
 ous. In the meanwhile, I cannot end my letter in a pleasanter 
 way than with a copy of these verses, which are nearer to the 
 shortest than to the best. 
 
 Perilla ! to thy fates resign'd, 
 Think not what years are gone, 
 
 While Atalanta^ lookt behind 
 The golden fruit roU'd on. 
 
 [1 Cf. •' Atalanta's Race " in the " Earthly Paradise ":— 
 
 " Though slackening once, she turned her head about, 
 But then she cried aloud and faster fled 
 Than e'er before, and all men deemed him dead. 
 But with no sound he raised aloft his hand 
 And hence what seemed a ray of light there flew 
 And past the maid rolled on along the sand."]
 
 266 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Albeit a mother may have lost 
 The plaything at her breast, 
 
 Albeit the one she cherisht most 
 It but endears the rest. 
 
 3 
 
 Youth, my Perilla, clings on Hope, 
 
 And looks into the skies 
 For brighter day ; she fears to cope 
 
 With grief, she shrinks at sighs. 
 
 4- 
 Why should the memory of the past 
 
 Make you and me complain? 
 Come, as we could not hold it fast 
 
 We'll play it o'er again. 
 
 CXXXII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 There are odes in Alcasus which the pen would stop at, trip 
 at, or leap over. Several in our collection are wanting in 
 yours ; this among them. 
 
 Wormwood and rue be on his tongue 
 
 And ashes on his head, 
 Who chills the feast and checks the song 
 
 With emblems of the dead 1 
 
 By young and jovial, wise and brave. 
 
 Such mummers are derided. 
 His sacred rites shall Bacchus have, 
 
 Unspared and undivided. 
 
 3- 
 Coucht by my friends, I fear no mask 
 
 Impending from above, 
 I only fear the later flask 
 
 That holds me from my love. 
 
 Show these to any priest of Bacchus, especially to any at 
 Samos, and he will shake his head at you, telling you that
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 267 
 
 Bacchus will never do without his masks and mysteries, which 
 it is holier to fear than the later flask. On this subject, he 
 would prove to you, all fears are empty ones. 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 In ancient 2 nations there are grand repositories of wisdom, 
 although it may happen that little of it is doled out to the 
 exigencies of the people. There is more in the fables of 
 iEsop than in the schools of our Athenian philosophers : 
 there is more in the laws and usages of Persia, than in the 
 greater part of those communities which are loud in denounc- 
 ing them for barbarism. And yet there are some that shock 
 me. We are told by Herodotus, who tells us whatever we 
 know with certainty a step beyond our thresholds, that a boy 
 in Persia is kept in the apartments of the women, and pro- 
 hibited from seeing his father until the fifth year. The reason 
 is, he informs us, that if he dies before this age, his loss may 
 give the parent no uneasiness. And such a custom he thinks 
 commendable. Herodotus has no child, Cleone ! If he had, 
 far other would be his feelings and his judgment. Before 
 that age, how many seeds are sown, which future years, and 
 distant ^ ones, mature successively ! How much fondness, 
 how much generosity, what hosts of other virtues, courage, 
 constancy, patriotism, spring into the father's heart from the 
 cradle of his child ! And does never the fear come over 
 him, that what is most precious to him upon earth is left in 
 careless or perfidious, in unsafe or unworthy hands ? Does it 
 never occur to him that he loses a son in every one of these 
 five years ? What is there so affecting to the brave and 
 virtuous man, as that which perpetually wants his help and 
 cannot call for it ! What is so different as the speaking and 
 the mute ! And hardly less so are inarticulate sounds, and 
 sounds which he receives half-formed, and which he delights 
 to modulate, and which he lays with infinite care and patience, 
 not only on the tender attentive ear, but on the half-open lips, 
 
 [2 First ed. : « all nations."] 
 [3 First ed. : " very distant."]
 
 268 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 and on the eyes, and on the cheeks ; as if they all were 
 listeners. In every child there are many children ; but com- 
 ing forth year after year, each somewhat like and somewhat 
 varying. When they are grown much older, the leaves (as it 
 were) lose their pellucid green, the branches their graceful 
 pliancy. 
 
 Is there any man so rich in happiness that he can afford to 
 throw aside these first five years i* is there any man who can 
 hope for another five so exuberant in unsating joy ? 
 
 O my sweet infant ! I would teach thee to kneel before 
 the Gods, were it only to thank 'em for being '^ Athenian and 
 not Persian. 
 
 cxxxiv. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Our good Anaxagoras said to me this morning, " You do 
 well, Aspasia, to read history in preference to philosophy, not 
 only on the recommendation but according to the practice of 
 Pericles. A good historian will also be-a good philosopher, 
 but will take especial care that he be never caught in the 
 attitude of disquisition or declamation. The golden vein must 
 run through his field, but we must not see rising out of it the 
 shaft and the machineiy. We should moderate or repress our 
 curiosity and fastidiousness. Perhaps at no time will there be 
 written, by the most accurate and faithful historian, so much of 
 truth as untruth. But actions enow will come out with suflE- 
 cient prominence before the great tribunal of mankind, to 
 exercise their judgment and regulate their proceedings. If 
 statesmen looked attentively at every thing past, they would 
 find infallible guides in all emergencies. But leaders are apt 
 to shudder at the idea of being led, and little know what 
 different things are experiment and experience. The sagacity 
 of a Pericles himself is neither mle nor authority to those 
 impetuous men, who would rather have rich masters than 
 frugal friends. 
 
 " The young folks from the school of your suitor, Socrates, 
 
 [4 First ed. : " that thou art."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 269 
 
 who begin to talk already of travelling in Egypt ^ when the 
 plague is over, are likely to return with a distemper as incur- 
 able, breaking bulk with daemons and di-eams. They carry 
 stem and stern too high out of the water, and are more atten- 
 tive to the bustling and bellying of the streamers, than to the 
 soundness of the mast, the compactness of the deck, or the 
 capacity and cleanliness of the hold." 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Anaxagoras told me yesterday that he had been conversing 
 with some literary men, philosophers and poets, who agreed in 
 one thing only, which is, that we are growing worse day after 
 day, both in morality and intellect. Hints were thrown out 
 that philosophy had mistaken her road, and that it was won- 
 derful how she could be at once so dull and so mischievous. 
 The philosophers themselves made this complaint ; the poets 
 were as severe on poetry, and were amazed that we were 
 reduced so low as to be the hearers of Sophocles and Euripides, 
 and three or four more, who however were quite good enough 
 for such admirers. 
 
 " It is strange," said Anaxagoras, " that we are unwilling to 
 receive the higher pleasures, when they come to us and solicit 
 us, and when we are sure they will do us great and lasting 
 good ; and that we gape and pant after the lower, when we 
 are equally sure they will do us great and lasting evil. I am 
 incapable," continued he, " of enjoying so much pleasure from 
 the works of imagination as these poets are, who would rather 
 hate Euripides and Sophocles than be delighted by them ; yet 
 who follow the shade of Orpheus with as ardent an intensity 
 of love as Oi-pheus followed the shade of Eurydice. Ignorant 
 as I am of poetry, I dared not hazard the opinion that our 
 two contemporaries were really deserving of more commenda- 
 tion on the score of verse, inferior as they might in originality 
 be to Marsyas and Thamyris and the Centaur Chiron : and to 
 
 [3 " When he was come to his thirty-second year, Plato went to 
 Megara to Euclides, with others ot the pupils of Socrates . . . and 
 journeying on thence he went to visit the prophets in Egypt." — 
 Diogenes Laertius, Life of Plato. ~\
 
 270 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 the philosophers I could only say, My dear friends ! let us 
 keep our temper firmly, and our tenets laxly ; and let any 
 man correct both who will take the trouble. 
 
 " I come to you, Aspasia, to console me for the derision I 
 bring home with me." 
 
 I kissed his brow, which was never serener, and assured 
 him that he possessed more comfort than any mortal could 
 bestow upon him, and that he was the only one living who 
 never wanted any. 
 
 " I am not insensible," said he, " that every year, at my time 
 of life, we lose some pleasure ; some twig, that once blossomed, 
 cankers." 
 
 1 never was fond of looking forward : I have invariably 
 checked both hopes and wishes. It is but fair then that I 
 should be allowed to turn away my eyes from the prospect of 
 age : even if 1 could believe that it would come to me as 
 placidly as it has come to Anaxagoras, I would rather lie 
 down to sleep before the knees tremble as they bend. With 
 Anaxagoras I never converse in this manner ; for old men 
 more willingly talk of age than hear others talk of it ; and 
 neither fool nor philosopher likes to think of the time when he 
 shall talk no longer. I told my dear old man that, having 
 given a piece of moral to the philosophers, he must not be so 
 unjust as to refuse a like present to the poets. About an hour 
 before I began my letter, he came into the library, and, to my 
 great surprise, brought me these verses, telling me that, if they 
 were satirical, the satire fell entirely upon himself. 
 
 Pleasures ! away ; they please no more. 
 Friends I are they what they were before ? 
 Loves ! they are very idle things, 
 The best about them are their wings. 
 The dance ! 'tis what the bear can do ; 
 Music ! I hate your music too. 
 
 Whene'er these witnesses that Time 
 Hath snatcht the chaplet from our prime, 
 Are call'd by Nature, as we go 
 With eye more wary, step more slow, 
 And will be heard and noted down 
 However we may fret or frown,
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 271 
 
 Shall we desire to leave the scene 
 Where all our former joys have been ! 
 No, 'twere ungrateful and unwise . . . 
 But when die down our charities 
 For human weal and human woes, 
 Then is the time our eyes should close. 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 We hear that another state has been rising up gradually to power, 
 in the centre of Italy. It was originally formed of a band of 
 pirates from some distant country, who took possession of two 
 eminences, fortified long before, and overlooking a wide extent 
 of country. Under these eminences, themselves but of little 
 elevation, are five hillocks, on which they inclosed the cattle 
 by night. It is reported that here were the remains of an 
 ancient and extensive city, which served the robbers for hiding- 
 places ; and temples were not wanting in which to deprecate 
 the vengeance of the Gods for the violences and murders they 
 committed daily. The situation is unhealthy, which perhaps 
 is the reason why the city was abandoned, and is likewise a 
 sufficient one why it was rebuilt by the present occupants. 
 They might pei^petrate what depredations they pleased, con- 
 fident that no force could long besiege them in a climate so 
 pestilential. Relying on this advantage, they seized from time 
 to time as many women as were requisite, for any fresh acces- 
 sion of vagabonds, rogues, and murderers. 
 
 The Sabines bore the loss tolerably well, until the Romans 
 (so they call themselves) went beyond all bounds, and even 
 took their cattle from the yoke. The Sabines had endured 
 all that it became them to endure ; but the lowing of their 
 oxen, from the seven hills, reached their hearts and inflamed 
 them with revenge. They are a pastoral, and therefore a 
 patient people, able to undergo the exertions and endure the 
 privations of war, but, never having been thieves, the Romans 
 over-matched them in vigilance, activity, and enterprise ; and 
 have several times since made incursions into their country, 
 and forced them to disadvantageous conditions. Emboldened
 
 272 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 by success, they ventured to insult and exasperate the nearest 
 of the Tyrrhenian ^ princes. 
 
 The Tyrrhenians are a very proud and very ancient nation, 
 and, like all nations that are proud and ancient, excel chiefly 
 in enjoying themselves. Demaratus " the Corinthian dwelt 
 among them several years ; and from the Corinthians they 
 learned to improve their pottery, which, however, it does not 
 appear that they ever have carried to the same perfection as 
 the Corinthian, the best of it being indifferently ^ copied, both 
 in the form and in the figures on it. 
 
 Herodotus has written to Pericles all he could collect relat- 
 ing to them ; and Pericles says the account is interesting. For 
 my part, I could hardly listen to it, although written by Hero- 
 dotus and read by Pericles. I have quite forgotten the order 
 of events. I think they are such as neither you nor any one 
 else, excepting those who live near them, will ever care about. 
 But the Tyrrhenians really are an extraordinary people. They 
 have no poets, no historians, no orators, no statuaries, no painters : 
 they say they once had them : so much the more disgraceful. 
 The Romans went out against them and dispersed them, 
 although they blew many trumpets bravely, and brought (pretty 
 nearly into action) many stout soothsayers. The enemy, it 
 appears, has treated them with clemency : they may still feed 
 soothsayers, blow horns, and have wives in common. 
 
 I hope it is near your bed- time : if it is, you will thank me 
 for my letter. 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Who would have imagined that the grave, sedate Pericles, 
 could take such delight in mischief! After reading my dis- 
 
 [^ First ed. : " Tuscan." This alteration is regularly made in the 
 2nd ed.1 
 
 [7 " Some say that the Samians, Rhoecus and Theodoras were the 
 first who devised the art of moulding clay long before the expulsion of 
 the Bacchiades from Corinth, but that Demaratus, who then fled 
 from that city, took with him to Etruria Eucheirus and Eugrammus, 
 who were the founders of the art of pottery in Italy." — FUni/, Hist. iVa/.] 
 
 [8 First ed. : " very indifferently."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 273 
 
 sertation on the Tyrrhenians and Romans, he gave it again 
 into my hands, saying, 
 
 " Pray amuse your friend Cleone with your first attempt at 
 history." 
 
 I sent it off, quite unsuspicious. In the evening he looked 
 at me with a smile of no short continuance, and said at last, 
 
 " Aspasia ! I perceive you are emulous of our Halicarnas- 
 sian ; but pray do not publish that historical Essay either in 
 his name or your own. He does not treat the Romans quite 
 so lightly as you do, and shows rather more justice to the 
 Tyrrhenians. You forgot to mention some important facts re- 
 corded by him, and some doubts as weighty. We shall come 
 to them presently. 
 
 " Having heard of the Romans, but nothing distinctly, I 
 wished to receive a clearer and a fuller account of them, and 
 wrote to Herodotus by the first ship that sailed for Tarentum. 
 The city where he is residing lies near it, and I gave orders 
 that my letter should be taken thither, and delivered into his 
 hands. Above a year is elapsed, during which time Herodotus 
 tells me he has made all the inquiries that the pursuit of his 
 studies would allow ; that he is continuing to correct the 
 errors, elucidate the doubtful points, and correct the style and 
 arrangement of his history ; and that, when he has completed 
 it to his mind, he shall have time and curiosity to consider with 
 some attention this remarkable tribe of barbarians. 
 
 " At present he has not been able to answer my questions ; 
 for never was writer so sedulous in the pursuit and examina- 
 tion of facts ; what he sees, he describes clearly ; what he 
 hears, he relates faithfully ; and he bestows the same care on 
 the composition as he had bestowed on the investigation. 
 
 " The Romans, I imagined, had been subdued by Numa, a 
 Sabine ; for it can hardly be credited that so ferocious a com- 
 munity sent a friendly invitation, to be governed and com- 
 manded by the prince of a people ^ they had grossly and 
 repeatedly insulted. What services had he rendered them ? 
 or by what means had they become acquainted with his apti- 
 tude for government ? They had ever been rude and quarrel- 
 some : he was distinguished for civility and gentleness. They 
 
 [9 First ed. : " nation."] 
 s
 
 2 74 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 had violated all that is most sacred in public and private life : 
 virgins were seized by treachery, detained by force, and com- 
 pelled to wipe the blood of their fathers off the sword of their 
 ravishers. A fratricide king had recently been murdered by 
 a magistracy of traitors. What man in his senses would 
 change any condition of life to become the ruler of such a 
 nation ? ^'^ None but he who had conquered and could control 
 them ; none but one who had swords enough for every head 
 among them. Absolute power alone can tame them, and fit 
 them for anything better ; and this power must reside in the 
 hands of a brave and sagacious man, who will not permit it to 
 be shared, or touched, or questioned. Under such a man, 
 such a people may become formidable, virtuous, and great. It 
 is too true that, to be martial, a nation must taste of blood 
 in its cradle. Philosophers may dispute it ; but time past has 
 written it down, and time to come will confirm it. Of these 
 matters the sophists can know nothing : he who understands 
 them best will be the least inclined to discourse on them. 
 
 " Another thing I doubted, and wished to know. Numa 
 is called a Sabine. The Sabines are illiterate still : in the 
 time of Numa they were ruder ; they had no commerce, no 
 communication with countries beyond Italy ; and yet there are 
 writers who tell us that he introduced laws, on the whole not 
 dissimilar to ours, and corrected the calendar. Is it credible ? 
 Is it possible ? I am disposed to believe that both these ser- 
 vices were rendered by the son of Demaratus,ii and that the 
 calendar might have been made better, were it not requisite on 
 such an occasion, more than almost any other, to consult the 
 superstition of the populace. 
 
 " I myself am afraid of touching the calendar here in 
 Athens, many as have been my conferences with Meton on 
 the subject. Done it shall be ; but it must be either just 
 before a victory, or just after. 
 
 " If the Sabine had sent an embassy, or even an individual, 
 
 [^o First ed. : " people."] 
 
 [11 " During the reign of Ancus, who succeeded Numa, a wealthy 
 and energetic man came to Rome chiefly because he desired to obtain 
 there the honours denied to him at Tarquinii, where also he was a 
 stranger by birth. For he was the son of Demaratus the Corinthian, 
 who, compelled to leave his home by the opposing party in that city, 
 had setded at Tarquinii." Li-vi/, i. 34.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 275 
 
 to Athens, in order to collect our laws, the archives of the city 
 would retain a record of so wonderful an event. He certainly 
 could not have picked them up in the pastures or woodlands 
 of his own country. But the Corinthians know them well, 
 and have copied most of them. All nations are fond of push- 
 ing the date of their civilization as high up as possible, and 
 care not how remotely they place the benefits they have re- 
 ceived. And probably some of the Romans, aware that Numa 
 was their conqueror, helped to abolish the humiliating suspicion, 
 by investing him successively with the robes of a priest, of a 
 legislator, and of an astronomer. 
 
 " His two nearest successors were warriors and conquerors. 
 The third was the son of that Demaratus of whom we have 
 spoken, and who, exiled from Corinth, settled among the 
 Tyrrhenians, and afterward, being rich and eloquent, won over 
 to his interest the discontented and the venal of the Romans ; 
 at all times a great majority. We hear that he constructed, 
 of hewn stone, a long, a spacious, and a lofty channel, to 
 convey the filth of the town into the river : we hear, at the 
 same time, that the town itself was fabricated of hurdles and 
 mud, upon ruins of massy workmanship ; that the best houses 
 were roofed with rushes, and that the vases of the temples were 
 earthen. Now, kings in general, and mostly those whose 
 authority is recent and insecure, think rather of amusing the 
 people by spectacles, or pampering their appetites by feasts and 
 donatives, or dazzling their imagination by pomp and splendour. 
 Theatres, not common sewers, suited best the Romans. Their 
 first great exploit was performed in a theatre, at the cost of 
 the Sabines. Moreover they were religious,^^ and stole every 
 God and Goddess they could lay their hands on. Surely, so 
 considerate a person as the son of Demaratus would have 
 adapted his magnificence to the genius of the people, who 
 never cared about filth, but were always most zealous in their 
 devotions. This we might imagine would occur to him as 
 more and more requisite on the capture of every town or 
 village ; for, when the Romans had killed the inhabitants, they 
 transferred the Gods very diligently into their city, that they 
 might not miss their worshippers. Now the Gods must have 
 
 [12 First ed. : " very religious."]
 
 276 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 wanted room by degrees, and might not have liked their quarters. 
 Five hundred temples could have been erected at less expense 
 than the building of this stupendous duct. Did the son of 
 Demaratus build it then ? 
 
 " The people are still ignorant, still barbarous, still cmel, 
 still intractable ; but they are acute in the perception of their 
 interests, and have established at last a form of government 
 more resembling the Carthaginian than ours. As their power 
 does not arise from commerce, like the power of Carthage, 
 but strikes its roots into the solid earth, its only sure found- 
 ation, it is much less subject to the gusts of fortune, and will 
 recover from a shock more speedily. Neither is there any 
 great nation in contact with them. When they were much 
 weaker, the Tyrrhenians conquered them, under the command 
 of their prince Porsena ; ^^ but thought they could leave them 
 nowhere less inconveniently than in the place they themselves 
 had abandoned. The Sabines, too, conquered them a second 
 time, and imposed a king over them, but were so unsuspicious 
 and inconsiderate as not to destroy the city, and parcel out the 
 inhabitants for Greece, Sicily, and Africa-. 
 
 " Living as they did on their farms, with no hold upon the 
 Romans but a king, who, residing in the city with few of his 
 own countrymen about him, was rather a hostage than a ruler, 
 his authority was soon subverted. The Sabines at this time 
 are partly won by conquest, and partly domiciliated by con- 
 sanguinity. The Tyrrhenians are spent and effete. The 
 government of the Romans, from royal, is now become aris- 
 tocratical ; and the people, deprived of their lawful share in 
 the lands they conquered from so many enemies, swear hatred 
 to kings, and sigh for their return. One flagrant crime con- 
 sumed the regal authority ; a thousand smouldering ones eat 
 deep into the consular. The military system stands apart, 
 admirable in its formation ; and unless that too falls, the 
 Roman camps will move forward year after year, until the 
 mountains and the seas of Italy shall not contain them. They 
 
 jji3 « In the treaty which, after the expulsion of their kings, Porsena 
 imposed upon the Roman people, we find it expressly mentioned that 
 the Romans are to make use of iron only for agriculturul purposes." — 
 Pliny, Hist. Nat., XXXV. 39.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 277 
 
 are heirs to the wealth of worn-out nations, and, when they 
 have seized upon their inheritance, they will fight with braver. 
 The Romans will be to Italy what the Macedonians at some 
 future day will be to Greece. 
 
 " The old must give way to the young, nations like men, 
 and men like leaves." 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Buildings of high antiquity have usually been carried by the 
 imagination much ^^ higher still. But, by what we hear of the 
 Tyrrhenians, we may believe that in their country there are 
 remains of earlier times, than in ours. Everything about 
 them shows a pampered and dissolute and decaying people. 
 
 You will hardly think a sewer a subject for curiosity and 
 investigation : yet nothing in Europe is so vast and so well- 
 constructed as the sewer at Rome, excepting only the harbour- 
 walls and propylasa, built recently here at Athens, under the 
 administration of Pericles. I have asked him some further 
 questions on the wonderful work still extant in the city 
 occupied by the Romans. I will now give you his answer. 
 
 " Do not imagine that, unable as I am to ascertain the time 
 when the great sewer of Rome was constructed, I am desirous 
 of establishing one opinion in prejudice of another, or forward 
 in denying that a rich Corinthian might have devised so vast 
 an undertaking. But in Corinth herself we find nothing of 
 equal magnitude, nothing at all resembling its architecture : 
 the Tyrrhenians, who are stated to have been employed in 
 building it, have ceased for many ages to be capable of any- 
 thing similar ; all their great fabrics may be dated more than a 
 thousand years before the age of Tarquin. I feel no interest 
 in the support of an hypothesis. Take it, or reject it ; I 
 would rather that you rejected it, if you would replace it with 
 another and a better. Many things pass across the mind, 
 which are neither to be detained in it with the intention of 
 insisting on them as truths, nor are to be dismissed from it as 
 idle and intrusive. Whatever gives exercise to our thoughts, 
 gives them not only activity and strength, but likewise range. 
 
 [1^ First ed. : " very much."]
 
 278 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 We are not obliged to continue on the training-ground ; nor 
 on the other hand is it expedient to obstruct it or plough it up. 
 The hunter, in quest of one species of game, often finds 
 another, and always finds what is bettei", freshness and earnest- 
 ness and animation. Were I occupied in literature, I should 
 little fear stumbling in my ascent toward its untrodden and 
 abstruser scenery : being a politician, I know that a single 
 false step is a fall, and a fall is min. We may begin wrong, 
 and continue so with impunity ; but we must not deviate from 
 wrong to right." 
 
 He said this with one of his grave smiles ; and then 
 to me, 
 
 " A slender shrub, the ornament of your private walk, may 
 with moderate effort be drawn strait again from any obliquity ; 
 but such an attempt, were it practicable, would crack every 
 fibre in the twisted tree that overshades the forest." 
 
 cxxxix. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. -' 
 
 Who told you, Aspasia, that instead of poetry,!^ of history, of 
 philosophy, our writers at Miletus are beginning to compose a 
 species of tales, founded on love, or madness and ending in 
 miserable death or wealthy marriage ; and that, at the con- 
 clusion of the work, a strict account is rendered of all estrays, 
 of all that had once come into it and had disappeared ? Very 
 true, the people at large run after the detail of adventures, and 
 are as anxious to see the termination as they are to reach the 
 bottom of an amphora : but I beseech you never to imagine 
 that we are reduced in our literature to such a state of desti- 
 
 [1^ In the ist ed. there is a note running as follows: — "This is 
 an answer to a letter not extant. The Milesians are said to be the 
 inventors of tales not always quite decorous." None of these tales have 
 survived. They probably differed not much from the later Greek 
 novels of which the Egyptiaca of Heliodorus is perhaps the most read- 
 able. Compare Mrs Browning's criticism in " Wine of Cyprus." 
 " And we both loved Heliodorus 
 For his secret of pure lies, 
 Who first forged his linked stories 
 In the heat of ladies' eyes."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 279 
 
 tution, as to be without the enjoyment of those treasures which 
 our ancestors left behind them. No, Aspasia, we are not yet 
 so famished that a few morsels of more nutritious food would 
 overpower us. I assure you, we do not desire to see a death 
 or a marriage set upon the table every day. We are grateful 
 for all the exercises and all the excursions of intellect, and our 
 thanks are peculiarly due to those by whose genius our pleasure 
 in them is increased or varied. If we have among us any one 
 capable of devising an imaginary tale, wherein all that is 
 interesting in poetiy is united with all that is instructive in 
 history, such an author will not supersede the poets and 
 historians, but will walk between them, and be cordially 
 hailed by both. 
 
 CXL. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 When we are dull we nm to music. I am sure you must be 
 dull enough after so much of history and of polirics. My 
 Pericles can discover portents in Macedonia and Italy : 
 Anaximander could see mountains in the moon. I desire to 
 cast my eyes no farther than to Miletus. 
 Take your harp. 
 
 ODE TO MILETUS. 
 
 Maiden ^^ there was whom Jove 
 lUuded into love, 
 
 Happy and pure was she ; 
 Glorious from her the shore became, 
 And Helle lifted up her name 
 To shine eternal o'er the river-sea. 
 
 And many tears are shed 
 Upon thy bridal-bed, 
 Star^'' of the swimmer in the lonely night 1 
 
 [1^ Europa.] 
 
 [17 '-Only do thou let some lamp upon thy tower shine out through 
 the darkness, that seeing it, 1, like love's mariner, may steer my way 
 towards that star." — JVLus^us, Hero and Leander, 210. 
 
 " But at the door she silently embraced her panting lover, his hair 
 yet dripping with the sea-foam's dew, and leading him within, she 
 wiped his breast and anointed him with oil sweet scented with the 
 rose, and put away the odour of the sea." — Ih. 260.]
 
 2 8o Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Who with unbraided hair 
 Wipedst a breast so fair, 
 Bounding with toil, more bounding with delight. 
 
 But they whose prow hath past thy straits 
 
 And, ranged before Byzantion's gates 
 Bring to the God of sea the victim due, 
 
 Even from the altar raise their eyes. 
 
 And drop the chalice with surprise, 
 And at such grandeur have forgotten you. 
 
 At last there swells the hymn of praise . . . 
 And who inspires those sacred lays 
 
 "The founder of the walls ye see." 
 What human power could elevate 
 Those walls, that citadel, that gate ? 
 
 " Miletus,i8 Q my sons I was he." 
 
 Hail then, Miletus ! hail beloved town 
 
 Parent of me and mine ! 
 But let not power alone be thy renown 
 
 Nor chiefs of ancient line. 
 
 Nor visits of the Gods, unless 
 
 They leave their thoughts below. 
 And teach us that we most should bless 
 
 Those to whom most we owe. 
 
 Restless is Wealth ; the nerves of Power 
 
 Sink, as a lute's in rain: 
 The Gods lend only for an hour 
 
 And then call back again. 
 
 All else than Wisdom ; she alone, 
 
 In Truth's or Virtue's form. 
 Descending from the starry throne 
 
 Thro' radiance and thro' storm 
 
 Remains as long as godlike men 
 
 Afford her audience meet. 
 Nor Time nor War tread down again 
 
 The traces of her feet. 
 
 Always hast thou, Miletus, been the friend, 
 Protector, guardian, father, of the wise ; 
 
 Therefore shall thy dominion never end 
 
 Till Fame, despoil'd of voice and pinion, dies. 
 
 [18 Landor seems to have found some tradition that Byzantium 
 was a colony from Miletus. It is usually stated to be a colony from 
 Megara.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 281 
 
 With favoring shouts and flowers thrown fast behind, 
 
 Arctinus ran his race, 
 No wanderer he, alone and blind . . . 
 
 And Melesander ^^ was untorn by Thrace. 
 
 There have been, but not here, 
 Rich men who swept aside the royal feast 
 
 On child's or bondman's breast, 
 Bidding the wise and aged disappear. 
 
 Revere the aged and the wise, 
 Aspasia . . . but thy sandal is not worn 
 
 To trample on these things of scorn . . . 
 By his own sting the fire-bound scorpion dies. 
 
 CXLI. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 To-day there came to visit us a writer who is not yet an 
 author : his name is Thucydides. We understand that he 
 has been these several years engaged in preparation for a 
 histoiy. Pericles invited him to meet Herodotus, when that 
 wonderful man had returned -'^ to our country, and was about 
 to sail from Athens. Until then, it was believed by the in- 
 timate friends of Thucydides that he would devote his life to 
 poetry, and such is his vigour both of thought and of expres- 
 sion, that he would have been the rival of Pindar. Even now 
 he is fonder of talking on poetry than any other subject, and 
 blushed when history was mentioned. By degrees however 
 he warmed, and listened with deep interest to the discourse of 
 Pericles on the duties of a historian. 
 
 " May our first Athenian historian not be the greatest ! " 
 said he, " as the first of our dramatists has been, in the opinion 
 of many, ^schylus was the creator of Tragedy, nor did she 
 ever shine with such splendour, ever move with such stateliness 
 and magnificence, as at her first apparition on the horizon. The 
 verses of Sophocles are more elaborate, the language purer, the 
 sentences fuller and more harmonious, but in loftiness of soul, 
 and in the awfulness with which he invests his characters, 
 iEschylus remains unrivalled and unapproached. 
 
 [19 " Melesander the Milesian wrote of the fight between the 
 Lapithse and the Centaurs." — Aelian Var. Hist. xi. 2.] 
 i-" First ed. : " was returning."]
 
 282 Longer Prose Works. ^ 
 
 "We are growing too loquacious, both on the stage and 
 ofF. We make disquisitions which render us only more and 
 more dim-sighted, and excursions that only consume our 
 stores. If some among us who have acquired celebrity by 
 their compositions, calm, candid, contemplative men, were to 
 undertake the history of Athens from the invasion of Xerxes, 
 I should expect a fair and full criticism on the orations of 
 Antiphon,-! and experience no disappointment at their for- 
 getting the battle of Salamis. History, when she has lost her 
 Muse, will lose her dignity, her occupation, her character, her 
 name. She will wander about the Agora ; she will start, 
 she will stop, she will look wild, she will look stupid, she will 
 take languidly to her bosom doubts, queries, essays, disserta- 
 tions, some of which ought to go before her, some to follow, 
 and all to stand apart. The field of History should not 
 merely be well tilled, but well peopled. None is delightful to 
 me, or interesting, in which I find not as many illustrious 
 names as have a right to enter it. We might as well in a 
 drama place the actors behind the scenes, and listen to the 
 dialogue there, as in a history push valianrmen back, and pro- 
 trude ourselves with husky disputations. Shew me rather how 
 great projects were executed, great advantages gained, and 
 great calamities averted. Shew me the generals and the 
 statesmen who stood foremost, that I may bend to them in re- 
 verence ; tell me their names, that I may repeat them to my 
 children. Teach me whence laws were introduced, upon 
 what foundation laid, by what custody guarded, in what inner 
 keep preserved. Let the books of the Treasury lie closed as 
 religiously as the Sibyl's ; leave weights and measures in the 
 market-place. Commerce in the harbour, the Arts in the light 
 they love. Philosophy in the shade : place History on her 
 rightful throne, and at the sides of her. Eloquence and War. 
 
 " Aspasia ! try your influence over Thucydides : perhaps 
 he would not refuse you the pleasure of hearing a few sentences 
 of the work he has begun. I may be a plagiary if I am a 
 listener, and yet I would request permission to be present." 
 
 Thucydides was pleased at this deference, and has promised 
 to return soon. 
 
 [^ " Caecilius says that the orator Antiphon taught the art of style 
 to Thucydides the Historian." — Photius Bibliotheca Cod., 259.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 283 
 
 CXLII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 PoLYNicEs, a fishmonger, has been introduced upon the stage. 
 He had grown rich by his honesty and good-nature ; and 
 latterly, in tliis hot season, had distributed among the poorer 
 families the fish he could not sell in the daytime at a reason- 
 able price. Others of the same trade cried out against his 
 unfairness, and he was insulted and beaten in the market-place. 
 So favorable an incident could not escape the sagacious scent of 
 our comic writers. He was represented on the stage as aiming 
 at supreme power, riding upon a dolphin through a stormy sea, 
 with a lyre in one hand, a dogfish in the other, and singing — 
 
 I, whom ye see so high on 
 A dolphin's back, am not Arion, 
 But (should the favoring breezes blow me faster) 
 Cecropians ! by the Gods ! . . your master. 
 
 The people were very indignant at this, and demanded with 
 loud cries the closing of the theatre, and the abolition of 
 comedies for ever. 
 
 What the abuse of the wisest and most powerful men in the 
 community could not effect, the abuse of a fishmonger has 
 brought about. 
 
 The writers and actors of comedy came in a body to 
 Pericles, telling him they had seen the madness of the people, 
 and had heard with wonder and consternation that it was 
 supported by some of the archons. 
 
 He answered, that he was sorry to see Comedy with a 
 countenance so altered as to make him tremble for her ap- 
 proaching dissolution ; her descent into the regions of Tragedy. 
 He wondered how the Archons should deem it expedient to 
 correct those, whose office and employment it had hitherto 
 been to correct them ; and regretted his inability to intei-pose 
 between two conflicting authorities ; he must leave it entirely 
 to the people, who would grow calmer, and renew their 
 gratitude to their protectors and patrons. 
 
 In the midst of these regrets the theatre for comedy was
 
 284 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 closed. The poets and actors, as they departed, made various 
 observations. 
 
 " Dogs sweat and despots laugh inwardly," said Hegesias. 
 " Did you note his malice ? the Sisyphus ! " 
 
 " We have nothing left for it," said Hipponax, " but to 
 fall upon our knees among the scales, fins, and bladders at the 
 fish-stall." 
 
 *' Better," said Aristophanes, " make up to Religion, and 
 look whether the haughty chieftain has no vulnerable place in 
 his heel for an arrow from that quarter." 
 
 " He has broken your bow," said Pherecydes : " take 
 heed that the people do not snatch at the string : they have 
 shewn that they can pull hard, and may pull where we would 
 not have them." 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Thucydides has just left us. He has been reading to me a 
 portion of histoiy. At every pause L- nodded to Pericles, 
 who it seems to me,^^ avoided to remark it purposely, but 
 who in reality was so attentive and thoughtful that it was long 
 before he noticed me. When the reading was over, I said 
 to him, 
 
 " So, you two sly personages have laid your sober heads 
 together in order to deceive me, as if I am so silly, so igno- 
 rant of peculiarity in style, as not to discover in an instant the 
 fraud you would impose on me. Thucydides ! " said I, 
 *' you have read it well ; only one could have read it better . . . 
 the author himself" . . . shaking my head at Pericles. 
 
 " O Aspasia ! " said our guest, " I confess to you I was 
 always a little too fond of praise, although I have lived in re- 
 tirement to avoid it until due, wishing to receive the whole 
 sum at once, however long I might wait for it. But never 
 did I expect so much as this ; it overturns the scale by its 
 weight." 
 
 " O Thucydides ! " said Pericles, " I am jealous of Aspasia. 
 No one before ever flattered her so in my presence." 
 
 p-2 First ed. : "I thought."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 285 
 
 I entreated him to continue to write, and to bring down his 
 histoiy to the present times. 
 
 " My reverence for Herodotus," said he, " makes me stand 
 out of his way and look at him from a distance. I was obliged 
 to take another model of style. I hope to continue my work 
 beyond the present day, and to conclude it with some event 
 which sliall have exalted our gloiy and have established our 
 supremacy in Greece." 
 
 " Go on," said I ; " fear no rivals. Others are writing 
 who fear not even Herodotus, nor greatly indeed respect him. 
 They will be less courteous with you perhaps, whose crown is 
 yet in the garden. The creatures run about and kick and 
 neigh in all directions, with a gadfly on them, ever since they 
 left the race-course at Olympia. At one moment they lay 
 the muzzle softly and languidly and lovingly upon each other's 
 neck ; at another they rear and bite like Python." 
 
 " I ought to experience no enmity from them," said he. 
 " Before my time comes, theirs will be over." 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 I AM pleased with your little note, and hope you may live to 
 write a commentary on the same author. You speak with 
 your usual judgment, in commending our historian for his dis- 
 cretion in metaphors. Not indeed that his language is with- 
 out them, but they are rare, impressive, and distinct. History 
 wants them occasionally : in oratory they are nearly as re- 
 quisite as in poetry : they come opportunely wherever the 
 object is persuasion or intimidation, and no less where delight 
 stands foremost. In writing a letter I would neither seek nor 
 reject one : but I think, if more than one came forward, I 
 might decline its services. If however it had come in un- 
 awares, I would take no trouble to send it away. But we 
 should accustom ourselves to think always with propriety, in 
 little things as in great, and neither be too solicitous of our 
 dress in the house, nor negligent because we are at home. I 
 think it as improper and indecorous to write a stupid or a silly 
 note to you, as one in a bad hand or on coarse paper.
 
 286 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Familiarity ought to have another and worse name, when it 
 relaxes in its attentiveness to please. 
 
 We began with metaphors, I will end with one . • . 
 Do not look back, over the letter to see whether I have not 
 already used my privilege of nomination, whether my one is 
 not there. Take then a simile instead. It is a pity that they 
 are often lamps which light nothing, and show only the naked- 
 ness of the walls they are nailed against. 
 
 CLXV. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Sophocles left me about an hour ago. 
 
 Hearing that he was with Pericles on business, I sent to 
 request he would favour me with a visit when he was dis- 
 engaged. After he ^had taken a seat, 1 entreated him to 
 pardon me, expressing a regret that we hardly ever saw him, 
 knowing as I did that no person could so ill withstand the 
 regrets of the ladies. I added a hope that, as much for my 
 sake as for the sake of Pericles, he would now and then steal 
 an hour from the Muses in our behalf. 
 
 " Lady ! " said he, " it would only be changing the place 
 of assignation." 
 
 " I shall begin with you," said I, " just as if I had a right 
 to be familiar, and desire of you to explain the meaning of a 
 chorus in King Ediptts, which, although I have read the 
 tragedy many times, and have never failed to be present at the 
 representation, I do not quite comprehend." 
 
 I took up a volume from the table ..." No," said I, 
 " this is Electra^'^ give me the other." We unrolled it 
 together. 
 
 " Here it Is : what is the meaning of these words about the 
 Laixjs ! " 24 
 
 [-^ First ed. : Electra, my favourite."] 
 
 [24 In Professor Jebb's translation the passage referred to runs as 
 follows : " May destiny still find me winning the praise of reverent 
 purity in all words and deeds sanctioned by those laws of range sub- 
 lime, called into life throughout the high clear heaven whose father 
 is Olumpos alone ; their parent was no race of mortal men, no, nor 
 shall oblivion ever lay them to sleep ; a mighty god is in them and he 
 grows not old."— O. T. 863.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 287 
 
 He looked over them, first without opening his lips ; then 
 he read them in a low voice to himself ; and then, placing the 
 palm of his left hand against his forehead, 
 
 " Well ! I certainly did think I understood it at the time 
 I wrote it." 
 
 Cleone ! if you could see him you would fall in love with 
 him. Fifteen olympiads have not quite run away with all his 
 youth. What a noble presence! what an open countenance! 
 what a brow ! what a mouth ! what a lich harmonious voice ! 
 what a heart, full of passion and of poetry ! 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 REPLY OF PERICLES 
 To the accusation of Cleonr^ 
 
 There is a race of men, (and they appear to have led colonies 
 into many lands), whose courage is always in an inverse ratio 
 to their danger. There is also a race who deem that a benefit 
 done to another is an injuiy done to them. Would you affront 
 them, speak well of their friends ; would you deprive them of 
 repose, labour and watch incessantly for their country. 
 
 Cleon ! in all your experience, in all the territories you 
 have visited, in all the cities and islands you have conquered 
 for us, have you never met with any such people ? And yet, 
 O generous Cleon ! I have heard it hinted that the observation 
 is owing to you. 
 
 Were my life a private one, were my services done toward 
 my friends alone, had my youth been exempt as yours hath 
 been from difficulty and peril, I might never have displeased 
 you ; I might never have been cited to defend my character 
 against the foulest of imputations. O Athenians ! let me 
 recall your attention to every word that Cleon has uttered. I 
 
 [^According to Plutarch the charges brought by Cleon against 
 Pericles were connected with the ill success of an expedition led by 
 him against Epidaurus ; " Nor could the Athenians be satisfied until 
 they had shown themselves masters by voting that he should be de- 
 prived of the command, and pay a fine which, by the lowest account, 
 was fifteen talents ; some make it fifty. The person that carried on 
 the prosecution against him was Cleon, as Idomeneus tells us."' — 
 Langhorne' s Plutarch, Periclesi\
 
 288 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 know how difficult is the task, where so much dust is blown 
 about by so much wind. The valorous Cieon has made your 
 ears tingle and ring with Harmodius and Aristogiton. I am 
 ignorant which of the two he would take for imitation, the 
 handsomer or the braver. He stalks along with great bustle 
 and magnificence, but he shows the dagger too plainly : he 
 neglects to carry it in myrtle. 
 
 In your astonishment at this sudden procedure, there are 
 doubtless many of you who are unable to comprehend the very 
 title of the denunciation. Let me then tell you what it is. 
 
 Pericles, son of Xanthippus . . . (may all Greece, hear it! 
 may every herald in every city proclaim it at every gate ! ) 
 Pericles, son of Xanthippus is accused of embezzling the public 
 money, collected, reserved, and set apart, for the building and 
 decoration of the Parthenon. The accusor is Clean, son of 
 Clearetus. 
 
 The scribe has designated the father of our friend by this 
 name, in letters very legible, otherwise I should have suspected 
 it was the son of Cligenes, the parasite of the wealthy, the 
 oppressor of the poor, the assailer of the virtuous, and the 
 ridicule of all. Charges more substantial might surely be 
 brought against me, and indeed were threatened. But never 
 shall I repent of having, by my advice, a little decreased the 
 revenues of the common-wealth, in lowering the price of 
 admission to the theatres, and in offering to the more indus- 
 trious citizens, out of the public treasury, the trifle requisite for 
 this enjoyment. In the theatre, let them see before them the 
 crimes and the calamities of Power, the vicissitudes of Fortune, 
 and the sophistries of the Passions. Let it be there, and there 
 only, that the just man suffers, and that murmurs are heard 
 against the dispensations of the Gods. 
 
 But I am forgetting the accusation. Will Cleon do me 
 the favour to inform you, in what place I have deposited, or 
 in what manner I have spent, the money thus embezzled ? 
 Will Cleon tell you that I alone had the custody of it ; or 
 that I had anything at all to do in the making up of the 
 accounts ? Will Cleon prove to you that I am now richer 
 than I was thirty years ago, excepting in a portion of the 
 spoil, won bravely by the armies you decreed I should com-
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 289 
 
 mand ; such a portion as the laws allow, and the soldiers 
 carry to their general with triumphant acclamations. Cleon 
 has yet to learn all this ; certainly his wealth is derived from 
 no such sources ; far other acclamations does Cleon court ; 
 those of the idle, the dissolute, the malignant, the cowardly, 
 and the false. But if he seeks them in Athens, and not 
 beyond, his party is small indeed, and your indignation will 
 drown their voices. What need have I of pilfer and pecula- 
 tion ? Am I avaricious ? am I prodigal ? Does the indigent 
 citizen, does the wounded soldier, come to my door and return 
 unsatisfied ? Point at me, Cleon ! and tell your friends to 
 mark that. Let them mark it ; but for imitation, not for 
 calumny. Let them hear for they are idle enough, whence I 
 possess the means of relieving tlie unfortunate, raising the de- 
 jected, and placing men of worth and genius (too often in that 
 number ! ) where all their fellow citizens may distinguish them. 
 My father died in my childhood ; careful guardians superin- 
 tended it, managing my affairs with honesty and diligence. 
 The earliest of my ancestors, of whom any thing remarkable 
 is recorded, was Cleisthenes,"*^ whom your forefathers named 
 general with Solon, ordering them to conquer Cirrha. He 
 devoted his portion of the spoils to the building of a portico. 
 I never have heard that he came by night and robbed the 
 labourers he had paid by day : perhaps Cleon has. He won 
 afterward at the Olympian games : I never have ascertained 
 that he bribed his adversaries. These actions are not in his- 
 tory nor in tradition : but Cleon no doubt, has authorities that 
 outvalue tradition and history. Some years afterward, Cleis- 
 thenes proclaimed his determination to give in marriage his 
 daughter Agarista to the worthiest man he could find, whether 
 at home or abroad. It is pity that Cleon was not living in 
 those days. Agarista and her father, in default uf him, could 
 hear of none worthier than Megacles, son of Alcmason. Their 
 riches all descended to me, and some perhaps of their better 
 
 [26 Cleisthenes, the ancestor of Pericles, was Tyrant of Sicyon. 
 The Amphictyonic council appointed him with Solon to command in 
 the war against Cirrha. — Pausanais, x. 37. For the story of the mar- 
 riage of Agarista and the curious conduct of Hippoclides on that 
 occasion, see Herodotus, vi. 126.]
 
 290 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 possessions. These, at least, with Cleon's leave, I would re- 
 tain ; and as much of the other as may be serviceable to my 
 friends, without being dangerous to the common-wealth. 
 
 CXLVII.^^ 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Surely of all our pursuits and speculations the most instructive 
 is, how the braver pushed back their sufferings, how the weaker 
 bowed their heads and asked for sympathy. How the soldier 
 smote his breast at the fallacies of glory, and how the philo- 
 sopher paused and trembled at the depths of his discoveries. 
 But the acquirement of such instmction presses us down to the 
 earth. We see the basest and most ineit of mankind the tor- 
 mentors and consumers of the loftiest ; the worm at last 
 devours what the lion and tiger paused at and fled from. 
 But Pericles for the present is safe and secure ; and I am too 
 happy for other thoughts or reflections. Anaxagoras also is 
 only doubted : he may disbelieve in some mysteries, but he is 
 surely too wise a man to divulge it. 
 
 cxLvin. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Now we are quiet and at peace again, I wish you would look 
 into your library for more pieces of poetry. To give you 
 some provocation, I will transcribe a few lines on the old sub- 
 ject, which, like old fountains, is inexhaustible, while those of 
 later discovery are in danger of being cut off at the first turn 
 of the plough. 
 
 ERINNA to LOVE. 
 I. 
 
 Who breathes to thee the holiest prayer, 
 
 O Love ! is ever least thy care. 
 Alas ! I may not ask thee why 'tis so . . . 
 
 Because a fi^ry scroll I see 
 
 Hung at the throne of Destiny. 
 Reason zvith Love and register luith Woe. 
 
 [27 Not in ist ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 291 
 
 Few question thee, for thou art strong 
 
 And, laughing loud at right and wrong, 
 Seizest, and dashest down, the rich, the poor ; 
 
 Thy sceptre's iron studs alike 
 
 The meaner and the prouder strike, 
 And wise and simple fear thee and adore. 
 
 CXLIX. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Among the poems of Sappho I find the following, but written 
 in a different hand from the rest. It pleases me at least as 
 much as any of them ; if it is worse, I wish you would tell me 
 in what it is so. How many thoughts might she have turned 
 over and tossed away for it ! -^ Odious is the economy in 
 preserving all the scraps of the intellect, and troublesome the 
 idleness of tacking them together. Sappho is fond of seizing, 
 as she runs on, the most prominent and inviting flowers : she 
 never stops to cut and trim them : she throws twenty aside for 
 one that she fixes in her bosom ; and what is more singular, 
 her pleasure at their beauty seems never to arise from another's 
 admiration of it. See it or^not|see it, there it is. 
 
 Sweet girls ! upon whose breast that God descends 
 t Whom first ye pray to come and next to spare, 
 
 O tell me whither now his course he bends, 
 
 Tell me what hymns shall thither waft my prayer ! 
 Alas ! my voice and lyre alike he flies, 
 And only in my dreams, nor kindly then, replies. 
 
 CL. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Instead of expatiating on the merits of the verses you last sent 
 me, or, on the other hand, of looking for any pleasure in tak- 
 ing them to pieces, I venture to hope you will be of my 
 opinion, that these others are of equal authenticity. Neither 
 do I remember them in the copy you possessed when we were 
 together. 
 
 P« for it "not in ist ed.]
 
 292 Longer Prose Works, 
 
 SAPPHO TO HESPERUS. 
 I. 
 
 I have beheld thee in the morning hour 
 
 A soHtary star, with thankless eyes, 
 
 Ungrateful as I am ! who bade thee rise 
 When sleep all night had wandered from my bower. 
 
 2. 
 
 Can it be true that thou art he 
 
 Who shinest now above the sea 
 Amid a thousand, but more bright? 
 
 Ah yes, the very same art thou 
 
 That heard me then, and hearest now . . . 
 Thou seemest, star of love, to throb with light. 
 
 Sappho is not the only poetess who has poured forth her 
 melodies to Hesperus, or who had reason to thank him. I 
 much prefer these of her's to what appear to have been written 
 by some confident man, and (no doubt) on a feigned occasion. 
 
 I. 
 
 Hesperus, hail ! thy winking light 
 
 Best befriends the lover, 
 Whom the sadder Moon for spite 
 
 Gladly would discover. 
 
 Thou art fairer far than she, 
 Fairer far, and chaster : 
 
 She may guess who smiled on me, 
 I know who embraced her. 
 
 3- 
 
 Pan of Arcady . . . 'twas Pan, 
 In the tamarisk-bushes . . . 
 
 Bid her tell thee, if she can. 
 Where were then her blushes. 
 
 And, were I inclined to tattle, 
 
 I could name a second, 
 Whom asleep with sleeping cattle 
 
 To her cave she beckon'd.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 293 
 
 s- 
 
 Hesperus, hail I thy friendly ray 
 Watches o'er the lover, 
 
 Lest the nodding leaves betray, 
 Lest the Moon discover. 
 
 Phryne heard my kisses given 
 Acte's rival bosom . . . 
 
 ^Tivas the buds, I swore by heaven. 
 Bursting into blossom. 
 
 What she heard and half espied 
 By the gleam, she doubted, 
 
 And with arms uplifted, cried, 
 Hoiv they must ha-ve sprouted 1 
 
 Hesperus, hail again ! thy light 
 
 Best befriends the lover. 
 Whom the sadder Moon for spite 
 
 Gladly virould discover. 
 
 The old poets are contented with narrow couches : but 
 these couches are not stuffed with chaff" which lasts only for 
 one season. They do not talk to us from them when they are 
 half-asleep ; but think it more amusing to entertain us in our 
 short visit with lively thoughts and fancies, than to enrich us 
 with a paternal prolixity of studied and stored-up meditations. 
 
 CLI.29 
 PERICLES TO ALCIBIADES. 
 
 My Alcibiades, if I did not know your good temper from a 
 whole life's experience, I should be afraid of displeasing you 
 by repeating what I have heard. This is that you pronounce, 
 in public as well as in private, a few words somewhat differ- 
 ently from our custom. You cannot be aware how much 
 hostility you may excite against you by such a practice. 
 
 [29 Not in I St ed. With this letter compare Lord Chesterfield's 
 letter to his son on the same subject.]
 
 294 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Remember, we are Athenians ; and do not let us believe that 
 we have finer organs, quicker perceptions, or more discrimina- 
 tion, than our neighbours in the city. Every time we pro- 
 nounce a word difFerently from another, we show our dis- 
 approbation of his manner, and accuse him of rusticity. In 
 all common things we must do as others do. It is more bar- 
 barous to undermine the stability of a language than of an 
 edifice that hath stood as long. This is done by the intro- 
 duction of changes. Write as others do, but only as the best 
 of others : and if one eloquent man, forty or fifty years ago, 
 spoke and wrote differently from the generality of the present, 
 follow him, though alone, rather than the many. But in 
 pronunciation we are not indulged in this latitude of choice ; 
 we must pronounce as those do who favour us with their 
 audience. Never hazard a new expression in public : I know 
 not any liberty we can take, even with our nearest fnends, more 
 liable to the censure of vanity. Whatever we do we must do 
 from authority or from analogy. A young man, however 
 studious and intelligent, can know, intrinsically and profoundly, 
 but little of the writers who constitute authority. For my 
 part, in this our country, where letters are far more advanced 
 than in any other, I can name no one whatever who has 
 followed up to their origin the derivation of words, or studied 
 with much success their analogy. I do not, I confess, use all 
 the words that others do, but I never use one that others do 
 not. Remember, one great writer may have employed a 
 word which a greater has avoided, or, not having avoided it, 
 may have employed in a somewhat different signification. It 
 would be needless to offer you these remarks, if our language 
 were subject to the capriciousness of courts, the humiliation of 
 sycophants, and the defilement of slaves. Another may 
 suffer but little detriment by the admission of barbarism to its 
 franchises ; but ours is attic, and the words, like the citizens 
 we employ, should at once be popular and select. 
 
 CLII. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 The poetical merits of the unhappy Lesbian are sufficiently 
 well known. Thanks, and more than thanks, if indeed there
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 295 
 
 is any thing more on earth, are due for even one scrap from 
 her. But allow me, what is no great delicacy or delight to 
 me, a reprehension, a censure. An admirer can make room 
 for it only when it comes from an admirer. Sappho, in the 
 most celebrated of her Odes, tells us that she sweats profusely. 
 Now, surely no female, however low-born and ill-bred, in 
 short, however Eolian, could without indecorousness speak of 
 sweating and spitting, or any such things. We never ought 
 to utter, in relation to ourselves, what we should be ashamed 
 of being seen in. Writing of war and contention, such an 
 expression is unobjectionable. To avoid it by circumlocution, 
 or by any ^^ other word less expressive and direct, would be 
 the most contemptible and ludicrous of pedantry : and, were 
 it anywhere reduced to practice in the conversation of ordinary 
 life, it would manifestly designate a coarse-grained unpolish- 
 able people. There is nothing in poetry, or indeed in society, 
 so unpleasant as affectation. In poetry it arises from a defici- 
 ency of power and a restlessness of pretension ; in conversation, 
 from insensibility to the Graces, from an intercourse with bad 
 company, and a misintei"pretation of better. 
 
 CLin. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 You desire to know what portion of history it is the intention 
 of Thucydides to undertake. He began with the earlier 
 settlers of Greece, but he has now resolved to employ this 
 section as merely the portico to his edifice. The Peloponesian 
 war appears to him worthier of the historian than any other. 
 He is of opinion that it must continue for many years and 
 comprehend many important events, for Pericles is resolved to 
 wear out the energy of the Spartans by protracting it. At 
 present it has been earned on but few months, with little 
 advantage to either side, and much distress to both. What 
 our historian has read to us does not contain any part of these 
 transactions, which however he carefully notes down as they 
 occur. We were much amused by a speech he selected for 
 recitation, as one delivered by an orator of the Corinthians to 
 
 1^30 piist ed. : "another."]
 
 296 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 the Ephors of Lacedaemon, urging the justice and necessity of 
 hostilities. Never was the Athenian character painted in such 
 true and Hvely colours. In composition his characteristic is 
 brevity, yet the first sentence of the volume runs into super- 
 fluity. The words, to the best of my recollection, are 
 these. 
 
 " Thucydides of Athens has composed a history of the war 
 between the Peloponesians and Athenians." 
 
 This is enough ; yet he adds, 
 
 "As conducted by each of the belligerents," 
 
 Of course : it could not be conducted by one only. 
 
 I observed that in the fourth sentence he went from the 
 third person to the first. 
 
 By what I could collect, he thinks the Peloponesian war 
 more momentous than the Persian : yet, had Xerxes prevailed 
 against us, not a vestige would be existing of liberty or civilisa- 
 tion in the world. If Sparta should, there will be little 
 enough, and a road will be thrown open to the barbarians of 
 the north, Macedonians and others with strange names. We 
 have no great reason to fear it, although the policy of Thebes, 
 on whom much depends, is ungenerous and unwise. 
 
 He said moreover, that " transactions of an earlier time are 
 known imperfectly, and were of small importance either in the 
 wars or any thing else." 
 
 Yet without these wars, or some other of these transactions, 
 our Miletus and Athens, our Pericles and Thucydides, would 
 not be ; so much does one thing depend upon another. 1 am 
 little disposed to over- value the potency and importance of the 
 eastern monarchies ; but surely there is enough to excite our 
 curiosity, and interest our inquiries, in the fall of Chaldasa, the 
 rise of Babylon, and the mysteries of Egypt ... not indeed 
 her mysteries in theology, which are impostures there as else- 
 where, but the mysteries in arts and sciences, which will out- 
 live the Gods. Barbarians do not hold steadily before us any 
 moral or political lesson ; but they serve as graven images, 
 protuberantly eminent and gorgeously uncouth, to support the 
 lamp placed on them by History and Philosophy. If we 
 knew only what they said and did, we should turn away with 
 horror and disgust : but we pound their mummies to colour
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 297 
 
 our narratives; and we make them as useful in history as 
 beasts are in fable. 
 
 Thucydides shews evidently, by his preliminary observations, 
 that he considers the Trojan war unimportant. Yet, according 
 to Homer, the Grecian troops amounted to above a hundred 
 thousand. In reality, so large a force hath never been assem- 
 bled in any naval expedition, nor even one half. How was it 
 provisioned at Aulis ? how, on the shores of the Troad ? 
 And all these soldiers, with chariots and horses, were embarked 
 for Troy, a few years after the first ship of war left the shores 
 of Greece ! yes, a very few years indeed ; for the Argo had 
 among her crew the brothers of Helen, who cannot well be 
 supposed to have been five ^^ years older than herself. It is 
 of rare occurrence, even in the climate of Sparta, that a mother 
 bears children after so long an interval ; and we have no reason 
 to believe that such a time haS. elapsed between the brothers 
 and their sister. Suppose the twins to have been twenty-two 
 years old (for they had become celebrated for horsemanship 
 and boxing) and Helen seventeen,^^ you will find little space 
 left between the expeditions. 
 
 But away with calculation. We make a bad bargain when 
 we change poetry for truth in the affairs of ancient times, and 
 by no means a good one in any. 
 
 Remarkable men of remote ages are collected together out 
 of different countries within the same period, and perform 
 simultaneously the same action. On an accumulation of obscure 
 deeds arises a wild spirit of poetry ; and images and names 
 burst forth and spread themselves, which carry with them 
 something like enchantment far beyond the infancy of nations. 
 What was vague imagination setdes, at last, and is received for 
 history. It is difficult to effect and idle to attempt the separ- 
 ation : it is like breaking off a beautiful ciystallization from the 
 vault of some intricate and twilight cavern, out of mere 
 curiosity to see where the accretion terminates and the rock 
 begins. 
 
 [31 First ed. : " ten."] 
 
 [32 In the I St ed. the words "for her daughter w^as an infant 
 (and such beauty must have been sought early in marriage) " follow 
 here.]
 
 298 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 We have lost another poet, and have none left, beside the 
 comic. Euripides ^^ is gone to the court of Archelaus. A 
 few years ago he gained the prize against all competitors. He 
 was hailed by the people as a deliverer, for subverting the 
 ascendency and dominion which Sophocles had acquired over 
 them. The Athenians do not like to trust any man with 
 power for life. Sophocles is now an old man, sixty years of 
 age at the least, and he had then been absolute in the theatre 
 for above a quarter of a century. What enthusiasm ! what 
 acclamations ! for overthrowing the despot who had so often 
 made them weep and beat their breasts. He came to visit us 
 on the day of his defeat : Euripides was with us at the time. 
 
 " Euripides," said he, " we are here alone, excepting our 
 friends Aspasia and Pericles. I must embrace you, now it 
 cannot seem an act of ostentation." 
 
 He did so, and most cordially. 
 
 " I should be glad to have conquered _you," continued he ; 
 "it would have been veiy glorious." 
 
 I never saw Pericles more moved. These are the actions 
 that shake his whole frame, and make his eyes glisten. Euri- 
 pides was less affected. He writes tenderly, but is not tender. 
 There are hearts that call for imagination ; there are others 
 that create it. 
 
 I must abstain from all reflections that fall too darkly on 
 the departed. We may see him no more perhaps : I am 
 sorry for it. He did not come often to visit us, nor indeed 
 is there any thing in his conversation to delight or interest me. 
 He has not the line manners of Sophocles, nor the open un- 
 reserved air, which Pericles tells me he admired so much in the 
 soldierly and somewhat proud jEschylus ; grave and taciturn, 
 I hear, like himself, unless when something pleased him ; and 
 
 [33 The departure of Euripides from Athens was probably con- 
 nected with the departure of Anaxagoras. He w^as, according to 
 many authorities, a disciple of that philosopher, and was, like him, 
 suspected of holding unorthodox opinions. It is far more likely that 
 he left Athens to avoid a prosecution for impiety than that he was 
 running away from his wife.] 
 
 J
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 299 
 
 then giving way to ebullitions and bursts of rapture, and filling 
 every one with it round about. 
 
 The movers and masters of our souls have surely a right to 
 throw out their limbs as carelessly as they please, on the world 
 that belongs to them, and before the creatures they have ani- 
 mated. It is only such insects as petty autocrats, that feel 
 oppressed by it, and would sting them for it. Pericles is 
 made of the same clay. He cannot quite overcome his stateli- 
 ness, but he bends the more gracefully for bending slowly. 
 
 When I think of Euripides, I think how short a time it is 
 since he was hailed as a deliverer : and how odious he is 
 become, for breaking in upon our affections at an unseasonable 
 hour, and for carrying our hearts into captivity. All the 
 writers of the day were resolved to humble him, and ran about 
 from magistrate to magistrate, to raise money enough for the 
 magnificent representation of his rival ... I have forgotten the 
 man's name. Pericles never thwarts the passions and pre- 
 judices of the citizens. In his adolescence he visited the 
 humble habitation of the venerable ^schylus : throughout life 
 he has been the friend of Sophocles : he has comforted Euri- 
 pides in his defeats, telling him that by degrees he would teach 
 the people to be better judges : he rejoiced with him on his 
 first victory, reminding him of his prophecy, and remarking 
 that they two, of all the Athenians, had shown the most 
 patience and had been the best rewarded for it. 
 
 We hope he may return. 
 
 CLV. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 The two pieces I am about to transcribe are of styles very 
 different. I find them among the collections of Pericles, but 
 am ignorant of the authors. 
 
 Far from the harp's and from the singer's noise, 
 The bird of Pallas lights on ruin'd towers. 
 
 I know a wing that flaps o'er girls and boys 
 To harp and song, and kiss in myrtle bowers ; 
 
 When ages come, I too will sit apart, 
 
 While age is absent, that shall fan my heart.
 
 300 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 CUPID AND LIGEIA. 
 
 Cupid had played some wicked trick one day 
 On sharp Ligeia ; and I heard her say, 
 " You little rogue ! you ought to be unsext." 
 He was as spiteful, though not quite so vext. 
 And said (but held half-shut the folding doors) 
 " Ah then, my beard will never grow like yours ! " 
 
 CLVI. 
 FIRST SPEECH OF PERICLES TO THE ATHENIANS, 
 
 On the Declaration of Corinth and Lacedamon. 
 
 The Regency of Lacedsemon has resolved to make an irrup- 
 tion into Attica, if we attempt any thing adverse to Potidaea, 
 hearing that on the declaration of hostilities by Corinth, we 
 ordered the Potidasans, whose infidelity we had detected, to 
 demolish the wall facing Pallene. In reliance on their treason, 
 Perdiccas and the Corinthians had entered into confederacy, 
 and were exciting the defection of our Thracian auxiliaries. 
 Perdiccas prevailed with the Chalcidians to dismantle all their 
 towns upon the seaside, and to congregate in Olynthus. We 
 made a truce, and afterward a treaty, with Perdiccas : he 
 evacuates the territory he invaded ; we strictly beleaguer the 
 revolted Potidsa. The ephors of Lacedsemon now summon 
 to appear before them not only their allies, but whosoever has 
 any complaint to prefer against the Athenians. Hereupon 
 the Megarseans come forward, and protest that they have been 
 prohibited from our markets, contrary to treaty ; and what is 
 worse, that we exclude them from the possession of Potidaea, 
 so convenient for extending their power and authority into 
 Thrace. They appear, in their long oration, to have forgotten 
 nothing, unless that they had murdered our citizens and 
 ambassadors. 
 
 By what right, O Athenians, is Lacedasmon our judge ? 
 Corinth may impel her into war against us ; but Corinth can 
 never place her on the judgment-seat of Greece ; nor shall 
 their united voices make us answer to the citation. We will 
 declare not to her but to all, our reasons and our rights. The 
 Corcyreans had erected a trophy at Leucimna, and had spared 
 after the victory their Corinthian captives : they had laid
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 301 
 
 waste the territory of Leucas and they had burnt the arsenal 
 of Cyllene. Meanwhile the Corinthians sent ambassadors to 
 every power in the Peloponese, and enlisted mariners for their 
 service upon every coast. If valour and skill and constancy 
 could have availed the Corcyreans, they would have continued 
 to abstain, as they had ever done, from all alliances. They 
 only sought ours when destruction was imminent ; knowing 
 that, in policy and humanity, we never could allow the extinc- 
 tion of one Grecian state, nor consequently the aggrandisement 
 and preponderance of another ; and least so when the insolence 
 of Corinth had threatened our naval ascendency (by which all 
 Greece was saved), and the rivalry of Lacedaemon our equality 
 on land. By our treaty with the Lacedaemonians it is pro- 
 vided that, if any community be not in alliance with one of 
 the parties, it may confederate with either, at its discretion ; 
 and this compact it was agreed should be binding not only on 
 the principals but likewise on the subordinates. In such a 
 predicament stands Corcyra. 
 
 It might behove us to chastise the inhumanity of a nation 
 which, like Corinth, would devour her own offspring ; but it 
 certainly is most just and most expedient, when, instead of 
 reasoning or conferring with us on the propriety of our inter- 
 ference, she runs at once to Sparta, conspiring with her to our 
 degradation, and, if possible, to our ruin. Satisfactorily to 
 demonstrate our justice and moderation, I advise that we 
 stipulate with Corcyra for mutual defence, never for aggression, 
 and admitting no article which, even by a forced interpretation, 
 may contravene our treaty with Lacedaemon. 
 
 CLVII. 
 
 SECOND SPEECH OF PERICLES. 
 
 The jealousy that Sparta hath ever entertained against us, was 
 declared most flagrandy, when Leoty chides, who commanded 
 the Grecian forces at Mycale, drew away with him all the 
 confederates of the Peloponese. We continued to assail the 
 barbarians until we drove them from Sestos, their last hold 
 upon the Hellespont. It was then, and then only, that the 
 Athenians brought back again from miserable refuge their
 
 302 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 wives and children, and began to rebuild their habitations, and 
 walls for their defence. Did the Spartans view this constancy and 
 perseverance with admiration and with pity, as the patriotic, the 
 generous, the humane, would do ? Did they send ambassa- 
 dors to congratulate your fathers on their valour, their endur- 
 ance, their prosperous return, their ultimate security ? Ambas- 
 sadors they sent, indeed, but insisting that our walls should 
 never rise again from their ruins. A proposal so unjust and 
 arrogant we treated with scorn and indignation, when our 
 numbers were diminished and our wealth exhausted ; shall we 
 bend to their decisions and obey their orders now ? If their 
 power of injuring us were in proportion to their malice, their 
 valour to their pride, or their judgment to their ferocity, then 
 were they most formidable indeed : but we turn to the ex- 
 amination of facts. Having occasion to reduce to obedience a 
 few revolted Helotes in the city of Ithome, to whom did they 
 apply ? to the Athenians ; for they themselves were utterly 
 ignorant how to attack or even to approach a fortress. Even 
 then they showed their jealousy, rewarding our promptitude to 
 assist them by the ignominious dismissal "of our troops. What 
 was the consequence? a ten years' siege. And these, O 
 Athenians ! are the men who now threaten the Acropolis and 
 Pirseus ! 
 
 I can compare the Lacedaemonians to nothing more fitly 
 than to the heads of spears without the shafts. There would 
 be abundantly the power of doing mischief, were there only 
 the means and method of directing it. Where these are 
 wanting, we have no better cause for apprehension than at the 
 sparks of fire under our horse's hoof, lest they produce a con- 
 flagration ; which indeed they might do, if by their nature 
 they were durable and directable. 
 
 Let us see what powerful aid our enemies are expecting ; 
 what confederates they are stirring up against us. The 
 Megarseans, who left their alliance for ours ; the Megarasans, 
 whom we defended against the Corinthians, and whose walls 
 we constructed at our own expense from Megara to Nissea. 
 Is it on the constancy or on the gratitude of this people that 
 Lacedaemon in her wisdom so confidently relies ? No sooner 
 had we landed in Eubcea, than intelligence was brought us
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 303 
 
 that the Peloponesians were about to make an incursion into 
 Attica, and that the Athenian garrison was murdered by the 
 Megaraeans, who ah'eady had formed a junction with the 
 Corinthians, Sicyonians, and Epidaurians. We sailed home- 
 ward, and discomfited the Peloponesians ; returned and re- 
 duced Euboea. A tmce for thirty years was granted to 
 Lacedsmon, restoring to her Nissea, Calchis, Pegas, and 
 Trazene. Five years afterward a war broke out between the 
 Samians and Miletus. Justice and our treaties obliged us to 
 rescue that faithful and unfortunate city from the two-fold 
 calamity that impended over her. Many of the Samians were 
 as earnest in imploring our assistance as the Milesians were : 
 for, whatever might be the event of the war, they were sure of 
 being reduced to subjection ; if conquered, by a wronged and 
 exasperated enemy ; if conquerors, by the king. A rapacious 
 and insolent oligarchy saw no other means of retaining its 
 usurped authority, than by extending it with rigour, and were 
 conscious that it must fall from under them unless the sceptre 
 propped it. Honest men will never seek such aid, and free 
 men will never endure such. 
 
 There may be nations, monarchal and aristocratical, where 
 the public good is litde thought of, and often impeded by rest- 
 less steps toward personal or family aggrandisement. But 
 there is no man, even among these, so barbarous and inhuman, 
 as to be indifferent to the approbation of some one in his city, 
 beloved above all the rest, from whom the happy rush forward 
 for admiration, the less fortunate are gratified with a tear: 
 life, they would tell us, is well lost for either. We Athenians 
 have loftier views, and, I will not say purer, but the same and 
 more ardent aspirations. 
 
 In the late brief war, the greater part of you here present 
 have won immortal glory : and let us not believe that those 
 who fell from your ranks in battle are yet insensible to the 
 admiration and the gratitude of their countrymen. No one 
 among us, whatever services he may have rendered to Athens, 
 has received such praises, such benedictions, such imperishable 
 rewards, as they have. Happy men ! they are beyond the 
 reach of calumny and reverses. There is only one sad reflec- 
 tion resting with them : they can serve their country no more.
 
 304 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 How high was the value of their lives ! they knew it, and 
 bartered them for renown. We, in this war unjustly waged 
 against us, shall be exposed to fewer dangers, but more priva- 
 tions. In the enduiance of these, our manliness will be put 
 severely to the proof, and virtues which have not been called 
 forth in fifty years, virtues which our enemies seem to have 
 forgotten that we possess, must again come into action, as if 
 under the eyes of a Themistocles and an Aristides. We have 
 all done much ; but we have all done less than we can do, 
 ought to do, and will do. 
 
 Archidamus, king of Sparta, now about to march against 
 us, is bound to me by the laws of hospitality. Should he, 
 whether in remembrance of these, or in the design of render- 
 ing me suspected, abstain from inflicting on my possessions the 
 violence he is about to inflict on the rest of Attica, let it be 
 understood that henceforth I have no private property in this 
 land, but, in the presence of the Gods, make a free donation 
 of it to the commonwealth. Let all withdraw their cattle, 
 corn, and other efl^ects, from the country, and hold Athens as 
 one great citadel, from which the Deity, who presides over 
 her, hath forbidden us to descend. 
 
 CLVIII. 
 ORATION OF PERICLES, 
 
 Oa the approach of the Lacedemonians to Athens. 
 
 Long ago, and lately, and in every age intervening, O Athen- 
 ians ! have you experienced the jealousy and insolence of 
 Lacedaemon. She listens now to the complaints of Corinth, 
 because the people of Corcyra will endure no longer her 
 vexations, and because their navy, in which the greater part 
 of the mariners have fought and conquered by the side of ours, 
 seek refuge in the Piraeus. A little while ago she dared to 
 insist that we should admit the ships of Megara to our harbour, 
 her merchandise to our markets, when Megara had broken her 
 faith with us, and gone over to the Spartans. Even this in- 
 dignity we might perhaps have endured. We told the Lace- 
 daemonians that we would admit the Megaraeans to that
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 305 
 
 privilege, if the ports of Sparta would admit us and our allies : 
 although we and our allies were never in such relationship with 
 her, and therefore could never have fallen off from her. She 
 disdained to listen to a proposal so reasonable, to a concession 
 so little to be expected from us. Resolved to prove to her 
 that generosity, and not fear, dictated it, we chastised the 
 perfidious Megara. 
 
 The king of the Lacedsemonians, Archidamus, a wiser and 
 honester man than any of his people, is forced to obey the 
 passions he would control ; and an army of sixty thousand 
 men is marching under his command to ravage Attica. The 
 braver will rather burn their harvests than transfer to a san- 
 guinary and insatiable enemy the means of inflicting evil on 
 their relatives and friends. Few, I trust, are base enough, 
 sacrilegious enough, to treat as guests, those whom you, before 
 men and Gods, denounce as enemies. We will receive within 
 our walls the firm and faithful. And now let the orators who 
 have blamed our expenditure in the fortification of the city, 
 tell us again that it was improvident. They would be flying 
 in dismay had not those bulwarks been raised effectually. Did 
 it require any sagacity to foresee that Athens would be the 
 envy of every state around ? Was there any man so ignorant 
 as not to know that he who has lost all his enemies will soon 
 lose all his energy ? and that men are no more men when they 
 cease to act, than rivers are rivers when they cease to run ? 
 The forces of our assailants must be broken against our walls. 
 Our fleets are our farms henceforward, until the Spartans find 
 that, if they can subsist on little, they cannot so well subsist on 
 stones and ashes. Their forces are vast ; but vast forces have 
 never much hurt us. Marathon and Platsea were scarcely wide 
 enough for our trophies : a victorious army, an unvanquished 
 fleet, Miltiades himself, retired unsuccessful from the rock of 
 Paros. Shall we tremble then before a tumultuous multitude, 
 ignorant how cities are defended or assailed ? Shall we pre- 
 vent them from coming to their discomfiture and destruction ? 
 Firmly do I believe that the Protectress of our city leads them 
 against it to avenge her cause. They may ravage the lands ; 
 they cannot cultivate, they cannot hold them. Mischief they 
 will do, and great ; much of our time, much of our patience.
 
 3o6 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 much of our perseverance, and something of our courage, are 
 required. At present I do not number this event among our 
 happiest. We must owe our glory partly to ourselves and 
 partly to our enemies. They offer us the means of greatness ; 
 let us accept their offer. Brief danger is the price of long 
 security. The countryman, from the mists of the morning, 
 not only foretells the brightness of the day, but discerns in them 
 sources of fertility ; and he remembers in his supplications to 
 the immortal Gods to thank them alike for both blessings. It 
 is thus, O men of Athens, that you have constantly looked up 
 to calamities. Never have they depressed you : always have 
 they chastened your hearts, always have they exalted your 
 courage. Impelled by the breath of Xerxes, the locusts of 
 Asia consumed your harvests : your habitations crumbled 
 away as they swarmed along : the temples of the Gods lay 
 prostrate : the Gods themselves bowed and fell : the men of 
 Athens rose higher than ever. They had turned their faces 
 in grief from the scene of devastation and impiety ; but they 
 listened to a provident valour, and the myriads of insects that 
 had plagued them were consumed. 
 
 There is affront in exhortation ... I have spoken. 
 
 CLIX. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 On the shore overlooking the fountain of Arethusa there is a 
 statue of ^schylus. An Athenian who went to visit it, 
 crowned it with bay and ivy, and wrote these verses at the 
 base. 
 
 Stranger ! Athenian hands adorn 
 
 A bard thou knovvest well. 
 Ah ! do not ask where he was born, 
 For we must blush to tell. 
 
 Proud are we, but we place no pride 
 
 On good, or wise, or brave ; 
 Hence what Cephisus had denied 
 
 'Twas Arethusa gave. 
 
 You remember the story of a barbarous king, who would 
 have kept the Muses in captivity. His armoury furnished an 
 enemy of the poet Lysis with these materials for skirmishing.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 307 
 
 TO LYSIS. 
 
 A curse upon the king of old 
 
 Who would have kidnapt all the Muses ! 
 
 Whether to barter them for gold 
 Or keep them for his proper uses. 
 
 Lysis ! aware he meant them ill, 
 
 Birds they became, and flew away . . . 
 
 Thy Muse alone continues still 
 A titmouse to this very day.^'* 
 
 Do not call me sly and perfidious, if, after tickling you with 
 this feather, I have not only permitted a wicked thought to 
 enter my head, but have also devised a place for it, if possible, 
 in yours. The lines below are none of my composition, as 
 you may well imagine from my character. 
 
 There is in kisses a delight ; 
 
 A fragrance of the wine 
 Quaft by the happier in the genial night 
 
 Is there ; may these be mine ! 
 
 What said I ? empty kisses ? none are empty. 
 
 Gods all the just who give 
 Thy graceful feast from every grief exempt ye ! 
 
 Blest, honour'd, grant they live I 
 
 And now I have written them fairly out, I am afraid of 
 sending them : for I remember that if ever I uttered such a 
 word as kiss, you wondered at me. Really and truly it was 
 as far from wonder as anything could be, and so it will be 
 now ; but it was very near a slight displeasure, which now it 
 must not be. 
 
 CLX. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 After an interval of nearly three years. Comedy may re- 
 appear on the stage. It is reported that Pericles obtained this 
 indulgence from the archons ; and in consequence of it, he is 
 
 [34 In 1st ed. this letter ends here.]
 
 3o8 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 now represented by the dramatists as a Jupiter,^^ ^^q lightens 
 and thunders, and what not. Before he became a Jupiter, I 
 believe he was represented as the enemy of that God, and 
 most of the others ; and the people, having no public amuse- 
 ment, no diversion to carry off their ill-humours, listened 
 gloomily to such discourses. Pericles noted it, and turned 
 them into their fold again, and had them piped to ; but not 
 before the fly entered the fleece. 
 
 CLXI. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Twenty days, O Cleone, twenty days are not elapsed, since 
 Anaxagoras told me that he was about to leave Attica for the 
 Propontis. I urged him to alter his resolution. He affirmed 
 that his presence in the house of Pericles had brought a cloud 
 over it, which would only disappear by his absence. " Of 
 late," said he, " I have received so much kindness from the 
 philosophers, that I begin to suspect a change of fortune, by 
 no means in my favour. I must fly Avhile the weather is 
 temperate, as the swallows do." 
 
 He mixes not with the people, he converses with none of 
 them, and yet he appears to have penetrated into the deepest 
 and darkest recesses of their souls. 
 
 Pericles has lost their favour ; Anaxagoras is banished ; 
 Aspasia . . . but what is Aspasia ? Yours ; and therefore 
 you must hear about her. 
 
 We have all been accused of impiety ; Anaxagoras and 
 myself have been brought to trial for the offence. Diopeithes 
 is the name of our accuser. He began with Anaxagoras ; 
 and having proved by three witnesses that he in their hearing 
 had declared his opinion, that lightning and thunder were the 
 effect of some combustion and concussion in the clouds, and 
 that they often happened when Jupiter was in perfectly good 
 humour, not thinking at all about the Athenians, there was 
 
 [35 " For Pericles, like an Olympian Jove, 
 
 With all his thunder and his thunderbolts, 
 Began to storm and lighten dreadfully, 
 Alarming all the neighbourhood of Greece." 
 
 — Frere's Aristophanes. The Archarnians, 650.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 309 
 
 instantly such a rage and consternation in the whole assembly, 
 tha«L the judges were called upon from every quarter to condemn 
 him for impiety ; sentence, death. 
 
 Pericles rose. He for the first time in his life was silenced 
 by the clamorous indignation of the people. All parties, all 
 classes, men, women, children, priests, sailors, tavern-keepers, 
 diviners, slave- merchants, threatened, raged,^*^ foamed. 
 
 " Pericles ! you yourself will soon be cited before this august 
 tribunal," said Diopeithes. The clamour now began to sub- 
 side. Curiosity, wonder, apprehension of consequences, divided 
 the assembly ; and when Pericles lifted up his arm, the agita- 
 tion, the murmurs, and the whispers, ceased. 
 
 " O men of Athens ! " said he calmly, " I wish it had 
 pleased the Gods that the vengeance of Diopeithes had taken 
 its first aim against me, whom you have heard so often, known 
 so long, and trusted so implicitly. But Diopeithes hath 
 skulked from his ambush and seized upon the unsuspecting 
 Anaxagoras, in the hope that, few knowing him, few can love 
 him. The calculation of Diopeithes is correct : they who 
 love him are but those few. They however who esteem and 
 reverence him can only be numbered by him who possesses a 
 register of all the wise and all the virtuous men in Greece." 
 
 Anaxagoras stepped forward, saying, 
 
 " You, O Athenians ! want defenders, and will want them 
 more : I look for protection to no mortal arm ; I look for it 
 to that divine power, the existence of which my accuser tells 
 you I deny." 
 
 " He shirks the thunder," said one. 
 
 " He sticks to the blind side of Jupiter," said another. 
 
 Such were the obsei'vations of the pious and malicious, who 
 thought to expiate all their sins by throwing them on his 
 shoulders, and driving him out of the city. He was con- 
 demned by a majority of voices. Pericles followed him through 
 the gates, beyond the fury of his persecutors. 
 
 [3« First ed. : " raved."]
 
 3 1 o Longer Prose Works. 
 
 CLXII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Three days after the banishment of Anaxagoras, the threat of 
 Diopeithes was carried into effect ; not against the person of 
 Pericles, but against your Aspasia. Diopeithes had himself 
 denounced me on the same count as Anaxagoras : and Her- 
 mippos, whose entire life has been (they tell me) one sluggish 
 stream of gross impurities, impeached me as a corruptress of 
 the public morals. 
 
 You will imagine, my Cleone, that something loose and 
 lascivious was brought forward in accusation against me. No 
 such thing. Nothing of the kind is considered as having any 
 concern with public morals here in Athens. My crime was, 
 seducing young men from their parents and friends ; retaining 
 them in conversation at our house ; encouraging them to study 
 the sciences in preference to the machinations of Sophists ; to 
 leave the declaimers an empty room for the benefit of their 
 voices, and to adhere more closely to logic before they venture 
 upon rhetoric. 
 
 You will now perceive, that all who have the most interest 
 and the most exercise in the various artifices of deception, were 
 my enemies. I feared lest Pericles should run farther into the 
 danger of losing his popularity, by undertaking my defence, 
 and resolved to be my own pleader. The hour had been 
 appointed for opening the trial : I told him it was one hour 
 later. When it was nearly at hand, I went out of the house 
 unobserved, and took my place before the assembly of the 
 people. My words were these. 
 
 " If any of the accusations brought against me were well- 
 founded, they wo'old have been known to Pericles. It would 
 be strange were he indifferent to any offence of mine against 
 the laws, especially such as you accuse me of, unless he is, as 
 the accusation would imply, insensible to honour, propriety, 
 and decency. Is this his character ? He never has had an 
 enemy bold and false enough to say it : I wonder at this ; yet 
 he never has." 
 
 The people, who had been silent, now began to favour me, 
 when Diopeithes asked me, whether I could deny my con- 
 versations with Anaxagoras, and my adherence to his 
 tenets.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 311 
 
 Love of truth, pity for Anaxagoras, and pride (it may be) 
 in the strength of mind he had given me, and in the rejection 
 of unworthy notions on the Gods, urged me to say, 
 
 " I deny no conversation I ever had with him, no tenet I 
 ever received, no duty I ever learnt from him. He taught 
 me veneration for the Gods ; and I pray them to render me 
 grateful for it." 
 
 Pericles at this moment stood at my side. Indignarion that 
 he should have followed Anaxagoras out of the gates, and 
 should have embraced him affectionately at parting, turned 
 many furious faces, furious cries, and furious gestures against 
 him. He looked round disdainfully, and said aloud, 
 
 " Respect the laws and the unfortunate, you who revere the 
 Gods! 
 
 " It was not the condemned man I followed out of the 
 city ; it was age, which would have sunk under blows ; it 
 was rectitude, which feared not death ; it was friendship, 
 which if I cannot make you esteem, I will not implore you to 
 pardon. 
 
 " At last, O Athenians ! my enemies and yours have per- 
 suaded you to assemble in this place, and to witness the 
 humiliarion and affliction of one who never failed to succour 
 the unfortunate, and who has been the solace of my existence 
 many years. Am I, of all in Athens, the man who should 
 mistake crimes for virtues : the man pointed out from among 
 the rest as the most insensible to his dignity ? How widely 
 then have you erred in calling me to your counsels ! how 
 long, how wilfully, how pertinaciously ! Is it not easier to 
 believe that two or three are mistaken now, than that you all, 
 together with your fathers and best friends, whose natal days 
 and days of departure from us, you still keep holy, have been 
 always so ? " 
 
 Hermippos and Diopeithes, seeing that many were moved, 
 interrupted him furiously. 
 
 " O Pericles ! " cried Hermippos, " we are aware that this 
 woman of Ionia, this Milesian, this Aspasia, entertains the 
 same opinions as yourself." 
 
 " Highly criminal ! " answered Pericles, with a smile ; " I 
 hope no other Athenian is cursed with a wife liable to so 
 grievous an accusation."
 
 3 1 2 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 " Scoffer ! " cried Diopeithes ; " dare you deny that in the 
 summer of this very year, when you were saiUng to lay waste 
 the coasts of the Peloponese, you attempted to pervert the 
 religion of the sailors ? The sun was suddenly bedimmed : ^"^ 
 darkness came over the sea, as far even as unto our city ! the 
 pilot fell upon his face and prayed : and did not you, O 
 Pericles ! raise him up with one hand, and, throwing your 
 mantle over his eyes with the other, ask whether he found 
 any thing dreadful in it ? And when he answered in his 
 piety, ' It is not /^a/,' did you not reply, 
 
 " ' The other darkness is in no otherwise different than in 
 its greater extent, and produced by somewhat larger than my 
 mantle ? ' " 
 
 " Proceed to interrogate," said Pericles. 
 
 " Answer that first, O sacrilegious man ! " exclaimed 
 Diopeithes. 
 
 " Athenians ! " said Pericles, " many of you here present 
 were with me in the expedition. Do assure Diopeithes that 
 it was not my mantle wliich darkened the^sea and sun, that to 
 your certain knowledge both sun and sea were dark before I 
 took it off. So that the Gods, if they were angry at all, were 
 angry earlier in the day. And not only did the sun shine out 
 again, bright and serene as ever, but the winds were favour- 
 able, the voyage prosperous, the expedition successful. 
 
 " It appears to me that the Gods are the most angry when 
 they permit the malicious and the false to prevail over the 
 generous and simple-hearted ; when they permit the best 
 affections to be violated, and the worst to rise up in disorder 
 to our ruin. Nor do I believe that they are very well pleased 
 at hearing their actions and motives called in question ; or at 
 winks and intimations that they want discernment to find out 
 offenders, and power and justice to punish them." 
 
 " In spite of philosophers," cried Diopeithes, " we have still 
 our Gods in Athens." 
 
 " And our men too," replied he, " or these before me must 
 only be the shadows of those who, but lately under my com- 
 mand, won eternal renown in Samos." 
 
 [•'''■ Plutarch says that the expedition was unsuccessful. He adds 
 that the conduct of Pericles " is a question which is discussed in 
 schools of philosophy."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 313 
 
 Tears rose into his eyes : they were for me ; but he said in 
 a low voice, audible however in the silence that had succeeded 
 to a loud and almost universal acclamation, 
 
 " At least for our lost comrades a few tears are not for- 
 bidden us." 
 
 The people struck their breasts : the judges unanimously 
 acquitted me, surrounded Pericles, and followed us home with 
 enthusiastical congratulations. 
 
 CLXIII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Never did our house receive so many visitors as on my 
 acquittal. Not only our friends and acquaintances, but every 
 one who had fought under Pericles, came forward to offer his 
 felicitations[and his services. I was forgotten . . . the danger, 
 the insult, seemed his. When they had all retired to dinner, 
 he too left me with my music, and I did not see him again 
 until late the next morning. It was evident he had slept but 
 little. He came up to me, and pressing my hand, said, 
 
 " Aspasia ! I have gained a great victory ; the greatest, 
 the most glorious, and the only one not subject to a reverse." 
 
 I thought his words related to his defence of me : I was 
 mistaken. 
 
 " It was yesterday, for the first time," said he, " that I 
 knew the extent of my power. I could have demolished the 
 houses of my adversaries ; I could have exiled them from the 
 city ; I could have been their master : I am more ; I am my 
 own. 
 
 " Great injuries create great power : no feeble virtues are 
 necessary to its rejection. In polity," continued he, " the 
 humble may rise, but not the fallen. States live but once. 
 Had I no Aspasia, no children, I am ignorant what support I 
 could have found against the impulses of ambition. Many 
 who seize upon kingly power, are the more desirous of possess- 
 ing it because they have sons to succeed them. Imprudent 
 men ! they expose those sons to infinite dangers, and create no 
 new advantages for them. If they provided for their security, 
 they would abdicate their power, when about to be taken away
 
 314 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 by death from those over whom they exercised it. If they 
 provided for their glory, they would not subject them to the 
 reproach, always merited, of possessing less activity and saga- 
 city than their father. Do they care about their wisdom or 
 their virtue ? they will not cast them among idlers and syco- 
 phants, nor abandon them in a solitary island, where many 
 sing and none discourse. What life is wretcheder ? what 
 state more abject ? " 
 
 "Yours, my dear Pericles! " said I, "is far happier, but 
 by no means enviable." 
 
 " True ! " answered he : "I am subject to threats, curses, 
 denunciations, ostracism, and hemlock : but T glory in the 
 glory of the state, and I know that I can maintain it." 
 
 I was listening with attention, when he said to me with an 
 air of playfulness, 
 
 " Am I not a boaster ? am I not proud of my command ? 
 • am I not over-fond of it, when I am resolved not to transmit 
 it hereditarily to another ? " 
 
 " Rightly judged ! dear Pericles ! " said I : " you always 
 act judiciously and kindly." 
 
 " Political men, like goats," continued he, "usually thrive 
 best among inequalities. I have chosen the meadow ; and 
 not on the whole imprudently. My life has been employed in 
 making it more pleasurable, more even, more productive. 
 The shepherds have often quarrelled with me ; and but now 
 the sheep too, m their wisdom, turned their heads against 
 me. 
 
 We went into the air, and saw Alcibiades walking in the 
 garden. He, not observing us, strode along rapidly, striking 
 with his cane every tree in the alley. When we came up 
 nearer, he was repeating, 
 
 " The fanatical knaves ! I would knock the heads off all 
 their Mercuries.^s 
 
 " Noisy demagogues ! I would lead them into the midst of 
 the enemy ... I would drag them on by the ears . . . not 
 fifty should return. They, in their audacity, impeach Aspasia ? 
 
 [** The mutilation of the Mercuries in Athens, which toolc place 
 just before the expedition to Syracuse, was attributed at the time to 
 Alcibiades. See Plutarch's Life of Alcibiades.']
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 315 
 
 they bring tears into the eyes of Pericles ! I will bring more 
 into theirs, by holy Jupiter ! " 
 
 He started at our approach. My husband laid his hands 
 upon the youth's shoulder, and said to him, 
 
 " But, Alcibiades ! if you do not lead fifty back, where 
 will you leave the captives ? " 
 
 He sprang to the neck of his guardian,^^ and turning his 
 face toward me, blushed, and whispered, 
 
 " Did she too hear me ? " 
 
 CLXIV. 
 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 I WOULD not disturb you, my beloved Pericles ! but let not 
 any thing else ! Why are you so busy now the danger is 
 over ? why do so many come to you, with countenances so 
 earnest when they enter, and so different from composed when 
 they go away ? You never break your resolutions, otherwise 
 I should fear they might lead you above the place of fellow- 
 citizen. Then farewell happiness, farewell manliness, security, 
 sincerity, affection, honour ! 
 
 Pericles ! descend from the car of Victory on the course 
 itself. In abandoning power and station, what do you abandon 
 but inquietude and ingratitude ? 
 
 CLXV. 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 We never alight from a carriage while it is going down a hill, 
 but always at the top or at the bottom. There is less danger 
 in being shaken out than there is in leaping out. 
 
 Were I at this juncture to abdicate my authority, I should 
 appear to the people to confess a fault, and to myself to com- 
 mit one. 
 
 1 must defend those who would have defended me. Rely 
 on my firmness in all things ; on Pericles, one, immutable. 
 
 P9 First ed. : "Uncle."!
 
 3i6 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 CLXVI. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Alcibiades will one time or other bring us all into peril by his 
 recklessness and precipitation. 
 
 When he heard I was arrainged, and Pericles threatened, 
 he ran from house to house among the officers of the army, 
 embraced them, knelt before them, adjured them to save their 
 general from ignominy, his wife from insult, the city from 
 mourning, and themselves from inactivity. He swore that if 
 they would not, he would : that two thousand of the same 
 age, or rather older, would join him and obey him, and that 
 he would throw judges, accusers, applauders, listeners, over 
 the Piraeus. Not a soldier did he pass without a kiss, without 
 a pressure ,of the hand, without a promise ; not a girl in 
 Athens that was not his sister, not a matron that was not his 
 mother. 
 
 Within an hour, in every part of the city there were 
 cries, 
 
 " The Lacedaemonians have none of these rogues among 
 them." 
 
 " No accusers there : no judges there." 
 " Archidamus is wise ; Pericles is wiser : shall the one be 
 a king, the other a culprit ? " 
 
 " Shall his war-horse," cried a soldier, " carry paniers ? " 
 " Fore-foot and hind-foot, say I," cried another, " against 
 these market-place swine, these black-muzzled asses ! " 
 
 " Out upon them ! what have they won for us ? " cried 
 another. 
 
 " And what have we not won for them ? " roared the 
 next. 
 
 " What was all the stir about ? " asked one more quiet. 
 " They dared to accuse our General of denying their dues to 
 the Gods. Liars ! he gives every man his due." A laugh 
 arose. " No laughing here ! I uphold it, we soldiers can take 
 as good care of the Gods as they can. Who believes they 
 ever were in danger ? Pericles might have cracked them by 
 the dozen : he has left them all standing ; not a head missing. 
 Save him, comrades, from the cowards, the poisoners."
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 317 
 
 On all sides of the city the soldiers ran to their ofEcers, and 
 then toward the house of Pericles. It was with difficulty he 
 could dissuade them from their resolution, to confer upon 
 him the same authority and station as Archidamus holds 
 among the Spartans. 
 
 " We shall then meet the enemy upon equal terms," said 
 they ; " ay, more than equal ; affability for moroseness, 
 liberality for parsimony." 
 
 The greater part of the citizens would have followed ; the 
 turbulent for change, the peaceable for tranquillity. 
 
 My husband has allayed the tempest ; his ambition is higher. 
 Nothing can be taken from the name of Pericles, and what is 
 added to it must be of baser metal. 
 
 CLXVII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 The poet Hermippos will be remembered for the malignity of 
 his accusation against me, when all the poetiy he has ever 
 written, even the worst of it, is forgotten. At what a price 
 would many men purchase the silence of futurity ! Hermippos 
 will procure it reasonably, excepting two memorable words, 
 Prosecutor of Aspasia. Such people show me only the more 
 clearly to the world by throwing their torches at me. Pallas 
 hath whispered in my ear, both dreaming and awake, that 
 distant time shall recognise me, never perhaps alone, but some- 
 times by the side of Pericles, and sometimes on the bosom of 
 Cleone. 
 
 CLXVIII. 
 ASPASiA TO PERICLES. 
 
 What but the late outrages, or rather, what but the ascend- 
 ancy you have obtained in consequence, could have brought 
 the aristocratical party to offer you their services, in helping 
 to keep down the ferocity of the populace ? It might indeed 
 be well to unite them, were it possible ; but not being pos- 
 sible, I would rather place the more confidence in the less 
 ignorant and turbulent.
 
 ^ 1 8 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 o 
 
 CLXIX. 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 AsPAsiA ! as you are cautious not to look earnestly at a hand- 
 some man, but rather turn your eyes another way, so must I 
 do in regard to Aristocracy. It is not proper that I should 
 discover any charms in her. 
 
 Among the losses I sustained by the flight of youth, I 
 ought to regret my vanity. I had not enough of it for a 
 robe, but I had enough for a vest ; enough to keep me warm 
 and comfortable. Not a remnant have I now. Why be 
 ashamed of our worthy party ? Did I espouse it for its 
 virtues ? Was it ever in high repute for its fidelity ? What 
 is it to me whether a couple or two of housed pards bite one 
 another's tails off or not, excepting that they lie down the 
 quieter for it afterward ? They have still heads and necks 
 to be led along by. We have only to walk up to them firmly, 
 to look at them steadily, speak to them boldly, lay the hand 
 upon them confidently, as their masters, and grasp them with 
 a tenacity that neither relaxes nor hurts. -^ He who does this, 
 and there are some who can do it, may go forth and catch 
 other beasts with them, and feast all his friends in the city. 
 
 CLXX. 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 There is irritation in your irony, O Pericles ! your spirit is 
 not at rest. Unworthily, for the first time since I knew you, 
 have you thought and spoken ! Thought ! no, Pericles ! 
 passion is not thought. Contumely has produced this bitter- 
 ness ; it left you with the words. 
 
 CLXXI. 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 AsPAsiA ! you have looked into my heart, and purified it. 
 Your indignities sometimes rise up before me ; and it is only 
 when I am prompted to do wrong by others, that I recover 
 all my firmness. Athens has a right to my solicitude and 
 devotion. I will forget no favour she has ever shewn me, and 
 remember no enmity.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 319 
 
 40 
 
 CLXXII.^ 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Peace is at all times a blessing ; and war, even the most pros- 
 perous, a curse. In war extremely few of men's desires are 
 gratified, and those the most hateful ; in peace, many, and 
 those the kindliest. Were it possible to limit the duration of 
 hostilities, the most adverse nations, in the enjoyment of a long 
 security, would find time enough for the cultivation of the 
 social affections, and for the interchange of hospitality and 
 other friendly offices. As some bodily diseases, if they can 
 only be deferred for a certain time, terminate altogether, so 
 might the worst of social diseases, war. I do not much 
 wonder that no statesman ever upheld this truth ; but I do 
 greatly that it is to be found among the tenets of no philo- 
 sopher. We women, who are liable to the worst outrages, 
 and are framed by nature to the greatest susceptibility of fears, 
 usually love war the most, until it enters our houses. We are 
 delighted at the sound and at the spectacles from afar ; and no 
 music is more pleasing to our ears than that which is the pre- 
 lude to the cries of agony and death. The Spartans are now 
 ravaging all the country round about us. Will they never let 
 me visit their celebrated city ? Must I never fancy I am 
 Helen while I am bathing in the Eurotas or the Tiasa ? I 
 am curious to see their Skeias * and to compare it with our 
 Hecatompedon. It would interest me the more, because in 
 this edifice the lyre of our countryman Timotheus is suspended. 
 It was forfeited, you know, for his having added four strings. 
 Woe betide those improvident creatures who add anything to 
 our delights ! But surely poor Timotheus must have fallen 
 among the poets. 
 
 [•lOThis letter is not in ist ed.] 
 
 * " It was of a circular form, with a roof like an umbrella, and 
 erected about 760 years b.c." — St Jo/in's Ancient Greece. The most 
 learned, the most comprehensive, and the most judicious work ever 
 written about the manners, the institutions, and the localities of that 
 country.
 
 320 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 CLXXIII. 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 When the war is over, as surely it must be in another year, let 
 us sail among the islands of the Egasan, and be young as ever. 
 O that it were permitted us to pass together the remainder of 
 our lives in privacy and retirement ! This is never to be hoped 
 for in Athens. 
 
 I inherit from my mother a small yet beautiful house in 
 Tenos : I remember it well. Water, clear and cold, ran be- 
 fore the vestibule : a sycamore shaded the whole building. I 
 think Tenos must be nearer to Athens than to Miletus. 
 Could we not go now for a few days ? How temperate was 
 the air, how serene the sky, how beautiful the country ! the 
 people how quiet, how gentle, how kind-hearted ! 
 
 Is there any station so happy as an uncontested place in a 
 small community, where manners are simple, where wants are 
 few, where respect is the tribute of probity, and love is the 
 guerdon of beneficence. O Pericles ! let us go ; we can 
 return at any time. 
 
 CLXXIV. 
 ANAXAGORAS TO ASPASIA. 
 
 The gratitude and love I owe to Pericles induces me to write 
 the very day I have landed at Lampsacus. You are prudent, 
 Aspasia ! and your prudence is of the best quality ; instinctive 
 delicacy. But 1 am older than you, or than Pericles, although 
 than Pericles by only six years . . . and, having no other 
 pretext to counsel you, will rest upon this. Do not press him 
 to abstain from public business : for, supposing he is by nature 
 no obstinate man, yet the long possession of authority has 
 accustomed him to grasp the tighter what is touched ; as 
 shell-fish contract the claws at an atom. The simile is not an 
 elegant one, but I offer it as the most apposite. He might 
 believe that you fear for him, and that you wish him to fear ; 
 this alone would make him pertinacious. Let every thing 
 take its season with him. Perhaps it is necessary that he 
 should control the multitude : if it is, he will know it ; even
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 321 
 
 you could not stir him, and would only niolest him by the 
 attempt. Age is coming on. This will not loosen his 
 tenacity of power ... it usually has quite the contrary 
 effect . . . but it will induce him to give up more of his time 
 to the studies he has always delighted in, which however were 
 insufficient for the full activity of his mind. Mine is a slug- 
 gard : I have surrendered it entirely to philosophy, and it has 
 made little or no progress : it has dwelt pleased with hardly 
 anything it has embraced, and has often run back again from 
 fond prepossessions to startling doubts. It could not help it. 
 
 But as we sometimes find one thing while we are looking 
 for another, so, if truth escaped me, happiness and content- 
 ment fell in my way, and have accompanied me even to 
 Lampsacus. 
 
 Be cautious, O Aspasia ! of discoursing on philosophy. 
 Is it not in philosophy as in love ? the more we have of it, 
 and the less we talk about it, the better. Never touch upon 
 religion with anybody. The irreligious are incurable and 
 insensible ; the religious are morbid and irritable : the former 
 would scorn, the latter would strangle you. It appears to me 
 to be not only a dangerous, but, what is worse, an indelicate 
 thing, to place ourselves where we are likely to see fevers and 
 phrenzies, writhings and distortions, debilities and deformities. 
 Religion at Athens is like a fountain near Dodona, which ex- 
 tinguishes a lighted torch, and which gives a flame of its own 
 to an unlighted one held down to it. Keep yours in your 
 chamber ; and let the people run about with theirs ; but 
 remember, it is rather apt to catch the skirts. Believe me, I 
 am happy : I am not deprived of my friends. Imagination is 
 little less strong in our later years than in our earlier. True, 
 it alights on fewer objects, but it rests longer on them, and 
 sees them better. Pericles first, and then you, and then 
 Meton, occupy my thoughts. I am with you still ; I study 
 with you, just as before, although nobody talks aloud in the 
 schoolroom. 
 
 This the pleasantest part of life. Oblivion throws her light 
 coverlet over our infancy ; and, soon after we are out of the 
 cradle we forget how soundly we had been slumbering, and 
 how delightful were our dreams. Toil and pleasure contend
 
 ^22 Loneer Prose Works. 
 
 for us almost the instant we rise from it : and weariness fol- 
 lows whichever has carried us away. We stop awhile, look 
 around us, wonder to find we have completed the circle of 
 existence, fold our arms, and fall asleep again. 
 
 CLXXV. 
 ANAXAGORAS TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Proxenus, a native of Massilia, is lately come over to visit his 
 relations and correspondents. The Phocseans, you know, were 
 the founders of Lampsacus, long before they were driven, by 
 the invasion of Cyrus, into Italy and Gaul. Like the gener- 
 ality of mercantile men, Proxenus is little attached to any 
 system of philosophy, but appears to hold in some esteem the 
 name and institutions of Pythagoras.''^ Formerly we have 
 conversed, together with Pericles, on this extraordinary man, 
 regretting that so little is known of him in the midst of his 
 celebrity. Hardly a century hath elapsed since he left his 
 native Samos, and settled on the peaceful shores of Italy. 
 His presence, his precepts, his authority, his example, were 
 unavailing to the preservation of that tranquillity, which the 
 beauty of the climate, the fertility of the soil, and the freedom 
 of the institutions, ought to have established and perpetuated. 
 But it is in the regions of the earth as in the regions of the 
 air, the warm and genial are absorbed by the cold and void, 
 and tempests and storms ensue. The happiness of thousands 
 is the happiness of too many, in the close calculation of some 
 inexpert contriver ; and he spoils the honey by smoking the 
 hive. No sooner is a nation at ease, than he who should be 
 the first to participate in the blessing, is the most uneasy ; and, 
 when at last he has found a place to his mind, before he lies 
 down he scratches a hole in it, as the dogs do. Such had 
 been the case at Samos, and such was likewise the case at 
 Croton. The difference lay merely in this. Polycrates was 
 a man of abilities, and capable of holding the government in 
 
 [f^ For an account of Pythagoras, see Grote's History of Greece 
 (ed. 1872), vol. iv., p. 76. Lander's view of the history of the war 
 between Sybaris and Croton curiously coincides with Grote's, as is 
 indeed not unfrequently the case. Grote's history was published in 
 1846, ten years after " Pericles and Aspasia."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 32 
 
 vD 
 
 his single hand : he loved power, he loved pleasure, he con- 
 tented the populace, and he reconciled the wise. Croton was 
 subject to the discretion of an oligarchy, incompetent, arrogant, 
 jealous, and unjust. It is untrue that Pythagoras was ever at 
 enmity with him, or was treated by him with disrespect. The 
 one was as fond of authority as the other, and neither was 
 wiUing to divide it. Whatever could be done to promote the 
 studies of the philosopher was done spontaneously by the chief 
 magistrate, who gave him letters of recommendation to the 
 king of Egypt. By these, and perhaps by these only, could 
 he ever have penetrated in the innermost recesses of the 
 priesthood. Conversing with them, and observing their power 
 over the people, he lost nothing of his inclination to possess 
 the same, and added much to the means of acquiring it. 
 Epimenides '^^ the Cretan was perhaps the exemplar he had 
 resolved to follow, but with mitigated severity. Solon with 
 all his wisdom, and never had mortal more, was unable to 
 bring back the Athenians to the simplicity and equity of their 
 forefathers. Knowing well their propensity to superstition, 
 which always acts with its greatest intensity on the cruel 
 and the loose, he invited Epimenides to come and over- 
 awe them by his sanctity and his sacrifices. We cannot 
 doubt that he left the whole management of their conversion 
 to the discretion of the stranger. An Epimenides, in all ages 
 of the world, will possess more influence than a Solon. 
 
 ||42 a Now at that time the Athenians were afflicted by a pestilence, 
 and the Pythian oracle bade them purify the city; wherefore they 
 sent a ship and Nicias, the son of Niceratus, to Crete to fetch Epi- 
 menides. And he, coming in this way in the forty-sixth Olympiad, 
 purified the city on this wise. Taking black and white sheep, he 
 drove them into the Areiopagus and allowed them to go thence as 
 they would; ordering also that those who followed them should 
 sacrifice each one to God on the spot where it first laid down. And 
 thus the pestilence ceased. Hence come the altars inscribed with no 
 God's name which even now can be found in the villages round 
 Athens. Others say that the pestilence was caused by the sacrilege 
 committed during the conspiracy of Cylon, and that two youths, 
 Cratinus and Ctesibias, were sacrificed, and that then the pestilence 
 ceased. The Athenians decreed a talent to Epimenides and a ship to 
 take him back to Crete. But he refused the money." — Diogenes Laer. 
 tius. Life of Epimenides^
 
 324 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Lustrations and sacrifices followed prodigies and omens ; and 
 among the marvels and miracles which the Cretan seer dis- 
 played, the last was the greatest in the eyes of Athens. He 
 announced his determination to return home, and refused all 
 the honours and riches the people would have lavished on 
 him. Epimenides wanted nothing : the Gods were less 
 moderate ; they required a human victim. Cratinus was too 
 happy in devoting his blood at the altar ; Ctesibias, on the 
 bosom of his fiiend. 
 
 Proxenus is come in, by appointment, and has broken off 
 an old story, which you know as well as I do. 1 will give 
 you his ; but not without an account from you in return, of 
 what is going on among the craft at Athens. 
 
 CLXXVI. 
 ASPASIA TO ANAXAGORAS. 
 
 Secrecy and mystery drive the uninitiated into suspicion and 
 distrust : an honest man never will propose, and a prudent 
 man never will comply with, the condition. What is equit- 
 able and proper lies wide open on the plain, and is accessible 
 to all, without an entrance through labyrinth or defile. I do 
 not love Pythagoras nor Epimenides, nor indeed my friend 
 Socrates so much as perhaps I should, who however, beside 
 his cleverness, has many good qualities. He, like Pytha- 
 goras, is endowed with an extraordinary share of intellect ; but 
 neither of them has attained the fixed and measured scope of 
 tme philosophy ; the one being in pej^petual motion to display 
 his surprising tricks of rhetorical ingenuity, which tend only to 
 the confusion of truth and falsehood, and consequently to 
 indifference in the choice of them ; the other was no less 
 active and restless in the acquisition and maintenance of power. 
 The business of philosophy is to examine and estimate all 
 those things which come within the cognizance of the under- 
 standing. Speculations on any that lie beyond, are only 
 pleasant dreams, leaving the mind to the lassitude of disap- 
 pointment. They are easier than geometry and dialectics ; 
 they are easier than the efforts of a well-regulated imagination
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 325 
 
 in the structure of a poem. These are usually held forth by 
 them as feathers and thistle-down ; yet condescend they never- 
 theless to employ them ; numerals as matter and mind ; har- 
 mony as flute and fiddle-strings to the dances of the stars. In 
 their compositions they adopt the phraseology and curtsey to 
 the cadences of poetry. Look nearer ; and what do you see 
 before you ? the limbs of Orpheus, bloodless, broken, swollen, 
 and palpitating on the cold and misty waters of the Hebms. 
 Such are the rhapsodical scraps in their visionary lucubrations. 
 They would poison Homer, the purest and soundest of 
 moralists, the most ancient and venerable of philosophers, not 
 out of any ill-will to him, but out of love to the human race. 
 There is often an enchantment in their sentences, by which 
 the ear is captivated, and against which the intellectual powers 
 are disinclined to struggle ; and there is sometimes, but very 
 rarely, a simplicity of manner, which wins like truth. But 
 when ambition leads them toward the poetical, they fall flat 
 upon thorny ground. No writer of florid prose ever was more 
 than a secondary poet. Poetry, in her bright estate, is de- 
 lighted with exuberant abundance, but imposes on her wor- 
 shipper a severity of selection. She has not only her days of 
 festival, but also her days of abstinence, and, unless upon some 
 that are set apart, prefers the graces of sedateness to the revelry 
 of enthusiasm. She rejects, as inharmonious and barbarous, the 
 mimiciy of her voice and manner by obstreperous sophists and 
 argute grammarians, and she scatters to the winds the loose 
 fragments of the schools. 
 
 Socrates and his disciples run about the streets, pick up 
 every young person they meet with, carry him away with 
 them, and prove to him that everything he ever heard is false, 
 and everything he ever said is foolish. He must love his 
 father and mother in their way, or not at all. The only 
 questions they ask him are those which they know he 
 cannot answer, and the only doctrines they inculcate are 
 those which it is impossible he should understand. He has 
 now fairly reached sublimity, and looks of wonder are inter- 
 changed at his progress. Is it sublime to strain our vision 
 into a fog ? and must we fancy we see far because we arc 
 looking where nobody can see farther ?
 
 '> 
 
 2 6 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 CLXXVII. 
 ANAXAGOILAS TO ASPASIA. 
 
 The Massilian is intelligent and communicative. Some 
 matters which he related at our conference you will perhaps 
 remember in Herodotus : others are his own stoiy ; so let 
 him tell the whole in his own manner. 
 
 " The unbroken force of Persia was brought under the 
 walls of Phoccea. Hai-pagus, equally wise and generous, 
 offered to our citizens the most favourable terms of surrender. 
 They requested one day for deliberation. Aware of their in- 
 tentions, he dissembled his knowledge, and allowed them to 
 freight their ships, embark, and sail away. His clemency was 
 however no security to his garrison. Within a few days the 
 expatriated citizens landed again, slew every Persian within 
 the walls, then, casting a mass of iron into the sea, swore they 
 would never return a second time until it rose and floated on 
 the surface. Some historians would persuade us that, after 
 this cruel vengeance, this voluntary and unanimous oath, the 
 greater part returned. Such a tale is idle and absurd. The 
 Persians would too surely have inflicted due vengeance on their 
 pei"fidy. Some however did indeed separate from the main 
 body of the emigration, and came to reside here in Lampsacus, 
 which their ancestors had founded, and where they continued 
 on the most hospitable terms by frequent intermarriages. The 
 bulk of the expedition reached Alalia, a colony of theirs, led 
 recently into Corsica. Here they continued to reside but a 
 little time unmolested by the jealousy of the Carthaginians and 
 Tyrrhenians. Undaunted by the coalition against them, and 
 by the loss of many ships in a battle with the united fleet of the 
 confederates, they sailed to the neighbourhood of the more 
 ancient Grecian cities, and founded Elea, near Poseidonia. 
 And now probably they first became acquainted with the 
 disciples of Pythagoras. He himself, it is said, retired to 
 Metapontum, and died there. When he went from Samos to 
 Croton he was in the vigour of life ; and not many years 
 elapsed ere he beheld the overthrow of his institutions. He 
 is reported by some to have attained an extreme old age, 
 which his tranquillity and temperance render probable. Even
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 327 
 
 without this supposition, he may perhaps have visited the coast 
 of Gaul, before or after the arrival of the Phocseans. Collect- 
 ing, we may imagine, additional forces from the many lonians 
 whom the generals of Cyms had expelled, they began to build 
 the city of Massilia, not long after the settlement at Elea, 
 which the vicinity of powerful states, and its incapacity and 
 insecurity for the mooring of a navy, rendered ineligible as the 
 seat of government, or as a constant station." 
 
 l^hus much I had collected from Proxenus, when he began 
 to give me information on anchorages and harbours, imports 
 and exports : I could not in common civility interrupt him, or 
 ask any thing better than what it pleased him to bestow on 
 me. As our acquaintance strengthens, I will draw more 
 unreservedly from his stores. 
 
 CLXXVIII. 
 
 ANAXAGORAS TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Proxenus runs into some errors both in regard to facts and 
 motives. It is false that Pythagoras, on returning from his 
 voyage in Egypt, was indignant at finding a tyrant in his native 
 city. Polyc rates was in possession of the supreme power 
 when the philosopher left the island, and used it with clemency 
 and discretion. The traveller might have gone and might 
 have returned with discontent, but indignation is averse to 
 favours, and these he was by no means reluctant to accept. 
 Finding he could not be the principal man among his fellow- 
 citizens, he resolved to attain that rank where the supremacy 
 was yet unoccupied. He had seen enough of the Egyptian 
 and heard enough of the Indian priesthood, to convince him 
 that, by a system somewhat similar to theirs, absolute power 
 was more attainable and more safe. He took lessons and pre- 
 cautions ; and wherever there was a celebrated and ancient 
 temple, he visited its priests, and explored the origin and con- 
 duct of their institutions and authority. In recompense for 
 these, he is reported to have raised his tunic to the holy ones 
 at Olympia, and to have displayed a golden thigh. Nothing 
 so royal, so godlike, had been seen since the reign of Pelops.^^ 
 
 [■43 (c When Tantalus set before the gods for their banquet the body 
 of his fair son Pelops, they shrank, back nor eat of the accursed meal. 
 But she alone Demeter heeded not, thinking sorrowfully of her dear
 
 28 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 A golden thigh is worth an ivory shoulder. Such a miracle, 
 we may be sure, was not altogether lost upon the prophetess at 
 Delphi, the fair Themistocleia, who promulgated to him her 
 secrets in return. 
 
 His doctrines were kept within his own circle, under the 
 safeguard of an oath. This in all countries is and ought to be 
 forbidden, as being the prerogative of the magistracy. Love 
 of supremacy was the motive in all his injunctions and in all 
 his actions. He avoided the trouble of office and the danger 
 of responsibility : he excluded the commons, and called to him 
 the nobles, who alone were deemed worthy of serving him. 
 Among these he established an equality, which, together with 
 the regularity and frugality of their living, must have tended 
 to conciliate and gratify in some measure the poorer citizens. 
 Certain kinds of animal food were forbidden, as in India and 
 other countries less remote, but, contrary to what we have 
 often heard asserted, no species of pulse or vegetable. Abstain 
 from the bean, signified, abstain from elections to political 
 employments. The teacher was in the place of parent to his 
 disciples, who appear to have renounced all the natural affec- 
 tions that had sprung up before they entered the society. His 
 regimen was mild and generous : its principal merit was, how- 
 ever, the repression of loquacity ; common in the ardour of 
 youth after its chase in the fields of knowledge ; commoner, 
 and more unbecoming, in the morose repose of an arrogant 
 philosophy. The history of Pythagoras, forasmuch as he 
 interests us in being the leader of a sect and of a party, is 
 neither long nor obscure. The commons of Croton soon 
 began to perceive that, under his management, the sons of the 
 aristocracy would be no better inclined, than their fathers had 
 been, to concede them an equal share in the government : and 
 the rulers themselves, day after day, lost somewhat of authority 
 in their families. During the whole time that he had resided 
 in Italy, the people of nearly all the Greek cities heaved indig- 
 nantly under oppressive oligarchies. Sybaris, whose health *^ 
 
 daughter Persephone in the dark realm of Pluto. Whereby Pelops' 
 shoulder being missing from his limbs, Hephaistos wrought him a 
 nevv^ one, ivory, white gleaming, which all his sons bear even to this 
 day."] 
 
 L^ First ed. : " wealth."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 329 
 
 they were absorbing in more than Circasan luxuries, rose first 
 upon her feet, and expelled the council of five hundred. They 
 retired for refuge to the lords of Croton ; and, when the 
 Sybarites called for justice on them, the demand was voted an 
 affront. And now indeed the veil of sanctity and seclusion 
 was violently rent by the disciples of the Samian. He incited 
 them to maintain peace and good government, pointed out to 
 them the phantom of Freedom, how it blasted every region it 
 passed over, and adjured them to the defence of their rulers, 
 by the purity of their religion. They marched, fought a battle, 
 won it, and Sybaris was swept from the earth. 
 
 Discord, I suspect, O Aspasia ! is the readiest of all the 
 Deities to appear at our invocation. The oligarchs of Croton, 
 long accustomed to uncontrolled power and irresponsible in- 
 justice, refused to the army, now comprehending all the active 
 citizens, even the smallest portion of the spoils. Again did 
 the Crotoniats cry to arms ; and again, and in a better cause, 
 were conquerors. Pythagoras * and his disciples fled before 
 them, and the hall in which they assembled was reduced to 
 ashes. 
 
 It is only a free city that is strong ; for it is only in a free 
 city that the mass of the people can be armed. 
 
 CLXXIX. 
 ASPASIA TO ANAXAGORAS. 
 
 Men of powerful minds, although they never give up Philo- 
 sophy, yet cease by degrees to make their professions in form, 
 and lay ultimately the presents they have received from her at 
 the feet of History. Thus did Herodotus, thus did Hecataeus, 
 and thus, let me hope, will Anaxagoras. The deeds of past 
 ages are signally reflected on the advancing clouds of the 
 future : here insurrections and wrecks and conflagrations ; here 
 the ascending, there the drooping diadem ; the mighty host, 
 the mightier man before it ; and, in the serener line on the 
 horizon, the emersion of cities and citadels over far-off seas. 
 There are those who know in what quarter to look for them : 
 but it is rarely to their hands the power of promoting the good, 
 
 * Pythagoras was a Prse -Jesuit.
 
 330 Longer Prose "Works. 
 
 or averting the evil, is entrusted. Yet, O Anaxagoras ! all is 
 not hideous in the past, all is not gloomy in the future. There 
 are communities where the best and wisest are not utterly cast 
 aside, and where the robe of Philosophy is no impediment to 
 the steps of men. Idly do our sages cry out against the 
 poets for mistuning the heart and misgoverning the intellect. 
 Meanwhile they themselves are occupied in selfish vanities 
 on the side of the affections ; and, on the side of the under- 
 standing, in fruitless, frivolous, indefinite, interminable disquisi- 
 tions. If our thoughts are to be reduced to powder, I would 
 rather it were for an ingredient in a love-potion, to soften with 
 sympathies the human heart, than a charm for raising up spectres 
 to contract and to coerce it. If dust is to be thrown into our 
 eyes, let it be dust from under a bright enlivening sun, and not 
 the effect of frost and wind. 
 
 CLXXX. 
 ANAXAGORAS TO ASPA5IA. 
 
 Philosophy is but dry bread : men will not live upon it, how- 
 ever wholesome : they require the succulent food and exciting 
 cup of Religion. We differ in bodily strength, in compactness 
 of bone, and elasticity of sinew ; but we all are subject to the 
 same softness, and nearly to the same distemperature, in the 
 nobler animators of the frame, the brain and blood. Thus it 
 is in creeds : the sage and simple, the ardent enthusiast and the 
 patient investigator, fall into and embrace with equal pertinacity 
 the most absurd and revolting tenets. There are as many wise 
 men who have venerated the ibis and cat, as there are who 
 have bent their heads before Zeus and Pallas. No extrava- 
 gance in devotion but is defended by some other towering 
 above it ; no falsehood but whose features are composed to the 
 semblance of truth. By some people those things are adored 
 that eat them ; by others, those that they eat. Men must rest 
 here : superstition, satiated and gorged, can go no farther. 
 
 The progression of souls is not unreasonable, the transmigra- 
 tion is. That we shall pass hereafter into many states of suc- 
 cessive existence is credible enough ; but not upon earth, not
 
 Pericles and Aspasia, ^^ i 
 
 with earthly passions. Yet Pythagoras ^^ was so resolute and 
 unguarded, that he asserted to himself a series of lives, here 
 among men, by the peculiar and especial favour of the Gods, 
 with a perfect consciousness of every change he had under- 
 gone. Others became dogs, wolves, bears ; or peradventure 
 men again ; but knowing as little of what had happened. 
 Nevertheless, he pietended that these transmigrations were 
 punishments and rewards. Which is punished ? the dead 
 creature or the living ? the criminal man or the guiltless 
 animal ? Some believe they can throw their sins into a fox : 
 others (in Africa for instance) into a priest. Now the priest 
 may have received what he esteems an equivalent : the fox is 
 at once a creditor and a debtor, with little hope, on either 
 side, of indemnity or balance. It is only when you or Per- 
 icles were my audience, that I ever was inclined to press hard 
 against the inconsistencies of philosophers. But we must 
 trace things to their origin where we can. The greater part 
 of those now prevalent are ascribable to the school of Samos. 
 Numerals "**^ were considered by the teacher as materials, and 
 not only as the components, but as the elements, of the world. 
 He misunderstood his own theory : the reason is, he made it 
 his own by theft. The young persons who are hearers of the 
 warier Socrates, catch at it in the playground, and the ill-com- 
 pacted cake crumbles under their hands. 
 
 Unfavourable as my evidence must appear, and is, I am 
 fortunate in being able to lay before you another and comelier 
 representation of a philosopher so enriched by genius. I have 
 always, in all companies, and upon all occasions, been sparing 
 
 [■45 (( Now HeracHdes of Pontus says that Pythagoras used to assert 
 that he was originally Acthalides, and deemed to be the son of 
 Hermes, who asked of him what gift he would choose beyond im- 
 mortality ; he therefore prayed that, living and dead, he might be 
 able equally to remember what happened. And therefore in his life 
 he remembered all things ; and, dying, preserved the same memory. 
 Later he passed into the body of Euphorbus, etc.'" — Diog. Laert., Pyth- 
 agoras^ viii. 4.] 
 
 [_'*8 " The primal origin of all things is unity; and from the unity 
 arose an irifinite duality, being as it were the matter for the causative 
 unity ; then from the unity and the duality come numbers : from 
 numbers points ; from points lines ; from lines plain figures ; and from 
 plain figures solids." — D'log. Laert., Pythagoras. 19.]
 
 332 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 of my questions, and have exerted the uttermost ingenuity I 
 am master of, in drawing the truth on, without such an in- 
 stmment^of torture. Probably I have lost by age a part of 
 my dexterity, or presence of mind, or determination ; for 
 Proxenus, at the close of our conference, said aloud and 
 sharply, 
 
 " You shall never make that out. I think him a very 
 honest man ; and I think nobody an honest man who thinks 
 otherwise." 
 
 " Fair Proxenus ! " I replied, "you are now greatly more 
 than a philosopher. Some favourite God alone could have 
 inspired all this enthusiasm. In the vigorous expression of 
 that terse apothegm is there not somewhat more of the poet 
 than of the Pythagorean ? " 
 
 " I believe there may be," replied he ; "I was always 
 much given to poetiy." *" 
 
 He grew instantly calm upon my compliment, and said with 
 the most polite complacency, 
 
 *' Well ! I am not a match for you Half- Athenians ; but 
 read this little volume by my friend Psyllus of Metapontum ; 
 it will open your eyes, I warrant it." 
 
 " Blessings upon it then ! " said I, bending over and taking 
 it with due reverence ; " many of late have done quite the 
 contrary." 
 
 CLXXXI. 
 PSYLLUS TO PISANDER OF ELEA. 
 
 On the Laivgiver of the Gauls, foriuarded to Cleone.^^ 
 
 PisANDER ! when last we met, I promised you I would make 
 farther inquiries into the subject of our conversation at the 
 house of Euryalus, and that I doubted not of success in 
 attempting to prove the identity of Pythagoras and Samotes.'^^ 
 
 j'47'phe words " In . . . poetry" (5 lines), not in 1st ed.] 
 [■*** The words " forwarded to Cleonc " are not in ist ed.] 
 [^9 That Samothes (or Dis) gave the first laws to the Celts (whose 
 kingdom he erected about the 15th of Nimbrote) the testimony of 
 BeroEus is proof sufficient. For he not only affirmeth him to publish 
 the same in the fourth of Ninus, but also addeth thereto how there 
 lived none in his days of more excellent wisdom or politic invention 
 than he, whereof he was named Samothes, as some other do affirm. 
 What his laws were is now altogether unknown." — HoUmhed's 
 Chronicles, ii. g.j
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 333 
 
 Strange, that the idea should have occurred to no one else in 
 the course of many generations. Was it not sufficiently clear 
 for the follower of truth ? or was it not sufficiently dark 
 and intricate for the lover of mystery and paradox ! I 
 imagine it stood between both, at an equal distance from the 
 road of each, and thus it was passed unnoticed. 
 
 There is nobody then who can explain to me what was the 
 religion of the Gauls at the time of the Phocsean emigration. 
 Samotes is recorded as their legislator. Legislation here in- 
 cludes, as it necessarily must in ages of barbarism, not only 
 the civil institutions of the people, but likewise the religious. 
 Yet neither the character nor the tenets, neither the period nor 
 the countiy, nor indeed the existence of Samotes, have ever 
 been ascertained. Ask the people who he was, and they will 
 tell you that he came to them over the sea, long ago. Com- 
 putation of time, past and future, never occupies, never occurs 
 to, the barbarian. It was long ago that the old tree, against 
 which his cabin leans, sprang up ; long ago since the cabin was 
 built ; long ago since he was a child. Whatever is not visible 
 to him, or was not, has feeble hold on his memory, and never 
 enters into his calculation. As lawgiver of the Gauls, 
 Samotes is acknowledged to have instructed them both in the 
 ceremony of human oblations, and in the creed of the metem- 
 psychosis : for these are mentioned together in the first open- 
 ing of their history. But it appears to me that the metem- 
 psychosis, which is generally held as the basis of druidism, is 
 adventitious. We shall find that this institution is composed 
 of two extremely different and obstinately discordant parts. 
 One, the result of ferocity, varies but little from what exists 
 in an early state of most nations ; which diversity may be ac- 
 counted foi-, from their climate, their wants, their habits, and 
 pursuits. The other is engrafted on its savage stock, by the 
 steady but not sufficiently impressive hand of a gentle and 
 provident philosophy. You ask me when ? by whom ? One 
 word will solve both questions : by Samotes ; by the man of 
 Samos. Do you doubt that he ever was in Gaul ? And do 
 you think it probable that, with his fondness for travelling, his 
 alacrity in inquiry, he would have resided many years in Italy, 
 and have never once visited a country so near to him, a country
 
 334 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 so singular in its customs, at least in the combination of them, 
 if such customs then existed, a country on whose shores the most 
 valiant of his own countrymen were landing ? If at this early 
 epoch the tribes of Gaul believed in the metempsychosis, 
 would not sympathy, would not admiration, have impelled him 
 thither ? But if, on the contrary, the doctrine did not prevail, 
 who introduced it ? what author of greater weight ? I am 
 curious to learn his name or his country. Perhaps by knowing 
 the one, we may guess the other, since the ideas he impressed 
 and left behind him are stamped with a peculiar mark. It 
 may be argued that, able to inculcate lastingly, on the mind of 
 his Gallic proselytes, a dogma which seems to have been re- 
 ceived but partially, and to have soon disappeared, where he 
 lived in the full exercise of authority, he still was unable to 
 abolish, as he would wish to do, their sanguinary rites.^*^ He 
 was : for it is easier to learn than to unlearn what incessantly 
 works and excites and agitates our passions. The advantages 
 of the metempsychosis were perhaps the most striking of any 
 that could be presented to warlike minds ; to which minds, 
 you must have remarked, O Pisander, advantages will present 
 themselves more readily than disadvantages. Beside, the 
 Druids, whom we cannot well consider at any time a very 
 enlightened order, or likely to see every consequence, every 
 contingency, had no direct interest in suppressing such a doc- 
 trine. New colonies were endeavouring to establish themselves 
 in their country ; and colonies are the unfailing seed of wars. 
 For, if they flourish, they require an accession of territory ; 
 if they do not flourish, they either turn into ^ vagabonds and 
 robbers, or employ violence to remove the obstacles that impede 
 their industry. Something great then and something new was 
 wanting, since the danger that impended was both new and 
 great. Immolations before them on the one side, and the 
 sublime view of the metempsychosis on the other, what could 
 either shake the confidence or abate ^ the courage of the 
 
 ||5o (( The whole of the Gallic nation is given up to superstition. 
 For this reason, those who are afflicted with any serious disease, or 
 who are in battle or other danger, will either sacrifice other men or 
 vow to sacrifice themselves." — Casar De Bella Gallico, vi. i6.] 
 
 [1 First ed. : " out."] 
 
 [2 First ed. : " rebate."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 335 
 
 Gauls ? A new body was new armour, beautiful, strong, in 
 which they would elude the rage and laugh at the impotence 
 of War. It was delightful to try other scenes of existence, to 
 extinguish their burning wounds in the blood of their enemies, 
 and to mount from the shields of their comrades into fresh 
 life and glory. 
 
 A religion thus compounded is absurd and contradictory, 
 but contradiction and absurdity in religion are not peculiar to 
 barbarians. The sacrifice of a human victim was deemed the 
 most solemn and important duty, and they would rather abandon 
 any other ceremony than this. They were savage ; we are 
 civilized : they fought, and their adversaries were to share 
 their immortality : we fight to make others as abject as our- 
 selves. They had leaders of proud spirit who raised them to 
 the heavens : we have heavy oligarchs who bend us to the 
 earth. 
 
 Rituals, in even the less ardent and intractable, are not soon, 
 nor easily, nor all at once, resigned. We must cease then to 
 marvel that the most impressive, the most awful, and perhaps 
 the most universal of devotions, human sacrifice, should not 
 have been overthrown by the declining years of Pythagoras. 
 It is true he retained his faculties to the last ; he retained also 
 the energy of his mind ; but the voluntary exile of Samos 
 was purely a lawgiver in philosophy. His religion was not in- 
 tolerant nor intrusive, but mainly adapted to the humbler offices 
 of temperance and peace. Beyond this, little is known, and much 
 is feigned of him. It would have been well if historians had 
 related to us more of what he did, and less of what he did not. 
 If, instead of the stoiy of his dying in a bean-field, through 
 hoiTor of its impurity, they had carefully traced and pointed 
 out his travels, they would neither have mentioned his voyage 
 to India,* nor have omitted his voyage to Gaul. The priests 
 on the Nile were at all times well acquainted with their brethren 
 on the Indus and Ganges ; and indeed I believe that all the 
 great temples of the world have secret communications. Do 
 not lift up your hands, my good Pisander ! not underground, 
 
 ^ * If Pythagoras had visited India, the learned men who accom- 
 panied Alexander would have enquired after him, and would have 
 given the result,
 
 ^;^6 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 nor magical, but opened from time to time, in cases of diffi- 
 culty and danger, through confidential agents.* 
 
 All religions, in which there is no craft nor cruelty, are 
 pleasing to the immortal Gods ; because all acknowledge their 
 power, invoke their presence, exhibit our dependence, and 
 exhort our gratitude. Therefore, let us never be remiss in our 
 duty of veneration to those holy men, who not only manifest 
 their good will toward such as think and worship with them, 
 but also toward the stranger at the steps of other altars. While 
 orators and poets, and philosophers too, are riotous and quarrel- 
 some, malicious and vindictive, Religion leads to herself, and 
 calls her own, the priests of all persuasions, who extend their 
 hands one to another from a distance, unrestricted by jealousy 
 and undefiled by blood. 
 
 How great, O my friend, is our consolation, in the certainty 
 that our prayers and sacrifices are accepted ! So long as the 
 priests in our country, and around us, live fraternally, let us 
 likewise be of the household. But if any devastating religion 
 should spring up, any which rouses strife and spreads distmst, 
 any which sunders man from man, /^ar religion must be re- 
 jected by the Gods as wicked, and renounced by their wor- 
 shippers as ineffectual. The claimants of such an imposition 
 shall never have from me white flour or salt. Should you 
 question why the milder creed had little effect in Gaul ; why 
 the golden rules are not valued by the people as the precious 
 relics of a departed master ; I reply that, in such a state of 
 society, it was impossible to bring them bodily into use. The 
 priests alone (and it is not every priest who will readily sit 
 down to be instructed) could profit by his knowledge of 
 geometry, or would apply to practice or speculation his theory 
 of numbers. A few of them are not utterly ignorant of 
 either ; and it is hence that the trickling may be traced. Men 
 living in a state of barbarism and warfare would entertain but 
 
 * The use of gun-powder, for instance, if not of guns, was known 
 to the priests in countries the most distant, and of the most different 
 religions. The army of the Macedonians was smitten by its light- 
 nings under the walls of the Oxydracians ; the Gauls, and afterward 
 the Persians, under the Temple of Delphi. ^ 
 
 p In I St ed. this note ends with the words " the army of the Gauls 
 under the walls of Delphi."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 337 
 
 small respect for injunctions to abstain from any obvious and 
 palatable food. Silence, forbearance, quietude, it cannot be 
 expected should be the inmates of a camp. Soldiers without 
 regular supplies (in which consists the main difficulty, and on 
 which depend the main advantages in the science of war) must 
 subsist on whatever they can seize ; and men without regular 
 government (by which I can intend no other than of magistrates 
 chosen by the people) would, if we consider the bean as em- 
 ployed in ballot, be ignorant of the lax and foreign interpretation. 
 
 As the fountains of the most celebrated rivers are neither 
 easily discoverable nor large, so it often happens that things of 
 the greatest moment, in the political and moral world, are de- 
 rived from an obscure, from a remote, and from a slender origin. 
 I have given you my opinion on the cause of the supposition ; 
 but having heard another, however less probable, I will report it.* 
 
 In the south of Italy, where Pythagoras resided, are * 
 several cities, Tarentum in particular, of Lacedaemonian 
 foundation. One festival of this people, whose ancestors 
 were distinguished for frugality, was nevertheless, even in 
 the midst of primitive Lacedasmon, even in the bosom 
 of Temperance herself, deformed with foul excess. It 
 was called the Feast of the Nurses. They carried male 
 infants to the Temple of Diana, and, after exposing themselves 
 among the tents where the populace was assembled, fed them 
 with the entrails of swine, which had been sacrificed, and with 
 figs, vetches, and beans. Their morals, we may believe, were 
 not rendered more austere by the fertility and invitations of a 
 delicious climate. At a distance from Taygetus and Cithasron, 
 they were (allow me the expression) beyond the latitudes of 
 checking breezes from the headlands of bluff morality ; and 
 the voice of the Sirens sounded in ears sealed only to the call 
 of reprehension and reproof. The hunter of Laconia would 
 have smiled to hear them imitate his shout, and tell the 
 trembling Sybarite, their neighbour, that such were the shouts 
 of Spartans. He would have wondered that terror should be 
 excited in another by that which excited only ridicule in him- 
 
 *Qu. whether any author noyf extant, excepting Psyllus in his 
 epistle, mentions this. 
 
 [^ First ed. : "were."]
 
 2,;^S Longer Prose Works. 
 
 self; he would have stared not a little at the start from the 
 couch, and the rustic of roses on the marble floor. 
 
 Pythagoras could not say, Abstain from the city, abstain 
 from the fellowship of the Tarentines ; it would have exasper- 
 ated them against him ; but he might have heard related to 
 him some instance of sensuality which happened at this festival, 
 and might have said briefly, yet significantly, abstain from 
 beans. Ordinances have often been observed and commemor- 
 ated far beyond the intent and expectation of their founder. 
 Certain it is that, formerly as at present, in the popular states 
 of Italy, the election and rejection of magistrates were signi- 
 fied by beans ; and no less evidently was it the interest of the 
 philosophical stranger to dissuade his auditors from the con- 
 cerns of state. This, while it procured toleration and con- 
 ciliated esteem, introduced them to such habitudes of close 
 reflection, as withheld them from being the agitators, and fitted 
 them to become, by just degrees, the leaders of the common- 
 wealth. After all, if they pursued any other line of conduct, 
 he at least would escape uncensured, and might complete with- 
 out juridical, or, what he would more have deprecated, popular 
 molestation, his scheme of general reform. 
 
 Abstain from beans we have considered in a moral and 
 political, but also in a religious point it may easily be defended, 
 by ^ high authorities. However, I must express my doubts 
 whether in the lifetime of Pythagoras his followers abstained 
 from this article of food. Is it not probable that those who 
 came after him took the letter for the spirit, as we know it to 
 have happened in some other doctrines, and within a century 
 from the founder's death ? To abstain with rigour from things 
 indifferent (and from some indeed they did abstain), may not 
 appear consistent with the exercise of reason. Ariogant it 
 may be thought in him who commanded, and infantine in 
 those who obeyed. But, in the religions which have continued 
 the longest, certain foods (it is said) are prohibited ; and the 
 observance of such prohibition is the moral cause of their dura- 
 tion. He who will not obey in what is easy, will not obey in 
 what is diflicult : but the subjects of these theocratical govem- 
 
 [5 First ed.: "from."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 339 
 
 ments are every day refreshed with the exercise of salutary 
 compliance. At the moment when a sense of duty is liable to 
 be extinguished in others, in them it is sure to be excited ; 
 there is piety if they fast ; if they satisfy their hunger there is 
 piety. It appears to me, that the wisest and most provident 
 of oriental legislators are in nothing more worthy of our 
 esteem and veneration, than in the ordinance of these prohibi- 
 tions. Can we ascertain what nations have, or what nations 
 have not, been cannibals ? Why does it revolt more strongly 
 against our senses to eat a man than to kill one ? The crime 
 in itself is surely not so great. Nature has fixed certain 
 bairiers, of which many seem fancifully chosen and arranged, 
 against the irruption of our appetites. There are animals 
 never brought upon our tables, although the flesh is said to be 
 wholesome, and the flavour grateful. It is needless to seek 
 how first it happened that man violated the semblance of him- 
 self and of his Gods. Was it war, was it fanaticism, or was 
 it famine, that impelled him to the accursed sacrifice ? Pisan- 
 der ! Pisander ! he had tasted the fatness of the lamb that he 
 carried in his bosom : he had tempted the fawn by caresses 
 from afar: it had licked his hand, and he had shed its 
 blood ! 
 
 Cannibals have been found where food was plentiful : and 
 the savage does not loathe for its ugliness the hugest sei-pent. 
 There must be something, and it must be in the brute crea- 
 tion, which he shall fear to consume for the impiety of the 
 deed. 
 
 The sacrifice of a human victim can only be performed 
 with the concurrence of prince or magistracy. Of course 
 Pythagoras could not oppose it, consistently with his profession 
 of abstaining from their concerns. Nevertheless he was at 
 liberty to introduce a doctiine which, as the day of cultiva- 
 tion advanced, would undermine the pyre and release the 
 victim. The Druids were, and are, and always will be, 
 barbarous. Their order has not existed long, and will soon 
 terminate, the Gauls being not only the most ferocious of man- 
 kind, but the most suspicious and acute ; they are also the 
 most versatile, the most inconstant, and (what makes sad 
 work with solemnities) on the detection of halt or blemish,
 
 340 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 men ^ of irrepressible mimicry, of unquenchable derision. 
 Those in the vicinity of Massilia are free already from the 
 furies of fanaticism. Intercourse with the Tyrrhenians and 
 Ligurians has humanized them greatly, and the softer voice of 
 Ionia has now persuaded them, that the Gods can take us 
 when they want us, without wicker baskets ; '^ and that the 
 harp and dance are as pleasant to them as the cries and 
 agonies of dying men." 
 
 Thus ends the epistle of Psyllus ; and at least in the end of 
 it I think we shall agree. His comfits will sweeten my 
 pomegranate. 
 
 CLXXXII. 
 
 ASPASIA TO ANAXAGORAS. 
 
 Whatever may be the partiality of your Massilian to Pytha- 
 goras, it is evident enough that the philosopher of Sanios, 
 possessing great acquired intelligence, and gifted with extra- 
 ordinary powers of mind, was an intriguer and an impostor. 
 And truly, O Anaxagoras, it is much to be desired that 
 others now living were exempt from a certain part of such an 
 imputation. Our friend Socrates, I am sorry to say, intimates 
 to his friends in private that he has a kind of genius ^ always 
 at his ear, who forewarns him in affairs apparently the most 
 indifferent. If we consider it well, we shall be of opinion 
 that there are few things so indifferent as they seem to us ; few, 
 the consequence of which may not, visibly or invisibly, act 
 with grave importance on the future. But if a Genius, a 
 
 [^ Not in ist ed. Like many men of his time, Landor was too 
 entiiusiastic over the first beginnings of the French Revolution to 
 pardon the French their submission to Napoleon. But, unlike some, 
 he remained a Republican all his days.] 
 
 [''"Some make use of huge images woven of osiers, which they 
 fill with living men, and these being lighted the men perish in the 
 flames." — Casar De Bella Gallico, vi. I 6.] 
 
 [8 " You have often heard me speak in times past of an oracle or 
 sign which comes to me, and is the divinity which Miletus ridicules 
 in the indictment. This sign I have had ever since I was a child. 
 The sign is a voice which comes to me and always forbids me to do 
 something which I am going to do, but never commands me to do 
 anything." — Jotvetfs Plato, Apology, 31.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 341 
 
 superhuman power, were to influence the actions of any man, 
 surely it would be those which must necessarily put in motion 
 the levers and regulators of a commonwealth. We are all 
 under the guidance of a Deity if we will let him act on us ; 
 but it is as easy to slip from under his guidance, as it is difli- 
 cult to escape from the penalties of our error. Already there 
 are some who are jealous of Socrates and his Genius ; and who 
 perhaps may try, hereafter, whether the Genius will help him 
 to elude the laws. For novelties in religion, as you know, 
 are not held guiltless ; and a Genius that renders a man wiser 
 or better is indeed an innovator. As they cannot catch him, 
 I fear they may lay their hands upon our Socrates. 
 
 CLXXXIII. 
 ANAXAGORAS TO PERICLES. 
 
 It is easier to answer the questions than the kindnesses of your 
 letter. I will begin then. 
 
 We have not two factions ; aristocracy has kept aloof from 
 Lampsacus. The people find themselves so secure and com- 
 fortable under the ancient laws, that they would no more 
 hazard any innovation, than they would alter their course at 
 sea when they were sailing with a favourable wind. They 
 hardly can be brought to believe that any nation hath abro- 
 gated two laws in twenty or thirty years, or hath been obliged 
 by prosperity or adversity to enact so many in so brief a space 
 of time. Miletus was always just to her colonies. She has 
 founded more than sixty ; and not a single one has ever had 
 reason to complain of her exactions or restrictions. All the 
 great empires that have existed in the world, Chaldaea, Baby- 
 lonia, Media, Persia, all these taken together, have not sent 
 out the hundredth part of what has gone forth from the bosom 
 of Miletus. Surely, of political glory this is the highest : to 
 rear carefully a numerous family, educate it honestly, protect 
 it bravely, and provide for it plenteously and independently. 
 Her citizens have more reason to be proud of this section in 
 their polity, than some others who are much powerfuller. 
 Would not every mother wish to see her own features in her 
 daughter ? her own constitutional strength, her own character,
 
 342 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 her own prosperity ? What inconsistency, then, what folly, 
 what madness, for the metropolis to wish otherwise in regard 
 to her colony ! Is the right arm stronger by rendering the 
 left weaker ? Gain we any vantage-ground against our enemy 
 by standing on the prostrate body of our child ? 
 
 To whom am I writing ? to Pericles ? yes, to him ; to the 
 man who best knows that the strongest reasons of state* pro- 
 ceed from the mouth of justice. 
 
 And now let me loose again. Seldom have I written, and 
 never have I spoken, so long at a time on such a subject. 
 Could you ever draw from me even an opinion on these 
 matters, in a city where (excepting myself) you alone pre- 
 served in them your calmness, equanimity, and composure ? 
 Even Aspasia, who unites the wisdom of the heart to the 
 wisdom of the understanding, and has more in both than any 
 one else in either, was sometimes in perturbation at politics, 
 and sometimes in grief. 
 
 A while since I sent her a dozen or more of such verses ^ 
 as our young people, and others who should know better, are 
 idle enough to compose in the open air. My neighbour, 
 Proxenus, the Massilian, has been employed in making a collec- 
 tion from the gardens round about. The greater part, he tells 
 me, are upon love and flowers, dews and suns, stars and 
 moons, evenings and mornings, springs and autumns. He 
 observes that summer is rather out of favour with the poets ; 
 and that where winter is mentioned, he has often found the 
 whole composition scored across with a nail, or with a piece 
 of tile, or defaced in some other way as nigh at hand. Prox- 
 enus is no poet, and therefore it is the more amusing to hear 
 him discourse on poetry. 
 
 " I am sated with flowers," said he. " The Muses ought 
 to keep out of the market : if they must come into it, let them 
 not come as greengrocers. See, what a large proportion in my 
 collection is upon flowers and foliage, with here and there a 
 solitary turtle-dove, and a nightingale deplorably belimed. A 
 few pious men indeed have written in reverence of the tutelary 
 God, and have done all they could to repress the licentious- 
 
 [9 The verses written in Greek and Roman gardens were usually 
 addressed to Priapus, the tutelary god of gardens.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 343 
 
 ness of the young and thoughtless. The best inscription I 
 have found among them is in the garden of Mnestheus ; and 
 this perhaps is worth preservation rather for its grave admoni- 
 tion and religious sentiment than its poetry." 
 
 So far Proxenus. I do not remember what were those 
 verses I sent to Aspasia ; there may be more good sense in 
 these. 
 
 INSCRIPTION ON A PLINTH IN THE GARDEN OF MNESTHEUS AT 
 LAMPSACUS. 
 
 Youngsters ! who write false names, and slink behind 
 
 The honest garden-god to hide yourselves, 
 
 Take heed unto your ways ! the worshipful 
 
 Requires from all upright straightforwardness. 
 
 Away, away then subterfuge with him ! 
 
 I would not chide severely ; nor would he, 
 
 Unless ye thwart him ; for alike we know 
 
 Ye are not childisher than elder folk, 
 
 Who piously (in doing ill) believe 
 
 That every God sees every man . . . but one. 
 
 CLXXXIV. 
 ASPASIA TO ANAXAGORAS. 
 
 The style of your Psyllus is, I presume, Massilian. He 
 walks heavily through high-stemmed leafy flowers. Does he 
 not deserve now this little piece of imitation ? 
 
 Forbear to call it mockery ; for mockery is always rude and 
 inhumane. 
 
 Our friend Socrates has taken a wife. In every danger he 
 has been thought singularly brave ; and, if she is what she is 
 represented, the action proves it. He retains his custom of 
 sitting in the porticoes, and beckoning to passers, and convers- 
 ing on loveliness, and commending equanimity, and driving the 
 schoolmen mad. Yet among the Epithalamions, the cleverest 
 is one which celebrates him for the quality most remote from 
 his character. Thales and Pherecydes and Pythagoras, and 
 some few more, would really have made philosophy domestic. 
 Our epithalamiast, intending nothing satirical, tells Socrates 
 (whom neither celibacy nor marriage have detained at home, 
 and who never could resist an opportunity of wrangling, while
 
 344 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 a sophist or a straw was before him) that he first brought 
 philosophy from heaven into private houses ! I hope he will 
 find her in his own as often as he wants her : but if he is re- 
 solved to bring her down into ours, such as we have seen her 
 lately, the city will be all in a bustle with the double-bolting 
 of doors. 
 
 Let the archons look to it. 
 
 CLXXXV.^O 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 I HAVE been exhorting Pericles to leave Attica for awhile, and 
 to enjoy with me the pleasures of retirement in the little isle 
 of Tenos. He listened to my entreaty with his usual 
 attention and interest, and soon began to expatiate on the 
 charms, on the benefits, on the necessity, of retirement. 
 Without a question I fancied 1 had persuaded him to com- 
 pliance, when, with an air of sadness so attempered with 
 sweetness as it never was in any other man, he said to me, 
 " Aspasia ! you can create in me as many wishes as spring up 
 in the bosom of a child ; and it is partly by planting the slips 
 of your own in mine, and partly by the warmth of your 
 eloquence. What then must be my sense of duty to my 
 country, if, after all these representations, and after all my 
 fatigues and injuries, my determination is fixed to remain some 
 time longer in the city ? Hereafter we may visit Tenos ; 
 hereafter I may drink of the limpid brook, before the house, 
 whose cold water has reddened this hand when you were 
 little. We will build our navies on it : we will follow them 
 along the bank, and applaud them as they clash. Even I 
 foresee a perfidy in Aspasia ; she will pretend to nan as fast as 
 she can, and yet let Pericles outrun her. No, no ; that kiss 
 shall not obviate such duplicity. Have I no reason for the 
 suspicion when you often have let me get the better of you in 
 argument ? Another and easier life may await us there, when 
 this political one is uncoiled from us. But our child must 
 associate with the children of the Athenians : he must love 
 
 [ 1" This letter is not in ist ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 345 
 
 his father's friends ; he must overcome and pardon his father's 
 adversaries. We ought never to buy happiness with our 
 children's fortunes, but happiness is not the commodity ; it is 
 desertion, it is evasion, it is sloth. However, there is at last 
 a time when we may hang up our armour and claim the 
 stipend of retirement and repose. Meanwhile, let us fix our 
 eyes on Tenos." 
 
 Whether, O Cleone, we regard the moral or the material 
 world, there is a silent serenity in the highest elevation. 
 Pericles appears the greater when seen on his solitary eminence 
 against the sky. Power has rendered him only more gracious 
 and compliant, more calm and taciturn. 
 
 CLXXXVI. 
 
 ANAXAGORAS TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Pericles tells me that you are less tranquil than you were 
 formerly, and that he apprehends you are affected not a little 
 by the calumnies of your enemies. 
 
 If it is tme that there can be no calumny without malice, it 
 is equally so that there can be no malice without some desir- 
 able quality to excite it. Make up your mind, Aspasia, to 
 pay the double rate of rank and genius. It is much to be the 
 wife of Pericles ; it is more to be Aspasia. Names that lie 
 upon the ground are not easily set on fire by the torch of 
 Envy, but those quickly catch it which are raised up by fame, 
 or wave to the breeze of prosperity. Every one that passes 
 is ready to give them a shake and a rip ; for there are 
 few either so busy or so idle as not to lend a hand at 
 undoing. 
 
 You, Pericles, and myself, have a world of our own, into 
 which no Athenian can enter without our permission. Study, 
 philosophize, write poetry. These things I know are difficult 
 when there is a noise in the brain ; but begin, and the noise 
 ceases. The mind, slow in its ascent at first, accelerates every 
 moment, and is soon above the hearing of frogs and the sight 
 of brambles.
 
 •5 
 
 46 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 CLXXXVII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 A PESTILENCE has broken out in the city, so virulent in its 
 character, so rapid in its progress, so intractable to medicine, 
 that Pericles, in despite of my remonstrances and prayers, 
 insisted on my departure. He told me that, if I delayed it a 
 single day, his influence might be insufficient to obtain me a 
 reception in any town, or any hamlet, throughout the whole of 
 Greece. He has promised to write to me daily, but he 
 declared he could not assure me that his letters would come 
 regularly, although he purposes to send them secretly by the 
 shepherds, fumigated and dipped in oil before they depart from 
 Athens. He has several farms in Thessaly under Mount 
 Ossa, near Sicurion. Here I am, a few stadions from the 
 walls. Never did I breathe so pure an air, so refreshing in 
 the midst of summer. And the lips of my little Pericles are 
 ruddier and softer and sweeter than before. Nothing is want- 
 ing, but that he were less like me, and more like his father. 
 He would have all my thoughts to himself, were Pericles 
 not absent. 
 
 CLXXXVIII. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 AsPAsiA ! I will not allow either the little Pericles, or the 
 great one, or both together, to possess all your thoughts. Nay, 
 your letter itself contradicts you. Cleone and the plague must 
 intercept and divide them occasionally. 
 
 Pestilences are maladies that rage with more violence than 
 others, but, like all violent things, soon pass away. The 
 worst effects of them are the seditions, and other sad irregular- 
 ities, that always burst forth when the banner of Death is 
 unfurled in a populous city. But it is mostly the intemperate 
 that are swept away. 
 
 Alas ! I must not dissemble the magnitude of the danger ; 
 for^I know your resolution, I might say rashness. What I 
 have written is true ; but I am most afraid that you will not 
 fear enough. Keep up your courage where you are ; do not 
 exert it anywhere else.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 347 
 
 CLXXXIX. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Cleone ! Cleone ! if you could but see Athens, you would 
 find it a ditch to throw all your dogmas into. The pestilence 
 has not only seized the intemperate, but, like that which 
 Chryses imprecated on the Greeks before Troy, smitten 
 nobler heads after the viler. Pericles himself has not escaped 
 it. He refused to abstain from appearing in the assemblies of 
 the people, and among the consultations to regulate (as far 
 as might be) the burial and burning of the dead. His tem- 
 perance and courage, the most efficacious preservatives against 
 contagion, failed at length in the effect. The fever seized 
 him, and although he has risen from his bed free from all 
 symptoms of the distemper, his strength is impaired, and many 
 years (he tells me) seem to have crowded into a few days. 
 
 cxc. 
 
 ANAXAGORAS TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Behold, O Aspasia ! T send you verses. They certainly are 
 less valuable than some in your collection, but, to make up 
 the difference, I enclose a cockle-shell. 
 
 I. 
 
 Beauty ! thou art a wanderer on the earth, 
 
 And hast no temple in the fairest isle 
 Or city over-sea, where Wealth and Mirth 
 
 And all the Graces, all the Muses, smile. 
 
 Yet these have always nurst thee, with such fond, 
 Such lasting love, that they have followed up 
 
 Thy steps thro' every land, and placed beyond 
 The reach of thirsty Time thy nectar-cup. 
 
 3- 
 Thou art a wanderer, Beauty ! like the rays 
 
 That now upon the platan, now upon 
 The sleepy lake, glance quick or idly gaze. 
 
 And now are manifold and now are none.
 
 '> 
 
 48 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 4- 
 I have call'd, panting, after thee, and thou 
 
 Hast turn'd and look'd and said some pretty word, 
 Parting the hair, perhaps, upon my brow. 
 
 And telling me none ever was preferr'd. 
 
 5- 
 In more than one bright form hast thou appear'd, 
 
 In more than one sweet dialect hast spoken : 
 Beauty ! thy spells the heart within me heard, 
 
 Griev'd that they bound it, grieves that they are broken. 
 
 All the verbiage which you will find below I found rudely 
 scrawled on a stone-table, in the garden of my next neighbour 
 Parmenio. I perceive it to be of little worth, by this ; it has 
 found an imitator, or rather a correspondent : yet, as he 
 writes angrily, it may not be much amiss. 
 
 These are scratched under the preceding. 
 
 I have some merit too, old man 1 
 
 And show me greater if you can. 
 
 I always took what Beauty gave, 
 
 Nor, when she snatch'd it back, look'd grave. 
 
 Us modest youths it most beseems 
 
 To drink from out the running streams: 
 
 Love on their banks delights to dwell . . . 
 
 The bucket of the household well 
 
 He never tugs at, thinking fit 
 
 Only to quench his torch in it. 
 
 Shameless old fellow ! do you boast 
 
 of conquests upon every coast ? 
 
 I, O ye Gods ! should be content 
 
 (Yea, after all the sighs I've spent, 
 
 The sighs, and, what is yet more hard, 
 
 The minas, talents, gone in nard !) 
 
 With only one : I would confine 
 
 Meekly this homesick heart of mine 
 
 "Twixt Lampsacus and Hammon's shrine. 
 
 cxci. 
 
 ASPASIA TO ANAXAGORAS. 
 
 It is really odd enough that no temple or altar was ever 
 dedicated to Beauty. Vengeance, and other such personages.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 349 
 
 whom izve, Anaxagoras, venture occasionally to call allegorical, 
 have altars enow, and more than enow of worshippers. 
 
 Whatever, in your satirical mood, you may think about the 
 cockle-shell, I shall always value it, as much nearly as the 
 verses, and I have ordered it to be made into a clasp for 
 them. Taunt me then as often as you please. It will be 
 like girls pelting with roses : if there is any harm done, it is 
 only to the fingers of the pelter. 
 
 CXCII. 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 Now the fever is raging, and we are separated, my comfort 
 and delight is in our little Pericles. The letters you send me 
 come less frequently, but I know you write whenever your 
 duties will allow you, and whenever men are found courage- 
 ous enough to take charge of them. Although you preserved 
 with little care the speeches you delivered formerly, yet you 
 promised me a copy of the latter, and as many of the earlier 
 as you could collect among your friends. Let me have them 
 as soon as possible. Whatever bears the traces of your hand 
 is precious to me : how greatly more precious what is Imprest 
 with your genius, what you have meditated and spoken ! I 
 shall see your calm thoughtful face while I am reading, and 
 will be cautious not to read aloud lest I lose the illusion of 
 your voice. 
 
 CXCIII. 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Aspasia ! do you know what you have asked of me ? Would 
 you accept it, if you thought it might make you love me less ? 
 Must your affections be thus loosened from me, that the 
 separation, which the pestilence may render an eternal 
 one, may be somewhat mitigated ? I send you the papers. 
 The value will be small to you, and indeed would be 
 small to others, were it possible that they could fall into 
 any hands but yours. Remember the situation in which my 
 birth and breeding and bent of mind have placed me. Re- 
 member the powerful rivals I have had to contend with, their
 
 50 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 celebrity, their popularity, their genius, and their perseverance. 
 You know how often I have regretted the necessity of obtain- 
 ing the banishment of Cimon, a man more similar to myself 
 than any other. I doubt whether he had quite the same man- 
 agement of his thoughts and words, but he was adorned with 
 every grace, every virtue, and invested by Nature with every 
 high function of the soul. We happened to be placed by our 
 fellow-citizens at the head of two adverse factions. Son of 
 the greatest man in our annals, he was courted and promoted 
 by the aristocracy : I, of a family no less distinguished, was 
 opposed to him by the body of the people. You must have 
 observed, Aspasia, that although one of the populace may, 
 in turbulent times, be the possessor of great power, it rarely 
 has happened that he retained it long, or without many 
 sanguinary struggles. Moroseness is the evening of turbulence. 
 Every man after a while begins to think himself as capable of 
 governing as one (whoever he may be) taken from his own 
 rank. Amidst all the claims and pretensions of the ignorant 
 and discontented, the eyes of a few begin to be turned com- 
 placently toward the more courteous demeanour of some well- 
 born citizen, who presently has an opportunity of conciliating 
 many more, by affability, liberality, eloquence, commiseration, 
 diffidence, and disinterestedness. Part of these must be real, 
 part may not be. Shortly afterward he gains nearly all the 
 rest of the citizens by deserting his order for theirs : his own 
 party will not be left behind, but adheres to him bravely, to 
 prove 11 they are not ashamed of their choice, and to avoid the 
 imputation of inconsistency. 
 
 Aspasia ! I have done with these cares, with these reflec- 
 tions. Little of life is remaining, but my happiness will be 
 coetaneous with it, and my renown will survive it : for there 
 is no example of any who has governed a state so long, with- 
 out a single act of revenge or malice, of cruelty or severity. 
 In the thirty-seven years of my administration I have caused 
 no citizen to put on mourning.^- On this rock, O Aspasia ! 
 stand my Propylsea and my Parthenon. 
 
 [" First ed. : " shew."] 
 
 [12 See Langhorne's Plutarch, where these words are given as the 
 last that Pericles spoke.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 35 
 
 CXCIV. 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 Gratitude to the immortal Gods overpowers every other 
 impulse of my breast. You are safe. 
 
 Pericles ! O my Pericles ! come into this purer air ! live 
 life over again in the smiles of your child, in the devotion of 
 your Aspasia ! Why did you fear for me the plague within 
 the city, the Spartans round it ? why did you exact the vow 
 at parting, that nothing but your command should recall me 
 again to Athens ? Why did I ever make it ? Cruel ! to 
 refuse me the full enjoyment of your recovered health ! cmeller 
 to keep me in ignorance of its decline ! The happiest of pillows 
 is not that which Love first presses ; it is that which Death 
 has frowned on and passed over. 
 
 cxcv.i^ 
 
 ANAXAGORAS TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Have you never observed, O most observant Aspasia, that 
 -there are many things which we can say in writing, and which 
 we cannot so well deliver in speech, even to our nearest friend ? 
 During all the time of my residence with you and Pericles, 
 intimate as was our familiarity from the commencement, never 
 once did either of you express a wish to hear the reason why 
 I left my countrymen for strangers. The dislike I always had 
 to relate my concerns, and to present my features for inspec- 
 tion, withheld me from the narrative : and delicacy withheld 
 you from inquiry. 
 
 Come, I will live over with you now that portion of my life 
 which I did not live with you before. I would not escape 
 for refuge into crowds : I would not repair my fortune by 
 hammering on the anvil in the Agora : I would not (pardon 
 my application of our proverb at Clazomenai) make my purse 
 of swine's ears. Such is the occupation of those who intend 
 to profit by a public auditory. 
 
 Often had I been solicited by the worthier of the citizens 
 
 [13 Not in I St ed.]
 
 352 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 to appear in public, and to take a part, if not in the adminis- 
 tration of affairs, at least in the debates. It ill suited my 
 temper and turn of mind. Ours, like most free cities, was 
 divided into two factions, the aristocratical and democratical. 
 While others were making their way forward to the head of 
 them, I sat quietly at home, and, to relax my mind occa- 
 sionally from its sustained and fixed position for loftier and 
 purer speculations, meditated on the advantages and disadvan- 
 tages of each government. No small quantity had I written 
 at last of remarks and aphorisms : behold a specimen : in most 
 cities the majority is composed of the ignorant, the idle, and 
 the profligate. In most cities, after a time, there are enough of 
 bad citizens to subvert good laws. Immoral life in one leader 
 of the people is more pernicious than a whole street full of 
 impurities in the lower quarters of the community, seeing that 
 streams, foul or fair, cannot flow upward. 
 
 Be sure, Aspasia, I never promulgated such perilous doc- 
 trines. To prove that I was erroneous in the two first posi- 
 tions, the citizens would have poisoned or stoned me, and 
 their orators would clearly show my unfitness to give advice, 
 in my attempting to demonstrate no more important or novel 
 a truth than that water cannot run up a mountain. Such is 
 the employment, such the ingenuity and sincerity of elo- 
 quence. 
 
 I was inclined to the democracy, because I knew that all 
 government ought to be chiefly for the advantage of the many ; 
 but when I considered long and attentively its operations and 
 effects, I began to doubt whether the people are more likely 
 to know their interests than the aristocracy are to promote 
 them. Immovable property is the only sure pledge for political 
 equity, and the holders are not at all times ready to offer it. 
 Merchants are the worst of adventurers and gamesters, because 
 their native land is not their country. They are the sucklings 
 of an alien, and love her best who gives them nutriment. 
 Their preponderance in a state will invariably be in its sub- 
 version. 
 
 I intended to speak of myself, but you see I cannot keep to 
 my theme ; it soon tires me . . . soon escapes me. The 
 scanty streamlet has run but a little way, and is lost among 
 
 ^
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 353 
 
 the sands. A few words more, however. Before I left my 
 country, I offered some brief observations on important matters, 
 then in discussion, to persons in authority. Do I much over- 
 estimate my soHdity of intellect, my range of comprehension, 
 or my clearness of discernment, in believing that all these 
 qualities in me, however imperfect, are somewhat more than 
 equivalent to theirs ? I concealed this truth from them, if 
 truth it be, and told them only what I thought it was their 
 interest, and would surely be their intention, to perform. 
 They rewarded me by suffering me to depart in peace, un- 
 answered and unnoticed. We might imagine that advice, like 
 manure, is only good and appHcable when it has lain a long 
 while by. He reasons ill who reasons with a bad reasoner. 
 . . . He walks on chaff and tires himself without progress 
 and without impression. I never expostulate with the self- 
 sufficient ; but on this occasion I desired a friend of theirs to 
 enquire of them whether they thought a conflagration in Clazo- 
 menai would only warm their baths and cook their dinners. 
 Had I been willing to abuse my faculties, it would have been 
 an easy matter for me to have swept them from their places, 
 and to have assumed the highest ; for the rapacious has no 
 hold upon the people, and vulgar manners in the candidate for 
 office are no recommendation even to vulgar men. 
 Here endeth my life in my own country. 
 
 cxcvi. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 It has been wisely said that Virtue hath only to be seen to 
 be beloved : but unwisely, that Vice ^^ hath only to be seen 
 to be hated. Certain it is that the more habituated we are to 
 the contemplation of a pure and placid life, the more do we 
 delight in it. I wish it were equally so that every glance at 
 Vice loosened a feather from her plumage, and that on a 
 
 p4 u Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
 As to be hated needs but to be seen ; 
 Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face. 
 We first endure, then pity, then embrace." 
 
 — Pope. Essay on Mav. ii. 2Ty.]
 
 354 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 nearer approach and more stedfast observation she grows 
 hideous. Proofs to the contrary come before us every day. 
 
 Eupolis and Mnesilochos and Callias and Cratinos, like 
 most other authors, are indifferent to any result from their 
 writings but popularity and emolument. And we are in- 
 formed here at Miletus that several of your philosophers are 
 now employing a language, on the powers and provinces of 
 love, far more seductive to the passions of their youthful 
 auditors than the most indecent of theatrical ribaldry. For 
 surely there is little seductive in a boisterous jocularity, that 
 seizes and holds down the hand from the painfully blushing 
 forehead, and forces the eyes to see what they would shun. 
 Ionian manners, I am afraid, are as licentious as the Athenian : 
 but ours are become so by our intercourse with the Persians, 
 the Athenian by theirs with the Philosophers. It is only of 
 late that such poisonous perfumery has had this influence on 
 the brain ; it is only since the departure of the sedate un- 
 ostentatious Anaxagoras, that syllogists have snapped their 
 fingers at experiment. Against such men the arrows of ridi- 
 cule are well directed : but these arrows fall harmlessly from 
 flowing robes ; and indeed the purple dye is everywhere a 
 panacea. 
 
 CXCVII. 
 ANAXAGORAS TO PERICLES. 
 
 Thanks, O Pericles, for your provident care of me ! Provi- 
 dent do I say ? No, any thing but that ; kind, generous, 
 profuse ; but if you really saw the extent of my wants, you 
 would only send me notice that you and those about you are 
 well and happy. 
 
 The fever which has broken out in your city will certainly 
 spare you if you reside in the Acropolis : and yet you tell me 
 that you are resolved on taking no such precaution, lest you 
 should appear to claim an exemption from the common peril. 
 
 What prudent men were my enemies in Athens, to send 
 me back hither ! they would not let me live nor die among 
 them ! 
 
 You have little curiosity to know any thing about private
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 355 
 
 men and retired places. Nevertheless I will tell you and 
 Aspasia what is Lampsacus. 
 
 Shrimps and oysters are the lower order of the inhabitants : 
 and these, it is pretended, have reason to complain of the 
 aristocracy above them. The aristocracy on their side contend 
 that such complaints are Idle and unfounded ; that they are 
 well fed and well clothed, and that the worst that ever happens 
 to them is to be taken out of their beds, and to be banded, 
 marshalled, and embarked, in the service of their country. In 
 few more words, we all are either fishermen or vine-dressers. 
 I myself am a chief proprietor : my tenement is small, but my 
 vineyard is as spacious as any about. It is nearly a hundred 
 of my paces broad : its length I cannot tell you, for in this 
 direction it is too steep for me walk up it. My neighbours 
 have informed me that there is a fine spacious view of the 
 Hellespont and headlands from the summit. I only know 
 that there is a noble God,^^ a century old at the least . . . 
 he who protects our gardens and vines. An image of him 
 stands either at the top or the bottom of every avenue in the 
 vicinity. He, frowns in many of them ; yet, amid all his 
 threats, there is in his good-humoured gravity something like a 
 half-invitation. The boys and girls write verses under him, 
 very derogatory to his power and dignity. They usually 
 write them, I understand, in one another's name ; just as if he 
 could not find them out, and would not punish them in due 
 season. Enough of this : I have somewhat less to say about 
 myself. The people love me, for I am no philosopher here, 
 and have scarcely a book in the house. I begin to find that 
 eyes are valuables and books utensils. Sitting at my door, I 
 am amused at the whistle of curlews, and at their contentions 
 and evolutions, for a better possession than a rabble's ear. 
 Sometimes I go down, and enjoy a slumber on the soft deep 
 sands ; an unexpected whisper and gentle flap on the face from 
 the passing breeze awakens me, or a startling plash from the 
 cumbersome wave as it approaches nearer. Idleness is as dear to 
 
 [-15 i( This god (Priapus) is honoured also elsewhere where there are 
 herds of sheep and goats and swarms of bees, but the people of Lamp- 
 sacus honour him especially above all other gods, saying that he is 
 the son of Dionysus and Aphrodite." — Fausaniai, ix. ai 1
 
 356 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 me, reflection as intense, and friendship as warm as ever. Yes, 
 Pericles ! Friendship may pause, may question, may agonize, 
 but her semblance alone can perish. 
 
 My moon is in the last quarter, and my days ought now to 
 be serene : they are so. Be yours no less ; yours and 
 Aspasia'sl 
 
 CXCVIII. 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 One true and solid blessing I owe to my popularity. Seldom 
 is it that popularity has afforded any man more than a falla- 
 cious one. 1/ate wisdom, and dearly bought, is mine, 
 Aspasia ! But I am delaying your delight, at one moment by 
 the hurry of my spirits, at another by the intensity of my re- 
 flections. Our Pericles ^^ is Athenian in privileges as in birth. 
 I have obtained a law to revoke a former one enforced by me 
 . . . and felt no shame. If I could hope that other states- 
 men would take example from my faults, if I could hope that at 
 any future time they would cease to be opinionative, imperious, 
 and self-willed, mistaking the eminence of station for the 
 supremacy of wisdom, I would entreat them to urge no 
 measure in which might be traced the faintest sign of malice 
 or resentment, whether in regard to parties or private men.^" 
 But alas ! the inferior part of man is the stronger ; we cannot 
 cut the centaur in twain : we must take him as we find him 
 composed, and derive all the advantage we can both from his 
 strength and his weakness. 
 
 I am growing the politician again, when I should be the 
 husband and father. 
 
 The odious law, the weight of which I drew upon my own 
 head,* is abrogated. The children of women not Athenian, 
 
 [1^ See Plutarch for another account of the repeal of the law referred 
 to. " This Pericles is he who afterwards defeated the Peloponnesians 
 in a seafight at Arginusas, and was put to death by the people to- 
 gether with his colleagues." — Langhomes Plutarch, Pericles.'\ 
 
 [17 First ed. : " individuals."] 
 
 * It is stated in every Life of Pericles that he obtained the enactment 
 of it. This is incorrect. The law was an ancient one, and required 
 fresh vigour and vigilant observance at a time when hostilities were 
 imminent, and when many thousands were residing in the city, who
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 357 
 
 are declared free citizens. Many good men, many good 
 mothers, have mourned the degradation of theirs through my 
 severity. 
 
 How dear, above the sweetest of Spring, are the blossoms 
 that appear in the less genial hours of winter ! how dear, 
 above earth, above all things upon earth (Aspasia will pardon 
 this, whether true or false) is our little Pericles! Am I 
 dreaming when I imagine I see this beautiful boy, with Health 
 and Hope beside him, kneeling on the border of the tomb, 
 and raising up from it a whole family, in long perspective 1 
 We were gone, I thought, we were lost for ever. The 
 powerful father merged his whole progeny in utter darkness ; 
 an infant shall reclaim it. 
 
 No longer is there a cloud upon my brow : no longer is 
 there, 1 am apt to think, a pestilence in Athens. 
 
 cxcix. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Blessings on the generosity of the Athenians ! blessings a 
 thousand fold on the paternal heart of Pericles ! 
 
 O Pericles ! how wrong are all who do not for ever 
 follow Love, under one form or other ! There is no God 
 but he, the framer, the preserver of the world, the pure In- 
 telligence ! All wisdom that is not enlightened and guided by 
 him is perturbed and perverted. He will shed, O my hus- 
 band, his brightest tints over our autumnal days. Were we 
 ever happy until now ? Ah yes, we were . . . but undeserv- 
 ing. A fresh fountain opens before us, subject to no droughts, 
 
 would otherwise have claimed a right to vote as citizens, while their 
 connexions were to be found among the inveterate enemies or the 
 seceding allies of Athens. Long antecedently to the administration 
 of Pericles, it appears that at a certain age the illegitimate were 
 assembled at Cynosarges, in the wrestling-ring dedicated to Hercules, 
 who himself was in that predicament : and these alone entered it. On 
 which occasion Themistocles, his mother being a Thracian, gave the 
 earliest proof of his astuteness, by inviting some of unmixed blood 
 and aristocratical lineage to wrestle with him. It is far from improb- 
 able that Pericles insisted the rather on the execution of this law in 
 opposition to Cimon, whose father, Miltiades, had married the 
 dauo-hter of 01orus,a prince of Thrace, and who himself was descended 
 also from a ruler of that nation.
 
 358 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 no overflowings. How gladly, how gratefully, do I offer to 
 immortal Love the first libation 1 
 
 Come hither, my sweet child ! come hither to my heart ! 
 thou art man, thou art Athenian, thou art free. We are 
 now beyond the reach, beyond the uttermost scope and vision, 
 of Calamity. 
 
 cc. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Alcibiades is grown ^^ up to the highest beauty of adolescence. 
 I think. I should be enamoured of him were I a girl, and dis- 
 engaged. No, Cleone ! the so easy mention of him proves to 
 me that I never should be. He is petulant, arrogant, im- 
 petuous, and inconsistent. Pericles was always desirous that 
 he should study oratory, in order that it might keep him at 
 home, gratify his vanity the most perfectly and compendiously, 
 and render him master of his own thoughts and those of others. 
 He plainly told Pericles that he could learn little from him 
 except dissimulation. 
 
 " Even that," replied Pericles, " is useful and necessary : 
 it proceeds from self-command. Simulation, on the contrary, 
 is falsehood, and easily acquired by the meanest intellect. A 
 powerful man often dissembles : he stands erect in the course 
 of glory, with open brow but with breath supprest : the feebler 
 mind is ready to take refuge in its poverty, under the sordid 
 garb of whining simulation." 
 
 He then remarked to Pericles, that his oratory was some- 
 what like his economy ; ^^ wanting in copiousness and display. 
 
 " Alcibiades ! " said my husband, " it is particularly this 
 part of it which I could wish you to adopt. In oratory, 
 
 [18 First ed. : " now grov/n."] 
 
 pa a ]<iot that he was inattentive to his finances ; but, on the con- 
 trary, neither negligent of his paternal estate, nor yet willing to have 
 much trouble with it ; as he had not much time to spare he brought 
 the management of it into such a method as was very easy at the same 
 time that it was exact. . . . This way of living was not agreeable to 
 his sons when grown up, and the allowance he made to the women 
 did not appear to them a generous one ; they complained of a pittance 
 daily measured out with scrupulous economy." — Langhomis Plutarch, 
 Per ides. '\
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 359 
 
 there are few who can afford to be frugal : in economy, there 
 are few who can afford to act otherwise than frugally. I am 
 a public man, and it little becomes me to leave room for sus- 
 picion that, by managing ill my own small affairs, I may be 
 negligent in the greater of the commonwealth. There are 
 kingdoms in Thrace and Asia, where the cares of government 
 are consigned to ministers or satraps, and where it shall be 
 thought honourable and glorious in one of these functionaries 
 to die in debt after managing the treasury. But surely there 
 is in this no proof whatever that he managed it discreetly : 
 there -" is a fair presumption that, neglecting his household, he 
 left the community in worse disorder. Unquestionably he 
 was a dishonest man, to incur a debt beyond the extent of his 
 estate. Forbearance from accumulation in his own house, is 
 hardly to be 21 deemed a merit by the most inconsiderate, in 
 one who can unlock the treasury to every relative, every 
 friend, every associate, and every dependent. Such persons 
 will generally be found to have been gamesters and prodigals, 
 and to have entrusted the subordinate branches of public con- 
 cerns to servants, as unfaithful and improvident as those menials 
 who administered their own : and the reigns of the princes 
 who employed them, if recorded at all, are recorded as pro- 
 digies of expenditure, profligacy, and disaster. 
 
 " Aristides died poor : but Aristides never was rich ; he 
 threw away nothing but his good example. And was his 
 the fault there ? He was frugal, he was provident : eveiy 
 action he performed, every word he uttered, will excite, in- 
 form, and direct, remotest generations. Thus indeed it cannot 
 properly be said that, however now neglected, his example was 
 thrown away. Like the seeds of plants which a beneficent 
 God hath scattered throughout the earth, although many fail 
 to come up soon after the season of their sowing,^^ yet do they 
 not decay and perish, but germinate in the sterilest soils many 
 ages later ? Aristides will be forefather to many brave 
 and honest men not descended from his lineage nor his 
 
 & 
 
 [-* First ed. : " on the contrary, there." Landor may have been 
 thinking of Fox and Sheridan.] 
 [-1 First ed. : " can hardly be."] 
 [-- First ed. : " in the season of their sowing, or soon after." ]
 
 360 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 country ; he will be founder 23 of more than nations : he 
 will give body, vitality, and activity, to sound principles. 
 Had he merely been a philosopher, he could effect little of 
 this ; commander as he was, imperial Persia served only for a 
 mirror to reflect his features from Attica on the world." 
 
 Alcibiades, in several parts of this discourse, had given signs 
 of weariness and impatience. Pericles perceived it, and re- 
 verted to Aristides. At every word that was now spoken he 
 grew more and more animated : at the close he sprang up, 
 seized the hand of Pericles, and told him he would listen as 
 long as he went on in that manner. 
 
 " Speak to the purpose, as you have begun to do, and 
 about 24 Aristides, and I shall like you better than Aspasia. 
 I think, after all, I may perhaps let you be my teacher." He 
 said this laughing. 
 
 My husband replied, 
 
 " I will not undertake it, Alcibiades ! Peradventure I 
 may offer you, from time to time, a little at once, some service- 
 able observations, some fruits of my experience : but it is only 
 to grace and beauty that your restless intractable mind is obedi- 
 ent for an hour." 
 
 " Call me any thing, do any thing, or nothing," said the 
 youth, " if you will only give me such a smile again." 
 
 " Go and ride into the country," said my husband, as he 
 was rising. " If you retain your high opinion of me on your 
 return, you will find me at leisure to continue. I leave you, 
 for the present, with Aristides." 
 
 Away he went, without a word more to either of us. 
 When he was out of the apartment, Pericles said, after a 
 thoughtful and serious pause, 
 
 " He is as beautiful, playful, and uncertain, as any half- 
 tamed young tiger, feasted and caressed on the royal carpets 
 of Persepolis ; not even Aspasia will ever quite subdue him." 
 
 [=3 First ed. : " the founder."] 
 [24 First ed.: " all about."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 361 
 
 CCI. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 I SHALL never more be in fear about you, my Aspasia ! 
 Frolicsome and giddy as you once appeared to me, at no time 
 of your life could Alcibiades have interested your affections. 
 You will be angry with me when I declare to you that I do 
 not believe you ever were in love. The renown and genius 
 of Pericles won your imagination : his preference, his fondness, 
 his constancy, hold, and will for ever hold, your heart. The 
 very beautiful rarely love at all. Those precious images are 
 placed above the reach of the Passions : Time alone is per- 
 mitted to efface them ; Time, the father of the Gods, and 
 even their consumer. 
 
 ecu. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Angry ! yes, indeed, very angry am I : but let me lay all my 
 anger in the right place. I was often jealous of your beauty, 
 and I have told you so a thousand times. Nobody for many 
 years ever called me so beautiful as Cleone ; and when some 
 people did begin to call me so, I could not believe them. 
 Few will allow the first to be first ; but the second and third 
 are universal favourites. We are all insurgents against the 
 despotism of excellence. 
 
 Ah Cleone ! if I could divide my happiness with you, I 
 do think I should have much to give you. I would demand 
 a good deal of your sound judgment for it ; but you should 
 have it. We both of us value our beauty, I suspect, less than 
 we used to do, which is certainly wrong ; for whatever we 
 may be told, or may tell ourselves, we have rather a scantier 
 store of it. However, we are not yet come to the last loaf 
 in the citadel. 
 
 I did not see Alcibiades again, that day or the following. 
 When he came to me, he told me he was ashamed of having 
 said an uncivil thing. 
 
 " Of which are you ashamed ? " said I, " O Alcibiades ! 
 for there were several not distinguished for courtesy." 
 
 " As usual, in good humour, which always punishes me,"
 
 362 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 said he. " But I remember I made a rude observation on 
 what lies within your department." 
 
 " Economy ? " said I. 
 
 Before he could answer me, Pericles, informed that Alci- 
 biades had enquired for him, entered the apartment. 
 
 " I am glad you are come in," cried he ; " for, although I 
 have taken two days to collect my courage and words, I think 
 I shall have more of both, now you are present." 
 
 He then began his apology, which Pericles thus interrupted. 
 
 *' Be prepared for chastisement : I shall impose a heavy 
 mulct on your patience. I shall render an account to you of 
 my administration, and I hope you will permit it to pass. 
 
 " I have a son, as you know, in whose character parsimony 
 is not among the more prominent qualities. 2'' I am unwilling 
 to shock him by it, which is always apt to occasion a rebound 
 to the opposite side : and I am equally unwilling to offer an 
 example or pretext for luxury and expense. My own char- 
 acter will permit neither. I never gave a splendid feast : I 
 never gave a sparing entertainment : I never closed my dining- 
 room to a man of elegant manners or of sound information. 
 I have not the ample fortune of our cousin Cinion, who 
 always used it magnificently : and glad am I that I have it 
 not ; for it would oblige me to receive many who must 
 disgust me, and who would occupy moie hours of my leisure 
 than I can spare. My system of domestic life has produced 
 me contentment and happiness. May yours, my dear Alcibi- 
 ades, whether like it or unlike it, do the same ! " 
 
 " Thank you ! " said he carelessly, and added, '* But your 
 manner of speaking, which we first began to talk about, the 
 other day, is proper only for yourself. In any other man it 
 would be ridiculous. Were I to employ it, people would 
 believe I assumed the character of Jupiter or Hermes walking 
 among mortals. Aspasia's is good enough for me. Many 
 think her language as pure and elegant as yours : and I 
 have never known it enrage and terrify men as yours does." 
 
 " Study then Aspasia in preference," said he. " You 
 possess already some of her advantages. A beautiful mouth 
 
 [-•5 First ed. : " virtues." See Plutarch for an account of the ill- 
 disposition of Xanthippus, the eldest son of Pericles.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 36 
 
 -> 
 
 is always eloquent : its defects are taken for tropes and figures. 
 Let us try together which can imitate her best. Neither of 
 us hath ever seen her out of temper, or forgetful what argu- 
 ment to urge first and most forcibly. When we have much 
 to say, the chief difficulty is to hold back some favourite 
 thought, which presses to come on before its time, and thereby 
 makes a confusion in the rest. If you are master of your 
 temper, and conscious of your superiority, the words and 
 thoughts will keep their ranks, and will come into action with 
 all their energy, compactness, and weight. Never attempt to 
 alter your natural tone of voice ; never raise it above its pitch: 
 let it at first be somewhat low and slow. This appears like 
 diffidence ; and men are obliged to listen the more attentively 
 that they may hear it. Beginning with attention, they will 
 retain it during the whole speech : but attention is with 
 difficulty caught in the course of one. 
 
 " I am intruding a little on the pro\ance of Aspasia. If 
 she approves of my advice, pursue it ; if she disapproves, be 
 sure I have spoken inconsiderately, although I fancy I have 
 obsers^ed such effects on several occasions." 
 
 He ceased : I enforced as well as I could his admonition. 
 But Alcibiades, with grace nearly equal, wants his gravity ; 
 and, if ever he should be his successor in the administration of 
 the Republic, he must become so by other methods. 
 
 CCIII. 
 ANAXAGORAS TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Proxenus is sailing back to Massilia. Before he left us, he 
 collected a large cargo of Inscriptions, chielly poetical. In 
 Massilia these matters are curiosities. The people, who cannot 
 have them fresh, are glad to accept them dry, although, 
 according to Proxenus, they are little acute in relishing or 
 distinguishing them. 
 
 In his last conversation with me, he gave evidence that, 
 should he ever fail as a merchant, he hopes to make his 
 fortune as a critic. Among his remarks was this. 
 
 " I cannot for my life imagine why Zephyr Is such a 
 favourite with the poets." 
 
 I answered that we lonians were always shy of him ; but
 
 364 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 that in other parts, and especially toward Gaul and Italy, he 
 certainly was better behaved. 
 
 " Better behaved ! " cried Proxenus. " By the Twins ! 
 he hath split my sail more than once." 
 
 To comfort him, I replied, " He has done that with his 
 best friends, O Proxenus ! " 
 
 "And no longer ago," continued he, "than last Boedro- 
 niion,-'' he carried off my nether garment that was drying 
 upon deck." 
 
 " Ah ! there," said I, " mischievous as he is, he could not 
 do the same to them without homicide : few of them have 
 one to spare." 
 
 At the recollection of his superior wealth and dignity, he 
 grew composed again. The Gods grant him a prosperous 
 voyage ! Ere this letter shall reach Athens, he must be 
 almost as far as Cythera. What labours and perils do sea- 
 faring men undergo ! What marvels are ships ! They 
 travel in a month farther than the fleetest horse can do ; to 
 such perfection have they been brought, and such confidence is 
 there now in human courage and skilH As there hath been 
 little or no improvement in them for some centuries, we may 
 suppose that, contrary to all other inventions, the ingenuity of 
 mortals can do nothing more for them. 
 
 I forgot to mention of Proxenus, what may-be it were 
 better not to mention at all, that he is reported to have broken 
 off the extremity of a leaf or two on some curious old vases, 
 and a particle of a volute * from a small column at the corner 
 
 [26 Our March.] 
 
 * One Eyles Irwin, who was not poor nor quite uneducated, tells 
 us in his Travels that he liroke off a vokite as a relic from what was 
 called Pompey's Pillar. This happened so lately as the last century. 
 We are, it seems, about to remove from Egypt the obelisk named 
 Cleopatra s Needle. Do we believe that Egypt is never to come to life 
 again ? It may be some hundreds, it may be some thousands of years : 
 but these are to the glories of Egypt as pounds are to our national 
 debt . . . itself so glorious, and -'' of which the formation has con- 
 stituted our glorious men I Are we sure that the Genius who created 
 these eternal works, derives no portion of his beatitude from the hourly 
 contemplation of them, in the country where they were formed and 
 fixed ? 
 
 ['-" First ed. : '• and which has constituted."']
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 365 
 
 of a lane. Nothing can so distinctly prove, say the Lamp- 
 sacenes, that Proxenus has a few drops of barbarian blood in 
 him. Genuine Greeks may travel through all the world, and 
 see every vase, every column, every statue, worth seeing in its 
 whole circumference, without a thought of mutilation. Those 
 people who cannot keep their hands from violating the purest 
 works of ancient days, ought, if there are not too many of 
 them, to be confined in separate cages, among the untameable 
 specimens of zoology. 
 
 The Lampsacenes, you see by this, are not averse to protect 
 the Arts. 
 
 cciv. 
 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 I HAVE found eight verses, of which I send you only the four 
 
 last. So entirely do they express what I have felt, it seems 
 
 as if I myself had composed them. 
 
 They who tell us that love and grief are without fancy and 
 
 invention, never knew invention and fancy, never felt grief 
 
 and love. 
 
 The thorns that pierce most deep are prest 
 Only the closer to the breast : 
 To dwell on them is now relief, 
 And tears alone are balm to grief ! 
 
 You perhaps will like these better, Aspasia ! though very 
 unlike in sentiment and expression. 
 
 I. 
 
 Pyrrha ! your smiles are gleams of sun 
 That after one another run 
 Incessantly, and think it fun. 
 
 2. 
 
 Pyrrha ! your tears are short sweet rain 
 That glimmering on the flower-lit plain 
 Zephyrs kiss back to heaven again. 
 
 3- 
 
 Pyrrha! both anguish me : do please 
 To shed but (if you wish me ease) 
 Twenty of those, and two of these.
 
 ^66 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 ccv. 
 
 ANAXAGORAS TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Ships are passing and repassing through the Hellespont, all 
 hours of the day ; some of them from tlie Piraeus, urging the 
 allies of Athens to come forward in her defence ; others from 
 the Peloponese, Inciting them to rise up in arms, and at once 
 to throw off allegiance. 
 
 Would there be half this solicitude in either of the belli- 
 gerents to be virtuous and happy, supposing it possible to per- 
 suade the one or the other that she might be, and without an 
 effort ? supposing it, in other words, to be quite as easy and 
 pleasant to receive a truth as an untruth. Would these 
 mariners and soldiers, and those statesmen who send them out, 
 exert half the anxiety, half the energy and prowess, to extin- 
 guish the conflagration of a friend's house in the neighbour- 
 hood, as they are exerting now to lay in ashes all the habita- 
 tions that lie beyond it ? And such are brave men, such 
 are wise men, such are the rulers of the world ! Well hath 
 it been said by some old poet. 
 
 Men let themselves slide onward by degrees 
 
 Into the depths of madness ; one bold spring 
 
 Back from the verge, had saved them ... but it seems 
 
 There dwells rare joy within it ! 
 
 O thou Sire 
 Of Gods and mortals, let the blighting cloud 
 Pass over me ! O grant me wholesome rest 
 And innocent uprisings, although call'd 
 The only madman on thy reeling earth ! 
 
 CCVI. 
 ANAXAGORAS TO ASPASIA. 
 
 It is well that you are removed from the city, and that the 
 enemies of Athens pay respect either to your birth-place or 
 your wisdom, either to your celebrity or your confidence. I 
 remember that, speaking of the human form and countenance,
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 367 
 
 both as existing in life and represented in the ideal, you re- 
 marked that the perfection of beauty is what is farthest from 
 all similitude to the brutes. Surely then, in like manner, the 
 perfection of our moral nature is in our remoteness from all 
 similitude to their propensities. Now the worst propensity of 
 the worst beasts is bloodshed, for which we pursue them as 
 nearly as we can to extermination, but which they never 
 commit with so little urgency, or to so great an extent, as we 
 do. Until we bring ourselves at least to an equality with 
 them, we can hardly be said to have made much progress in 
 wisdom. It will appear wonderful, and perhaps incredible, to 
 future generations, that what are now considered the two 
 highest gifts of man, oratory and poetry, should be employed, 
 the one chiefly in exciting, the other in emblazoning, deeds of 
 slaughter and devastation. If we could see, in the nature of 
 things, a child capable of forming a live tiger, and found him 
 exercising his power of doing it, I think we should say to him, 
 
 Tou might employ your time better, child ! 
 
 But then, Aspasia, we must not be orators nor poets, nor 
 hope for any estimation in the state. Beware how you divulge 
 this odd opinion ; or you may be accused, as before, of crimes 
 against the purity of morals, against the customs of our fore- 
 fathers, and against the established and due veneration of the 
 Gods. I hardly know what I am treading on, when I make 
 a single step toward philosophy. On sand I fear it is ; and, 
 whether the impression be shallow or profound, the eternal 
 tide of human passions will cover and efface it. There are 
 many who would be vexed and angry at this, and would say, 
 in the bitterness of their hearts, that they have spent their time 
 in vain. Aspasia ! Aspasia ! they have indeed, if they are 
 angry or vexed about it. 
 
 CCVII.2S 
 ANAXAGORAS TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Did I tell you, O Aspasia, we were free and remote from the 
 calamities of war ? We were. The flute and the timbrel 
 
 [28 In the ist ed. this letter follows CCX.]
 
 368 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 and the harp alone were heard along our streets ; and the 
 pavement was bestrewn with cistus and lavender and myrtle, 
 which grow profusely on the rocks behind us. Melanthos 
 had arrived from the Chersonese to marry Eurycleia ; and his 
 friend Sosigenes of Corinth -^ had determined to be united on 
 the same day with her sister Phanera. 
 
 Those who have seen them say that they were the prettiest 
 girls in the city : they were also the happiest ; but less happy 
 than their lovers, who however owed at present but a part 
 of the happiness to either. They were sworn friends from 
 early youth, and had not met since, but always had corre- 
 sponded. 
 
 Why cannot men draw a line against war as against plague, 
 and shut up the infected ? Instead of which, they are proud 
 of being like the dogs in the worst feature ; rushing forth into 
 every affray, and taking part in it instantly with equal ani- 
 mosity. I wish we had airived at such a degree of docility, 
 and had advanced so many steps in improvement, that by 
 degrees we might hope to acquire anything better of these 
 good creatures. We have the worst of every beast, and the 
 best of none. 
 
 This is not, O Aspasia ! my usual tone of thinking and 
 discoursing : nor is what has happened here among the usual 
 occurrences of my life. The generous heart needs little to be 
 reminded what are the embraces of young and ardent friends ; 
 and the withered one could ill represent them. 
 
 Eurycleia, in the silence of fondness, in the fulness of con- 
 tent, was holding the hand of her Melanthos. Love has few 
 moments more sweet. Philosophy none more calm. That 
 moment was interrupted by the entrance of Sosigenes ; and 
 composure was exchanged for rapture by the friendly soul of 
 Melanthos. Yes, yes, Aspasia ! friendship, even in the young, 
 may be more animated than love itself. It was not long, 
 however. 
 
 " Where is Phanera ? " 
 
 " I will call her," said Eurycleia, and went out. 
 
 Phanera,^*^ fond of ornament, it may be, and ambitious to 
 
 [29 Not in I St ed.] 
 
 [30 First ed. : " Phanera, whether fond of ornament, I know "o*^-"]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia, 369 
 
 surpass her sister and enchant her lover, came not speedily, 
 nor indeed did Eurycleia very soon, for it was not at first that 
 she could find her. Conversation had begun in the mean- 
 while about the war. Melanthos was a little more vehement 
 than the mildness of his nature, it is said, ever allowed him 
 before, and blamed the Corinthians for inciting so many states 
 to hostility. Often had Sosigenes been looking tovv^ard the 
 door, expecting his Phanera, and now began to grow impatient. 
 The words of Melanthos, who felt the cruelty of war chiefly 
 because it would separate the two sisters and the two friends, 
 touched the pride of Sosigenes. Unable to moderate his 
 temper, now excited by the absence of Phanera after the sister 
 had some time returned, he said fiercely, 
 
 " It is well to blame the citizens of the noblest city upon 
 earth, for not enduring an indignity. It is well ; but in slaves 
 alone, or viler dependents ! " 
 
 " Sosigenes ! Sosigenes ! " cried Melanthos, starting up and 
 rushing toward him. At that instant the impetuous Sosigenes, 
 believing violence was about to follow affront, struck him with 
 his dagger to the heart. 
 
 " I could not then calm thy anger with an ^^ embrace ! 
 my ^2 too unhappy friend ! " while the blood gurgled through 
 the words, sobbed forth Melanthos. 
 
 ccviii.^^ 
 
 ALCIBIADES TO PERICLES. 
 
 You commanded me, O Pericles, that 1 should write to you, 
 whenever I found an opportunity on land. Phormio ^4 cast 
 anchor before Naupactus : we command the Gulf of Crissa, 
 and check the movements of the Corinthians. The business 
 of blockading is little to my mind. Writing is almost as in- 
 sufferable : it is the only thing I do not willingly undertake when 
 my friends desire it. Beside, I have nothing in the world to 
 
 "31 First ed. : " my."] 
 
 '32 First ed.: " O."] 
 
 '33 In the 1st ed. this letter follows CCXII.] 
 
 °3* Phormio, one of the best of the Athenian generals, was a man 
 of a rough and hardy character. Aristophanes alludes to him as 
 delighting in the hardships of war.] 
 
 2 A
 
 370 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 write about. We have done little but sink a few vessels and 
 bum a few villages. It is really a hard matter to find a table 
 to write upon, so quick and so complete is the devastation. 
 I fancied war had something in it more animating and splendid. 
 The people of the Peloponese are brave, however. They 
 sometimes ask for their children (if very young), but never 
 for their lives. Why cannot we think them as little worth 
 taking as they of giving ? 
 
 I am heartily tired of this warfare ; and Phormio has told 
 me, in plain words, he is heartily tired of me. Upon this, I 
 requested his permission to join without delay our army before 
 Potidaea. I expected not only an uncivil refusal, but a sharp 
 rebuke. 
 
 " The Gods have begun to favour us ! " cried Phormio. 
 " This offer is better than the luckiest omen. Alcibiades ! 
 thou art the whitest of white birds ; and thy flight, whichever 
 wind it float upon, is worth a victory." 
 
 I would have been angry ; but laughter sprang uppermost ; 
 so, throwing my arms round old Phqrmio's neck, I almost 
 pulled him down with it. 
 
 " How now, stripling ! " cried he, as willing to be angry 
 as I was, " All this buffoonery before the commander of the 
 fleet ! " 
 
 CCIX. 
 
 ALCIBIADES TO PERICLES. 
 
 Hardly could it have been expected that the lu.bitest of ivhite 
 birds should have been so speedily on the wing. The day had 
 not closed when Phormio told me, that, knowing my fickle- 
 ness, he had given orders for my voyage back. Every voyage 
 is prosperous that brings me within sight of an enemy worth 
 seeing. Brave fellows these Potidaeans ! They never lose 
 their appetite, even in the greatest want of air and exercise. 
 You, who hear every thing, must know that they eat one an- 
 other, rather than surrender. I have been but three days in 
 the camp, where, to my delight, I found the brave and kindly 
 Socrates. Do you disapprove of my renewing my intimacy 
 with Philosophy in the midst of battles ? Let Philosophy
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 371 
 
 then stand aside ; and behold in her place the defender of his 
 country and the saviour of his friend. 
 
 The morning after my arrival, the Potidasans burst forth 
 with inci'edible braveiy from their gates, overthrowing all 
 opposition. Now was my time. The heavy-armed in general, 
 being old soldiers, were somewhat slower ; and many of the 
 enemy were assailing me when they came up : nor Indeed was 
 it then in sufficient force. I was wounded and overthrown, 
 and, at the beginning, stunned : but presently I fancied I heard 
 the sound of a brisk sword on armour over me, and felt some- 
 thing heavy fall on my legs. I was drawn forcibly from under 
 the last of my antagonists. Socrates ^^ raised me up, and de- 
 fended me from the weapons of not a few, unwilling to retire 
 and irresolute to renew the engagement. 
 
 I write now, because I am so wounded I can do nothing 
 else. 
 
 ccx. 
 
 PERICLES TO ALCIBIADES. 
 
 You are courageous, my Alcibiades, to a degree which I hardly 
 ever observed in another. This alone induces me to doubt 
 whether you will become, as soon as we both of us wish it, an 
 accomplished and perfect soldier. To rush against the enemy 
 before your comrades, is not indeed quite so unseemly as to 
 lag behind ; yet it may be even more detrimental in an officer. 
 With old troops, who know their duty, it is always so : with 
 younger alone, who want encouragement, it may not be. 
 Socrates •^'^ deserved the first honours in the action : his 
 modesty and his affection transferred them to the imprudent 
 
 [-35 a ]-jg took care to train his limbs by exercise, and was a strong 
 man. He fought in the expedition to Amphipolis and at the battle of 
 Delium he rescued Xenophon, who had fallen off" his horse ; and when 
 all the rest of the Athenians were in full flight, he retired quietly, 
 turning round calmly and ready to resist any attack." — Dio^. Laert., 
 Socrates. ] 
 
 j-36 u Hq ^isQ ^as if, thg ^ar at Potidaea as a sailor ; for there was 
 no room for employing infantry there . . . and though he displayed 
 much valour there, he surrendered the prize of valour to Alcibiades." 
 — Diog, I,aert., Socrates/\
 
 372 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 and the vanquished, whom he rescued from the shame of 
 rashness and the wretchedness of captivity. With all my 
 fondness for you, I could not have given you my vote ; and 
 had I commanded against Potidasa, I must have reproved you 
 in presence of the army. 
 
 Never, O Alcibiades, inflict on me the misery of passing so 
 severe a sentence. I praised you before others did ; I con- 
 demn you after them. Your high spirit deserved its reward ; 
 your temerity its rebuke. I, who have been the careful guar- 
 dian of your fortune, am the more anxious one of your safety 
 and of your fame. In my former letter I gave unobstmcted 
 way to the more pleasurable emotions : and, in every one that 
 I shall have occasion to write to you hereafter, I am confident 
 of the same enjoyment. Reply -^^ to me as your friend, your 
 comrade, the partaker of your pains and pleasures, and at most 
 the director of your studies. But here, my Alcibiades, we 
 must be grave and serious : I must, for once, not guide, but 
 dictate : no answer is here admissible, excepting the answer of 
 a soldier to his general. 
 
 ccxi.^s 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 You know that to Niconoe was awarded by her judge Priapos 
 the prize of beauty in the Kallisteia. In return for this favour- 
 able decision she dedicated to him a golden ewer and a fawn- 
 skin. Under his image a poet, who perhaps was her admirer, 
 and who was grateful to the arbiter, wrote this epigram : — 
 
 Niconoe is inclined to deck 
 
 Thy ruddy shoulder and thick neck 
 
 With her ow^n fawn-skin, Lampsacene ! 
 Beside, she brings a golden ewer 
 To cool thy hands in, very sure 
 
 Among what herbage they have been. 
 
 Ah ! Thou hast wicked leering eyes, 
 And any maiden were unwise 
 
 Who should invest thee face to face ; 
 Therefore she does it from behind, 
 And blesses thee so just and kind 
 
 In giving her the prize for grace. 
 
 [37 First ed. : " Reply to me, in those."] 
 [33 Not in I St. ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. t,'J2) 
 
 Here are some others, I believe by Erinna herself, but I 
 find inscribed on them Addressed to Erinna. 
 
 Ay, shun the dance and shun the grape, 
 Erinna ! thou shalt not escape. 
 Idle the musing maid who thinks 
 To lie unseen by sharp-eyed lynx 
 Where Bacchus, God of joy and truth, 
 Hunts with him, hunts for bashful youth. 
 So take the Thyrsus, if you please, 
 And come and join the Moenades. 
 
 ANAXAGORAS TO ASPASIA. 
 
 We are now so near winter that there may not be, after the 
 vessel which is about to sail, any more of them bound for 
 Athens, all the remainder of the year. And who knows 
 what another may bring or take away ? 
 
 I remain in health, but feeble. Life slips from me softly 
 and imperceptibly. I am unwilling to tire myself by blowing 
 a fire which must soon go out, whether I blow it or not. 
 Had I any species of curiosity to send you, were it pebble, 
 sea-weed, or new book, I would send it ; not (for it is idle to 
 talk so) as a memorial of me. If the friend is likely to be 
 forgotten, can we believe that any thing he has about him will 
 repose a longer time on the memory ? 
 
 Thus far had I written, when my strength failed me. 
 Stesicles and Apollodorus have told me I must prepare for a 
 voyage. The passage ^*^ is neither so broad nor so stormy 
 as the Hellespont. 
 
 I was resolved not to go until I had looked in my garden 
 for some anemones, which I recollected to have seen blossom- 
 ing the other day. It occurred to me that usually they appear 
 in spring : so does poetry. I will present to you a little of 
 both ; for the first time. They are of equal value ; and are 
 
 [39 In the ist ed. this letter follows CCVI.] 
 
 [■***In the ist ed. the word is "shore ;" probably ,^an error. '-The 
 chief men of Lampsacus enquired of him what he would wish to be 
 done for him, and ^Vnaxagoras made answer that he desired that the 
 children of Lampsacus should have leave to play each year during the 
 month in which he might chance to die." — D'og. Laert. AnaxagorasP^
 
 374 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 worth about as much as the pebble, or the sea-weed, or the 
 new book. 
 
 Where are the blooms of many dyes 
 That used in every path to rise ? 
 
 Whither are gone the hghter hours ? 
 What leave they ? . . . I can only send 
 My wisest, loveliest, latest friend 
 
 These weather-worn and formless flowers. 
 
 Think me happy that I am away from Athens ; I, who 
 always lose my composure in the presence of crime or calamity. 
 If any one should note to you my singularities, remembering 
 me a year hence, as I trust you and Pericles will do, add to 
 them, but not aloud, a singularity of felicity, " He neither lived 
 nor died with the multitude.^'' There are however some 
 Clazomenians who know that Anaxagoras was of Clazomenai. 
 
 ccxni.'*! 
 
 ALCIBIADES TO PERICLES. 
 
 Pericles ! I did wrong and rashly. The praises of the 
 Athenians are to me as the hum of insects : they linger in my 
 ear, but are senseless and unexciting. I swear to you T will 
 do better, but I must see you before I go. 
 
 Aspasia, whose letter you have sent me since, is even more 
 severe than you have been ; and she has neither right nor rea- 
 son. She is the only woman upon earth that ever railed at 
 rashness, the only one that could distinguish it from fortitude. 
 But every man must be rash once : it saves him from as much 
 inconvenience and mischief as being oftener rash would incur. 
 
 Do not consider this nonsense as vindication or reply ; let 
 it not stand in the way of your pardon. 
 
 ccxiv. 
 
 ASPASIA TO ALCIBIADES. 
 
 Are you not ashamed, young man, to leave the aged behind 
 you, with all their wounds, merely to show how dexterous you 
 are become in the management of your sword ? Unworthy 
 
 [^1 In the I St ed. this letter follows CCVII.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 375 
 
 Alcibiades ! Never ^^ expect that the Athenians, whatever 
 be ^^ their levity and inconsiderateness, will award to you the 
 honour of superiority in valour. Socrates well deserved it ; 
 not for saving a life which on the next occasion will be thrown 
 away, but for giving to eveiy one capable of profiting by it, 
 an example of steadiness and constancy. Pericles, I hope, 
 will not allow you to disembark, until you have acquired the 
 rudiments of discipline, in the only ait in which you ever 
 seemed likely to excell. Have you forgotten too that the 
 pestilence is raging in the city ? O rash Alcibiades ! the 
 sight of Pericles himself, to you at least, could hardly have 
 been worth so desperate a hazard. But Pericles will reprove 
 you, confident boy ! Let me hear no more of you until I 
 have heard that he has granted you his forgiveness. 
 
 ccxv. 
 
 ASPASlA TO PERICLES. 
 
 Censure not too severely, O my Pericles, your inconsiderate 
 cousin ! In these days, when so many of your adherents are 
 fallen, some by the fever, some by war, we must be parsimonious 
 in the treasury of friendship, at all times far from inexhaustible. 
 A hundred men of more wisdom and more virtue than 
 Alcibiades would prevail much less with the multitude, should 
 any thing sinister befall you. May the Gods avert it ! but I 
 always fear something ; and, what certainly is more foolish, I 
 fancy my presence could avert from you any calamity. I wish 
 I were persuaded that the Immortals hear us : I would then 
 so perpetually pray for you as hardly to give myself time to 
 read your letters ; and you should quarrel with the shortness 
 of mine. But reason, which strengthens our religion, weakens f 
 our devotion. Happy are those who have retained throughout ■ 
 life their infantine simplicity, which nurses a tractable idol in : 
 an unsuspicious bosom, is assured it knows and heeds the voice ■ 
 addressing it, and shuts it up again with a throb of joy, and 
 keeps it warm. For this, the mind must be matured to the 
 last with the same milky food as in childhood ; the Gods 
 
 [42 First ed. : "Do not."] 
 
 ["« First ed. : " with all their levity."]
 
 ■T^']^ Longer Prose Works, 
 
 must have their tangible images, and must laugh to us out of 
 ivy and flowers. 
 
 Thinking of you, I had forgotten that I began to write in 
 favour of Alcibiades. Lest, by taxing "** him with impetuosity 
 and imprudence, you should alienate his fickle mind, 1 myself 
 have written to him with quite enough severity. At least I 
 think so : you shall judge for yourself. When you have per- 
 used it, let it go to him instantly ; for here we are uncertain at 
 what point the troops will land from Potidasa. I shall be grieved 
 if any thing happens to him. He has more life in him than 
 is enough to animate a city ; yet the point of an arrow may 
 extinguish it in an instant. With however long experience 
 before us, we yet might wonder that what is so animated 
 should ever cease at all. You men often talk of glorious 
 death, of death met bravely for your country. I too have 
 been warmed by the bright idea in oratory and poetry ; but 
 ah ! my dear Pericles ! I would rather read it on an ancient 
 tomb than on a recent one. 
 
 ccxvi. 
 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 I HAD already warned Alcibiades of his imprudence and irregu- 
 larity ; but your ^^ letter will ensure his correction. The 
 reply he sent me is wortliy of a man formed for command. 
 We must watch over him : he will do great good or great 
 evil. Those who are most capable of both, always end 
 miserably ; for, although they may have done many things 
 well, yet the first or second that they do badly is their ruin. 
 They know not whom to choose as their follower up the 
 scaling ladder, nor when to loosen their grasp of the pinnacle. 
 Intractable as you may think Alcibiades, there is not a youth 
 in Athens so easily led away by a weaker judgment than his 
 own. He wishes to exceil in every thing, and succeeds : but 
 this wish brings him into contact with too many ; and he 
 cannot at present push them off far enough from him to see 
 
 ["First ed.: "tasking,"] 
 [« First ed.: "Your."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 2)11 
 
 plainly and distinctly what they are. He will soon stand 
 above them and know them better. 
 
 I must leave off : the dying call me forth. Blessings on 
 my Aspasia, and her little Athenian ! 
 
 CCXVII. 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 The verses I shall presently write out for you, at the bottom 
 of my letter, are composed, as you will perceive, in the 
 broadest Dorian, on the extraordinary depth of jEschylus. 
 Probably the unhappy poet was murdered by some enemy or 
 some robber. He was found with his skull fractured, and, it 
 may be, with a tortoise near him. But who in the world can 
 believe that an eagle dropped it from above ? that the quickest 
 in sight of all animals mistook a bald head for a rock ? And 
 did ever man walk in the fields of Sicily with his head un- 
 covered ? If he did, his death might easily be accounted for, 
 without a tortoise or eagle : a sunbeam ^^ is stronger and surer. 
 Whenever I find a book containing this gross absurdity, I 
 instantly throw it aside, as the effusion of an idle and silly 
 writer, and am well assured it must be incapable of instructing 
 or interesting me. 
 
 The petulant author of the verses you will find below, is 
 evidently a disappointed poet. Hiero and Theron would 
 never treat ^Eschylus with neglect or with indifference. Little 
 as may be our regard and our respect for royalty, we hardly 
 can suppose any king, who knows Greek, so barbarous and 
 stupid, as to fancy in himself a nobility more exalted than in 
 jEschylus, or gifted by the Gods, with a higher office, than 
 stewardship to the greatest of men among whom he himself is 
 the richest. 
 
 Bard of Eleusis ! art thou dead 
 
 So strangely ! can it be 
 An eagle dropt upon thy head 
 
 A tortoise ! no, not he. 
 
 [■'s The words "a sunbeam is stronger and surer" do not occur in 
 ist ed. All ancient writers on the subject give the account of the 
 death of ^schylus, which Landor ridicules, perhaps correctly.]
 
 378 
 
 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 They who devised the fable, marr'd 
 The moral of their song : 
 
 They meant the eagle by the bard, 
 But placed the creature wrong. 
 
 Quickest in courts those ever move 
 
 Whom nature made so slow : 
 Tortoise wears plumes and springs above 
 
 While eagle moults below.^^ 
 
 I have room enough for another short piece which carries 
 with it somewhat more than the dialect for a testimonial of its 
 atticism. They who are ill-trained in the course of poetry, 
 puff and blow, as the trainers express it, at short distances : 
 They who are trained better, move with little difficulty, and 
 no appearance of exertion. Strength does not lie in varicose 
 veins. This is, however, a subject which requires grace 
 only. You like to drink water ; but you like to drink it 
 from a silver cup. 
 
 TO LOVE. 
 
 Where is my heart, perfidious boy ? 
 
 Give it, O give it, back again ! 
 1 ask no more for hours of joy ; 
 
 Lift but thy hand and burst my chain. 
 
 love's reply. 
 
 Fond man ! the heart we rashly gave 
 
 She values not, yet won't restore : 
 She passes on from slave to slave ; 
 
 Go, go ; thy heart is thine no more. 
 
 CCXVIII 
 
 48 
 
 cleone to aspasia. 
 
 The Athenians, my dear Aspasia, are reported to be a re- 
 ligious people ; yet I have often wondered at their freedom 
 and boldness, in depriving the immortal Gods of their power 
 
 [■*^ In ist ed. this letter ends here.] 
 [•»8 Not in ist ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 379 
 
 on some occasions, and on others in accosting them with 
 familiarity and disrespect. It would have been satisfactory to 
 me if you had related what befell the unhappy man who pre- 
 sumed to call perfidious and boy one of the most powerful. 
 Certainly we are inspired by our holy religion to believe that 
 Love is youthful : but Anacreon is the only poet who repre- 
 sents him as a child. There is an absurdity in making him 
 appear younger than we ourselves are when we begin to be 
 under the influence of the passion. But the graver fault is in 
 calling him (what I tremble to write) perfidious ! You will 
 relieve my mind of some anxiety by assuring me that nothing 
 .sinister has befallen so captious and irreverential a votary. If 
 his fault is recent, and if he is yet living, it would be wise and 
 considerate in him to implore the blessed mother of this 
 almighty deity, that she may be pleased to avert his anger 
 should he not have forgotten the offence. I say it, because 
 the most experienced and the most pious are of opinion that 
 he is oftener oblivious. Was not he both wiser and more 
 pious who wrote a poem in a very different spirit, and, whether 
 more or less attic, fuller of thought, consistency, and reflec- 
 tion ? If you have forgotten it, let me bring it back again, and 
 fix it as firmly as may be in your memoiy : 
 
 Ah ! what a blessed privilege it is 
 
 To stand upon this insulated rock 
 
 On the north side of youth I I see below 
 
 Many at labour, many at a game 
 
 Than labour more laborious, wanting breath 
 
 And crying help ! What now ! what vexes them ? 
 
 Only a laughing maid and winged boy, 
 
 Obstinate boy indeed, who w^ill not shoot 
 
 His other arrow, having shot the first. 
 
 Where is the harm in this ? yet they meanwhile 
 
 Make all the air about them pant with sobs, 
 
 And with one name weary poor Echo down. 
 
 Aspasia ! I too have suffered ; and Love knows it : yet I 
 dare not even tell him that he knows it. To remind him 
 would be indelicate ; to complain would be irreligious. And 
 what could all his power do for me now ? But this, believe 
 me, is not the reason why I endure in silence, and bend in 
 submission to the arbitrement of the Gods. Surely, too surely,
 
 t 
 
 80 Longer Prose Works, 
 
 who ever has breathed has sighed. When we have lost, O 
 Aspasia, those we love, whether by impassable distance or any 
 other dispensation of the Gods, youth is less happy than age, 
 and age than death. 
 
 CCXIX.'*^ 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Youth, like the aloe, blossoms but once, and its flower springs 
 from amidst the thorns : but see with what great strength and 
 to what height the aloe-flower rises over them : be not sur- 
 passed by it. 
 
 On love, on grief, on every human thing, 
 Time sprinkles Lethe's water with his wing. 
 
 If I continue to reason, or to moralize, or to versify, you 
 will begin to doubt my sincerity, or at least the warmth of 
 my affection. I am induced to believe, O Cleone, that the 
 deity you venerate so profoundly and solemnly is far from un- 
 forgiving. In the verses I now send you there appears to be 
 a proof of it ; for the writer seems to have treated him not 
 only as a child, but a child much addicted to mischief; yet 
 never was man treated in return with moi-e benignity. I 
 should tremble at the manner in which the fates are mentioned, 
 if matters were left at their arbitration. But we know the 
 contrary : we know positively that they can spin only what is 
 on their distaffs, and not a thread can be turned to a new 
 pattern. 
 
 1 would be grave, Cleone ! 1 would indeed : but really 
 there is no harm in laughing at children and old women, Gods 
 or not. We know they have a good deal to do in the aflTairs 
 of this world, however ; and it is unwise to laugh at those 
 who are as capable of extinguishing our laughter as of 
 exciting it. 
 
 " What art thou doing with those shears ? " 
 I shouted in an urchin's ears, 
 Who notched them and who made them grate, 
 
 [•»9 Not in I St ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 381 
 
 While three old women near him sate, 
 
 And scowled at every scratch they heard, 
 
 But never said a single word. 
 
 In a dark corner thus all three 
 
 Sate with an elbow on the knee, 
 
 And three blue fingers held their tips 
 
 Impressed on three still bluer lips. 
 
 Although the froward boy I chid 
 
 Did not (boys will not) what was bid, 
 
 His countenance was not malign 
 
 As that was of the elder trine. 
 
 " Look at those frightful ones," he said, 
 
 And each one shook her thin hair'd head. 
 
 " Nay, never fear the angry crones," 
 
 Said he ; and each replied with groans. 
 
 " They are all vicious ; for they knew 
 
 That what I did I did for you. 
 
 Contemplating the fairest maid 
 
 That ever with my bow has played. 
 
 Crones ! By my help your shears have got 
 
 A set of teeth, which you have not. 
 
 Come ! come I death's bridesmaid ! snip as fast 
 
 As snip ye may, her years shall last 
 
 In spite of you, her beauty bloom 
 
 On this side and beyond the tomb : 
 
 I swear by Styx." 
 
 " And I by thee," 
 Cried I, " that what thou say'st shall be." 
 
 CCXX. 
 ALCrBIADES TO PERICLES. 
 
 Pray why did you tell Phanomachos to station some con- 
 fidential one near me who should be an eternal check on me ? 
 There is little chance that I should do any thing extravagant, 
 unless the Potidasans invite me to dinner and I accept the 
 invitation. I will not allow any man to defend me before I 
 stand in need of defence, and before I have deserved to save 
 my life by proving it worth something. I should quarrel with 
 Socrates himself, much more with another, presuming to take 
 what belongs to me, of danger or of glory. It is not kind in 
 you, nor open, nor prudent. Would you wish any one to say, 
 " Pericles takes care of his own relatives ! " This ought only
 
 382 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 to be said of the vilest men in the worst governments ; and of 
 you until now it never could be. You have given no such 
 orders in regard to Xanthippos. He may be as rash and 
 violent as he pleases. Even here he dares to call me Neamskos 
 and Kourid'ion and Ta paidika.* By Castor ! if he were not 
 the son of Pericles, his being my cousin should not save from 
 a stroke of the sabre that fierce disdainful visage. I promise 
 you it shall soon be seen which of us is the braver and the 
 better man. I would not say this to you unless that you might 
 let him know my sentiments. I have no words, written or 
 spoken, for the contumelious : my complaints are for the ear 
 of those only who are kind to me. 
 
 ccxxi. 
 
 PERICLES TO ALCIBIADES. 
 
 Do not think, my Alcibiades, that I recommended you to the 
 guardianship of Phanomachos, in order that he should exercise 
 over you a troublesome vigilance of controul, or indulge toward 
 you an unmilitary partiality. But I am more intimate with 
 him than I am with Xenophon or Aristoclides or Hestio- 
 doros ; f and having sons, he knows that restraints are often 
 necessary on the impatience of military ardour. 
 
 Your letter is a proof that 1 judged rightly. My praises of 
 your valour are lost amid those of the army and of the city ; 
 but the delight it has given me is, I am confident, one among 
 the thoughts that have assuaged your wounds. On your 
 return, the citizens will express their sense of your conduct. 
 
 Endeavour to prove, now that you are acknowledged to be 
 the first in bravery, that you are more discreet than Xanthippos. 
 Many in every army are so nearly on an equality in courage, 
 that any attempt of theirs to show a superiority is ineffectual. 
 Unbecoming language can neither prove nor disprove it, but 
 must detract from its worth and merit. Discretion, on the 
 contrary, is the sure sign of that presence of mind without 
 
 * This expression was usually reproachful ; not always ; as we see 
 in Plato. 
 
 ■(- These three were appointed to commands with Phanomachos.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 383 
 
 which valoui- strikes untimely and impotently. Judgment 
 alone makes courage available, and conciliates power with 
 genius. Consider that you never will have attained the scope 
 of your ambition, until you lead and govern those men against 
 whom your passions now exasperate you : and, unless you do 
 conciliate them, you never can induce them to acknowledge 
 your superiority, much less submit to your governance. It is 
 best the germs of power should spring forth early, that they 
 may have time enough for gaining strength : therefore I write 
 to you, no longer as a youth in pupilage, but as a candidate for 
 the highest offices of the commonwealth. 
 
 Try whether your forbearance may not produce a better 
 effect on Xanthippos than my remonstrances. I write to you 
 rather than to him, because I rely more firmly on your affec- 
 tion. Be worthy of such a secret, O Alcibiades ! and think 
 how highly I must esteem your prudence and manliness, when 
 I delegate to you, who are the younger, the power of correct- 
 ing in him the faults which I have been unable to eradicate or 
 suppress. Go, and, in the spirit with which I send it, give 
 my love to Xanthippos. He may neglect it, he may despise 
 it, he may cast it away, but I will gather it all up again for 
 him : you must help me. 
 
 CCXXII. 
 
 ALCIBIADES TO PERICLES. 
 
 Pericles, I was much edified by your letter ; but, pardon me, 
 when I came to the close of it I thought you rather mad. 
 
 " What ! " said I, " beard this panther ! " 
 
 However, when I considered a little more and a little better 
 on it, I went to him and delivered your love. He stared at 
 me, and then desired to see the direcdon. " Ay," said he, 
 " I remember the handwriting. He oftener writes to me than 
 I to him. I suppose he has less to do and less to think of." 
 
 The few other words he added are hardly worth the trouble 
 of reperition. In fact, they were not very filial. Dear 
 Pericles ! I would love him, were it only out of perversity. 
 But, beside all other rights over me, you have made me more
 
 384 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 disposed than ever to obey you, in making me more contented 
 with myself, as you have by this commission. I may do 
 something yet, if we can but fumigate or pray away the 
 plague. Of two thousand four hundred soldiers, who landed 
 but forty days before me, from the Bosphorus, under the com- 
 mand of Agnon, son of Nikias, one thousand and fifty are 
 already dead. I shall have nobody to persuade or manage, or 
 even to fight with, if we go on so. 
 
 CCXXIII. 
 ALCIBIADES TO PERICLES. 
 
 PoTiD/EA has surrendered. The dead of the city are scarcely 
 more shadows than the living, and yet how bravely they fought 
 to the last. I should have been sorry for them a few months 
 ago ; but I have now learned what it is to be a soldier. We 
 must rise superior to pain, and then take another flight, farther 
 afield, and rise superior to pity. Besides, the Potidxans were 
 traitors ; and next, they were against us : and furthermore, 
 they were so wicked as to eat one another, rather than submit. 
 This shows their malice. Now we have done nothing half so 
 bad toward them ; and I assure you, if others are disposed to 
 such cruelty, I will take no part in it. For who would ever 
 kiss me afterward ? 
 
 ccxxiv. 
 
 PERICLES TO ALCIBIADES. 
 
 The remembrance of past days that were happy, increases the 
 gloominess of those that are not, and intercepts the benefits of 
 those that would be. 
 
 In the midst of the plague this reflection strikes me, on the 
 intelligence I have received from Lampsacus. You likewise 
 will be sorry, O Alcibiades, to hear that Anaxagoras is dying. 
 Although he seldom conversed with you, and seldom com- 
 mended you in private, yet, believe me, he never omitted an 
 occasion of pointing out to your friends any sign you had 
 manifested of ability or virtue. He declined the character of
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 385 
 
 teacher, yet few have taught so much, wherever his wisdom 
 was accessible. Philosophers there have been indeed, at 
 Athens and elsewhere, earnest in the discoveiy and in the dis- 
 semination of truth ; but, excepting Thales ^o and Pherecydes, 
 none among them has been free from ostentation, or from 
 desire of obtaining the absolute and exclusive possession of 
 weak and ductile minds. Now the desire of great influence 
 over others is praiseworthy only where great good to the com- 
 munity may arise from it. To domineer in the arbitrary sway 
 of a dogmatical and grasping, yet loose and empty-handed 
 philosophy, which never bears upon inventions and uses, nor 
 elevates nor tranquillises the mind ; and to look upon ourselves 
 with a sweet complacency from so petty an eminence, is worse 
 than boyish ambition. To call idlers and stragglers to us, 
 and to sit among them and regale on their wonder, is the 
 selfishness of an indigent and ill-appointed mind. Anaxagoras 
 was subject to none of these weaknesses, nor to the greater of 
 condescending to reprove, or to argue with, those who are. 
 He made every due allowance for our infirmities of under- 
 standing, and variations of temper, the effect of them ; and he 
 was no less friendly toward those who differed widely in 
 opinion from him, than toward those who quite agreed. 
 When a friend of his was admiring and praising him for it, he 
 inteiTupted him, saying, 
 
 " Why not ? Is it not too self-evident for language, that, 
 if I had taken the same road, I should have gone in the same 
 direction ? and would not the same direction have led to the 
 same conclusion ? " 
 
 Yes, Alcibiades! it is indeed self-evident, and, were it 
 spoken unwarily, it would be reprehended for being so : and 
 yet scarcely one man in ten millions acts consistently upon it. 
 
 There are humanities, my friend, which require our per- 
 petual recollection, and are needful to compensate, in some 
 measure, for those many others we must resign, to the neces- 
 sities and exactions of war. 
 
 [SO Diogenes Laertius gives in his life of Thales a letter written by 
 him to Pherecydes asking to be allowed to see his forthcoming book 
 and offering to visit him.] 
 
 2 B
 
 386 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 ccxxv. 
 
 ASPASU TO CLEONE. 
 
 Serene and beautiful are our autumnal days in Thessaly. 
 We have many woods about us, and many woodland sounds 
 among them. In this season of the year I am more inclined 
 to poetry than in any other ; and I want it now more than ever 
 to flow among my thoughts, and to bear up the heavier. 
 
 I hesitate, O Cleone, to send you what I have been writ- 
 ing. You will say it is a strange fancy of mine, and fitter for 
 me in those earlier hours of life, when we were reposing in 
 the Island. 
 
 Nothing, I must confess, would be more ill-placed than a 
 Drama or Dialogue in the world below ; at least if the Shades 
 entered into captious disquisitions or frivolous pleasantries. 
 But we believe that our affections outlive us, and that Love is 
 not a stranger in Elysium. Humours, the idioms of life, are 
 lost in the transition, or are generalized in the concourse and 
 convergency of innumerable races : passions, the universal 
 speech, are throughout intelligible. 
 
 The Genius of Homer is never to be gainsaid by us: and 
 he shews us how heroes, and women worthy of heroes, felt 
 and reasoned. A long dialogue, a formal drama, would be 
 insupportable : but perhaps a single scene may win attention 
 and favour from my own Cleone. 
 
 I imagine then Agamemnon to descend from his horrible 
 death, and to meet instantly his daughter. By the nature of 
 things, by the suddenness of the event, Iphigeneia can have 
 heard nothing of her mother's double crime, adultery and 
 murder. 
 
 I suspend my pen. Although I promised you, in the 
 morning, my short Acherusian scene, I am almost ready to 
 retract my words. Everybody has found out that I am 
 deficient in tenderness. While I was writing, I could not but 
 shed tears . . . just as priests do libations, you will say, to 
 save other people the trouble.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 387 
 
 THE SHADES OF AGAMEMNON AND OF 
 IPHIGENEIA.i 
 
 IPHIGENEIA. 
 
 Father ! I now may lean upon your breast, 
 And you with unreverted eyes will grasp 
 Iphigeneia's hand. 
 
 We are not shades 
 Surely ! for yours throbs yet. 
 
 And did my blood 
 Win Troy for Greece 'i 
 
 Ah ! 'twas ill done, to shrink ; 
 But the sword gleam'd so sharp ; and the good priest 
 Trembled, and Pallas frown'd above, severe. 
 
 AGAMEMNON. 
 
 Daughter ! 
 
 IPHIGENEIA. 
 
 Beloved father ! is " the blade 
 Again to pierce my bosom ? 'tis unfit 
 For sacrifice ; no blood is in its veins, 
 No God requires it here; here are no wrongs 
 To vindicate, no realms to overthrow. 
 You standing as at Aulis in the fane. 
 With face averted, holding (as before) 
 My hand ; but yours burns not. as then it burn'd ; 
 This alone shews me we are with the Blest, 
 Nor subject to the sufferings we have borne. 
 I will win back past kindness. 
 
 Tell me then, 
 Tell how my mother fares who loved me so. 
 And griev'd, as 'twere for you, to see me part. 
 Frown not, but pardon me for tarrying 
 Amid too idle words, nor asking how 
 She prais'd us both (which most ?) for what we did. 
 
 [1 From eve to morn, from morn to parting night, 
 Father and daughter stood before my sight. 
 I felt the looks they gave, the words they said. 
 And reconducted each serener shade. 
 Ever shall these to me be well spent days, 
 Sweet fell the tears upon them, sweet the praise. 
 Far from the footstool of the tragic throne, 
 I am tragedian in this scene alone. 
 
 Landor's Satire on Satirists (1837), P- ^SO 
 ["- First ed. : " Is the blade Again to pierce a bosom now unfit For 
 sacrifice ? "]
 
 388 Longer Prose "Works. 
 
 AGAMEMNON. 
 
 Ye Gods who govern here ! do human pangs 
 Reach the pure soul thus far below ? do tears 
 Spring in these meadows ? 
 
 IPHIGENEIA. 
 
 No, sweet father, no . . . 
 I could have answered that ; why ask the Gods ? 
 
 AGAMEMNON. 
 
 Iphigeneia ! O my child ! the Earth 
 Has gendered crimes unheard-of heretofore, 
 And Nature may have changed in her last depths. 
 Together with the Gods and all their laws. 
 
 IPHIGENEIA. 
 
 Father ! we must not let you here condemn ; 
 Not, were the day less joyful : recollect 
 We have no wicked here ; no king to judge. 
 Poseidon, we have heard, with bitter rage 
 Lashes his foaming steeds against the skies, 
 And, laughing with loud yell at winged fire, 
 Innoxious to his fields and palaces 
 Affrights the eagle from the sceptred Hand ; 
 While Pluto, gentlest brother of the three 
 And happiest in obedience, views sedate 
 His tranquil realm, nor envies theirs above. 
 No change have we, not even day for night 
 Nor spring for summer. 
 
 All things are serene, 
 Serene too be your spirit ! None on earth 
 Ever was half so kindly in his house, 
 And so compliant, even to a child. 
 Never was snatch'd your robe away from me. 
 Though going to the council. The blind man 
 Knew his good king was leading him indoors. 
 Before he heard the voice that marshal'd Greece. 
 Therefore all prais'd you. 
 
 Proudest men themselves 
 In others praise humility, and most 
 Admire it in the sceptre and the sword. 
 What then can make you speak thus rapidly 
 And briefly ? in your step thus hesitate ? 
 Are you afraid to meet among the good 
 Incestuous Helen here? 
 
 AGAMEMNON. 
 
 oh ! Gods of Hell !
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 389 
 
 IPHIGENEIA. 
 
 She hath not past the river. 
 
 We may walk 
 With our hands link'd nor feel our house's shame. 
 
 AGAMEMNON. 
 
 Never mayst thou, Iphigeneia ! feel it I 
 Aulis had no sharp sword, thou wouldst exclaim, 
 Greece no avenger ... I, her chief so late, 
 Through Erebus, through Elysium, writhe beneath it. 
 
 IPIilGENEIA. 
 
 Come ; I have better diadems than those 
 
 Of Argos and Mycenai . . . come away, 
 
 And I will weave them for you on the bank. 
 
 You will not look so pale when you have walked 
 
 A little in the grove, and have told all 
 
 Those sweet fond words the widow sent her child. 
 
 AGAMEMNON. 
 
 Oh Earth ! I suffered less upon thy shores ! 
 
 (jiside.) 
 
 The bath that bubbled with my blood, the blows 
 That spilt it (O worse torture) must she know? 
 Ah ! the first woman coming from Mycenai 
 Will pine to pour this poison in her ear, 
 Taunting sad Charon for his slow advance. 
 Iphigeneia ! 
 
 IPHIGENEIA. 
 
 Why thus turn away ? 
 Calling me with such fondness ! I am here, 
 Father ! and where you are, will ever be. 
 
 AGAMEMNON. 
 
 Thou art my child . . . yes, yes, thou art my child. 
 All was not once what all now is ! Come on, 
 Idol of love and truth ! my child ! my child ! 
 
 {Jione.) 
 
 Fell woman I ever false ! false was thy last 
 Denunciation, as thy bridal vow ; 
 And yet even that found faith with me ! The dirk 
 Which sever'd flesh from flesh, where this hand rests.
 
 90 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Severs not, as thou boastedst in thy scoffs, 
 
 Iphigeneia's love from Agamemnon : 
 
 The wife's a spark may light, a straw consume, 
 
 The daughter's not her heart's whole fount hath quench'd, 
 
 "Tis worthy of the Gods, and lives for ever. 
 
 IPHIGENEIA. 
 
 What spake my father to the Gods above ? 
 
 Unworthy am I then to join in prayer? 
 
 If, on the last, or any day before, 
 
 Of my brief course on earth, I did amiss. 
 
 Say it at once, and let me be unblest ; 
 
 But, O my faultless father ! why should you ? 
 
 And shun so my embraces ? 
 
 Am I wild 
 And wandering in my fondness ? 
 
 We are shades ! 
 Groan not thus deeply ; blight not thus the season 
 Of full-orb'd gladness I Shades we are indeed, 
 But mingled, let us feel it, with the blest. 
 I knew it, but forgot it suddenly, 
 Altho' I felt it all at your approach. - 
 Look on me ; smile with me at my illusion . . 
 You are so like what you have ever been 
 (Except in sorrow !) I might well forget 
 I could not win you as I used to do. 
 It was the first embrace since my descent 
 I ever aim'd at : those who love me live. 
 Save one, who loves me most, and now would chide me. 
 
 AGAMEMNON. 
 
 We want not, O Iphigeneia, we 
 
 Want not embrace, nor kiss that cools the heart 
 
 With purity, nor words that more and more 
 
 Teach what we know, from those we know, and sink 
 
 Often most deeply where they fall most light. 
 
 Time was when for the faintest breath of thine 
 
 Kingdom and life were little. 
 
 IPHIGENEIA. 
 
 Value them 
 As little now. 
 
 AGAMEMNON. 
 
 Were life and kingdom all I
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 391 
 
 1PHIGENEIA.3 
 
 Ah ! by our death many are sad who loved us. 
 The little fond Electra, and Orestes 
 So childish and so bold ! O that mad boy ! 
 They will be happy too. 
 
 Cheer I king of men ! 
 Cheer ! there are voices, songs . . . Cheer ! arms advance. 
 
 AGAMEMNON. 
 
 Come to me, soul of peace ! These, these alone, 
 These are not false embraces. 
 
 IPHIGENEIA. 
 
 Both are happy ! 
 
 AGAMEMNON. 
 
 Freshness breathes round me from some breeze above. 
 What are ye, winged ones ! with golden urns ? 
 
 THE HOURS. 
 
 (Descending.') 
 
 The Hours . . . To each an urn we bring. 
 
 Earth's purest gold 
 
 Alone can hold 
 The lymph of the I.ethean spring. 
 
 We, son of Atreus ! we divide 
 The dulcet from the bitter tide 
 
 That runs athwart the paths of men. 
 No more our pinions shalt thou see. 
 Take comfort ! We have done with thee. 
 
 And must away to earth again. 
 
 (^Ascending.^ 
 
 Where thou art, thou 
 
 Of braided brow, 
 Thou cuU'd too soon from Argive bow'rs, 
 Where thy sweet voice is heard among 
 The shades that thrill with choral song, 
 None can regret the parted Hours. 
 
 [3 First ed. : " Ah ! by our death many are sad who loved us. 
 They will be happy too."]
 
 392 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 CHORUS OF ARGIVES. 
 
 Maiden ! be thou the spirit that breathes • 
 
 Triumph and joy into our song! 
 Wear and bestow these amaranth-wreathes 
 
 Iphigeneia ! they belong 
 To none but thee and her who reigns 
 (Less chaunted) on our bosky plains. 
 
 SEMICHORUS. 
 
 Iphigeneia ! 'tis to thee 
 
 Glory we owe and victory. 
 
 Clash, men of Argos, clash your arms 
 
 To martial worth and virgin charms. 
 
 OTHER SEMICHORUS. 
 
 Ye men of Argos ! it was sweet 
 To roll the fruits of conquest at the feet 
 Whose whispering sound made bravest hearts beat fast. 
 
 This we have known at home ; 
 
 But hither we are come 
 To crown the king who ruled us first andtast. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Father of Argos ! king of men ! 
 
 We chaunt the hymn of praise to thee. 
 In serried ranks we stand again, 
 
 Our glory safe, our country free. 
 Clash, clash the arms we bravely bore 
 Against Scamander's God-defended shore. 
 
 SEMICHORUS. 
 
 Blessed art thou who hast repell'd 
 Battle's wild fury. Ocean's whelming foam 
 
 Blessed o'er all, to have beheld 
 Wife, children, house avenged, and peaceful home ! 
 
 OTHER SEMICHORUS. 
 
 We, too, thou seest, are now 
 Among the happy, though the aged brow 
 From sorrow for us we could not protect, 
 Nor, on the polisht granite of the well 
 Folding our arms, of spoils and perils tell. 
 Nor lift the vase on the lov'd head erect.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 393 
 
 SEMICHORUS. 
 
 What whirling wheels are those behind? 
 
 What plumes come flaring through the wind, 
 Nearer and nearer ? From his car 
 He who defied the heaven-born Powers of war 
 
 Pelides springs ! Dust,* dust are we 
 To him, O king, who bends the knee,^ 
 Proud only to be first in reverent praise of thee. 
 
 OTHER SEMICHORUS. 
 
 Clash, clash the arms ! None other race 
 Shall see such heroes face to face. 
 We too have fought ; and they have seen 
 Nor sea-sand grey nor meadow green 
 Where Dardans stood against their men . . . 
 Clash ! lo Paean ! clash again ! 
 Repinings for lost days repress . . . 
 The flames of Troy had cheer'd us less. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Hark ! from afar more war-steeds neigh, 
 Thousands o'er thousands rush this way. 
 Ajax is yonder ! ay, behold 
 The radiant arms of Lycian gold ! 
 Arms from admiring valour won, 
 Tydeus ! and worthy of thy son. 
 'Tis Ajax wears them now ; for he 
 Rules over Adria's stormy sea. 
 
 He threw them to the friend who lost 
 (By the dim judgment of the host) 
 Those wet with tears which Thetis gave 
 The youth most beauteous of the brave. 
 In vain ! the insatiate soul would go 
 For comfort to his peers below. 
 Clash ! ere we leave them all the plain, 
 Clash ! lo Vxan ! once again ! 
 
 Hide these things away, Cleone ! I dare never show them 
 to any but Pericles. I can reach no further than a chorus ; 
 hardly that. Tragedy is quite above me : I want the strength, 
 the pathos, the right language. Fie ! when there are so many 
 who would teach me. Concede, that the shades were not 
 
 [■* First ed. : " But dust."] 
 [^ First ed. : " mailed knee."]
 
 ''94 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 3 
 
 happy at once in Elysium ; and that the Hours are not more 
 shadowy than they. jEschylus brings into our world Beings 
 as allegorical : and where shall we fix a boundary between the 
 allegorical and divine ? 
 
 CCXXVI. 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 You build your nest, Aspasia, like the swallow, 
 
 Bringing a little on the bill at once. 
 
 And fixing it attentively and fondly, 
 
 And trying it, and then from your soft breast 
 
 Warming it with the inmost of the plumage. 
 
 Nests there are many, of this very year 
 
 Many the nests are, which the winds shall shake, 
 
 The rains run thro', and other birds beat down; 
 
 Yours, O Aspasia ! rests against the temple 
 
 Of heavenly Love, and thence inviolate, 
 
 It shall not fall this winter nor the next. 
 
 CCXXV1I.6 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONET. 
 
 You have encouraged me to proceed in the most difficult tract 
 of poetry. Had I openly protested that the concluding act of 
 Agamemnon, the Electra of our tragedian, dissatisfies me, he 
 alone of the Athenians would have pardoned my presumption. 
 But Electra was of a character to be softened rather than ex- 
 asperated by grief. An affectionate daughter is affectionate 
 even to an unworthy mother ; and female resentment (as all 
 resentment should do) throws itself down inert at the entrance 
 of the tomb. Hate with me, if you can hate anything, my 
 Cleone ! the vengeance that rises above piety, above sorrow ; 
 the vengeance that gloats upon its prostrate victim. Com- 
 punction and pity should outlive it ; and the child's tears 
 should blind her to her parent's guilt. I have restoi'ed to my 
 Electra such a heart as nature had given her ; torn by suffering, 
 but large and alive with tenderness. In her veneration for the 
 father's memory with his recent blood before her eyes, she 
 was vehement in urging the punishment of the murderess. 
 The Gods had commanded it at the hands of their only son. 
 When it was accomplished, he himself was abhorrent of the 
 
 [^ Not in 1st ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 395 
 
 deed, but defended it as a duty ; she in her agony cast the 
 whole on her own head. If character is redeemed and re- 
 stored ; if Nature who always is consistent is shown so ; if 
 pity and terror are concentrated at the close ; I have merited 
 a small portion of what my too generous Cleone bestowed on 
 me in advance. 
 
 THE DEATH OF CLYTEMNESTRA. 
 
 ORESTES AND ELECTRA, 
 
 ELECTRA. Pass OD, my brother ! she awaits the wretch, 
 Dishonorer, despoiler, murderer. . . . 
 None other name shall name him . . . she awaits 
 As would a lover. 
 
 Heavenly Gods . . . what poison 
 O'erflows my lips ! . . . 
 
 Adultress 1 husband-slayer. 
 Strike her, the tigress ! 
 
 Think upon our father , . . 
 Give the sword scope . . . think what a man was he. 
 How fond of her ! how kind to all about. 
 That he might gladden and teach us . . . how proud 
 Of thee, Orestes tossing thee above 
 His joyous head and calling thee his crown. 
 Ah ! boys, remember not what melts our hearts 
 And marks them ever more. 
 
 Bite not thy lip, 
 Nor tramp as an unsteady colt the ground. 
 Nor stare against the wall, but think again 
 How better than all fathers was our father. 
 Go . . . 
 ORESTES. Loose me then ! for this white hand Electra 
 Hath fastened upon mine with fiercer grasp 
 Than mine can grasp the sword. 
 ELECTR^v. Go, sweet Orestes ! 
 
 I knew not I was holding thee . . . Avenge him 
 (yf/onf .) How he sprang from me I 
 
 . . . Sure, he now has reacht 
 The room before the bath ... 
 
 The bath door creaks ! 
 ... It hath creakt thus since he . . . since thou, O father ! 
 Ever since thou didst loosen its strong valves 
 Either with all thy dying weight or strength 
 Agonised with her stabs. . . . 
 
 What plunge was that ? 
 Ah me ! 
 
 . . . What groans are those?
 
 396 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 ORESTES. (Returning.') They sound through hell, 
 
 Rejoicing the Eumenides.* 
 
 She slew 
 
 Our father ; she made thee the scorn of slaves ; 
 
 Me (son of him who ruled this land and more) 
 
 She made an outcast. . . . 
 
 Would I had been so 
 
 For ever ! ere such vengeance. . . . 
 ELECTRA. O that Zeus 
 
 Had let thy arm fall sooner at thy side 
 
 Without those drops ! list ! they are audible, 
 
 For they are many . . . from the sword's point falling 
 
 And down from the mid blade ! 
 
 Too rash Orestes 1 
 
 Couldst thou not then have spared our wretched mother ? 
 ORESTES. The Gods could not. 
 
 ELECTRA. She was not theirs, Orestes. 
 
 ORESTES. And didst not thou, . . . 
 ELECTRA. 'Twas I, 'twas I, who did it ; 
 
 Of our unhappiest Jiouse the most unhappy ! 
 
 Under this roof, by every God accursed. 
 
 There is no grief, there is no guilt, but mine. 
 ORESTES. Electra ! no ! 
 
 nris now my time to suffer. ". . . 
 
 Mine be, with all its pangs, the righteous deed. 
 
 CCXXVIIlJ 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 I WILL never praise you again until you complete the tragedy. 
 This is the time for it, now all the dramatic poets of your 
 country are dead or silent. Not that I would invite you to 
 have it represented or published ; but, believe me, the exertion 
 of poetical power, in these elevations, throws off many of the 
 mind's diseases. 
 
 Little or nothing of the sort can be effected by slenderer 
 
 * An ancient scholiast has recorded that the name of Eumenides 
 was given to these Goddesses after the expiation of Orestes. But 
 Catullus (called the learned by his countrymen) represents Ariadne 
 invoking them by this appellation long before the Trojan war. The 
 verses are the most majestic in the Roman language. 
 
 Eumenides! quarum anguineis redimita capillis 
 Frons expirantes praeportat pectoris iras, 
 Hue, hue adventate ! &c. 
 [" Not in ist ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 397 
 
 and more desultory attempts. A bushel of garnets and 
 amethysts and topazes is not worth a single ruby the size of 
 the smallest ; and yet they are pretty things enough, and attract 
 as many people. One single act of such a tragedy as you are 
 able to compose, outvalues a thousand pieces of less cohesive 
 and infringible materials. Let others expatiate on trivial 
 objects, ordinary characters, and uninteresting events ; let them 
 be called poets by themselves and by their households : but 
 remember, O Aspasia, that you have Athenians for judges, 
 and that the progeny of heroes and gods is about to plead before 
 them. 
 
 Again, I declare it, I will never praise you until you 
 comply with me ; I will only love you ; and hardly that. 
 
 ccxxix.^ 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 I WILL never take so many steps up the heights of poetry, as 
 to make any poet doubt whether he can overtake me. There 
 is not enough honey in my cells to attract the wasps ; nor 
 shall there be. If you really think I have done better in 
 some parts than the generality, keep the secret ; at least from 
 others ; and if you desire to see the tragedy completed . . . 
 finish it yourself. You have often done work for me greatly 
 more difficult. I never could work anything with the needle : 
 and it was not because I feared its roughening my fingers, as 
 you were pleased to say after you had finished it. I do not 
 like any labour of the hands ; that is the matter of fact, not 
 even so little as the writing out of a tragedy. I will, how- 
 ever, on this one occasion, give you a little assistance. 
 
 THE MADNESS OF ORESTES. 
 
 ORESTES AND ELECTRA. 
 
 ORESTES. Heavy and murderous dreams, O my Electra, 
 Have dragged me from myself. 
 
 Is this Mycenai ? 
 Are we . . . are all who should be in our house ? 
 
 [* Not in I St ed.]
 
 398 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 Living? unhurt? our father here ? our mother? 
 
 Why that deep gasp? for 'twas not sigh nor groan. 
 
 She then . . . 'twas she who fell ! when ? How ? Beware ! 
 
 No, no, speak out at once, that my full heart 
 
 May meet it, and may share with thee in all . . . 
 
 In all . . . but that one thing, 
 
 It was a dream. 
 
 We may share all. 
 
 They live ? both live ? 
 
 say it ! 
 
 ELECTRA. The Gods have placed them from us, and there rolls 
 
 Between us that dark river . . . 
 ORESTES. Blood ! blood ! blood ! 
 
 1 see it roll ; I see the hand above it, 
 Imploring ; I see her. 
 
 Hiss me not back, 
 
 Ye snake hair'd maids ! 1 will look on ; I will 
 
 Hear the words gurgle thro' that cursed stream, 
 
 And catch that hand . . . that hand . . . which slew my 
 father ! 
 
 It can not be . . . how could it slay my father? 
 
 Death to the slave who spoke it 1 . . . slay my father ? 
 
 It tost me up to him to earn a smile. 
 
 And was a smile then such a precious boon 
 
 And royal state and proud affection nothing ? 
 
 Ay, and thee too, Electra, she once taught 
 
 To take the sceptre from him at the door 
 
 Not the bath-door, not the bath-door, mind that ! . . . 
 
 And place it in the vestibule against 
 
 The spear of Pallas, where it used to stand. 
 
 Where is it now? methinks I missed it there. 
 
 How we have trembled to be seen to move it ! 
 
 Both looking up, lest that stern face should frown 
 
 Which always gazed on Zeus right opposite. 
 
 O ! could but one tear more fall from my eyes, 
 
 It would shake off those horrid visages, 
 
 And melt them into air. 
 
 I am not yours, 
 
 Fell Goddesses. A just and generous power, 
 
 A bright hair'd God directed me. 
 
 And thus 
 
 Abased is he whom such a God inspired ! 
 
 (^After a pause!) 
 
 Into whose kingdom went they ? did they go 
 
 Together ? 
 ELECTRA. Oh 1 they were not long apart. 
 ORESTES. I know why thou art pale ; I know whose head 
 
 Thy flower-like hands have garlanded ; I know
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 399 
 
 For whom thou hast unbraided all thy love. 
 He well deserves it . . . He shall have it all. 
 Glory and love shall crown thee, my brave sister ! 
 ELECTRA. I am not she of Sparta. Let me live 
 (If live I must, Orestes !) not unnamed 
 Nor named too often . . . speak no more of love, 
 Ill-omened and opprobrious in this house . . . 
 A mother should have had, a father had it, 
 
 may a brother let it dwell with him, 
 Unchangeable, unquestioned, solitary. 
 Strengthened and hallowed in the depths of grief! 
 Gaze not so angrily ... I dare not see thee, 
 
 1 dare not look where comfort should be found. 
 ORESTES. I dare and do behold them all day long. 
 
 And, were that face away so like my mother's, 
 I would advance and question and compel them . . . 
 They hear me and they know it. 
 ELECTRA. Hear me too. 
 
 Ye mighty ones ! To me invisible I 
 And spare him! spare him ! for without the Gods 
 He wrought not what he wrought : And are not ye 
 Partakers of their counsels and their power ? 
 
 spare the son of him whom ye and they 
 Sent against llion, to perform your will 
 And bid the rulers of the earth be just. 
 
 ORESTES. And dare they frighten thee too ? frighten thee ? 
 And bend thee into prayer? 
 
 Off, hateful eyes ! 
 Look upon me, not her. 
 
 Ay, thus ; 'tis well. 
 Cheer, cheer thee, my Electra. 
 
 I am strong, 
 Stronger than ever . . . steel, fire, adamant . . 
 But cannot bear thy brow upon my neck. 
 Can not bear these wild writhings, these loud sobs. 
 By all the Gods I I think thou art half mad. . . . 
 
 1 must away . . . follow me not . . . stand there I 
 
 Here is the prayer of Orestes, in his madness, to Apollo ; 
 and there follows, what is not immediately connected with it, 
 the Reply of the Priestess. 
 
 ORESTES. O King Apollo! God Apollo ! god 
 Powerful to smite and powerful to preserve 
 If there is blood upon me, as there seems, 
 Purify that black stain (thou only canstj 
 With every rill that bubbles from these caves 
 Audibly ; and come willing to the work.
 
 400 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 No ; 'tis not they ; 'tis blood ; 'tis blood again 
 
 That bubbles in my ear, that shakes the shades 
 
 Of thy dark groves, and lets in hateful gleams, 
 
 Bringing me . . . What dread sight ! What sound abhorr'd 
 
 What screams ! They are my mother's : 'Tis her eye 
 
 That through the snakes of those three furies glares, 
 
 And makes them hold their peace that she may speak. 
 
 Hast thy voice bidden them all forth ? they slink, 
 
 Some that would hide avi^ay, but must turn back, 
 
 And others like blue lightnings bound along 
 
 From rock to rock ; and many hiss at me 
 
 As they draw nearer. Earth, fire, water, all 
 
 Abominate the deed of Gods commanded. 
 
 Alas ! I came to pray, not to complain ; 
 
 And lo ! my speech is impious as my deed 
 
 PRIESTESS OF APOLLO. 
 
 Take refuge here amid our Delphian shades, 
 
 O troubled breast ! 
 Here the most pious of Mycenai's maids 
 
 Shall watch thy rest 
 And wave the cooling laurel o'er thy bfow. 
 
 Nor insects swarm 
 Shall ever break thy slumbers, nor shalt thou 
 
 Start at the alarm 
 Of boys infesting (as they do) the street 
 
 With mocking songs. 
 Stopping and importuning all they meet 
 
 And heaping wrongs 
 Upon thy diadem'd and sacred head, 
 
 Worse than when base 
 CEgisthus (shudder not 1) his toils outspread 
 
 Around thy race. 
 Altho' even in this fane the fitful blast 
 
 Thou may'st hear roar. 
 Thy name among our highest rocks shall last 
 
 For ever more. 
 ORESTES. A calm comes ever me : life brings it not 
 With any of its tides : my end is near. 
 O Priestess of the purifying god 
 Receive her (^pointing to his sister^, and when she hath closed mine 
 
 eyes, 
 Do thou (weep not, my father's child I) close hers.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 40 1 
 
 ccxxx.'' 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Many are now recovering from the fever, which no longer 
 can be called a pestilence. Pericles, though he tells me he is 
 weak in body and altered in appearance, will soon overcome 
 his fears about me. We shall presently meet again. And 
 so, Cleone, you really ha%^e ventured at last to accept the in- 
 vitation of Euphorbia. If she talked to you of her son she 
 was imprudent and indiscreet : perliaps in her earlier invitation 
 she was hardly less so. But who can foresee the end of 
 sorrow, or would foresee the end of happiness ? It usually is 
 nearer at hand. When we enter a place whence the beloved 
 has been long absent, part of the presence seems to be left 
 behind. Again we draw back from the window as we did 
 before, because then we were told people were coming. 
 Foolish ! foolish ! I am representing my own sensation in 
 times past : girlish sensations, which never were Cleone's even 
 in girlhood. Ah, Cleone ! the beautiful smooth dove's plum- 
 age is hard and cold externally ; but what throbbing, what 
 warmth, what ardour, what tenderness, deep within ! we must 
 neither of us prefix ah ! to anything in future : we must be 
 the happiest of the happy. Here are two pieces of verse for 
 you. That on Dirce was sent to me by Pericles ; to prove 
 that his Athenians can sport with Charon even now. The 
 last Quaternion seems the production of an elderly man : and 
 some of the ladies, on whom it was not written, and to whom 
 it is not applicable, cry shame on him, beyond a doubt. 
 
 Stand closer round, ye Stygian set 
 With Dirce in one boat conveyed, 
 
 Or Charon, seeing, may forget 
 That he is old, and she a shade. 
 
 Love ran with me, then walk't, then sate. 
 Then said, come 1 come ! it grows too late. 
 And then he would have gone, but . . . no . , . 
 You caught his eye : he could not go. 
 
 P Not in 1st ed.] 
 2 C
 
 402 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 ccxxxi.i** 
 
 ASPASIA TO CLEONE. 
 
 Where on earth is there so much society as in a beloved 
 child ? He accompanies me in my walks, gazes into my 
 eyes for what I am gathering from books, tells me more and 
 better things than they do, and asks me often what neither I 
 nor they can answer. When he is absent I am filled with re- 
 flections, when he is present I have room for none beside what I 
 receive from him. The charms of his childhood bring me 
 back to the delights of mine, and I fancy I hear my own 
 words in a sweeter voice. Will he (O how I tremble at the 
 mute Oracle of futurity ! ) will he ever be as happy as I have 
 been ? Alas ! and must he ever be as subject to fears and 
 apprehensions ? No ; thanks to the gods ! never, never. He 
 carries his father's heart within his breast. I see him already 
 an orator and a leader. I try to teach him daily some of his 
 father's looks and gestures, and I never smile but at his 
 docility and gravity. How his father^ will love him ! the 
 little thunderer ! the winner of cities ! the vanquisher of 
 Cleones ! 
 
 CCXXXII. 
 CLEONE TO ASPASIA. 
 
 The Lacedaemonians, we hear, have occupied not only all Attica, 
 but are about to enter, if they have not entered already, the 
 territory of their confederates, the Thebans, and to join their 
 forces. Whither will you go, my Aspasia ! Thessaly is 
 almost as perilous as BcEOtia. It is worse than criminal to be 
 so nearly allied to the greatest man on earth, who must always 
 have the greatest enemies. There are more who will forgive 
 injury than there are who will forgive station : and those who 
 assail in vain the power of Pericles, will exert their abilities in 
 diminishing his equanimity and happiness. I fear your fondness 
 will have induced you again to enter the city, that you may 
 assuage and divide those cares which must weigh heavily on 
 his wisdom and patriotism ; and the more, since his health has 
 
 ["Not in I St ed.]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 403 
 
 been undermined by the pestilence. I dare not advise you to 
 forego a duty : but remember he has commanded you to re- 
 main away. Your return would afflict him. I am quite 
 incapable of judging for you. Were I with you, then per- 
 haps I might know many things which should influence your 
 decision. 
 
 And can two years have passed over since this evil entered 
 your city, without my flying to comfort you ! Two years 
 have indeed passed over ; but my house has also had its days 
 of mourning. The prayers of my father were heard : he died 
 contentedly, and even joyfully. He told me he had implored 
 of the Gods that they would bestow on me a life as long 
 and happy as his own, and was assured they would. Until 
 we have seen some one grown ^^ old, our existence seems 
 stationary. When we feel certain of having seen it (which is 
 not early) the earth begins a little to loosen from us. Nothing 
 now can detain me at Miletus, although when I have visited 
 you I shall return. You must retm'n with me, which you can 
 do from any region but Attica. Pericles will not refuse, for 
 you have already conciliated me his favour. In the mean- 
 while, do not think yourself bound by the offices of humanity, 
 to bestow those cares on others which are all required for 
 your own family. Do not be so imprudent as to let the most 
 intimate of your fnends persuade you to visit them. You have 
 a child, you have a husband, and, without your presence, you 
 possess the means of procuring every human aid for the in- 
 fected. O that I were with you ! to snatch you away from 
 the approach of the distemper. But I sadly fear I should 
 grow hard-hearted toward others, in your danger. 
 I must be with my Aspasia ; and very soon. 
 O Athens 1 Athens ! are there not too many of the dead 
 within thy walls already ? and are none there who never should 
 have been ! * 
 
 CCXXXIII.^2 
 ASPASIA TO PERICLES. 
 
 Never tell me, O my Pericles, that you are suddenly changed 
 in appearance. May every change of your figure and counten- 
 
 [" First ed. : '• grow."] 
 
 * This seems to refer to Xeniades. 
 
 [^■- Not in I St ed.J
 
 404 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 ance be gradual, so that I shall not perceive it : but if you 
 really are altered to such a degree as you describe, I must 
 transfer my affection . . . from the first Pericles to the 
 second. Are you jealous ! If you are, it is I who am to be 
 pitied, whose heart is destined to fly from the one to the other 
 incessantly. In the end it will rest, it shall, it must, on the 
 nearest. I would write a longer letter ; but it is a sad and 
 wearisome thing to aim at playfulness where the hand is 
 palsied by affliction. Be well ; and all is well : be happy ; 
 and Athens rises up again, alert and blooming and vigorous, 
 from between war and pestilence. Love me : for love cures 
 all but love. How can we fear to die, how can we die, while 
 we cling or are clung to the beloved ? 
 
 ccxxxiv. 
 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 The pestilence has taken from me both^ny sons. You, who 
 were ever so kind and affectionate to them, will receive a tardy 
 recompense, in hearing that the least gentle and the least 
 grateful did acknowledge it. 
 
 I mourn for Paralus, because he loved me ; for Xanthippos 
 because he loved me not. 
 
 Preserve with all your maternal care our little Pericles. I 
 cannot be fonder of him than I have always been ; I can only 
 fear more for him. 
 
 Is he not with my Aspasia ? What fears then are so 
 irrational as mine ? But oh ! I am living in a widowed house, 
 a house of desolation ! I am living in a city of tombs and 
 torches ! and the last I saw before me were for my children. 
 
 ccxxxv. 
 
 PERICLES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 It is right and orderly, that he who has partaken so largely in 
 the prosperity of the Athenians, should close the procession of 
 their calamities. The fever that has depopulated our city,
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 405 
 
 returned upon me last night, and Hippocrates ^^ and Acron 
 tell me that my end is near. 
 
 When we agreed, O Aspasia, in the beginning of our loves, 
 to communicate our thoughts by writing, even while we were 
 both in Athens, and when we had many reasons for it, we 
 little foresaw the more powerful one that has rendered it 
 necessary of late. We never can meet again. The laws 
 forbid it, and love itself enforces them. Let wisdom be 
 heard by you as imperturbably, and affection as authoritatively, 
 as ever ; and remember that the sorrow of Pericles can arise 
 but from the bosom of Aspasia. There is only one word of 
 tenderness we could say, which we have not said oftentimes 
 before ; and there is no consolation in it. The happy never 
 say, and never hear said, farewell. 
 
 Reviewing the course of my life, it appears to me, at one 
 moment, as if we met but yesterday ; at another, as if cen- 
 turies had past within it ; for within it have existed the greater 
 part of those who, since the origin of the world, have been the 
 luminaries of the human race. Damon called me from my 
 music to look at Aristides on his way to exile ; and my father 
 pressed the wrist by which he was leading me along, and 
 whispered in my ear, 
 
 " Walk quickly by ; glance cautiously ; it is there Miltiades is 
 in prison.'^ 
 
 In my boyhood ^* Pindar took me up in his arms, when he 
 brought to our house the dirge he had composed for the 
 funeral of my grandfather : in my adolescence I offered the 
 rites of hospitality to Empedocles ; not long afterward I em- 
 braced the neck of ^schylus, about to abandon his country. 
 With Sophocles I have argued on eloquence ; with Euripides 
 
 [^3 The presence of Hippocrates at Athens during the plague cannot 
 be said to be thoroughly proved. The letters attributed to him are 
 probably spurious, and the account given in them of his conduct is 
 such as might readily have occurred to any one composing an imagin- 
 ary letter on a very famous epidemic. Thucydides, in his account of 
 the plague, makes no mention of Hippocrates. Acron, a Sicilian 
 physician, was probably dead at the time. An epitaph on him is 
 extant, which is attributed to Empedocles or Simonides.] 
 
 [1* First ed. : « In my adolescence I offered the rites of hospitality 
 Pindar and Empedocles : not long afterward I," &c.]
 
 4o6 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 on polity and ethics ; I have discoursed, as became an inquirer, 
 with Protagoras and Democritus, with Anaxagoras and 
 Meton. From Herodotus I have listened to the most in- 
 structive history, conveyed in a language the most copious and 
 the most harmonious ; a man worthy to carry away the 
 collected suffrages of universal Greece ; a man worthy to 
 throw open the temples of Egypt, and to celebrate the exploits 
 of Cyrus. And from Thucydides, who alone can succeed to 
 him, how recently did my Aspasia hear with me the energetic 
 praises of his just supremacy ! 
 
 As if the festival of life were incomplete, and wanted one 
 great ornament to crown it, Phidias placed before us, in ivory 
 and gold, the tutelary Deity of this land, and the Zeus of 
 Homer and Olympus. 
 
 To have lived with such men, to have enjoyed their famil- 
 iarity and esteem, overpays all labours and anxieties. T were 
 unworthy of the friendships I have commemorated, were I 
 forgetful of the latest. Sacred it ought to be, formed as it was 
 under the portico of Death, my friendship with the most 
 sagacious, the most scientific, the most beneficent of philo- 
 sophers, Acron and Hippocrates. If mortal could war against 
 Pestilence and Destiny, they had been victorious. I leave 
 them in the field : unfortunate he who finds them among the 
 fallen! 
 
 And now, at the close of my day, when every light is dim, 
 and every guest departed, let me own that these wane before 
 me, remembering, as I do, in the pride and fulness of my 
 heart, that Athens confided her glory and Aspasia her happi- 
 ness to me. 
 
 Have I been a faithful guardian ? do I resign them to the 
 custody of the Gods undiminished and unimpaired ? Welcome, 
 then, welcome, my last hour ! After enjoying for so great a 
 number of years, in my public and my private life, what I 
 believe has never been the lot of any other, I now extend my 
 hand to the urn, and take without reluctance or hesitation what 
 is the lot of all.
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 407 
 
 ccxxxvi.i^ 
 
 ALCIBIADES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 I RETURNED to Athens in time to receive the last injunctions of 
 my guardian. What I promised him, to comfort him in his 
 departure, I dare not promise his Aspasia, lest I fail in the 
 engagement ; nevertheless I will hope that my natural un- 
 steadiness may sometimes settle on his fixed principles. But 
 what am I, what are all my hopes, in comparison with the last 
 few words of this great man, surely the greatest that earth has 
 ever seen, or ever will see hereafter ! Let me repeat them to 
 you, for they are more than consolation, and better. If on 
 such a loss, I or any one could console you, I should abominate 
 you eternally. 
 
 I found him surrounded by those few friends whom pesti- 
 lence and despair had left in the city. They had entered but 
 a little while before me ; and it appears that one or other of 
 them had been praising him for his exploits. 
 
 "In these," replied he, "fortune hath had her share: tell 
 me rather, if you wish to gratify me, that never have I caused 
 an Athenian to put on mourning." 
 
 I burst forward from the doorway, and threw my arms 
 around his neck. 
 
 " O Pericles ! my first, last, only friend ! afar be that hour 
 yet ! " cried I, and my tears rolled abundantly on his cheeks. 
 Either he felt them not, or dissembled or disregarded them ; 
 for, seeing his visitors go away, he began with perfect calmness 
 to give me such advice as would be the best to follow in 
 every occurrence, and chiefly in every difficulty. When he 
 had ended, and I was raising my head from above his pillow 
 (for I continued in that posture, ashamed that he, who spake 
 so composedly, should perceive my uncontrollable emotion), I 
 remarked I knew not what upon his bosom. He smiled 
 faintly, and said, 
 
 " Alcibiades ! I need not warn you against superstition : it 
 never was among your weaknesses. Do not wonder at these 
 amulets : above all, do not order them to be removed. The 
 kind old nurses, who have been carefully watching over me 
 
 [IS See Plutarch for these particulars.]
 
 4o8 Longer Prose Works. 
 
 day and night, are persuaded that these will save my life. 
 Superstition is rarely so kind-hearted ; whenever she is, unable 
 as we are to reverence, let us at least respect her. After the 
 good patient creatures have found, as they must soon, all their 
 traditional charms unavailing, they will surely grieve enough, 
 and perhaps from some other motive than their fallibility in 
 science- Inflict not, O Alcibiades ! a fresh wound upon 
 their grief, by throwing aside the tokens of their affection. In 
 hours like these we are the most indifferent to opinion, and 
 greatly the most sensible to kindness." 
 
 The statesman, the orator, the conqueror, the protector, had 
 died away ; the philosopher, the humane man, yet was living 
 . . . alas ! few moments more. 
 
 CCXXXVII. 
 ALCIBIADES TO ASPASIA. 
 
 Must I again, Aspasia, torment my soul ? again must I trouble 
 yours ? Has the pestilence then seized me, that I want hardi- 
 hood, strength, understanding, to begin my labour ? No ; I 
 walk through the house of mourning, firmly, swiftly, incessantly: 
 my limbs are alert as ever. 
 
 Write it I must. Somebody was at the house-door ; i^ 
 admittance was, it seems, not granted readily. I heard a 
 voice, feeble and hoarse, and looking forth, saw two women, 
 who leaned against the lintels. 
 
 " Let her enter, let her enter : look at her : she is one of 
 us." 
 
 These words were spoken by the younger ; and maliciously. 
 Scarcely had she uttered them when her head dropped for- 
 ward. The stranger caught and supported her, and cried 
 help ! help ! and rubbed her temples, and, gazing on her with 
 an intensity of compassion, closed her eyelids ; for death had 
 come over them. In my horror, my fright and dastardly 
 cowardice I should rather call it, I failed to prevent or check 
 her. 
 
 Aspasia has then her equal on the earth ! 
 
 [16 First ed. : " gates."]
 
 Pericles and Aspasia. 409 
 
 Aspasia is all that v/omen in their wildest wishes can desire 
 to be ; Cleone, all that the Immortals are. But she has 
 friendship, she has sympathy : have those ? 
 
 She has, did I say ? And can nothing then bring me back 
 my recollection ? not even she ! I want it not : those 
 moments are present yet, and will never pass away. 
 
 She asked for you. 
 
 " Aspasia," answered I, " is absent." 
 
 " Not with her husband ! not with her husband ! " cried 
 she. 
 
 " Pericles," I replied, " is gone to the Blessed." 
 
 " She was with him then, while hope remained for her ! I 
 knew she would be. Tell me she was." 
 
 And saying it, she grasped my arm, and looked earnestly in 
 my face. Suddenly, as it appeared to me, she blushed 
 slightly : on her countenance there was, momentarily, some- 
 what less of its paleness. She walked into the aviary : the 
 lattice stood open : the birds were not flown, but dead. She 
 drew back ; she hesitated ; she departed. I followed her : 
 for now, and not earlier, I bethought me it was Cleone. 
 Before I came up to her, she had asked a question- of an 
 elderly man, who opened his lips but could not answer her, 
 and whose arm, raised with difficulty from the pavement, 
 when it would have directed her to the object of her inquiry, 
 dropped upon his breast. A boy was with him, gazing in 
 wonder at the elegance and composure of her attire, such as, 
 in these years of calamity and of indifference to seemliness, can 
 nowhere be found in Athens. He roused himself from his 
 listless posture, beckoned, and walked before us. Reaching the 
 garden of Epimedea, we entered it through the house ; silent, 
 vacant, the doors broken down. Sure sign that some family, 
 perhaps many, had, but few days since, utterly died off within 
 its chambers. For nearly all the habitations, in all quarters 
 of the city, are crowded with emigrants from the burghs of 
 Attica. The pestilence is now the least appalling where it has 
 made the most havoc. But how hideous, how disheartening, 
 is the sudden stride before our eyes, from health and beauty to 
 deformity and death ! In this waste and desolation there was 
 more peacefulness, I believe, than anywhere else beyond, in 
 the whole extent of our dominions. It was not to last. 
 
 2 D
 
 4 1 o Longer Prose Works, 
 
 A tomb stood opposite the entrance : Cleone rushed toward 
 it, reposed her brow against it, and said at intervals, 
 
 " I am weary : I ache throughout : 1 thirst bitterly : I 
 cannot read the epitaph." 
 
 The boy advanced, drew his finger slowly along, at the 
 bottom of the letters, and said, 
 
 " Surely they are plain enough. . . . 
 
 " Xeniades son of Charondas" 
 
 He turned round and looked at me, well satisfied. Cleone 
 lowered her cheek to the inscription ; but her knees bent under 
 her, and she was fain to be seated on the basement. 
 
 " Cleone ! " said I, . . . she started at the name . . . 
 " Come, I beseech you, from that sepulchre." 
 
 "The reproof is just," she replied. . . . " Here, too, even 
 here, I am an alien ! " 
 
 Aspasia ! she will gladden your memory no more : never 
 more will she heave your bosom with fond expectancy. There 
 is none to whom, in the pride of your soul, you will run with 
 her letters in your hand. He, upon whose shoulder you have 
 read them in my presence, lies also in the grave : the last of 
 them is' written. 
 
 TURNBULL AND SPEARS. PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
 
 K> 
 
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 AA 000 628 160