{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_71285/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_71285","id":"gutenberg_71285","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/71285","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","English fiction -- 20th century","English wit and humor","Imaginary letters","Letters in literature"],"text":"Transcriber\u2019s Note: Italic text is enclosed in _underscores_. Other\nnotes will be found near the end of this eBook.\n\n\n\n\nDEAD LETTERS\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n DEAD LETTERS\n\n BY\n\n MAURICE BARING\n\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n BOSTON AND NEW YORK\n HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY\n 1910\n\n\nThe letters in this book are re-printed from the _Morning Post_, to the\nProprietor and Editor of which newspaper the author owes his thanks for\nthe permission to reproduce them here.\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATION\n\n_To Lord Lucas_\n\n\nMY DEAR BRON,\n\nI wish to begin this bundle of \u201cDead Letters,\u201d collected from the Dead\nLetter Office of the World, with a living letter to you.\n\nThese letters are in no wise meant to be either historical documents\nor historical studies or aids to the understanding of history, or\nlearning of any kind with or without tears. They are the fruits of\nimagination rather than of research. The word research is not even\nremotely applicable here, for in my case it means the hazy memories of\na distant education indolently received, a few hurried references to\nSmith\u2019s \u201cClassical Dictionary,\u201d a map of Rome which is in the London\nLibrary, and Bouillet\u2019s \u201cBiographie Universelle.\u201d So that if you tell\nme that my account of the Carthaginian fleet is full of inaccuracies,\nor that the psychology of my Lesbia conflicts with the historical\nevidence, I shall be constrained to answer that I do not care. Yet\namidst this chaff of fancy there are a few grains of historical truth.\nBy historical truth I mean the recorded impressions (they may be false,\nof course, and the persons who recorded them may have been liars, in\nwhich case it is historical falsehood) of men on events which were\ncontemporary with them. One of the letters is entirely composed of such\ngrains. I will not tell you which one it is until some of our common\nfriends, who are historical experts, have singled it out as being the\none letter which oversteps all bounds of historical possibility and\nprobability. (It is not the letter on Heine, part of the substance of\nwhich was taken from Memoirs and freely blended with fiction.) Such\nsingling out has already occurred with regard to certain details of\nthe letters as they appeared week by week in the \u201cMorning Post.\u201d But I\nconfess that I have so far suffered more from the credulity than from\nthe scepticism of my readers, and I was tempted at one moment rather\nto insert the impossible than to make the possible appear probable.\nFor correspondents wrote to me, asking me to give them from my secret\nstore further details with regard to Lady Macbeth\u2019s housekeeping, Lord\nBacon\u2019s business affairs, and the table talk of the Emperor Claudius.\n\nOn the other hand, a sceptic asked to be supplied with the historical\nevidence for Guinevere\u2019s extravagance in dress. I am conscious that\nin some of these letters I may have laid myself open to the charge of\nirreverence towards certain themes which are hallowed by romance and\novershadowed by the wings of the great poets. I plead \u201cNot guilty.\u201d I\nam sure that you, of all people, will acquit me; for those (such as\nyou) whose enjoyment of the great poets is vital and whose belief in\nthe permanence of Romance is robust are seldom offended at a levity\nwhich they have no difficulty in recognizing to be the familiarity, not\nbreeding contempt but begotten of awe, of the True Believer, nor have\nthey any difficulty in distinguishing such laughter from the scoff of\nthe Infidel.\n\nTo end on a less pompous note, let me add that if you like this book\nthat is enough for me; and the blame of the rest of the world, although\nit will ultimately affect my purse--and a purse, as Shakespeare says,\nis trash--will disturb neither my peace of mind nor my digestion and\nwill therefore not vex me.\n\nOn the other hand there is no amount of praise which a man and an\nauthor cannot endure with equanimity. Some authors can even stand\nflattery. I hope, therefore, to earn a certain measure both of your\napproval and others\u2019; while theirs will be the more profitable, yours\nwill be the more prized.\n\n MAURICE BARING.\n\n SOSNOFKA, TAMBOV, RUSSIA.\n _October 19th, 1909._\n\n \u201cTo most people of time past and present, at least history is a\n pageant, no less and no more. It is a vast procession of human\n lives, fascinating to us because of the likeness underlying all the\n differences and because of the differences through which we see the\n likeness.\u201d\n\n J.\u00a0W. ALLEN (_The Place of History in Education_).\n\n \u201cIl n\u2019y a pas de lettres ennuyeuses.\u201d\n\n _The Man in the Iron Mask._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n PAGE\n FROM THE MYCENAE PAPERS 1\n\n WITH THE CARTHAGINIAN FLEET, 216 B.C. 21\n\n LESBIA ILLA 29\n\n CLEOPATRA AT ROME 39\n\n OVID\u2019S BANISHMENT 50\n\n THE CAPRAE REGATTA, A.D. 27 60\n\n MESSALINA 68\n\n NERO INTERVIEWED, ROME, A.D. 64 81\n\n MARCUS AURELIUS AT LANUVIUM 91\n\n THE CAMELOT JOUSTS 103\n\n KING LEAR\u2019S DAUGHTER 113\n\n LADY MACBETH\u2019S TROUBLE 121\n\n AT THE COURT OF KING CLAUDIUS 130\n\n ROMEO AND ROSALINE 138\n\n A FIRST NIGHT 147\n\n THE POET, THE PLAYER, AND THE LITERARY AGENT 156\n\n BATH, 1663 168\n\n PETER THE GREAT 176\n\n \u201cHAMLET\u201d AND DR. DODD 188\n\n HERR M\u00dcLLER 197\n\n HEINE IN PARIS 207\n\n SMITH MAJOR 217\n\n FROM SATURDAY TO MONDAY 224\n\n A RUSSIAN SAILOR 236\n\n\n\n\nDEAD LETTERS\n\n\n\n\nFROM THE MYCENAE PAPERS\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus_\n\n MYCENAE.\n\nHonoured Sir,\n\nI am sorry I was out when you came yesterday. I never thought that you\nseriously meant to come. I shall be very busy all next week, as Helen\nand Menelaus are arriving and I must get everything ready. Orestes was\nquite delighted with the cup and ball. You spoil him.\n\n Yours sincerely,\n CLYTAEMNESTRA.\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus_\n\nMost honoured Aegisthus,\n\nOne line to say that I have received your letter and _loved_ it all\nexcept the last sentence. Please do not say that kind of thing again\nas it will quite ruin our friendship, which I thought was going to be\nso _real_.\n\n Yours very sincerely,\n CLYTAEMNESTRA.\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus_\n\nMost honoured Aegisthus,\n\nThe flowers are beautiful, and it was kind of you to remember my\nbirthday. But your letter is really too naughty....\n\n (The rest of this letter is missing)\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus_\n\n MYCENAE.\n\nMost honoured Sir,\n\nThis is to say that since you persist in misunderstanding me and\nrefuse to listen to what I say, our correspondence must end. It is\nextraordinary to me that you should wish to debase what might have been\nso great and so wonderful.\n\n Yours truly,\n CLYTAEMNESTRA.\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus_\n\n MYCENAE.\n\nMost honoured Aegisthus,\n\nI was much touched by your letter and I will give you the one more\ntrial you ask for so humbly and so touchingly.\n\nParis has arrived. I don\u2019t know if you know him. He is the second\nson of the King of Troy. He made an unfortunate marriage with a girl\ncalled \u0152none, the daughter of a rather disreputable river-person.\nThey were miserable about it. He is very good-looking--if one admires\nthose kind of looks, which I don\u2019t. He dresses in an absurd way and he\nlooks theatrical. Besides, I hate men with curly hair. He has a few\naccomplishments. He shoots well and plays on the double flute quite\nremarkably well for a man who is not a professional; but he is totally\nuninteresting, and, what is more, impossible. But Helen likes him.\nIsn\u2019t it extraordinary that she always has liked impossible men? They\nsit for hours together saying nothing at all. I don\u2019t in the least mind\nhis paying no attention to me--in fact, I am too thankful not to have\nto talk to him; but I do think it\u2019s bad manners, as I am his hostess.\n\nHelen is certainly looking better this year than she has ever looked;\nbut she still dresses in that affectedly over-simple way, which is\na pity. I don\u2019t know how long he is going to stay. I don\u2019t mind his\nbeing here, but Helen and he are really most inconsiderate. They use\nmy sitting-room as though it were theirs, and they never seem to think\nthat I may have things to do of my own, and they expect me to go out\nwith them, which ends in their walking on ahead and my being left with\nMenelaus, whom I am very fond of indeed, but who bores me. He talks of\nnothing but horses and quoits. It is a great lesson to Queen Hecuba\nfor having brought up her son so badly. Paris was educated entirely\nby a shepherd, you know, on Mount Ida. The result is his manners are\nshocking. Helen doesn\u2019t see it. Isn\u2019t it odd? I must say he\u2019s nice with\nchildren, and Orestes likes him.\n\n I am your sincere friend,\n CLYTAEMNESTRA.\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus_\n\n MYCENAE.\n\nMost honoured Aegisthus,\n\nWe are in great trouble. I told you Helen was attracted by Paris. We\nof course thought nothing of it, because Helen always has flirted with\nrather vulgar men, and her flirtations were, we thought, the harmless\ndistractions of a woman who has remained, and always will remain, a\nsentimental girl.\n\nImagine our surprise and dismay! Paris and Helen have run away\ntogether, and they have gone to Troy! Helen left a note behind for\nMenelaus saying she realized that she had made a mistake, that she\nhated hypocrisy, and thought it more honest to leave him. She said she\nwould always think of him with affection. Poor Menelaus is distracted,\nbut he is behaving beautifully.\n\nAgamemnon is furious. He is overcome by the disgrace to his family,\nand he is so cross. We are all very miserable. Agamemnon says that the\nfamily honour must be redeemed at all costs, and that they will have to\nmake an expedition against Troy to fetch Helen back. I think this is\nquite ridiculous. No amount of expeditions and wars can undo what has\nbeen done. I am sure you will sympathize with us in our trouble. I must\nsay it is most unfair on my children. I shouldn\u2019t have minded so much\nif Iphigenia wasn\u2019t grown up.\n\nElectra has got whooping-cough, but she is going on as well as can\nbe expected. I have no patience with Helen. She always was utterly\nthoughtless.\n\n Your sincere friend,\n CLYTAEMNESTRA.\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus_\n\n MYCENAE.\n\nMost honoured Aegisthus,\n\nThere is no end of worry and fuss going on. Odysseus, the King of\nIthaca, has arrived here with his wife, Penelope. They discuss the\nprospects of the expedition from morning till night, and I am left\nalone with Penelope. She has borrowed my only embroidery frame, and is\nworking some slippers for her husband. They are at least two sizes too\nsmall. She talks of nothing but her boy, her dog, her dairy, and her\ngarden, and I can\u2019t tell you how weary I am of it. She made me very\nangry yesterday by saying that I spoilt Orestes, and that I should be\nsorry for it some day. She is always throwing up her boy Telemachus to\nme. Whenever Helen is mentioned she puts on a face as much as to say:\n\u201cDo not defile me.\u201d\n\n Your sincere friend,\n CLYTAEMNESTRA.\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus_\n\n MYCENAE.\n\nMost honoured Aegisthus,\n\nMy worst fears have been realized. They are going to make an expedition\nagainst Troy on a large scale. Odysseus is at the bottom of it. I\ncannot say how much I dislike him. All the Kings have volunteered to\ngo, but the Fleet will not be ready for two years, so I am in hopes\nthat something may happen in the meantime to prevent it.\n\nIphigenia is learning to make bandages, and says she will go to the\nfront to look after the wounded. I am, of course, against this, and\nthink it\u2019s absurd, but unfortunately she can make her father do what\nshe likes. My only consolation is that the war cannot possibly last\nmore than a week. The Trojans have no regular army. They are a handful\nof untrained farmers, and the town cannot stand a siege. It is all too\nsilly. It is too bad of Helen to have caused all this fuss.\n\n Your sincere friend,\n CLYTAEMNESTRA.\n\n_P.S._--No, of course I haven\u2019t written to Helen. She is as good as\ndead to me.\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus_\n\n(_Two years later_)\n\n MYCENAE.\n\nMy dear Aegisthus,\n\nWe have at last got some news. The Fleet has arrived at Aulis, and they\nare waiting for a favourable wind to be able to go on. At present they\nare becalmed. They are all well. Iphigenia writes that she is enjoying\nherself immensely. She has the decency to add that she misses me. I\nhave not had a good night\u2019s rest since they have started.\n\n Your most sincere friend,\n CLYTAEMNESTRA.\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus_\n\nMy dear friend,\n\nPlease come here at once. I am in dreadful trouble. From the last\nletter I received from Agamemnon I understood there was something wrong\nand that he was hiding something. To-day I got a letter from Calchas,\nbreaking to me in the most brutal manner an appalling tragedy and a\nsavage, horrible, and impious crime! They have sacrificed my darling\nIphigenia--to Artemis, of all goddesses! to get a propitious wind for\ntheir horrible Fleet! I am heartbroken. I cannot write another word.\nPlease come directly.\n\n Your friend,\n CLYTAEMNESTRA.\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus_\n\n(_Two months later_)\n\nI see no reason why you should not come back; I have a right to ask\nwhom I like to stay here. Do come as soon as possible; I am very lonely\nwithout you. Now that I no longer communicate with Agamemnon in order\nto get news I have written to Helen and sent the letter by a very\nclever silk merchant, who is certain to be able to worm his way into\nTroy. Come as soon as you get this.\n\n C.\n\n_P.S._--Agamemnon still writes, but I do not take the slightest notice\nof his letters. I trust the Trojans will be victorious. They have at\nany rate determined to make a fight for it. Our generals are certain to\nquarrel, Achilles and Agamemnon never get on well. And Achilles\u2019 temper\nis dreadful.\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus_\n\n(_Three months later_)\n\nI can no longer bear these short visits and these long absences. I have\narranged for you to stay here permanently.\n\nI wrote to Agamemnon last month a cold and dignified business letter,\nin which I pointed out that unless some man came here to look after\nthings, everything would go to pieces. I suggested you. I have now got\nhis answer. He agrees, and thinks it an excellent plan.\n\nOdysseus wrote me, I must say, a most amusing letter. He says\neverything is at sixes and sevens, and that Priam\u2019s eldest son is far\nthe most capable soldier on either side. He expects to win, but says it\nwill be a far longer business than they thought it would be at first.\nCome as quickly as you can. Best and most beloved.\n\n Your C.\n\n\n_Helen to Clytaemnestra_\n\n(_Ten years later_)\n\n TROY.\n\nDearest Clytaemnestra,\n\nYour letters are a great comfort to me when I get them, which is very\nseldom. Everything is going on just the same. It is now the tenth\nyear of the siege, and I see no reason why it should ever end. I am\ndreadfully afraid the Greeks will never take Troy.\n\nI can give you no idea of how dull everything is here. We do the same\nthing and see the same people every day. We know exactly what is going\non in the Greek camp, and most of the time is spent in discussing the\ngossip, which bores me to death. You are quite right in what you say\nabout Paris. I made a fatal mistake. It is all Aphrodite\u2019s fault. He\nhas become too dreadful now. He is still very good-looking, but even\ncompared with Menelaus he is pitiable in every way and every bit as\ncross. Hector is very nice, but painfully dull. The King and the Queen\nare both very kind, but as for Cassandra, she is intolerable. She is\nalways prophesying dreadful calamities which never come off. She\nsaid, for instance, that I would lose my looks and make a long journey\nin Egypt. As if I would go to Egypt from here! As to my looks, you\nknow, darling, I never was vain, was I? But I can honestly tell you\nthat, if anything, I have rather _improved_ than otherwise, and among\nthe Trojans\u2019 women, who are absolute frights and have no more idea of\ndressing than sheep, I look magnificent. Andromache has got quite a\nnice face, and I really like her; but you should see her figure--it\u2019s\nlike an elephant\u2019s, and her feet are enormous, and her hands red and\nsore from needlework. She won\u2019t even use a thimble! Cassandra always\ndresses in deep mourning. Why, we cannot conceive, because none of her\nrelatives have been killed.\n\nThere is really only one person in the palace I can talk to--and that\nis Aeneas, who is one of the commanders. He is quite nice. What I\nspecially like about him is the nice way in which he talks about his\nparents.\n\nThe Greeks are quarrelling more than ever. Achilles won\u2019t fight at all\nbecause Agamemnon insisted on taking away Briseis (who is lovely) from\nhim. Wasn\u2019t that exactly like Agamemnon? I hope this won\u2019t make you\njealous, darling, but I don\u2019t expect it will, because you have never\nforgiven Agamemnon, have you?\n\nEverybody tries to be kind to me, and I have nothing to complain of.\nThey all mean well, and in a way this makes it worse. For instance,\nevery morning, when we meet for the midday meal, Priam comes into the\nroom saying to me: \u201cWell, how\u2019s the little runaway to-day?\u201d He has made\nthis joke every day for the last ten years. And then they always talk\nabout the cowardice and incompetence of the Greeks, taking for granted\nthat as I have married into a Trojan family I must have become a Trojan\nmyself. It is most tactless of them not to understand what I must be\nfeeling.\n\nI suppose I am inconsistent, but the pro-Greek party irritate me still\nmore. They are headed by Pandarus, and are simply longing for their own\nside to be beaten, because they say that I ought to have been given up\ndirectly, and that the war was brought about entirely owing to Priam\nhaving got into the hands of the Egyptian merchants.\n\nI manage to get some Greek stuffs smuggled into the town, and the\nmerchants tell me vaguely what people are wearing at Mycenae; but one\ncan\u2019t get anything properly made here. Andromache has all her clothes\nmade at home by her women--to save expense. She says that in times of\nwar one ought to sacrifice oneself. Of course, I can\u2019t do this, however\nmuch I should like to, as the Trojans expect me to look nice, and would\nbe very angry if I wasn\u2019t properly dressed.\n\nI feel if I could only meet Odysseus we might arrange some plan for\ngetting the Greeks into the town.\n\nHow is everything going on at home? There is a very strict censorship\nabout letters, and we are all supposed to show our letters to Antenor\nbefore they go. I don\u2019t, of course. I daresay, however, many of your\nletters have been intercepted, because I have only heard from you five\ntimes since the siege began, and not once this year. Kiss the dear\nchildren from me.\n\nShall I ever see you again? I shall try my best to come home.\n\n Your loving sister,\n HELEN.\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Helen_\n\n MYCENAE.\n\nDearest Helen,\n\nYour last letter has reached me. I must implore you to be very careful\nabout what you do. I hope with all my heart that the siege will be over\nsoon; but if it is I don\u2019t think it would be quite wise for you to\ncome back directly. You see everybody here is extremely unreasonable.\nInstead of understanding that Agamemnon and Odysseus were entirely\nresponsible for this absurd war, Agamemnon has got his friends to put\nthe blame entirely on you, and they have excited the people against\nyou. It\u2019s so like a man, that, isn\u2019t it? I have been very lonely,\nbecause all our friends are away. Aegisthus is staying here just to\nlook after the household and the affairs of the city. But he hardly\ncounts, and he is so busy that I hardly ever see him now. There is a\nstrong pro-Trojan party here, too. They say we had absolutely no right\nto go to war, and that it was simply an expedition of pirates and\nfreebooters, and I must say it is very difficult to disprove it. If\nthere is any talk of the siege ending, please let me know _at once_.\nElectra has grown into a fine girl; but she is not as lovely as poor\ndarling Iphigenia.\n\n Your loving sister,\n CLYTAEMNESTRA.\n\n\n_Penelope to Odysseus_\n\n ITHACA.\n\nMy darling Husband,\n\nI wish you would write a little more distinctly; we have the greatest\ndifficulty in reading your letters.\n\nWhen will this horrid siege be over? I think it is disgraceful of you\nall to be so long about it. To think that when you started you only\nsaid that it would last a month! Mind you come back the moment it is\nover, and come back _straight_, by Aulis.\n\nThe country is looking lovely. I have built a new house for the\nswineherd, as he complained about the roof letting the rain in. Next\nyear, we must really have a new paling round the garden, as the\nchildren get in and steal the apples. We can\u2019t afford it _this_ year.\nThe people have no sense of honesty; they steal everything. Telemachus\nis very well. He can read and write nicely, but is most backward about\nhis sums. He takes a great interest in the war, and has made up a map\non which he marks the position of the troops with little flags.\n\nI am surprised to hear of Achilles\u2019 _disgraceful_ conduct. If I were\nthere I would give him a piece of my mind. I hope Ajax has not had any\nmore of his attacks. Has he tried cinnamon with fomented myrtle leaves?\nIt ought to be taken three times a day _after_ meals. The news from\nMycenae is deplorable. Clytaemnestra appears to be quite shameless and\ncallous. Aegisthus is now openly living in the house. All decent people\nhave ceased to go near them. I have had a few visitors, but nobody of\nany importance.\n\nI am working you a piece of tapestry for your bedroom. I hope to get it\nfinished by the time you come back. I hope that when the city is taken\nHelen will be severely punished.\n\nWe have taught Argus to growl whenever Hector is mentioned. I don\u2019t, of\ncourse, allow any one to mention Helen in this house. Telemachus sends\nyou his loving duty. He is writing to you himself, but the letter isn\u2019t\nfinished.\n\n Your devoted wife,\n PENELOPE.\n\n\n_Helen to Clytaemnestra_\n\n SUNIUM.\n\nDearest Clytaemnestra,\n\nSince I last wrote to you several important things have happened.\nHector was killed yesterday by Achilles. I am, of course, very sorry\nfor them all. All Cassandra said was, \u201cI told you so!\u201d She is so\nheartless. I have at last managed to communicate with Odysseus; we\nhave thought of a very good plan for letting the Greeks into the city.\nPlease do not repeat this. I shall come home at once with Menelaus. He\nis my husband, after all. I shall come straight to Mycenae. I doubt if\nI shall have time to write again. I am sending this through Aenida, who\nis most useful in getting letters brought and sent.\n\nPlease have some patterns for me to choose from. I hope to be back in a\nmonth.\n\n Your loving sister,\n HELEN.\n\n\n_Agamemnon to Clytaemnestra_\n\n SUNIUM.\n\nDear Clytaemnestra,\n\nWe have had a very good journey, and I shall reach Mycenae the day\nafter to-morrow in the morning. Please have a hot bath ready for me.\nI am bringing Cassandra with me. She had better have the room looking\nnorth, as she hates the sun. She is very nervous and upset, and you\nmust be kind to her.\n\n Your loving husband,\n AGAMEMNON.\n\n\n_Odysseus to Penelope_\n\n THE ISLAND OF OGYGIA.\n\nDearest Penelope,\n\nWe arrived here after a very tiresome voyage. I will not tire you with\nthe details, which are numerous and technical. The net result is that\nthe local physician says I cannot proceed with my journey until I am\nthoroughly rested. This spot is pleasant, but the only society I have\nis that of poor dear Calypso. She means well and is most hospitable,\nbut you can imagine how vexed I am by this delay and the intolerable\ntedium of this enforced repose. Kiss Telemachus from me.\n\n Your loving husband,\n ODYSSEUS.\n\n\n_Clytaemnestra to Aegisthus_\n\nI am sending this by runner. Come back directly. I expect Agamemnon any\nmoment. The bonfires are already visible. Please bring a good strong\nnet and a sharp axe with you. I will explain when you arrive. I have\nquite decided that half measures are out of the question.\n\n C.\n\n\n\n\nWITH THE CARTHAGINIAN FLEET, 216 B.C.\n\n_Letter from a Carthaginian Civilian to a Friend in Carthage_\n\n On Board the _Hamilcar Barca_,\n SARDINIA.\n\nMy dear Gisco,\n\nIt is now five weeks that we have been in this place, and we shall have\nto stay here until the \u201cbattering practice\u201d is over. We have already\ngot through our \u201crammers\u2019 test.\u201d I do not think it is a bad place\nmyself, and most of the people seem to prefer it to Thule, where they\nspent the whole summer, except Mago our physician, who cannot endure\neither the Romans or the Sardinians, and who is longing to get back\nto the glittering quays and the broad market-places of Carthage. It\nis true that the Sardinians are a thievish race, and they seldom, if\never, speak the truth; moreover, they trade on the honesty and the\ngood nature of our people, and our unfamiliarity with their various\nand uncouth jargons. For instance, a favourite plan of theirs is this:\nmany of them gain their living by the catching of lobsters, which they\nsend by Ostia to Rome to supply the banquets of the rich patricians of\nthat city. One such fisherman came to the captain of our vessel with\nthe following complaint: He professed that for many weeks he had toiled\nand caught a great number of lobsters; these lobsters, he said, he\nwas keeping against the feasts of the Saturnalia at Rome, in a large\nwicker basket not far from the shore; and that some of our men having\ngone ashore in one of our swift and brass-prowed boats, had in the\ndarkness of twilight collided with his wicker basket and caused the\nescape of many hundreds of live lobsters, for which loss he demanded a\ncompensation amounting to two hundred talents. On consulting the Roman\nMagistrate of the place we learnt that this fisherman made a similar\ndemand from every ship which visited the bay; moreover, that he had\ncaught but one lobster. So although he reduced his demand to the eighth\nof one talent, it was refused to him.\n\nAnother stratagem of the Sardinian native is to demand money for the\npoultry destroyed by the sailors of our ship. Every family in the\nvillage complained that their poultry had been annihilated by our\nunprincipled mariners, but little credence was lent to the tale,\nbecause at the moment when the complaint was made there was only one\nhen in the village, a dead one that had just perished of old age.\n\nLife on board this vessel is full of variety and interest to the\nstranger. Long before sunrise one is wakened by the sound of a\nbrazen trumpet. This is followed by much whistling and a deep, but\nnot unmusical, call from some elder sailor, who exhorts and finally\npersuades those over whom he is put in authority to rise from their\nnarrow couches and to taste the morning air. They then set about to\nwash the upper part of the ship, an occupation which is pursued more\nfrom a disinterested love of cleaning than from any practical purpose,\nas by evening the ship is as dirty as it was before it was washed. But\nthe men enjoy this work, and indeed the only people who suffer from it\nare such men as myself who are on board ship by chance, and who are\nused to sleeping uninterruptedly until some time after the sun has\narisen. Some people have been known to sleep unconcernedly through all\nthis noise, but such men are rare.\n\nAn hour or two after this process of washing is accomplished, food is\nserved to the officers and men of the ship. The officers rarely partake\nof more than one olive in the early morning; such is their endurance\nand their self-denial. This they wash down with a small glass of red\nnative wine, which is singularly pleasant and exhilarating. As soon as\nthis light repast is over the real business of the day begins.\n\nFirst of all the men are inspected on deck, and it is carefully noted\nwhether they are in a state of cleanliness and order, and further\nwhether they are sober enough to perform their daily duties. Any man\nwho is found twice running to be in a state of absolute intoxication is\ndrowned, and the ship is thereby disembarrassed of superfluous cargo.\nThe greater part of the forenoon is spent in teaching the young their\nduties, and in teaching the lads who have lately arrived from Carthage\nthe full duties of a seaman. This task is carried out with patience\nand persistence by the instructors, who are never known to raise their\nvoice in anger, or to use a harsh word. Indeed the nearest approach to\nharshness which I observed was when one day I heard one of the elder\nmariners say to a lad who was slow to perform his duty, \u201cTake care lest\nI should observe thee to bend.\u201d This is a nautical expression which\nmeans, so I am told, \u201cbe strenuous in all things.\u201d\n\nAt noon the second repast of the day is taken, the food consisting of\nblack bread, herbs, preserved olives, and a small fish which is caught\nin great quantities in the bay by such as are skilful. When the meal\nis over the officers retire to a small cabin, where they aid their\ndigestion by playful gambols, such as wrestling and beating each other\nwith their fists, until they are weary. After this they fall into a\nprofound slumber on the benches of the cabin, with the exception of one\nofficer who needs must always remain on deck to observe the weather\nand the omens, and make note thereof, for the captain of the vessel is\ninquisitive with regard to such matters.\n\nThe younger officers are respectful to their seniors, and address them\nas \u201cSuffetes\u201d; but this outward form of respect when duty is concerned\ndoes not prevent the more youthful of the juniors from expressing\nthe innate exuberance and impertinence which are natural to youth.\nMoreover, they call each other by familiar names, such as \u201cSheep,\u201d\n\u201cHog,\u201d \u201cLittle Hog,\u201d \u201cLittle Pig,\u201d \u201cCanary,\u201d \u201cCat,\u201d \u201cLittle Cat.\u201d\n\nLater in the afternoon there is a further inspection on the deck, which\ntakes place to the sound of many trumpets. At sunset, after a still\nlouder blast of the trumpet, the third repast is held. The officers\nattend this in state, wearing silken togas, jewelled helmets, and\ngolden chains, and during all the meal a hundred slaves make music\non silver cymbals, harps, and drums. This they do with great skill,\nknowing that should they be unskilful in their art, they risk being\nhurled into the sea. All the officers dine together, with the exception\nof the Captain, who feeds in a small turret by himself and partakes of\nespecial dainties due to his rank, such as nightingales\u2019 tongues and\nthe livers of peacocks.\n\nAt the end of the repast the eldest of the officers fills a golden\nbowl full of wine and water and drinks to the health of the \u201cGerusia.\u201d\nImmediately before he does so the goblet of every officer present is\nfilled with wine and water, but should any one taste of his wine before\nthe Elder of the assembly rises to his feet, he is constrained to empty\none after another every goblet at the board and to refill them at his\nown expense. And this proves a tax both on his moral courage, his\nphysical endurance, and his material resources.\n\nWhen this ceremony has been accomplished such officers who are skilled\nin the art make music on the flute or the tom-tom, while others\nsing plaintive Carthaginian ditties about the dark-eyed lasses they\nhave left behind them. Sometimes others, still more skilful, give a\ndisplay of dancing. After this has continued for about an hour another\ndeafening blast on the trumpet announces that all must seek their\ncabins for the night, save those unhappy officers who take it by turn\nfor a space of four hours at a time to observe the features of the\nlandscape, the aspect of the heavens, the position of the stars, and\nthe nature of the omens. According as these omens are favourable, or\nunfavourable, the nature of the following day\u2019s work is determined.\n\nThere are in the ship a particular race of men who are neither soldiers\nnor sailors; these are called by the Latin name \u201cLegio Classica.\u201d Their\nduties consist in maintaining discipline amongst the company of the\nship and in dealing out retribution when it is necessary; they are well\nknown for the unerring accuracy of their statements, so much so that if\nany one in the ship makes a statement or relates a tale that bears in\nit the signs of improbability, he will be ordered to go and tell it to\nthe men of this legion, for it is known that should the statement be\nuntruthful or inaccurate they would be swift to detect it and to laugh\nthe man to scorn.\n\nThe monotony of life on board ship, and the rigour of the discipline\nenforced, are relieved by many pleasant occupations. Thus the officers\nthrow dice on a place of the ship specially appointed for the purpose,\nwhich is called the \u201cbridge,\u201d and often in the evening the sailors sing\ntogether in soft and tuneful chorus. With regard to the \u201cramming\u201d and\nthe \u201cbattering practice\u201d--both of them most interesting spectacles--I\nwill write to you another time. In the meantime, farewell.\n\n HANNO.\n\n_P.S._--The Roman Fleet is expected here to-morrow. It is said they\nintend to build eight _Hamilcar Barcas_.\n\n\n\n\nLESBIA ILLA\n\n ... Lesbia illa,\n Illa Lesbia, quam Catullus unam\n Plus quam se atque suos amavit omnes.\n\n\n_Extract from a letter written by Clodia, the wife of Metellus Celer,\nto her friend Portia in Athens_\n\nWe arrived at Baiae yesterday evening. I am most thankful the journey\nis over, because Metellus is a most trying traveller. He started, of\ncourse, by making a scene directly he saw my luggage. I had scarcely\ntaken anything, only what was absolutely indispensable, and I got it\nall into eight boxes; but men never know how much room clothes take up.\nAs it is, I have got nothing to wear at all. But as soon as Metellus\nsaw the litters with my poor luggage in them he lost his temper, and\nduring the whole journey he threw my extravagance at me. Needless to\nsay, he took far more things than I did. Men think because their\nclothes are cheap and cost nothing, and because a toga lasts them\nfour or five years, we ought to be able to do the same. But it\u2019s no\nuse discussing that with a husband. No husband in the world has ever\nunderstood, or ever will understand, how expensive our clothes are.\n\nWe found the villa looking very clean and fresh; and it is a great\nblessing to get away from Rome. I never mean to go back there as long\nas I live; especially after what has happened. I suppose you have heard\nall about it, but I want you to know the truth, as everybody in Rome\nis telling horrible lies about me and giving a wrong complexion to the\nwhole story, especially Lalage, who is a spiteful cat, and is sure to\nwrite and tell you all about it.\n\nWell, of course I\u2019ve known Catullus for years. We were almost brought\nup together. He was always in and out of the house. He used to amuse\nme; Metellus liked him, and we were both very kind to him. I used to\nthink he was thoroughly nice. He was so sympathetic when my sparrow\ndied, and quite understood what a shock that was, and what a state of\ndespair I was in. By the way, I\u2019ve got a new sparrow now. It\u2019s quite\ntame. I\u2019ve called it Julius. We used, in fact, to see a great deal of\nCatullus. We were useful to him, too, because he met a great many\nclever and important people at our house; and when we first knew him\nnobody had ever heard of him. It only shows what a mistake it is to be\nkind to people. After a time he began to give himself airs, and treated\nthe house as if it belonged to him. He complained of the food and the\nwine. He insisted upon my sending away Balbus, the best slave I have\never had. He made Metellus buy some old Falernian from a cousin of his\n(that disreputable Rufinus who lost all his money at Capua last year).\nThe fact was, his head was turned. People flattered him (Lalage, of\ncourse, told him he was wonderful), and he began really to think he\nwas a real poet, a genius, and I don\u2019t know what, and he became quite\ninsufferable. He began to meddle with my affairs, and to dictate to me\nabout my friends. But it was when I got to know Julius Caesar that the\ncrisis came.\n\nOf course you know as well as I do that nobody could possibly be _in\nlove_ with Julius Caesar. He is _quite_ bald now, and I think--in fact,\nI always did think--most tiresome. I never could understand what people\nsaw in him. And, oh, what a bore he used to be when he told me about\nhis campaigns, and drew imaginary plans on the table with his finger!\nBut of course I was _obliged_ to be civil to him because of Metellus\nand my brother Clodius, to whom he has been useful. Directly he began\ncoming to our house--and he came very often, he had to see Metellus\non business constantly--Catullus became quite mad. He lost his head,\nand I had to arrange for them not to meet, which was most annoying and\ninconvenient, as they both came every day, and sometimes twice a day.\nI know I ought to have taken steps at once to put an end to all that\nnonsense. But I was foolishly kind-hearted for a time, and gave way\nweakly. It was a great mistake.\n\nThe crisis came the other day. I had arranged a supper party, really\na divine party. Just Pollio, Julius Caesar, Marcus Tullius Cicero,\nLavinia, Lalage, and a few others. I didn\u2019t tell Catullus, as I thought\nhe wouldn\u2019t quite do (apart from Julius Caesar being there), as I had\ninvited Bassianus, who is a _real_ professional poet, and writes the\nmost beautiful things about the moonlight, memory, and broken hearts.\nHis verses quite make me cry sometimes. They are far better than\nCatullus\u2019s, which I confess I can\u2019t read at all. But Metellus says it\u2019s\nunfair to compare an amateur like Catullus with a _real_ writer like\nBassianus.\n\nSomebody told Catullus about the supper, I suspect it was Lalage--she\nis jealous of me, and Catullus made up to her years ago and then left\nher. He came to me and made a scene, and said he was coming too. Then\nhe tried to find out who else was coming, and I refused to tell him. He\nsaid: \u201cOf course, you have asked Julius Caesar,\u201d and I said: \u201cIt\u2019s not\nyour business; I shall ask the people I choose to my own house without\nconsulting you.\u201d Then he said a lot of horribly unfair things about\nJulius Caesar, and a lot of absurd things about me; only I managed to\ncalm him more or less. All this happened in the afternoon, and he went\naway really quite repentant and meek. He always was easy to manage\nif one had time, and I told him Cicero had praised his verses, which\nsoothed him, although it wasn\u2019t true. He never could resist flattery.\n\nThe supper began very well. Julius Caesar was, I must say, brilliant.\nHe can be really clever and pleasant sometimes, and he talked to me the\nwhole time, and this made Lalage very angry; she was between Metellus\nand Bassianus, and she bored them. Then suddenly in the middle of\nsupper, just as I was beginning to feel more or less happy about it\nall, Catullus walked in, very flushed and excited. I saw at once he had\nbeen drinking. He was given a place between Cicero and Lavinia, and\nopposite me and Julius Caesar; and no sooner had he settled himself\non his couch than he began to monopolize the conversation. He talked\nat the top of his voice. He was rather amusing at first, and Cicero\nanswered him back, and for a time everything went well; but I was\ndreadfully uneasy, as I felt certain something would happen, and there\nwas a dangerous look in his eye. Besides which he drank off a great\nbowl of wine and water (with very little water in it), and grew more\nand more flushed and excited. He didn\u2019t pay any attention to Julius\nCaesar at all, and talked across to me as though Julius Caesar hadn\u2019t\nbeen there. But Julius Caesar didn\u2019t seem to notice that Catullus was\nbeing rude, and he turned to me and really was charming. He said, among\nother things, that the only woman he had ever seen who could compare\nwith me for wearing clothes _properly_ was Cleopatra, but that she was\ndowdy in comparison with me. He said, too, that I was the only woman\nhe had ever met who had any real grasp of the fiscal question. This\nmade Catullus mad; and he asked Lavinia in a loud whisper, which we all\nheard, who the gentleman sitting opposite might be who was slightly\nbald. I was dreadfully uncomfortable, because Julius Caesar can\u2019t bear\nany allusions to his baldness (it\u2019s so silly, as if it mattered to us),\nand he turned red in the face.\n\nThen Catullus began to chaff Cicero about his verses, but as Cicero\nknows him very well it didn\u2019t much matter, he knew he didn\u2019t mean it\nreally. To make a diversion, I proposed that Bassianus should sing us a\nsong. But Catullus broke in and said: \u201cRather than that I will recite a\npoem.\u201d\n\nI was very angry, and spoke my mind. I said I thought it was most rash\nand daring for an amateur to recite before professionals like Cicero\nand Bassianus. I was really frightened, because Catullus\u2019s verses are\neither terribly long and serious--I have never been able to listen when\nhe reads them out; in fact, I always used to ask him to read to me when\nI wanted to add up my bills mentally--or else they are short and quite\n_impossible_.\n\nHe then turned scarlet, and said something about drawing-room\npoetasters who wrote stuff fit for women, and, looking at Caesar, he\nrecited a short poem which was _dreadful_. I didn\u2019t understand it all,\nbut I felt--and I am sure every one else felt--that he meant to be\nrude. I sent him a small note by a slave, telling him that if he did\nnot know how to behave he had better leave the house. But I looked as\nif I hadn\u2019t noticed anything, and tried to treat it all as a joke. But\nevery one felt hot and uncomfortable.\n\nI then ignored Catullus altogether, and devoted my whole attention to\nJulius Caesar. I suppose it was that which really made him lose all his\nself-control. He entirely forgot himself. He got up and said that, as\nthe company did not like comic verse, he had written a serious poem,\nwhich he was quite certain would interest them. He had no wish, he\nsaid (and for once in his life he was modest!), to rival such great\nwriters of verse, such masters of music and passion, as were Cicero\nand Bassianus, but his verse, although it could not rival theirs in\nart and inspiration, had at least the merit of truth and sincerity. He\nsaid (and he almost shouted this) he was a plain man, who expressed\nin the simplest possible words what were the common experiences of\nevery one, from the Senator to the man in the street. (So vulgar!) He\nsaid his verses were about a woman (how could I ever have thought he\nwas a gentleman!) who was far-famed for her beauty, and still better\nknown for her heartlessness. She heightened her wickedness by the\nsupreme coquetry of pretending to be virtuous. She professed virtue\nand practised vice. (He always was coarse.) He would not name her;\nhe would call her by a name which was colourless, namely, Lesbia. (Of\ncourse every one knew he had written verses to me under that name!)\n\nThen, looking me straight in the face, he recited a poem which was\n_quite_, _quite_ impossible, with a _horrible_ word in it (at least\nLalage said it was horrible). Pollio came to the rescue, and said that\nCatullus was ill, and dragged him out of the room. And in a way it was\ntrue, for he was quite tipsy, and tears were rolling down his cheeks;\nand I do hate drunken men, but, above all, I hate coarseness.\n\nThe next day all Rome knew the poem by heart. And it was a cowardly,\nblackguard thing to do, and I shall _never_ speak to him again as long\nas I live, and I shall _never_, _never_ let him come into my house\nagain. Not being a gentleman he can\u2019t know what one feels about those\nkind of things. He is thoroughly second-rate and coarse to the core,\nalthough he oughtn\u2019t to be. Of course, I really don\u2019t care a bit. Only\nif Lalage writes and tells you about it, don\u2019t believe a word she says.\nI hate Catullus. I must stop now.\n\n Your loving\n CLODIA.\n\n_P.S._--Lalage had the impertinence to say that I ought to make\nallowance for men of genius. As if Catullus was a genius! I asked\nCicero (who likes him) if his poetry was really good, and he said that,\nto be honest, it was a _bad_ imitation of Calvus\u2019s and his own, only\nthat it was very good for an amateur.\n\n_P.P.S._--Julius Caesar is coming to stay with us next Saturday, if he\ncan get away. Don\u2019t forget the Persian silk, the palest shade, six and\na half yards.\n\n\n\n\nCLEOPATRA AT ROME\n\n\n_Letter from Charmian, at Alexandria, to her friend Chloe, at Baiae, 44\nB.C._\n\nIt all came so suddenly. I never thought that I should leave Rome\nwithout seeing you again and without being able to say farewell. Even\nnow I cannot believe that it is true and that the whole thing is not\na dream. I keep on thinking that I shall wake up and find myself once\nmore by the banks of the Tiber, sitting in the shade of the terebinths,\nlistening to the amusing discussions of Atticus, Cicero, and Caesar.\n\nThe suddenness with which everything happened was terrible. It all\nbegan with the dinner party which Cleopatra had arranged on the eve of\nthe great event which was to happen on the Feast of the Lupercalia,\nwhen Caesar was to be offered the Crown. Cleopatra was in the highest\nspirits. Some months before this Cicero had asked her to get him\nfrom Alexandria some manuscripts and some Canopian vases, of which he\nhad need, as such things are rare in your barbarous cities. Cleopatra\nhad promised to do this, and she told him that she had done it. As a\nmatter of fact she had forgotten all about it. He was invited to the\ndinner, and had sent her a note saying that he would be delighted to\ncome, and reminding her of her promise with regard to the manuscripts\nand the vases. He had already reminded her two or three times before.\nAs she read the note she was convulsed with laughter, and when I asked\nher what she would say to Cicero she answered that she would of course\ntell him what she had already said before, that the vases and the\nmanuscripts were on the way. I asked her if she was going to send for\nthem, and she answered firmly: \u201cNo, it is a great mistake to lend books\nto men of letters. They never give them back, or if they do there are\nalways a lot of thumb marks on them, or notes in the margin, which are\nworse. I like my books to be clean.\u201d\n\nShe took immense pains to dress herself that night for the dinner,\naccording to the very latest Greek fashion, that is to say, in the\nausterest simplicity. She wore a gray silk robe made absolutely plain,\nand one wild flower in her fair hair. The curious thing is--which\nI have noticed since we got back to Alexandria--that here she is\nconsidered a real beauty, but we had not been back a week before she\nrealized that what suited Rome does not suit Alexandria. So she has\nentirely changed her style of dress and of demeanour: She has had her\nhair dyed a dark bronzed red; she wears gold tissue, golden bracelets\nand chains, and she goes about fanned by Cupids with huge peacock\nfeathers, and wearing a stiff gold train. Of course in Rome or in\nGreece this would be thought vulgar, but it is quite right here, and\nshe is so clever that she divined this at once.\n\nWell, to go on with the dinner party. It was not quite a success.\nCaesar, who had been anxious about politics during the last week,\nand in a frightfully bad temper, was preoccupied and absent-minded.\nWhen Cicero arrived he was very civil and did not mention the Greek\nvases directly, but we all saw he was thinking of nothing else, and he\nmanaged to get the conversation first on to Alexandria, then on to the\nlibrary, and finally he said: \u201cBy the way, I can\u2019t quite remember, but\nI think you were kind enough once to say that you were going to have a\nmanuscript sent me from the library.\u201d\n\nCleopatra clapped her hands together and said: \u201cOf course! I think they\nmust have arrived this morning. We had a messenger from Alexandria, but\nthe things have not yet been unpacked, as everybody in the house has\nbeen busy. But I will let you know to-morrow morning without fail.\u201d\n\nCicero kissed her hand and told her she was the divinest and most\nthoughtful of women.\n\nThere were quite a lot of people at dinner, and several came\nafterwards, among others a man called Mark Antony, who is a well-known\ngambler, and who is still in the Army. Cleopatra had once or twice\nasked Caesar to bring him, but Caesar had always said that he was not\nthe kind of man she would like, as he was boisterous, uneducated, and\nrather common. Caesar was perfectly right about this, because Cleopatra\nwould not look at him. He made several attempts to speak to her, and\npaid her one or two extravagant but badly-turned compliments, and\nshe said to me afterwards that it was astonishing how tiresome these\nRoman soldiers were. During dinner she made signs to me as though to\npoint out that Antony was drinking a great deal more than was good\nfor him--which he did do, and his conversation and his jokes were in\nthe worst possible taste. Cleopatra herself was at her very best, so\nmodest, so quiet, so delicately witty, so highly distinguished and\nrefined.\n\nThey talked of mathematics and astronomy, and Cleopatra astounded\nAtticus by her knowledge of these sciences. Mark Antony took no part in\nthis conversation. He was frankly bored. From astronomy the talk went\non to music, and from music to dancing. Here Mark Antony brightened\nup and monopolized the whole conversation by describing a dancer from\nAsia he had seen two or three days before. The play of the muscles on\nher arms, he said, was quite unparalleled, and she managed to execute a\nrippling movement which started from her shoulders and went to the tips\nof her fingers.\n\nIn the middle of dinner Caesar received a note. I guessed at once it\nwas from his wife, whose jealousy lately had been something quite\nfrightening. Caesar read the note and was visibly disturbed and\nirritated. Cleopatra pretended not to notice the incident. The moment\ndinner was over Caesar said that he would have to go home for a moment\nin order to despatch a piece of public business, but that he would be\nback shortly. He was still living, you know, in the public offices in\nthe Via Sacra. Cleopatra did not make the slightest objection to his\ngoing; she only said that she hoped he would be back soon, and that as\nfor herself she would be well occupied talking to Cicero, whom she had\nnot seen for some time.\n\nCaesar was just making ready to go, and the flute-players had been\nsent for, when Casca (who, I think, is the best-looking young man in\nRome) walked up to Cleopatra and occupied the empty seat next to her.\nCaesar suddenly changed his mind, and said he would not go home after\nall. This was typical of his behaviour during these days: he had been\nconstantly changing his mind about small matters and never seemed able\nto come to any decision. Besides this, he was always jealous of any one\nyounger than himself, especially of Casca, who has got such thick hair.\n\nMark Antony tried to lure Cleopatra into conversation with him, paying\nher still more fulsome and still more crude compliments than before.\nAnd she, with perfect civility but with icy determination, ignored the\ncompliments and took no notice of him.\n\nAfter the flute-players had ceased we all had our fortunes told by an\nAsiatic soothsayer. He told Cleopatra and myself that we would be very\nlucky, but that we should beware of figs and the worms inside them. We\nlaughed a great deal at this, because neither Cleopatra nor myself ever\neat raw fruit. He told Mark Antony that he would love and be loved by\nthe most wonderful woman in the world; upon which Mark Antony bent on\none knee before Cleopatra and did mock homage. You should have seen her\nface! He did not feel inclined to do it twice, and there is no doubt\nthat he knew he had made a grotesque exhibition of himself; in fact it\nwas rather painful, and we were all sorry for him.\n\nThe soothsayer told Caesar that all would be well with him should he\nfollow the advice of those who loved him most. When the soothsayer\nsaid this, Caesar looked at Cleopatra with infinite tenderness, and\nshe smiled at him very sweetly. It was all I could do to keep from\nlaughing. The vanity of men is extraordinary! I thought to myself--How\ncan that conceited old politician think that a woman as young, as\nclever, and as pretty as Cleopatra could possibly care for him, or feel\nanything else but disgust at his attentions!\n\nThe soothsayer then told Cicero\u2019s fortune. He said that his worst enemy\nwas his tongue, but that if he went through life without offending\nany of the present company he would have a fortunate and successful\ncareer. We laughed a great deal at this, as every one in the room\nhappened to be a great friend of his.\n\nCaesar was not satisfied with what the soothsayer had told him, and\nasked further details; but the soothsayer said that it was unlucky\nto tell a person\u2019s fortune twice in one evening, upon which Caesar\ndesisted, since he is intensely superstitious.\n\nThe guests went away, leaving Caesar and Cleopatra alone. I was in the\nnext room and could hear what they said through the silken curtain.\nI listened attentively. Caesar began by calling her the sun of his\nlife, and she complained of headache. Then he turned the conversation\non to serious topics, and said he was greatly in need of her advice\nwith regard to the events of the next day. Should he or should he not\nreceive the Crown which was to be offered him by Mark Antony in the\nForum?\n\nCleopatra said that if he did not accept it he would be a fool and\na coward, and she for her part would never speak to him again. This\nseemed to satisfy him, and he went away.\n\nThe next morning he did not appear at the villa. We heard the noise of\ncheering, but we first learnt what had happened from one of the slaves\nwho had been in the crowd. He told us that Caesar had refused the\nCrown. Cleopatra was frightfully put out and really angry, for she had\ndetermined that if Caesar accepted the Crown she would make him divorce\nCalphurnia, and marry him herself. It was her great ambition to be\nQueen, though nobody knew of this at the time of course, because ever\nsince she had lived in Rome, Cleopatra had been a model not only of\nRoman economy but of Greek moderation, and her household books had been\na lesson to the strictest of Roman matrons. That is all changed now,\nand I must say it is rather a relief.\n\nTo go on with my story: Caesar himself came to see us before supper. He\nsaid that he had refused the Crown for the moment because he did not\nthink the occasion was opportune, but that he firmly intended to accept\nit on a later occasion. \u201cI am only drawing back,\u201d he said, \u201cin order\nto take a greater leap.\u201d Cleopatra said sarcastically that no doubt he\nknew best and that he had been right to climb down. He told her, among\nother things, that a soothsayer--not the same one we had seen--had\ntold him to beware of the Ides of March, when he intended to go to the\nSenate, and he asked Cleopatra whether she thought it would be wise for\nhim to go.\n\nShe laughed at the superstition and told him that if he paid attention\nto such trifles people would begin to say that he was an old woman; in\nfact they were already saying it, and she was beginning to think it was\ntrue. This annoyed him so much that he banged the door, and went away\nin a huff. We expected him, however, to come to us the next day, as\nthese sort of quarrels had often happened before.\n\nBut Caesar did not come the next day, and a week passed without our\nseeing him. I suggested to Cleopatra she had better write, but she was\nquite obdurate. The days passed, and it was fully three weeks before we\nhad further news of him. That was on the Ides of March, when a slave\nrushed into the house and told us that Caesar had been murdered, and\nthat we had better escape as soon as possible, since all friends of his\nwere in danger.\n\nCleopatra showed great presence of mind. She packed her jewels and\nnothing else; she stained her face with walnut-juice, and put on a\ncoarse peasant\u2019s garment, bidding myself and Iras do likewise; then,\ntaking plenty of money with us, we went out through the back gate,\ncrossed the river, and quite unobserved reached the Gate of Ostia.\nThere we took a litter and started for Ostia, whence we embarked for\nAlexandria.\n\nWe have now been here a week, and Cleopatra, as I have already told\nyou, is completely changed. But the change as far as we are concerned\nis for the better, for I can give you no idea of the fun we are\nhaving. Please come here as soon as you can. Alexandria is far more\namusing than either Rome or Athens, and there is no tiresome Caesar to\ninterfere with us. Farewell.\n\n CHARMIAN.\n\n\n\n\nOVID\u2019S BANISHMENT\n\n\n_Letter from Diogenes, a Sculptor, to a friend in Athens_\n\nMy work, or rather the business which called me to Rome, is now\naccomplished, and the Caryatids which I was commissioned to make for\nthe Pantheon of Agrippa are now in their place. But in what a place!\nAlas, they have been set up so high that their whole effect is lost,\nand the work might just as well be that of any Roman bungler. The\nRomans are indeed barbarians. They consider that as long as a thing\nis big and expensive it is beautiful; they take luxury for comfort,\nnotoriety for fame, eccentricity for genius, and riches for wisdom;\nor rather they deem that wealth is the only thing which counts in the\nmodern world, and here at Rome this is true. Their attempts at art are\nin the highest degree ludicrous. Yesterday I visited the studio of\nLudius, who is renowned in this city for his decorative work. He paints\nwalls and ceilings, and the Emperor has employed him to decorate his\nvilla at Naples.\n\nHis work, which is not devoid of a certain talent, is disciplined\nby no sense of proportion. It would not be tolerated in Greece for\na moment owing to an extravagance and an exaggeration which, so far\nfrom displaying any originality, merely form the futile mask of a\nfundamental banality. The man himself wears his hair yards long like a\nPersian, and favours a pea-green toga. I could not help saying to him\nthat in Greece artists took pains to dress like everybody but to paint\nlike no one.\n\nLast night I supped with Maecenas at his house on the Esquiline. Let\nme do justice to my host and give praise where praise is due; here are\nno jarring notes and no foolish display. Maecenas has exquisite taste;\nhis house is not overcrowded with ornaments nor overwhelmed by useless\ndecoration. By a cunning instinct he has realized that art should be\nthe servant of necessity. Everything in his house has a use and a\npurpose; but where a vase, a bowl, a cup, a chair, or seat is needed,\nthere you will find a beautiful vase, a beautiful bowl, and so forth.\n\nMaecenas himself is bald, genial, and cultivated; he looks older than\nhe is, and dresses with a very slight affectation of coxcombry; his\nmanner is a triumph of the art which conceals art. He talks to you as\nthough you were the one person in the world he had been anxious to\nsee, and as if the topic you were discussing were the preponderating\ninterest of his life. As I entered his hall I found him pacing up and\ndown in eager conversation with Agrippa, the famous admiral; my ears\nare sharp, and I just caught a fragment of their conversation, which\nhappened to concern the new drains of Rome. Yet as Maecenas approached\nme he greeted me with effusion, and turning to Agrippa he said: \u201cAh,\nhere he is,\u201d as if their whole talk had been of me.\n\nWe reclined almost immediately. The fare was delicious, and\ndistinguished by the same supreme simplicity and excellence as the\narchitecture and the ornamentation of his dwelling. There were\nmany celebrities present besides Agrippa--Ludius the painter, most\ngrotesquely clothed, several officials and politicians, Cinna,\nGrosphus, three minor poets, Horatius Flaccus, Propertius and Crassus;\nOvidius Naso, the fashionable writer; Vergilius, the poet, and many\nyoung men whose names escape me. Naso is by far the most prominent\nfigure in the Roman literary world at present. He is the arbiter of\ntaste, and sets the criterion of what is to be admired or not. Heaven\nforbid that I should read his verse, but there is no doubt about the\nflavour of his conversation, which is more interesting than his work.\n\nThe literary world despises Vergilius (the only Roman poet at present\nliving worthy of the name!); on the other hand they admire this\nCrassus, who writes perfectly unintelligible odes about topics barren\nof interest. He has invented a novel style of writing, which is called\nsymbolism. It consists of doing this: If you are writing about a tree\nand the tree seems to you to have the shape of an elephant you call\nit an elephant. Hence a certain chaos is produced in the mind of the\nreader, which these young men seem to find delectable. If you mention\nVergilius to them they say: \u201cIf he only knew how to write. His ideas\nare good, but he has no sense of form, no ear for melody, and no power\nof expression.\u201d\n\nThis, of course, is ridiculous; for although Vergilius is a writer who\nhas no originality, his style is felicitous, delicate, and lofty, and\noften musical. In fact he writes really well. With regard to the other\npoets, they are of little or no account. Horatius Flaccus has a happy\nknack of translation; Propertius writes amiable, sentimental stuff,\nand Tibullus babbles of pastures; but they are all of them decadent in\nthat they, none of them, have anything to say. And they either display\na false simplicity and a false archaism, or else they are slavishly\nimitative or hopelessly obscure.\n\nAt first the conversation turned on naval matters. It was debated at\nsome length whether the Romans needed a fleet at all, and, if they\ndid, whether it should be a small fleet composed of huge triremes or a\nlarge fleet of smaller and swifter vessels. Agrippa, who has the great\nadvantage of practical experience in naval warfare, was in favour of\nthe latter type of vessel. But another sailor, a friend of Cinna\u2019s, who\nwas present, and who was also experienced, said that the day of small\nvessels was over. The conversation then veered to literary matters.\n\nOvidius--a little man with twinkling eyes, carefully curled hair,\nand elaborately elegant clothes--he has his linen washed at\nAthens--excelled himself in affable courtesy and compliment to Crassus,\nwhom he had never met hitherto. He had always been so anxious, he said,\nto meet the author of odes that were so interesting, although they were\nto him a little difficult.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid you must be deeply disappointed,\u201d said Crassus,\nblushing--he is a shy, overgrown youth with an immense tuft of tangled\nhair and a desperately earnest face.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Ovidius, \u201cI am never disappointed in men of letters. I\nalways think they are the most charming people in the world. It is\ntheir works which I find so disappointing. Everybody writes too much,\u201d\nhe continued, \u201cand, what is worse still, everybody writes. Even the\ndear Emperor writes hexameters; they do not always scan, but they are\nhexameters for all that. It has even been hinted that he has written\na tragedy. Of course it doesn\u2019t matter how much verse a young man\nwrites as long as he burns it all, but our dear Master\u2019s hexameters\nare preserved by the Empress. She told me herself with pride that she\noften \u2018mends\u2019 his verses for him. And they need mending sadly, because\nso many stitches in them are dropped. But how delightful it is to\nhave a literary Emperor. He was good enough to ask me to read him a\nlittle poetry the other day. I did so. I chose the passage from the\n\u2018Iliad\u2019 where Hector says farewell to Andromache. He said it was very\nfine but a little old-fashioned. I then recited an ode of Sappho\u2019s,\nperhaps the loveliest of all of them. He seemed to enjoy it, but said\nthat it was not nearly as good as the original, and that he preferred\nthat kind of song when it was set to music. What the \u2018original\u2019 might\nbe to which he alluded I did not ask, as I have always held that a\nmonarch\u2019s business is to have a superficial knowledge of everything\nbut a thorough knowledge of nothing. And therefore I say it is an\nexcellent thing, Vergilius, that our dear Emperor is aware that you\nand Crassus and myself all write verse. But it would be in the highest\ndegree undesirable that he should know so much about the business as to\ncommand you to write verses of society, and myself to write a Georgic.\n\n\u201cBut, you will say, he is a poet himself, and the Empress mends his\nverses. It is true she mends his verses, but she also mends his socks,\nand a sensible monarch no more bothers to write his own verse than he\nbothers to make his own socks, or else what would be the use of being a\nmonarch? But, again, you will object: if they are written for him, why\ndon\u2019t they scan? The answer is simple. The man who makes them knows his\nbusiness, and he knows that if they did scan nobody would believe that\nour dear Master had written them.\n\n\u201cAnd in having his verse written for him by a professional, and a\nbad professional--I hope, Horatius, it is not you, by the way--the\nEmperor displays not only sense but a rare wisdom. For a gentleman\nshould never bother to acquire technical skill. If he loves music let\nhim hire professional flute-players, but do not let him waste his\ntime in practising ineffectual scales; and if he wants poetry let him\norder of Vergilius an epic, and if he wishes to pose as a literary\nmonarch let him employ our friend Horatius to write him a few verses\nwithout sense or scansion--although I am afraid Horatius would find\nthis difficult. You are too correct, Horatius. That is your fault and\nmine. We write verse so correctly that I sometimes think that in the\nfar distant future, when the barbarians shall have conquered us, we\nshall be held up as models somewhere in Scythia or Thule by pedagogues\nto the barbarian children of future generations! Horrible thought! When\nRome falls may our language and our literature perish with us. May we\nbe utterly forgotten. My verse at least shall escape the pedagogues,\nfor it is licentious; and yours, Crassus, I fear they will scarcely\nunderstand across the centuries. But, O Vergilius, the spirit of your\npoetry, so noble and so pure, is the very thing to be turned into a bed\nof Procrustes for little Dacians!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are unfair on the Emperor,\u201d said Vergilius, \u201che has excellent\ntaste.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn poets certainly,\u201d said Ovidius, \u201cbut not in poetry.\u201d\n\nThe conversation then turned to other topics: the games, the new\ndrains, the theatre of Balbus, the Naumachia, and the debated question\nwhether the Emperor was right in having caused Vedius Pollio\u2019s crystal\nbeakers to be broken because the latter had condemned a slave, who\nhad accidentally dropped one of them, to be thrown into his pond of\nlampreys and eaten. The sentence would have been carried out had not\nthe Emperor interfered and caused the slave to be released. Horatius\nsaid that Vedius Pollio deserved to be eaten by lampreys himself,\nbut Ovidius and Ludius considered the punishment to be out of all\nproportion to the crime. Agrippa could not understand his minding the\ngoblet being broken, as there were plenty of goblets in the world.\nVergilius thought that Pollio\u2019s act was monstrous. Cinna said that\nthe slave was his own. Maecenas considered that although it was a\nreprehensible act (and such deeds created dangerous precedents) nobody\nbut a collector knew how terribly severe the punishment was.\n\nWe sat talking till late in the night. I cannot write any more, but\nI have just heard a piece of startling news. Ovidius Naso has been\nbanished _for life_ to some barbarous spot near Tauris. The reason of\nhis disgrace is unknown. Hail!\n\n\n\n\nTHE CAPREAE REGATTA, A.D. 27\n\n\n_Letter from Sabina to Chloe_\n\n CAPREAE, _August_.\n\nWe arrived late the night before last from Rome, and never have I seen\nCapreae so crowded. There are hundreds of yachts here, and many from\nEgypt, Greece, and Asia, and the whole fleet has arrived, and is drawn\nup ready for inspection. Clothes are, of course, a difficulty, because\none is expected to be elegant, and if one wears anything beautiful\nit is certain to be spoilt when one gets in and out of boats. Clodia\nlooks too absurd in Egyptian silks and gold chains, just as if she were\ngoing to the Games, and Lesbia looks sillier still dressed up as a\nGreek sailor boy. I have tried to steer a middle course between the two\nextremes, and I have got a plain white peplum with brown sandals; this\nall looks cool and summer-like, but it is really substantial enough for\nthe fickle, breezy weather.\n\nYesterday we went with Sejanus to be shown over one of the ships,\nthe _Servius Tullius_. It was one of the new kind, with three decks\nand four of what they call turrets. The officers on board were very\nproud of themselves because in their \u201cbattering practice,\u201d which they\nhad just been doing in some outlandish place, they had successfully\ndestroyed the _boom_ (which is a kind of mast sticking out from the\nship) of the dummy ship on which they practise. Julius says that these\nexperiments are a waste of money, because each of these dummy ships\ncosts I don\u2019t know how much money. But then Julius is a Little Roman,\nand I always tell him that if everybody thought as he did, we should\nhave the barbarians in Rome in no time.\n\nThe officers have such a hard life on board. They have to get up before\nsunrise, and if any of them is at all disobedient he is told to climb\nup the mast and sit in a kind of basket for several hours with nothing\nto do. As for the sailors, they live in a dark hole with scarcely any\nlight in it and no air at all. I asked one of them whether this didn\u2019t\ngive them a headache, and he said that some clever mathematician had\ninvented a kind of fan which buzzed round and round so as to ventilate\ntheir cabin. He said this was a horrible invention, and made such a\ndraught that nobody could sleep. If you live at sea, he told me, you\nwant to be warm in your cabin. You have quite enough fresh air on deck.\nJulius said this showed how perverse and conservative sailors are. If\nhe was the captain of a ship he would make the sailors sleep on deck in\nhammocks without any blankets. The sailor said they were all thankful\nJulius was a politician and not a sailor. And Julius, who has no sense\nof humour, thought it was meant as a compliment.\n\nThere have been heaps of visitors on board all the ships. The captain\nof the _Servius Tullius_ said it was wonderful what an interest people\ntook in the fleet now, and what intelligent questions they asked,\nespecially the women. I was rather flattered by this, as I have always\ntaken an intelligent interest in naval things, and I had only just\nsaid to him (to show I wasn\u2019t ignorant) that my favourite boat was a\n_spinnaker_.\n\nTo-morrow there are going to be some races. I am going to try to get\nLucius Aemilius to take me on board his schooner, the _Hirundo_. I\nalways think a schooner is a safer boat than a cutter. I don\u2019t really\nlike racing, because nobody will talk to one, and the men are all so\nrude and absent-minded while the race is going on, and whatever one\ndoes one is always in the way and in the wrong place, but I shall get\nrid of Julius for a whole day, because he is a very bad sailor and\nnothing would drag him on board a racing yacht.\n\nCapreae is terribly crowded. I was invited upon Sejanus\u2019 yacht, but I\nthink it much more comfortable to live in the most uncomfortable villa\nthan in the most comfortable yacht. There is no privacy in a yacht, and\nsalt water ruins my skin. Our villa, which we have hired for the week,\nis quite clean, only there is only one bath in it, so that we all have\nto use it by turn.\n\nVitellius, the admiral, has put one of the little pinnaces belonging\nto his ship, the _Remus_, at our disposal. So we can go backwards and\nforwards whenever we like. The pinnace is managed by one of the quite\nyoung officers--such a nice little boy, and so willing! He doesn\u2019t mind\nhow long I keep him waiting at the pier. It seems extraordinary that\nsuch young boys should be able to manage a whole boat full of men,\ndoesn\u2019t it? Ours looks about fifteen years old, but I suppose he is\nreally much older. I asked him to come and dine with us, and Julius was\ncross about it, and said I was making myself ridiculous by talking to\nchildren. But I promise you this boy has much more assurance than many\ngrown-up men. In fact, once or twice I have had to speak severely to\nhim because he was on the point of going too far. As it was, I treated\nit all as a joke, and told him I was old enough to be his mother.\n\nThere have been a lot of the \u201cLysistratists\u201d here--you know, the women\nwho are in favour of senators being all women. Of course, I have\nnothing against their principles. If a man is a senator why shouldn\u2019t\na woman be? Any woman is cleverer than any man. But I do think their\nmethods are silly and so _unwomanly_. One of them took a piece of chalk\nand wrote \u201cWomen and Freedom\u201d on Sejanus\u2019 carpet. And another dressed\nherself up as a Numidian slave, and shouted \u201cJustice for Women\u201d just\nas he was in the middle of a serious speech at his banquet. But the\nsailors like them very much, because they are so graceful, and on board\none of the ships of the fleet--I think it was the _Scipio_--one of the\nchief \u201cLysistratists,\u201d Camilla, entirely converted one of the men of\nthe \u201cLegio classica\u201d--those kind of half-soldiers, half-sailors, who\nkeep order on board the ships--and he is now a fervent \u201cLysistratist\u201d\nhimself. The other sailors say this is very curious, as the man in\nquestion had such a stern character. But then, you see, Camilla is\nquite charming. Sejanus is horribly put out about it, and his house\nhas to be guarded day and night by soldiers. It is most inconvenient,\nbecause the other day his own daughter Lydia was arrested as she was\ngoing into the house. They had mistaken her for a \u201cLysistratist.\u201d\n\nLast night all the ships were illuminated with oil lamps, and ten\nthousand Egyptian slaves danced and sang in the gardens. The result\nwas I did not get a wink of sleep, and the worst of it is that these\nsongs and dances go on all day as well as all night. On the beach, too,\nthere is every kind of acrobat, gipsy tumblers, and fortune-tellers.\nThere is a woman here who tells one marvellous things by looking at\none\u2019s hand, only Julius, who, like all husbands, is now and then quite\nunaccountably obstinate about little things, absolutely forbade me to\nconsult her, and so I had to give it up. She told Clodia she would be\nmarried three times.\n\nThe Persian fleet arrives here to-morrow on a visit. Julius and I\nare invited to dine at the Emperor\u2019s villa, and Julius has to wear a\nPersian uniform as a compliment to the Persians. It is made of scarlet\nsilk with orange sleeves, and a long green train fringed with silver;\nhe also has to wear a high tiara of steel and gold covered with jewels,\nand extraordinary sandals laced up the leg with little bells. He tried\nit on last night, and I can\u2019t tell you what he looked like. (Julius has\ngrown to look much older since you saw him, and only the soberest togas\nsuit him.) I couldn\u2019t help telling him he looked like a circus-rider,\nand he was so offended that I have not been able to mention the\ndinner since. Men are so funny. Julius is ashamed of being thought a\nclever politician, which he is, and wants to be thought an excellent\nquoit-player, and he can\u2019t throw a quoit a yard. He stoops and he is\nflabby, and yet he wants everybody to take him for an athlete!\n\nHow different from those nice sailors, who are so modest, and who are\npleased because they are sailors, and wouldn\u2019t be anything else for the\nworld.\n\nI must stop now, because the pinnace is \u201cawaiting my pleasure,\u201d and I\ndon\u2019t want to keep my little sailor boy waiting. Farewell. I will write\nagain soon.\n\n_P.S._--Whenever Julius is bad-tempered now I say I wish I had married\na sailor, because they are never, never, never rude to their wives. It\nis true, of course, that they seldom see them, but I did not say that.\n\n_P.P.S._--Later. We dined at the Emperor\u2019s villa last night. It appears\nthat this morning a tiresome incident occurred. A fisherman brought the\nEmperor some lobsters, and it turned out that one of them was not quite\nfresh. So the Emperor had the fisherman hurled from the cliff into the\nsea. He is subject every now and then to these fits of petulance; but I\nmust say he was charming last night, and most agreeable. Of course he\nis self-conscious and he makes some people feel shy; but I get on with\nhim beautifully. He knows so much about everybody. We fancy he already\nknew that Metellus has quite given up Clodia, and is now desperately in\nlove with Irene. He was most tactful with me, and never alluded either\nto Sejanus or to Julius.\n\n\n\n\nMESSALINA\n\n\n_Letter from Pallas, Librarian to the Emperor Claudius, to a friend_\n\n THE PALATINE, ROME\n\nA slave brought your letter this morning from Antium, and since\nthe Emperor is sending one back to-morrow I take advantage of the\nopportunity to obey your behest and to give you the news which you ask\nfor.\n\nYou demand a full account of my new life, and although it is now only\nthree weeks ago that I arrived, I feel as if many years had passed, so\ncrowded have they been with incident, experience, and even tragedy. I\nwill not anticipate, but will begin at the beginning.\n\nAs soon as my appointment was settled I was commanded to come to the\nPalace and to take up my new duties at once. I arrived early one\nmorning about three weeks ago. I was shown the room I was to occupy,\nand the library where I was to work--which is magnificent--and briefly\ninstructed in my duties, which are not heavy. I was to have my meals\nwith the Emperor\u2019s Secretaries.\n\nThe first day of my arrival I saw no one, but the second morning, just\nafter I had settled down to my work--I have two assistants--a man\nwalked into the library and asked in a hesitating manner for a Greek\ndictionary.\n\n\u201cI am sorry to trouble you,\u201d he added, apologetically, \u201cbut I am a\nwretched speller.\u201d\n\nI became aware--why exactly I cannot tell, since he was dressed in\na loose robe and slippers--that it was the Emperor. He looked at me\nfurtively, fixing his glance on the edge of my toga, so much so that I\nbegan to think it must be dirty. He is badly made, his head looks as if\nit might fall off his shoulders, his features are too big for his face,\nand his hand shakes. In spite of all this there is about him a mournful\ndignity--an air of intelligence, melancholy, and authority. I gave him\nthe dictionary and he looked out the word he wanted, but my presence\nseemed to embarrass him, and he fumbled, and was a long time before he\ncould find what he was seeking. At last he found it and returned me the\nbook with a nervous cough. As he left the room he asked me to dine with\nhim that night. It would be quite informal, he said, only himself and\nthe Empress.\n\nI looked forward to the evening with fear and curiosity, and when at\nthe appointed hour I found myself in the ante-room I was trembling\nwith nervousness. Presently the Emperor entered the room and said the\nEmpress would be down directly. He seemed to be as shy as I was myself.\nAfter a prolonged silence he remarked that the month of October, which\nhad just begun, was the pleasantest month in the year. After this he\nbade me be seated, relapsed into silence, and did not seem to notice\nmy presence. He stared at the ceiling and seemed to be engrossed in\nhis thoughts. Nearly twenty minutes passed in uncomfortable silence,\nand then the Empress entered with a jingle of chains and bangles. She\nsmiled on me graciously, and we went into the dining room.\n\nI had heard much about the beauty of the Empress, and the accounts\nwere scarcely exaggerated. Her face was childish and flower-like, her\nhair and complexion dazzlingly fair, her smile radiant, her expression\nguileless and innocent, and in her brown eyes there danced a bright and\ndelightful mischief.\n\nWe reclined, and course after course of rich and spicy dishes were\nbrought. We began with sturgeon and fried eels, followed by roast\nsucking-pig, wild boar, calf, wild peacock, turkey, and various kinds\nof game. The Emperor helped himself copiously and partook twice of\nevery course. The Empress toyed with her food and sipped a little\nboiling water out of a cup. The Emperor did not speak at all, but the\nEmpress kept up a running conversation on the topics of the day--the\ngames, the new port of Ostia, the Emperor\u2019s new improved alphabet, and\nthe progress of the History of Etruria, which he is writing in Greek.\n\n\u201cYou will be a great help to him,\u201d she said, talking as if he were not\npresent. \u201cThere is nobody at all literary at Court just now, and he\nloves talking about literature. I am so anxious he should go on with\nhis writing--you must encourage him. I do what I can, but I am not up\nto his scholarship and science; I am only an ignorant woman.\u201d\n\nTowards the end of dinner, Britain having been mentioned, the Emperor\ndiscoursed at length on the native religion of that insignificant\nisland. The people there, he said, held the oak tree in great reverence\nand sacrificed to a god who had certain affinities with the Etrurian\nMoon-god; he intended to devote a chapter of his Etrurian history to\na comparison between the two religions; and he explained at enormous\nlength, and with a wealth of illustration which revealed untold\nerudition, their likenesses and differences.\n\nThe Empress sat in rapt attention, drinking in every word, and when\nhe had finished she said: \u201cIsn\u2019t he wonderful?\u201d He looked at her and\nblushed, as pleased as a child at the praise.\n\nWhen at last the long meal came to an end the Emperor took us to his\nprivate study and showed me his books, almost all of which, dealt with\nhistory and philosophy. He pulled down many of them from their shelves,\nand discoursed learnedly about them, but the Empress always brought\nthe conversation back to his own writings, and insisted on his reading\nout passages of the History of Carthage. (This I had to fetch from the\nlibrary.)\n\n\u201cYou must read us my favourite bit about the death of Hannibal,\u201d she\nsaid.\n\nThe Emperor complied with her wishes, and read out in an expressionless\nvoice a narrative of the death of the Carthaginian hero, which I\nconfess was not distinguished either by originality of thought or\nelegance of diction. It was, to tell the truth, tedious and interlarded\nwith many moral reflections of a somewhat trite order on the vanity\nof human achievement. But during all the time he read, the Empress\nsat opposite him with an expression of rapt interest, and at the more\npathetic passages tears came into her eyes. By the peroration on\nHannibal\u2019s character, which said that he was a great man but a victim\nof ambition, and that in contemplating so great an elevation and so\nmiserable an end man could not fail to be impressed, she was especially\nmoved. When it was finished she made him repeat some verses which he\nhad written about the death of Dido. The Emperor showed reluctance to\ndo this, but she finally persuaded him, saying that people might say\nwhat they liked, but that she greatly preferred his verse to that of\nVergil. It was more human and more manly. In Vergil, she said, there\nwas always a note of effeminacy. I could not agree with her there,\nbut her admiration for her husband\u2019s work was deeply touching in its\nsincerity.\n\n\u201cIf only he had more time to himself,\u201d she said wistfully, \u201che would\nwrite a magnificent epic--but he is a slave to his duty.\u201d\n\nThe Emperor then mentioned that he was starting for Ostia in a few\ndays. The Empress put on a pained expression, and said it was too cruel\nof him not to take her with him. He explained that he would willingly\nhave done so, but as his time there would be entirely devoted to\nformal business he was sure she would be more happy at Rome. She then\nasked him if he had any objection to her organizing a little ceremony\nfor the Festival of Bacchus during his absence. Silius had promised\nto help her. They had even thought of performing a little play, quite\nprivately, of course, in the gardens, just for a few friends.\n\nThe Emperor smiled and said he had no objection, only he begged her\nto see that etiquette was observed and that the guests should not\nbe allowed to take any liberties. \u201cThe Empress is so good-natured,\u201d\nhe said, \u201cand people take advantage of her good nature and her high\nspirits, and the Romans, especially the matrons, are so spiteful.\u201d He\nhad, of course, no objection to a little fun, and he wanted her above\nall things to enjoy herself.\n\nAt that moment Narcissus, the freedman, entered with some papers for\nthe Emperor to sign. The Emperor glanced through them, signed most of\nthem, but paused at one.\n\n\u201cI thought,\u201d he said, and then hesitated and coughed, \u201cthat we had\nsettled to pardon them.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere was an idea of it at first,\u201d said Narcissus, \u201cbut you\nafterwards, if you remember, agreed that it was necessary to make an\nexample in this case.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d answered the Emperor.\n\n\u201cAre you talking of Verus and Antonius?\u201d the Empress broke in. \u201cYou\npromised me that they would be pardoned.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo I did,\u201d said the Emperor, and then, turning to Narcissus, he said:\n\u201cI think in this case, in view of the rather exceptional circumstances,\nwe might strain a point.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut they are quite undeserving,\u201d began Narcissus.\n\n\u201cThe Emperor has pardoned them,\u201d broke in the Empress, \u201che told me\nso yesterday; let us scratch out their names,\u201d and bending over the\nEmperor with a kind and lovely smile, she suited the action to the\nword. The Emperor smiled lovingly at her, and Narcissus withdrew,\nbiting his lips. Soon after that I withdrew also.\n\nThe next morning the Emperor started for Ostia. During the week that\nfollowed the Empress visited me frequently in the library, and was\nextremely kind; she took an extraordinary interest in my work, and\nrevealed a wide knowledge of literature. Her criticisms were always\nacute. She evidently missed the Emperor very much. The more I saw of\nher the more I admired her beauty, her kindness, and her wit, and\nthe more readily I understood the jealousy she inspired at Rome, a\njealousy which found vent in spiteful gossip and malicious scandal.\n\nThe Empress, I at once understood, was a creature compact of\nkindness, gaiety, and impulse; she could not understand nor brook the\nconventions and the hypocrisy of the world. She was a child of nature,\nunsophisticated and unspoilt by the artifices of society. This is the\none thing the world can never forgive. When she was pleased she showed\nit. Her spirits were unbounded, and she delighted in every kind of\nfrolic and fun, and was sometimes imprudent in giving rein to her happy\ndisposition and to the charming gaiety of her nature in public. This\ndid her harm and gave her enemies a pretext for inventing the wildest\nand most absurd calumnies. But when she heard of this she only laughed\nand said that the malice of her enemies would only recoil on their own\nheads.\n\nAlas! she was grievously mistaken. Her enemies were far more numerous\nand more bitter than she supposed; moreover, they resented the\ninfluence she exerted over her husband, just because this influence\nwas gentle and good. Here are the bare facts of what happened. The\nEmperor was still at Ostia. The Empress was celebrating the Festival\nof Bacchus in the Palatine Gardens according to the Emperor\u2019s wish.\nThe feast lasted several days. Silius and Veltius Valens, who are both\nskilled at that sort of thing, had arranged an effective amphitheatre,\nand there were dances, music, and a whole pageant in honour of Bacchus.\nIt was a lovely sight.\n\nOn the last day of the festival a procession of Bacchanals, clad in\nleopard skins and crowned with vine leaves, danced round the altar\nplaying the double flute. One day on the stage in the amphitheatre\na wine-press was revealed, and a chorus of wine-harvesters led by\nthe Empress herself trod the grapes. Never had the Empress looked so\nbeautiful as in this Bacchanal\u2019s dress, and she joined in the fun with\na wild, irresponsible gaiety and enjoyed herself like a child. During\nthe whole festival, which had lasted a week, she had played a thousand\npranks, and on the first day of the merry-makings Silius had dressed up\nas Bacchus, and the Empress as Ariadne, and they acted a play in which\na mock marriage ceremony had been performed--all this in fun, of course.\n\nBut there were spies among us, and Narcissus, who was at Ostia,\nreceived daily accounts of what was happening. Skilfully he distorted\nthe facts and represented what had been a piece of harmless fun as a\nscandalous orgy. He said the Empress, clad only in a vine-wreath, had\ndanced before all Rome, and that she had publicly wedded Silius. He\nadded a whole list of infamous details which were the fruits of his\njealous fancy; but, worst of all, he accused Silius and the Empress of\nconspiracy, and said that they had attempted to bribe the Praetorian\nGuards, that they were plotting to kill Claudius and usurp the Throne.\nThe festival was not over when a slave arrived breathless, and told\nus what Narcissus had done. The Emperor, he said, was on his way\nhome. The Empress knew she must meet him face to face. She also knew\nthat Narcissus would do everything in his power to prevent it. The\ncourtiers, scenting the Empress\u2019s overthrow, deserted her, and she set\nout on foot to meet the Emperor. But Narcissus prevented the meeting,\nand the Empress fled to Lucullus\u2019 Villa, which Valerius Asiaticus had\nbequeathed to her.\n\nThe Emperor arrived in time for dinner. I was summoned to his table. He\npartook heartily of eight courses almost in silence, but seemed gloomy\nand depressed. After dinner his spirits rose and he asked whether I\nconsidered that Silius and the Empress had really plotted against\nhim. I told him the whole truth, and he expressed great annoyance at\nNarcissus\u2019 perfidy. He sent a message to say that the Empress was to\nreturn at once--to be judged, he added cunningly, for he did not wish\nNarcissus to know that he knew the truth. But Narcissus divined his\nperil. He knew that as soon as the Empress returned his doom would be\nsealed, and he told the tribune on duty that the Emperor had ordered\nMessalina to be killed.\n\nThat evening I was bidden to supper; and before we had finished the\nEmperor asked why Messalina had not come.\n\n\u201cMessalina,\u201d said Narcissus, \u201cis no more. She perished by her own hand.\u201d\n\nThe Emperor made no comment, but told the slave to fill his goblet. He\nfinished supper in silence.\n\nThe next morning the Emperor came into the library. He asked for his\nown Carthaginian history, and sat by the window, looking at it without\nreading. Then he beckoned to me, and finding the passage on the death\nof Hannibal, he pointed to it and tried to say something.\n\n\u201cShe\u201d--he began, but two large tears rolled down his cheeks, and he\nchoked. Since then he has never mentioned Messalina; he works, eats,\nand talks like a man whose spirit is elsewhere, or a person who is\nwalking in his sleep.\n\nFarewell, I can write no more, for I am shattered by this tragedy and\nthe dreadful end of one of the few really good women I have ever seen.\n\n\n\n\nNERO INTERVIEWED ROME, A.D. 64\n\n\n_Letter from a Greek Traveller to his friend in Athens_\n\nIt is fifteen years since I was last at Rome, and although I was\nprepared to find a change in everything, I had not expected this\ncomplete transformation. The Rome I knew, the Rome of the straggly\nnarrow streets and rotting wooden houses, has disappeared, and in its\nplace there is a kind of Corinth on a huge scale, marred of course by\nthe usual want of taste of the Romans, but imposing nevertheless and\nextraordinarily gay and brilliant. The fault of the whole thing is\nthat it is too big: the houses are too high, the streets too broad,\neverything is planned on too large a scale. From the artist\u2019s point of\nview the effect is deplorable; from the point of view of the casual\nobserver it is amusing in the highest degree. The broad streets--a\nblaze of coloured marble and fresh paint--are now crowded with\nbrilliant shops where you see all that is new from Greece and the East,\ntogether with curiosities from the North and the barbarian countries.\nEverybody seems to be spending money. The shops are crowded from\nmorning till night. The display of gold trinkets, glass vases, carpets,\nrugs, silks, gold and silver tissues, embroideries, all glittering in\nthe sunlight, dazzles the eye and imposes by the mass and glare of\ncolour and gaudiness.\n\nThere is no doubt that the Emperor is extraordinarily popular, and\nwhenever he shows himself in public he is greeted with frantic\nenthusiasm. Of course there are some mal-contents among the\nold-fashioned Liberals, but they have no influence whatever and count\npractically for nothing, for what are their grumblings and their\neternal lamentations about the good old times and the Empire going to\nthe dogs, in the scale with the hard solid fact that ever since Nero\ncame to the throne the prosperity of the Empire has increased in every\npossible respect? For the first time for years the individual has been\nable to breathe freely, and owing to the splendid reforms which he\nhas carried through in the matter of taxation, an intolerable load of\noppression has been lifted from the shoulders of the poor, and I can\nassure you they are grateful.\n\nA few nights ago I had dinner with Seneca, to meet some of the leading\nliterary lights. He is somewhat aged. Discussing various differences\nbetween our people and his, Seneca said that it is all very well for\nus to talk of our intellectual superiority, our artistic taste, our\nwit, our sense of proportion, but we had no idea either of liberty of\ntrade on the one side, or liberty of thought on the other. \u201cThat kind\nof liberty,\u201d said Seneca, \u201calways fares better under a King or a Prince\nof some kind than under jealous democrats. We should never tolerate\nthe religious tyranny of Athens.\u201d I could not help pointing out that\nwhat struck me at Rome to-day was that whereas almost everybody had\n\u201cliterary\u201d pretensions, and discussed nothing but eloquence, form,\nstyle, and \u201cartistry,\u201d nearly everybody wrote badly with the exception\nof Petronius Arbiter, whom the literary world does not recognize. The\nRomans talk a great deal of \u201cart for art\u2019s sake,\u201d and language, instead\nof being the simple and perfect vesture of thought, is cultivated\nfor its own sake. \u201cThis seems to us Greeks,\u201d I said, \u201cthe cardinal\nprinciple of decadence, and the contrary of our ideal which is that\neverything should serve to adorn, but all that is dragged in merely for\nthe sake of ornament is bad.\u201d I think Seneca agreed, but the younger\nliterary men present smiled with pitying condescension on me and said\npatronizingly: \u201cWe\u2019ve got beyond all that.\u201d\n\nAfter that dinner I made up my mind that I had seen enough of the\nliterary set. Seneca was kind enough to get me an audience with the\nEmperor. I was received yesterday afternoon in the new gold palace\nwhich Nero has built for himself. It is a sumptuous building, to our\ntaste vulgar, but not unimposing, and suits its purpose very well,\nthough all his _suite_ complain of the insufficient accommodation\nand the discomfort of the arrangements. I was taken into a kind of\nante-room where a number of Court officials, both civil and military,\nwere waiting, and I was told that the Emperor would probably see me in\nabout a quarter of an hour. They all talked for some time in subdued\ntones as if they were in a temple; as far as I could see there was no\nreason for this as the Emperor\u2019s room was at the other end of a long\npassage, and the doors were shut. At the end of a quarter of an hour a\nyoung officer fetched me and ushered me into the Emperor\u2019s presence.\n\nHe was seated at a large table covered with documents and parchments\nof every description, and had evidently been dictating to his\nsecretary, who left the room on the other side as I entered. He is\nvery like his pictures, which, however, do not give one any idea of\nhis short-sighted, dreamy eyes, nor of his intensely good-humoured\nand humorous expression. He has a kind of way of looking up at one in\na half-appealing fashion, as much as to say \u201cFor Heaven\u2019s sake don\u2019t\nthink that I take all this business seriously.\u201d His movements are quick\nbut not jerky. He held in his hand a chain of amber beads which he kept\non absent-mindedly fingering during the whole interview. His fingers\nare short, square, and rather fat. He spoke Greek, which he speaks\nvery purely indeed and without any Latin accent. Indeed, he speaks it\ntoo well. He asked me whether I was enjoying my visit to Rome, how\nlong it was since I had been here, what I thought of the improvements,\nand if I had been to the new theatre. I said I had not been to the\ntheatre, but that I was told the games in the Circus were extremely\nwell worth seeing. The Emperor laughed and shrugged his shoulders, and\nsaid that it was very civil of me to say so, since I knew quite well\nthat those spectacles, although hugely enjoyed by the ignorant rabble,\nwere singularly tedious to people of taste and education like myself.\nI bowed as he made this compliment. As for himself, he continued,\nthe games frankly bored him to death, but, of course, it was a State\nduty for him to attend them. \u201cIt is part of my profession,\u201d he said,\n\u201cbut if I had my own way I should witness nothing but Greek plays\nacted by my own company in my own house.\u201d He asked after several of my\nrelatives whom he had met in Greece, remembering their exact names and\noccupations. He asked me if I had been writing anything lately, and\nwhen I said that I was sick of books and intended henceforth to devote\nall my leisure to seeing people and studying them, he laughed. \u201cNothing\nis so discouraging,\u201d he said, \u201cas trying to improve the literary taste\nin this city. We are an admirable people; we do a great many things\nmuch better than other people--I do not mean only our colonization\u201d--he\nsaid smiling--\u201cand our foreign trade, but our portrait painting and\nour popular farce. But as a general rule directly we touch Art we seem\nto go altogether wrong, and the result is nauseous. Therefore, if you\nwant to find a Roman who will be thoroughly sympathetic, capable, and\nintelligent, and decent, choose one who knows nothing about Art and\ndoes not want to. With you it is different,\u201d he added, \u201cAthens is a\ncity of artists.\u201d He then changed the subject and referred to the\nrather bitter criticisms published at Athens about his policy with\nregard to the Jews, especially that new sect among them who called\nthemselves Christians.\n\n\u201cOf course,\u201d he said, \u201cyour sense of proportion is shocked when any\nextreme measures are adopted, but, believe me, in this case it is\nnecessary. The Jews are everywhere, and everywhere they claim the\nrights of citizenship. But they do not live as citizens: they retain\ntheir peculiar status; they claim the rights of the citizen and\nexceptional privileges of their own--in fact, their own laws. They wish\nto have the advantages of nationality without being a nation, without\ntaking part in the functions of the State. We cannot tolerate this.\nThe whole matter has been brought to the fore by the attitude of these\nso-called Christians, who are, I am obliged to say, extremely difficult\nto deal with: In the first place because they adopt the policy of\npassive resistance, against which it is so difficult to act, and in\nthe second place because they are getting the women on their side--and\nyou know what that means. I have no personal objection either to Jews\nor Christians. What one can\u2019t tolerate is a secret society within the\nState which advocates and preaches neglect of the citizen\u2019s duty to\nthe State, the worthlessness of patriotism, and the utter non-existence\nof citizenship.\u201d\n\nI said I quite understood this, but did not his Majesty agree with\nme in thinking that penal oppressions were rarely successful, and\nfrequently defeated their own object.\n\nThe Emperor replied that there was a great deal in what I said, but\nthat he did not consider he was dealing with a national or universal\nmovement, which had any element of duration in it, but with a\nparticular fad which would soon pass out of fashion, as the majority of\nall sensible people were opposed to it.\n\n\u201cThe unfortunate part is,\u201d he said, \u201cthe women have got it into\ntheir heads that it is a fine thing, and of course the more they see\nit is opposed to the wishes of all sensible men the more obstinate\nthey will be in sticking to it. The whole matter has been grossly\nexaggerated both as regards the nature of the movement and the\nnature of the measures taken against it; but that one cannot help.\nThey have represented me as gloating over the sufferings of innocent\nvictims. That is all stuff and nonsense. Great care has been taken\nto investigate all the cases which have arisen, so that the innocent\nshould not suffer with the guilty. Besides which, any Jew or Christian\nwho is willing to make a purely formal acknowledgement of the state\nauthorities is entirely exempt from any possibility of persecution.\nBut this is precisely what they often obstinately refuse to do--why, I\ncannot conceive. There is also a great deal of hysteria in the matter,\nand a large amount of self-advertisement, but one cannot get over the\nfact that the movement is a revolutionary one in itself, and can only\nbe dealt with as such. I doubt whether in any country a revolutionary\nmovement which has taken so uncompromising an attitude has ever been\ndealt with in so merciful a manner. So you see,\u201d the Emperor concluded,\n\u201chow grossly unfair is the manner in which I have been treated in this\nmatter. However, I suppose I can\u2019t complain: whatever one does it is\nsure to be wrong.\u201d\n\nHe then rose from his table and said that the Empress wished to see me\nbefore I went away, and he led me into her apartment, which was next\ndoor.\n\nThe Empress Sabina Poppaea is the perfection of grace; she is more like\na Greek than a Roman, and speaks Greek better than the Emperor, using\nthe language not only with purity but with elegance. All the stories\nwe were told of her extravagance in dress and of how she powdered her\nhead with gold, are of course absurd. She was dressed with the utmost\nsimplicity and did not wear a single ornament. She was absolutely\nnatural, put one at one\u2019s ease, talking continuously herself on various\ntopics without ever dwelling long on one, till she had said all she had\ngot to say, and then by a gesture delicately shadowed, she gave me the\nsign that it was time for me to go.\n\nThe Emperor said that the Empress Mother would have seen me only she\nwas suffering from one of her bad attacks of indigestion. He told me\nto be sure to let him know should I visit Rome again, that he hoped\nhimself to be able to spend some months in Greece next year, but he did\nnot think the pressure of affairs would allow him to. Farewell.\n\n_P.S._--Later. The gossips say that the Empress Mother is being\npoisoned.\n\n\n\n\nMARCUS AURELIUS AT LANUVIUM\n\n\n_Letter from Celsus to Lucian_\n\nI arrived at Lanuvium last night. The Court are here for the summer;\nthat is to say, the Emperor, the Empress, the Heir Apparent, and the\nEmperor\u2019s nephew, Ummidius Quadratus, and the Senator who is on duty.\nAs soon as I arrived I was taken by Eclectus, the Chamberlain, to my\napartments, which are small, but from which one obtains a beautiful\nview of the Alban Hills. I was told that I would be expected to come to\nsupper, and that I must take care not to be late, as the Emperor was\npunctual to a minute, and the water clocks in the villa were purposely\nan hour fast according to ordinary time.\n\nA few minutes before the hour of supper a slave was sent to fetch me,\nand I was ushered into a large room, opening on to a portico from\nwhence you have a gorgeous view of the whole country, where the\nEmperor and his family meet before going into the dining-room.\n\nI had never seen the Emperor before. He is short and looks delicate\nand a great deal older than he really is. His eyes have a weary\nexpression, and the general impression of the man would be one of great\nbenevolence and dignity were it not marred by a certain stiffness and\nprimness in his demeanour. When he greets you with great affability,\nyou say to yourself, \u201cWhat a charming man!\u201d Then he stops short,\nand it is difficult, nay, impossible, to continue the conversation.\nAfter a prolonged pause he asks you a question or makes some remark\non the weather or the topics of the day. But he does not pursue the\nsubject, and the result is a succession of awkward pauses and a general\natmosphere of discomfort.\n\nWhether it be from the reserve which at once strikes you as being\nthe most salient feature of his character, or whether it be from the\nprimness and the slight touch of pedantry which are the result of the\npeculiar way in which he was brought up, there is a certain lack, not\nof dignity, indeed, but of impressiveness in the man. He strikes you\nmore as a dignified man than as a dignified monarch. Indeed, were I\nto meet Marcus Aurelius in the streets of Rome or Athens, dressed as\na simple mortal, I should be inclined to take him for a barber who\ncatered for the aristocracy. As it was, when I was first introduced\ninto that ante-room and saw the Emperor for the first time, a wild\nlonging rose in me to say to him, \u201cI will be shaved at half-past eight\nto-morrow morning.\u201d\n\nThe Empress Faustina is quite unlike what I had expected. There is no\ntrace of Imperial or any other kind of dignity about her. She is not\nvery tall; she has a delicate nose, slightly turned up, laughing eyes\nwhich will surely remain eternally young, and masses of thick, curly\nfair hair. I had imagined from the pictures and effigies of her that\nshe was dark; possibly she may have dyed it lately, but I do not think\nso. She is restless in her movements; she is never still, but is always\non the move, and one has the impression that she is longing to, and\nwould if she dared, skip and jump about the room like a child. As it\nis, her arms, and especially her hands, are never for a moment still,\nand her eyes shift quickly from one person to another, smiling and\nlaughing. She made one feel that she was trying the whole time to be on\nher best behaviour, to curb her spirits, and not to overstep the bounds\nin any way, nor to do anything which would displease the Emperor or\noffend his sense of etiquette and decorum.\n\nWe waited four or five minutes for the Heir Apparent, who was late.\nThe Emperor remarked with some acidity to the Empress that if Commodus\ncould not learn to be punctual he had better have his meals in his own\nvilla with his tutor. The Empress said that the poor boy was given such\nlong lessons and so many of them that he scarcely had time even to\ndress; that he was overworked and a martyr to discipline.\n\nAt that moment the \u201cpoor boy\u201d entered the room. For a boy of sixteen\nhe is enormous: very tall, large, and fat. He has dark hair, a low\nforehead, with a thick and rebellious tuft of hair growing over it,\nrather coarse features, and thick lips. He must be immensely strong,\nbut although you could not find a greater contrast to his pale, prim,\nand dapper father, there is a strong family likeness, nevertheless.\nYou see at once that he is a son of Marcus Aurelius. It is as though\nthe gods had wished to play a huge joke, and had made in the son a\ncaricature, on a large scale, of the father. It is as if one saw the\ncaricature of the most delicate ivory statuette made in coarse clay. He\nwas told to salute me, which he did somewhat awkwardly.\n\nThe Empress said: \u201cYou must excuse him; he is very shy.\u201d\n\nUpon which I saw that he with difficulty suppressed a shout of laughter\nby stuffing his fist into his mouth, while his whole body was shaking.\n\nThe Emperor did not notice this. He led the way into the dining-room,\nand we all reclined.\n\nAt first there was a dead silence, and then Ummidius Quadratus, who\nseems to me far the most lively member of the family, said that the\nquails this year were much fatter than he had ever remembered them.\n\n\u201cIs that so?\u201d said the Emperor. \u201cThe best quails I ever ate,\u201d he added,\n\u201cwere those we got near the Danube. Unfortunately, my physician does\nnot allow me to touch meat.\u201d\n\nAfter this, there was a prolonged silence, which was broken by the\nEmpress saying she did not believe in doctors. \u201cWhenever they are at a\nloss as to what to prescribe, they ask you what you are fond of eating,\nand tell you to stop eating it.\u201d\n\nCommodus, as if to show his agreement with his mother\u2019s ideas, at\nthat moment put almost an entire quail into his mouth, and choked in\nthe process. His mother hit him on the back, and told him to look up\ntowards the ceiling. A slave brought him some water.\n\nThe Emperor frowned, and told him not to eat so fast.\n\n\u201cIt is my habit,\u201d he said, \u201cand a habit which you would do well to\nimitate, to count twenty-six between each mouthful.\u201d\n\nBut Commodus, who had turned purple in the face, merely went on\nchoking, and this lasted several minutes.\n\nThe Emperor asked me a few questions about Athens, and what was being\ndone and said and written in our city. I answered him as best I could,\nbut he did not seem to take notice of my replies, and went on, as\nthough he were a machine, to other topics and other questions. I spoke\nof you, and I mentioned your latest book, but he changed the subject as\nthough it were distasteful to him. I suspect that your ideas are too\nfrivolous for him, and may even shock him.\n\nThen Commodus, having recovered from his choking fit, began to talk of\na pugilistic match which was to take place in a neighbouring village.\nHe described at great length the champions who were to take part in\nit, the chances and the odds, and entered into many technical details\nwhich were tedious, and indeed quite incomprehensible to me. But the\nEmperor and the Empress listened with smiling and patronizing approval,\nand with obvious admiration of their son\u2019s knowledge. The Emperor is\nextremely conservative, and does all he can to encourage national\nsports and pastimes. He never misses a single event of importance\nat the Games, and even when he is in a country retreat like this,\nhe patronizes the local efforts in which his son seems to play so\nprominent a part.\n\nAfter this dissertation on pugilism, which seemed to me interminable,\nhad come to an end, Commodus related how he had played a practical\njoke on one of the freedmen who had been looking on at the sports.\nIt appears that the man, who was old and rather fat, had been on the\npoint of sitting down, and Commodus had pulled the chair from under him\nand he had come heavily to the ground, much to the amusement of the\nbystanders.\n\nThe Emperor thought this extremely funny, and indeed I was not a little\nbewildered by the mixture of severity and lenience with which the boy\nseems to be treated, for when a little later he asked if he might have\na new toga to wear during the daytime, as his present one was getting\nworn out, the Emperor said, in a tone which admitted of no discussion,\nthat it was quite out of the question; that boys should learn to be\neconomical, and, as it was, he was a great deal too extravagant for\nhis age, and already thought too much of such trifles. The Emperor\nsaid that his own toga was older than his son\u2019s, and yet he did not\ncomplain. It was certainly true that the Emperor seemed the perfection\nof neatness and tidiness, although it was obvious that his clothes were\nby no means new.\n\nIt was arranged that we should all go on a picnic on the lake next day\nand that I should be shown the country.\n\nThe Empress clapped her hands at the idea, and said there was nothing\nshe enjoyed so much as a picnic. We should take our food with us and\ncook it ourselves. Commodus should catch us some fish and perhaps kill\nsome game.\n\nCommodus, for his part, looked sulky and sullen when this was\nmentioned; he evidently had some other plan in his mind. The Emperor\nsaid that he also found picnics a very pleasant relaxation; but a\ndismal expression came over the faces of the Chamberlain and of the few\nCourt attendants who were present.\n\nAs I was most anxious to ascertain what was going on in the political\nworld at this moment, I hazarded a remark with regard to the recent\ndisturbances at Lyons which have been caused by the Christians. The\nEmperor at once became chillingly formal, but did not decline to\ndiscuss the matter; in fact, he was evidently anxious that I should\nbe in no doubt with regard to his ideas on the subject. He said that\nit had become necessary to take extreme measures, that the attitude\nof these fanatics was intolerable; that they were in the highest\ndegree unpatriotic and were a positive danger to the State. He was,\nhowever, not going to tolerate this any longer; he had no patience with\nstubbornness, and had determined, once and for all, to put his foot\ndown. Conciliatory measures had been tried and had proved a failure.\nThere was not the slightest use in pandering to sentimentalism and\nhysteria. He said he had just drafted an edict ordering the authorities\nto take the very severest measures to overcome the obstinacy of the\nrebels, and that should these prove ineffectual they were to resort to\nwholesale capital punishment without further discrimination or delay.\n\nThe Empress said that the Christians were disgusting, and that such\nvermin ought to be stamped upon. I said that I could not conceive the\nattitude of the Christians. Personally I had taken some trouble to\nascertain what their doctrines were, and had interviewed several of the\nleading Christians in Greece and Asia. I agreed that Christianity was\nthe national religion of no one; it was a religion adopted as a protest\nagainst the national religion by men who were infected by the spirit\nof all secret societies; that if the Christians refused to observe\npublic ceremonies and to render homage to those who presided over them\nthey should also, logically, give up wearing the _toga virilis_. But\nif they wished to share the benefit of civil life they should then pay\nthe necessary honours to those who are charged with administration.\nBut I added that should they do this I could not understand why\ntheir religion should not be tolerated on the same footing as other\nreligions, such as that of the Egyptians, since nothing was required of\nthem which was contrary to their principles.\n\nThe Emperor said that the Christians had already made such a thing\nimpossible. \u201cIt is not,\u201d he said, \u201cas if we had ever forced a pious man\nto commit an impious action or to say a shameful thing. He would be\nquite right in that case to endure any tortures rather than do so. But\nit is quite a different thing when a man is ordered to celebrate the\nSun or to sing a beautiful hymn in honour of Athene. These are merely\noutward forms of piety, and one cannot have too much piety.\u201d\n\nHere Ummidius Quadratus broke in and said that the Christians argued\nthat it was a matter which concerned their conscience, which was no\nbusiness of the State, and that they were perfectly ready to fulfil any\nduties, either civil or military, which had no religious character.\n\nThe Empress said she did not know anything about the ideas of the\nChristians, but she did think it was a disgraceful thing that in the\npresent enlightened age people should be allowed to cover children with\nflour, to massacre them, and eat them.\n\nI said I did not think the Christians did this. But the Empress said\nshe knew it was true; she had heard it on the best authority; in fact,\nher maid knew some one who had seen them do it.\n\nHere Ummidius Quadratus observed that some people in the best society\nhad become Christians, and that he had even heard that--and here\nhe mentioned the niece of a well-known patrician whose name I have\nforgotten--was one of them.\n\nThe Emperor drew himself up as though some dreadful solecism had been\ncommitted, and told his nephew that he had no right to say so shocking\nand so monstrous a thing at his table, especially before a stranger and\na guest.\n\nI will go on with my letter this evening, for a slave has just told me\nthat we are to start for the picnic at once.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CAMELOT JOUSTS\n\n\n_Guinevere to King Arthur_\n\n CAMELOT, _Monday_.\n\nDearest Arthur,\n\nI am feeling a little better. Merlin, who came over the other day\nfrom Broceliande, advised me to drink a glass of tepid water before\nbreakfast every day and not to eat _brown_ bread. This treatment has\nreally done me good. I will see that everything is ready for the\nJousts. They are getting on with the lists, but they have painted\nthe outside paling red instead of green, which is very provoking. I\nthink we must send the Under Seneschal away at Lady Day. He forgets\neverything.\n\nI have asked Yniol to stay at the castle for the Jousts, and the Lord\nof Astolat and one of his sons. (We can\u2019t be expected to ask the whole\nfamily.) I thought it was no use asking poor little Elaine because she\nnever goes anywhere now and hates the Jousts. Do you think we _must_\nask Merlin this year? We asked him last year and I don\u2019t see that we\nneed ask him _every_ year. He has become so cross and crotchety,\nand Vivien complained that when he was here last year he behaved\ndisgracefully to her and was quite impossible. Of course, I will do\nexactly as you like. I have asked Sir Valence, Sir Sagramore, Sir\nPercevale, Sir Pelleas, and Sir Modred. I won\u2019t have Melissande, she is\nso peevish and complaining.\n\nThen there is King Mark. Shall I ask him? Without Iseult, of course. He\ncan\u2019t expect us to ask her after all that has happened. I hear the King\nof Orkney asked them both and that he now expects her to be asked, but\nnothing shall induce me to receive her. If you think it is impossible\nto ask him alone we had better leave it, and ask neither of them.\n\nOh! I quite forgot. There\u2019s Lancelot. Shall we ask him to stay? He\u2019s\nbeen so often, so if you would rather not have him we can quite well\nleave him out this time. I don\u2019t want him to think he\u2019s indispensable\nto you.\n\nThe weather has been fine and the hedges are a mass of primroses. Vivi\nthe cat (I christened her after dear Vivien) caught a mouse yesterday.\nDo come back quickly.\n\n Your loving\n GUINEVERE.\n\n\n_King Arthur to Guinevere_\n\n CARLEON, _March 20_.\n\nMy dearest Guinevere,\n\nI was delighted to hear from you. I am glad you are recovering, but I\nmust beg you to take care of yourself. These east winds are very trying\nand the March sun most treacherous. We shall arrive two or three days\nbefore Whitsuntide. I will let you know the exact day. We have had a\nmost successful and satisfactory time in every way. We rescued six\ndamsels and captured two wizards and one heathen King. The knights\nbehaved admirably.\n\nWith regard to the Jousts I do not wish to seem inhospitable, but are\nyou sure there is room for every one you mention? Merlin must, of\ncourse, be asked. He would be very much hurt if we left him out.\n\nAs to King Mark, we must ask him also with the Queen. They are now\ncompletely and officially reconciled, and Tristram is engaged to be\nmarried to a Princess in Brittany. Therefore, since King Mark has\nmagnanimously forgiven and forgotten, it would not be seemly for us to\ncast any insidious slight upon them. To ask neither of them would be\na slight, but to ask the King without the Queen would be a deliberate\noutrage. Besides, apart from our private feelings, the public good must\nbe considered. We cannot afford to risk a war with Tintagel at this\nmoment. I shall, of course, ask Lancelot. He is with me now. I cannot\nsee any possible objection to his coming, and I have the greatest\nregard for him.\n\nPlease wrap up well when you go out. I am, with much love,\n\n Your devoted husband,\n ARTHUR.\n\n\n_Sir Lancelot to Guinevere_\n\n _March 21._\n\nThe King has asked me to stay for the Jousts. From what he said about\nyour health I gather you do not want me to come, so I said my old wound\nwould not allow me to take part in the Jousts. Perhaps it is better\nthat I should stay away. People are beginning to talk. Burn.\n\n L.\n\n\n_Guinevere to King Arthur_\n\n CAMELOT, _Friday_.\n\nDearest Arthur,\n\nOf course you know best. I entirely give in about Merlin and Lancelot,\nalthough I do think Merlin is trying, and that it makes the others\njealous to ask him so often. But it is rather hard on me to be obliged\nto receive Iseult.\n\nOf course with your noble nature you only see the good side of\neverything and everybody, but in Iseult\u2019s case the scandal was so\npublic and the things they did so extraordinary that it is difficult to\nbehave to her just as if it had never happened.\n\nI like Iseult personally. I always liked her, but I do think it is\ntrying that she should put on airs of virtue and insist on being\nrespected. However, I have asked her _and_ Mark. If they have any sense\nof decency they will refuse. I am quite well now. Merlin really did me\ngood. We are having delicious weather, and I miss you all very much.\nSir Galahad stopped here on his way West yesterday, but never said a\nword. I have ordered a new gown for the Jousts, but it is not finished\nyet. The weavers are too tiresome. The lists are getting on. If\npossible, bring me back six-and-a-half yards of the best green Samite,\ndouble width, from Carleon. The same shade as I had before. They can\u2019t\nmatch the shade here. I am so glad everything went off well. It seems\ncenturies to Whitsuntide.\n\n Your loving\n GUINEVERE.\n\n\n_Guinevere to Lancelot_\n\n CAMELOT.\n\nI am sending this by P----, who is entirely to be trusted. You were\nwrong. It is most necessary that you should come to the Jousts. Your\nabsence would be far more noticed than your presence. It is a pity you\ntold that foolish lie. It is a great mistake ever to tell unnecessary\nlies. However, now it\u2019s done, the best thing you can do is to come\ndisguised as an unknown knight. Then when you reveal yourself at the\nend--for I suppose there is no chance of your not winning?--you can say\nyou thought your name gave you an unfair advantage, and that you wished\nto meet the knights on equal terms. The King will be pleased at this.\nIt is an idea after his own heart.\n\nIseult is coming with King Mark. At first I thought this dangerous, but\nthere was nothing to be done, and she will be quite safe as her one\nidea now is to be thought respectable, only we must be most careful.\nIseult is a cat.\n\nI dare not write more.\n\n G.\n\n\n_Guinevere to Iseult_\n\n CAMELOT, _April 21_.\n\nDarling Iseult,\n\nI am overjoyed that you can both come. It will be too delightful to see\nyou again. It is ages since we have met, isn\u2019t it? I do hope that the\nKing is quite well and that his lumbago is not troubling him. Merlin\nwill be here, and he will be sure to do him good. He might also do\nsomething for his deafness.\n\nArthur will be delighted to hear you are coming. He is devoted to\nthe King. It will be a tiny party, of course--only Merlin, Yniol,\nOrkneys, Astolats, and a few of the knights. We will try to make you\ncomfortable; but Camelot isn\u2019t Tintagel, and we have nothing to compare\nwith your wonderful woods.\n\nGood-bye, darling, give my best regards to the King.\n\n Your loving\n GUINEVERE.\n\n_P.S._--Sir Kay Hedius has just come back from Brittany. He was at\nour old friend Sir Tristram\u2019s wedding. He said it was glorious, and\nthat she--Iseult the Lily-handed--was a dream of beauty. Tristram was\nlooking very well and in tearing spirits. He\u2019s grown quite fat. Isn\u2019t\nit funny?\n\n\n_Iseult to Guinevere_\n\n TINTAGEL.\n\nDarling Guinevere,\n\nThank you so much for your most kind letter. I am afraid that after\nall I shall not be able to come to the Jousts. It is too tiresome.\nBut I have not been at all well lately and the physicians say I must\nhave change of air. I am ordered to the French coast and the King has\ngot some cousins who live in a charming little house on the coast of\nNormandy. I am starting to-morrow, and I shall probably stay there\nduring the whole month of May. It is too tiresome to miss the Jousts,\nand you cannot imagine how disappointed I am. The King will, of\ncourse, come without me.\n\nI hear that Sir Lancelot of the Lake is not going to compete this year\nfor the Diamond on account of his health. I am so sorry. The people\nhere say he is afraid of being beaten, and that there is a wonderful\nnew knight called Lamorack who is better than everybody. Isn\u2019t it\nabsurd? People are so spiteful. How you must miss the dear King, and\nyou must be so lonely at Camelot without any of the knights.\n\nBy the way, is it true that Sir Lancelot is engaged to Elaine, the\ndaughter of the Lord of Astolat? She is quite lovely, but I never\nthought that Lancelot cared for young girls. I think she is only\nsixteen.\n\n Your loving\n ISEULT OF CORNWALL.\n\n\n_Guinevere to Lancelot_\n\n _Whit-Sunday._\n\nThe King has just told me whose sleeve it was you wore to-day. I now\nunderstand everything, and I must say I did not suspect you of playing\nthis kind of double game. I do hate lies and liars, and, above all,\nstupid liars. It is, of course, very humiliating to make such a mistake\nabout a man. But I hope you will be happy with Elaine, and I pray\nHeaven she may never find you out.\n\n GUINEVERE.\n\n\n\n\nKING LEAR\u2019S DAUGHTER\n\n\n_Letter from Goneril, Daughter of King Lear, to her sister Regan_\n\n I have writ my sister.\n _King Lear_, Act I, Scene iv.\n\n THE PALACE, _November_.\n\nDearest Regan,\n\nI am sending you this letter by Oswald. We have been having the most\ntrying time lately with Papa, and it ended to-day in one of those\nscenes which are so painful to people like you and me, who _hate_\nscenes. I am writing now to tell you all about it, so that you may be\nprepared. This is what has happened.\n\nWhen Papa came here he brought a hundred knights with him, which is a\ngreat deal more than we could put up, and some of them had to live in\nthe village. The first thing that happened was that they quarrelled\nwith our people and refused to take orders from them, and whenever one\ntold any one to do anything it was either--if it was one of Papa\u2019s\nmen--\u201cnot his place to do it\u201d; or if it was one of our men, they said\nthat Papa\u2019s people made work impossible. For instance, only the day\nbefore yesterday I found that blue vase which you brought back from\nDover for me on my last birthday broken to bits. Of course I made a\nfuss, and Oswald declared that one of Papa\u2019s knights had knocked it\nover in a drunken brawl. I complained to Papa, who flew into a passion\nand said that his knights, and in fact all his retainers, were the most\npeaceful and courteous people in the world, and that it was my fault,\nas I was not treating him or them with the respect which they deserved.\nHe even said that I was lacking in filial duty. I was determined to\nkeep my temper, so I said nothing.\n\nThe day after this the chief steward and the housekeeper and both my\nmaids came to me and said that they wished to give notice. I asked them\nwhy. They said they couldn\u2019t possibly live in a house where there were\nsuch \u201cgoings-on.\u201d I asked them what they meant. They refused to say,\nbut they hinted that Papa\u2019s men were behaving not only in an insolent\nbut in a positively outrageous manner to them. The steward said that\nPapa\u2019s knights were never sober, that they had entirely demoralized the\nhousehold, and that life was simply not worth living in the house; it\nwas _impossible_ to get anything done, and they couldn\u2019t sleep at night\nfor the noise.\n\nI went to Papa and talked to him about it quite quietly, but no sooner\nhad I mentioned the subject than he lost all self-control, and began\nto abuse me. I kept my temper as long as I could, but of course one\nis only human, and after I had borne his revilings for some time,\nwhich were monstrously unfair and untrue, I at last turned and said\nsomething about people of his age being trying. Upon which he said\nthat I was throwing up his old age at him, that I was a monster of\ningratitude--and he began to cry. I cannot tell you how painful all\nthis was to me. I did everything I could to soothe him and quiet him,\nbut the truth is, ever since Papa has been here he has lost control\nof his wits. He suffers from the oddest kind of delusions. He thinks\nthat for some reason he is being treated like a beggar; and although he\nhas a hundred knights--a hundred, mind you! (a great deal more than we\nhave)--in the house, who do nothing but eat and drink all day long, he\nsays he is not being treated like a King! I do hate unfairness.\n\nWhen he gave up the crown he said he was tired of affairs, and meant\nto have a long rest; but from the very moment that he handed over the\nmanagement of affairs to us he never stopped interfering, and was cross\nif he was not consulted about everything, and if his advice was not\ntaken.\n\nAnd what is still worse is this: ever since his last illness he has\nlost not only his memory but his control over language, so that\noften when he wants to say one thing he says just the opposite, and\nsometimes when he wishes to say some quite simple thing he uses _bad_\nlanguage quite unconsciously. Of course we are used to this, and\n_we_ don\u2019t mind, but I must say it is very awkward when strangers\nare here. For instance, the other day before quite a lot of people,\nquite unconsciously, he called me a dreadful name. Everybody was\nuncomfortable and tried not to laugh, but some people could not contain\nthemselves. This sort of thing is constantly happening. So you will\nunderstand that Papa needs perpetual looking after and management. At\nthe same time, the moment one suggests the slightest thing to him he\nboils over with rage.\n\nBut perhaps the most annoying thing which happened lately, or, at\nleast, the thing which happens to annoy me most, is Papa\u2019s Fool. You\nknow, darling, that I have always hated that kind of humour. He comes\nin just as one is sitting down to dinner, and beats one on the head\nwith a hard, empty bladder, and sings utterly idiotic songs, which make\nme feel inclined to cry. The other day, when we had a lot of people\nhere, just as we were sitting down in the banqueting-hall, Papa\u2019s Fool\npulled my chair from behind me so that I fell sharply down on the\nfloor. Papa shook with laughter, and said: \u201cWell done, little Fool,\u201d\nand all the courtiers who were there, out of pure snobbishness, of\ncourse, laughed too. I call this not only very humiliating for me,\nbut undignified in an old man and a king; of course Albany refused to\ninterfere. Like all men and all husbands, he is an arrant coward.\n\nHowever, the crisis came yesterday. I had got a bad headache, and was\nlying down in my room, when Papa came in from the hunt and sent Oswald\nto me, saying that he wished to speak to me. I said that I wasn\u2019t well,\nand that I was lying down--which was perfectly true--but that I would\nbe down to dinner. When Oswald went to give my message Papa beat him,\nand one of his men threw him about the room and really hurt him, so\nthat he has now got a large bruise on his forehead and a sprained ankle.\n\nThis was the climax. All our knights came to Albany and myself, and\nsaid that they would not stay with us a moment longer unless Papa\nexercised some sort of control over his men. I did not know what to\ndo, but I knew the situation would have to be cleared up sooner or\nlater. So I went to Papa and told him frankly that the situation was\nintolerable; that he must send away some of his people, and choose for\nthe remainder men fitting to his age. The words were scarcely out of\nmy mouth than he called me the most terrible names, ordered his horses\nto be saddled, and said that he would shake the dust from his feet and\nnot stay a moment longer in this house. Albany tried to calm him, and\nbegged him to stay, but he would not listen to a word, and said he\nwould go and live with you.\n\nSo I am sending this by Oswald, that you may get it before Papa arrives\nand know how the matter stands. All I did was to suggest he should send\naway fifty of his men. Even fifty is a great deal, and puts us to any\namount of inconvenience, and is a source of waste and extravagance--two\nthings which I cannot bear. I am perfectly certain you will not be able\nto put up with his hundred knights any more than I was. And I beg you,\nmy dearest Regan, to do your best to make Papa listen to sense. No one\nis fonder of him than I am. I think it would have been difficult to\nfind a more dutiful daughter than I have always been. But there is a\nlimit to all things, and one cannot have one\u2019s whole household turned\ninto a pandemonium, and one\u2019s whole life into a series of wrangles,\ncomplaints, and brawls, simply because Papa in his old age is losing\nthe control of his faculties. At the same time, I own that although I\nkept my temper for a long time, when it finally gave way I was perhaps\na little sharp. I am not a saint, nor an angel, nor a lamb, but I do\nhate unfairness and injustice. It makes my blood boil. But I hope that\nyou, with your angelic nature and your tact and your gentleness, will\nput everything right and make poor Papa listen to reason.\n\nLet me hear at once what happens.\n\n Your loving\n GONERIL.\n\n_P.S._--Another thing Papa does which is most exasperating is to\nthrow up Cordelia at one every moment. He keeps on saying: \u201cIf only\nCordelia were here,\u201d or \u201cHow unlike Cordelia!\u201d And you will remember,\ndarling, that when Cordelia was here Papa could not endure the sight\nof her. Her irritating trick of mumbling and never speaking up used\nto get terribly on his nerves. Of course, I thought he was even rather\nunfair on her, trying as she is. We had a letter from the French Court\nyesterday, saying that she is driving the poor King of France almost\nmad.\n\n_P.P.S._--It is wretched weather. The poor little ponies on the heath\nwill have to be brought in.\n\n\n\n\nLADY MACBETH\u2019S TROUBLE\n\n\n_Letter from Lady Macbeth to Lady Macduff_\n\n_Most Private._\n\n THE PALACE, FORRES,\n _October 10_.\n\nMy dearest Flora,\n\nI am sending this letter by Ross, who is starting for Fife to-morrow\nmorning. I wonder if you could possibly come here for a few days.\nYou would bring Jeamie of course. Macbeth is devoted to children. I\nthink we could make you quite comfortable, although of course palaces\nare never very comfortable, and it\u2019s all so different from dear\nInverness. And there is the tiresome Court etiquette and the people,\nespecially the Heads of the Clans, who are so touchy, and insist on\none\u2019s observing every tradition. For instance, the bagpipes begin in\nthe early morning; the pipers walk round the castle a little after\nsunrise, and this I find very trying, as you know what a bad sleeper I\nam. Only two nights ago I nearly fell out of the window walking in my\nsleep. The doctor, who I must say is a charming man (he was the late\nKing\u2019s doctor and King Duncan always used to say he was the only man\nwho really understood his constitution), is giving me mandragora mixed\nwith poppy and syrup; but so far it has not done me any good; but then\nI always was a wretched sleeper and now I am worse, because--well, I am\ncoming at last to what I really want to say.\n\nI am in very great trouble and I beg you to come here if you can,\nbecause you would be the greatest help. You shall have a bedroom facing\nsouth, and Jeamie shall be next to you, and my maid can look after you\nboth, and as Macduff is going to England I think it would really be\nwiser and _safer_ for you to come here than to stay all alone in that\nlonely castle of yours in these troublesome times, when there are so\nmany robbers about and one never knows what may not happen.\n\nI confess I have been very much put about lately. (You quite understand\nif you come we shall have plenty of opportunities of seeing each other\nalone in spite of all the tiresome etiquette and ceremonies, and of\ncourse you must treat me just the same as before; only in _public_ you\nmust just throw in a \u201cMajesty\u201d now and then and curtchey and call me\n\u201cMa\u2019am\u201d so as not to shock the people.) I am sorry to say Macbeth is\nnot at all in good case. He is really not at all well, and the fact is\nhe has never got over the terrible tragedy that happened at Inverness.\nAt first I thought it was quite natural he should be upset. Of course\nvery few people know how fond he was of his cousin. King Duncan was\nhis favourite cousin. They had travelled together in England, and\nthey were much more like brothers than cousins, although the King was\nso much older than he is. I shall never forget the evening when the\nKing arrived after the battle against those horrid Norwegians. I was\nvery nervous as it was, after having gone through all the anxiety of\nknowing that Macbeth was in danger. Then on the top of that, just after\nI heard that he was alive and well, the messenger arrived telling me\nthat the King was on his way to Inverness. Of course I had got nothing\nready, and Elspeth our housekeeper put on a face as much as to say that\nwe could not possibly manage in the time. However, I said she _must_\nmanage. I knew our cousin wouldn\u2019t expect too much, and I spent the\nwhole day making those flat scones he used to be so fond of.\n\nI was already worried then because Macbeth, who is superstitious, said\nhe had met three witches on the way (he said something about it in his\nletter) and they had apparently been uncivil to him. I thought they\nwere gipsies and that he had not crossed their palm with silver, but\nwhen he arrived he was still brooding over this, and was quite _odd_\nin his way of speaking about it. I didn\u2019t think much of this at the\ntime, as I put it down to the strain of what he had gone through, and\nthe reaction which must always be great after such a time; but now it\nall comes back to me, and now that I think over it in view of what has\nhappened since, I cannot help owning to myself that he was not himself,\nand if I had not known what a sober man he was, I should almost have\nthought the 1030 (Hildebrand) whisky had gone to his head--because\nwhen he talked of the old women he was quite incoherent: just like a\nman who has had an hallucination. But I did not think of all this till\nafterwards, as I put it down to the strain, as I have just told you.\n\nBut now! Well, I must go back a little way so as to make everything\nclear to you. Duncan arrived, and nothing could be more civil than he\nwas. He went out of his way to be nice to everybody and praised the\ncastle, the situation, the view, and even the birds\u2019 nests on the\nwalls! (All this, of course, went straight to my heart.) Donalbain and\nMalcolm were with him. They, I thought at the time, were not at all\nwell brought up. They had not got their father\u2019s manners, and they\ntalked in a loud voice and gave themselves airs.\n\nDuncan had supper by himself, and before he went to bed he sent me a\nmost beautiful diamond ring, which I shall always wear. Then we all\nwent to bed. Macbeth was not himself that evening, and he frightened\nme out of my wits by talking of ghosts and witches and daggers. I did\nnot, however, think anything serious was the matter and I still put it\ndown to the strain and the excitement. However, I took the precaution\nof pouring a drop or two of my sleeping draught into the glass of\nwater which he always drinks before going to bed, so that at least he\nmight have a good night\u2019s rest. I suppose I did not give him a strong\nenough dose. (But one cannot be too careful with drugs, especially\nmandragora, which is bad for the heart.) At any rate, whether it was\nthat or the awful weather we had that night (nearly all the trees in\nthe park were blown down, and it will never be quite the same again) or\nwhether it was that the hall porter got tipsy (why they choose the one\nday in the year to drink when one has guests, and it really matters,\nI never could understand!) and made the most dreadful noise and used\nreally disgraceful language at the front door about five o\u2019clock in the\nmorning, I don\u2019t know. At any rate, we were all disturbed long before I\nhad meant that we should be called (breakfast wasn\u2019t nearly ready and\nElspeth was only just raking out the fires). But, as I say, we were all\nwoken up, and Macduff went to call the King, and came back with the\nterrible news.\n\nMacbeth turned quite white, and at first my only thought was for him.\nI thought he was going to have a stroke or a fit. You know he has a\nvery nervous, high-strung constitution, and nothing could be worse for\nhim than a shock like this. I confess that I myself felt as though I\nwished the earth would open and swallow me up. To think of such a thing\nhappening in our house!\n\nBanquo, too, was as white as a sheet; but the only people who behaved\nbadly (of course this is strictly between ourselves, and I do implore\nyou not to repeat it, as it would really do harm if it got about that\nI had said this, but you are safe, aren\u2019t you, Flora?) were Donalbain\nand Malcolm. Donalbain said nothing at all, and all Malcolm said when\nhe was told that his father had been murdered was: \u201cOh! by whom?\u201d I\ncould not understand how he could behave in such a heartless way before\nso many people; but I must say in fairness that all the Duncans have a\nvery odd way of showing grief.\n\nOf course the first thing I thought was \u201cWho can have done it?\u201d and I\nsuppose in a way it will always remain a mystery. There is no doubt\nthat the chamber grooms actually did the deed; but whether they had\nany accomplices, whether it was just the act of drunkards (it turned\nout that the whole household had been drinking that night and not only\nthe hall porter) or whether they were _instigated_ by any one else (of\ncourse don\u2019t quote me as having suggested such a thing) we shall never\nknow. Much as I dislike Malcolm and Donalbain, and shocking as I think\ntheir behaviour has been, and not only shocking but _suspicious_, I\nshould not like any one to think that I suspected them of so awful\na crime. It is one thing to be bad-mannered, it is another to be a\nparricide. However, there is no getting over the fact that by their\nconduct, by their extraordinary behaviour and flight to England, they\nmade people suspect them.\n\nI have only just now come to the real subject of my letter. At first\nMacbeth bore up pretty well in spite of the blow, the shock, and the\nextra worry of the coronation following immediately on all this; but no\nsooner had we settled down at Forres than I soon saw he was far from\nbeing himself.\n\nHis appetite was bad; he slept badly, and was cross to the servants,\nmaking scenes about nothing. When I tried to ask him about his health\nhe lost his temper. At last one day it all came out and I realized\nthat another tragedy was in store for us. Macbeth is suffering from\nhallucinations; this whole terrible business has unhinged his mind.\nThe doctor always said he was highly strung, and the fact is he has\nhad another attack, or whatever it is, the same as he had after the\nbattle, when he thought he had seen three witches. (I afterwards found\nout from Banquo, who was with him at the time, that the matter was even\nworse than I suspected.) He is suffering from a terrible delusion. He\nthinks (of course you will never breathe this to a soul) that he killed\nDuncan! You can imagine what I am going through. Fortunately, nobody\nhas noticed it.\n\nOnly last night another calamity happened. Banquo had a fall out riding\nand was killed. That night we had a banquet we could not possibly put\noff. On purpose I gave strict orders that Macbeth was not to be told of\nthe accident until the banquet was over, but Lennox (who has no more\ndiscretion than a parrot) told him, and in the middle of dinner he had\nanother attack, and I had only just time to get every one to go away\nbefore he began to rave. As it was, it must have been noticed that he\nwasn\u2019t himself.\n\nI am in a terrible position. I never know when these fits are coming\non, and I am afraid of people talking, because if it once gets about,\npeople are so spiteful that somebody is sure to start the rumour that\nit\u2019s true. Imagine our position, then! So I beg you, dear Flora, to\nkeep all this to yourself, and if possible to come here as soon as\npossible.\n\n I am, your affectionate,\n HARRIET R.\n\n_P.S._--Don\u2019t forget to bring Jeamie. It will do Macbeth good to see a\nchild in the house.\n\n\n\n\nAT THE COURT OF KING CLAUDIUS\n\n\n_From a Player\u2019s Letter_\n\nWe arrived at Elsinore in the morning. We were at once let into the\npresence of the Prince. He received us with the courtesy and kindliness\nwhich were native to him, and he seemed but little changed since\nhis student days when he was as much our companion as our patron.\nIt is true that his face and his expression have grown older and\nmore serious, just as his body has grown more portly, but in so far\nas his conduct and demeanour are concerned he is the same. No words\ncan picture the dreariness and monotony of the life which he leads\nhere in the Court. He is virtually a prisoner, for should he in any\nway transgress the fixed limits of the tradition and etiquette which\ngovern this place, the courtiers and the officials of the Court do\nnot hesitate to say that he is deranged in his mind. As soon as he\ngreeted us he recalled a thousand memories of those freer and happier\ndays, and he seemed to take as great a delight in our art and our trade\nas in days gone by. His love for the stage, for well turned verse,\nand the nice declamation of noble lines is as ardent as ever, and he\nbade me recall to him a speech from a tragedy on which his sure taste\nhad alighted, although it escaped the notice and the applause of the\npopulace.\n\nIt was arranged that on the night following the morning of our arrival\nwe should play before the King and the Court. The piece chosen by the\nPrince was entitled \u201cThe Murder of Gonzago,\u201d a somewhat old-fashioned\nbit of fustian, chosen no doubt to suit the taste of the King and his\ncourtiers. The Prince himself wrote a speech of some sixteen lines\nwhich he bade me insert in my part. We spent the day in study and\nrehearsal, which were sorely needed, since we had not played the piece\nfor many years. In the evening a banquet was held in the castle. The\nKing and Queen, the Chamberlain and all the Court dignitaries were\npresent, and the Prince, although he did not grace the feast with his\npresence, insisted that we, the players, should take part in it. The\nCourt dignitaries were averse to this, but the Prince overruled their\nobjections by saying that unless we took part in the banquet he would\nnot be present at the performance.\n\nThe feast was in the banqueting-hall; the King and the Queen together\nwith all the Court took their places before a high, raised table at the\nend of the banqueting-hall. We players sat at a separate table at the\nfurther end of the hall. The feast began long before sunset and lasted\nfar into the night. There was much deep drinking, but an atmosphere of\nceremony and gloom hung over the festivity; the mirth rang hollow and\nthe hilarity was false and strained.\n\nTowards the end of the banquet the King rose to his feet and in pompous\nphrase spoke of the pleasure that he felt in seeing so many loyal\nfriends gathered about him and that he looked forward to the day when\nthe Prince, his nephew, would once more join heart and soul in the\nfestivities of the Court, and then looking towards us he was pleased\nto say that he trusted to the skill, the well-known skill, and the\nwidely-famed art of the players who were now visiting his capital to\nhave a salutary influence and to be successful in distracting the mind\nand in raising the spirits of the Prince, which had been so sadly\naffected ever since the demise of his much-to-be regretted brother.\nThese words elicited loud cheers from the assembly and it was pointed\nout to us by the Chamberlain that the speech of the King was a further\nsign of his Majesty\u2019s unerring tact and never-failing condescension.\n\nAs we left the banqueting-hall, after the King and Queen had retired,\nI noticed that the Prince was pacing up and down the terrace of the\ncastle, lost as it were in abstraction. During the whole of the next\nday we were busy in study and rehearsal. The Lord Chamberlain was\nsomewhat concerned as to the nature of the performance we were to give.\nHe desired to be present at a rehearsal, but here again the Prince\nintervened with impetuous authority. The Lord Chamberlain then sought\nme out in person and said that he earnestly trusted there would be\nnothing either in the words of the play or in the manner in which it\nshould be played that would give offence to the illustrious audience. I\nreplied that the play had been chosen by the Prince and that it would\nbe well if he would address any suggestions he had to make directly to\nHis Royal Highness. The Lord Chamberlain said that the Prince was in so\nirritable a frame of mind that he could ill brook any interference, but\nthat he relied on our good sense and inherent tact to omit any word or\nphrase which, in the present circumstances (for he pointed out that\nthe Court was in half-mourning) might be likely to give offence. He\nsaid that for instance any too exuberant display of buffoonery, any too\ngreat an insistence on broad jokes would be out of place at the present\ntime. I assured him that so far from the Prince having instigated us\ntowards clowning he had begged us to suppress all buffoonery of any\nkind, which had ever been distasteful to him, and this none knew so\nwell as I.\n\nElsinore, like all courts, was rife with gossip, the common talk being\nthat the Prince was courting the daughter of the Chamberlain, who,\nowing to the position she occupied, they professed to find beautiful,\nand who in reality is but an insipid minx and likely to develop on the\nlines of her doddering old father, while they say that she will not\nhear of his suit, being secretly but passionately enamoured of one of\nthe minor courtiers, by name Osric.\n\nOthers say that the Prince\u2019s passion for the Chamberlain\u2019s daughter is\na mere pretence and that it is his friend Horatio who is in reality\nplighted to her. But we, who know the Prince well, know that he\nhas no thought of such things. He is an artist, and had he not had\nthe misfortune to be born a Prince he would have been a player of\nfirst-rate excellence. Being gifted with the artistic temperament and\nthe histrionic nature, the mode of existence which he is forced to lead\namidst the conventions, the formalities, the rules, and the unvarying\ntediousness of stiff and stately Court decorum, is to him intolerable.\nHe is thinking the whole time of modes of expression, pictures,\nphrases, situations, conceits, and his mind lives in the world of dream\nand holds office at the court of Art. That is why, in this nest of\nofficials, he is like a cuckoo among a brood of respectable blackbirds.\n\nThe performance took place after the banquet on the second evening of\nour stay. The stage was appointed in a long, low room adjoining the\nbanqueting-hall. Slightly raised seats for the King and the Queen were\nerected in the centre of the room in front of the stage, and the Court\nwere assembled in line with them and behind them. The Chamberlain and\nhis daughter sat in the front row, and the gossip of the place seemed\nto be in some way substantiated by the fact that she never took her\neyes off Osric the courtier (a handsome lad) during the whole of the\nperformance. He was standing next to the Queen\u2019s throne.\n\nThe Prince, before the trumpets sounded for the performance to begin,\ncame to us and gave us his final instructions which bore, as ever,\nthe stamp of his fine taste and nice discrimination, and which proved\nto us once more that he was by nature a professional player. When the\nperformance began he strolled into the hall and reclined on the floor\nat the feet of the Chamberlain\u2019s daughter. We played as well as might\nbe expected considering the chilling effect which cannot fail to be\nproduced by the presence of exalted personages, for the Court had\ntheir eyes fixed on the throne and only dared to murmur approval when\napproval had already been expressed from that quarter. During all the\nfirst part of the play such moments were rare and indeed the audience\nseemed to have some difficulty in comprehending the words and the still\nplainer action which we suited to the words. But the Prince came to our\naid, whispering audibly to his uncle and his mother and elucidating\nfor them the passages which proved perplexing. He also made various\ncomments to the Chamberlain\u2019s daughter, and was quick to apprehend the\nslightest play of feature, gesture, or intonation which struck him as\nbeing successful and true.\n\nThe Chamberlain\u2019s daughter was listless throughout and seemed to take\nno interest in the play, and her father was too enfeebled in mind to\ncatch the drift of it at all, but the manifest interest which the\nPrince took in it seemed, nevertheless, to cause him uneasiness, and he\nnever ceased furtively to glance at the King and the Queen. The Queen,\non the other hand, seemed much pleased, and indeed they say that she\nhas ever been fond of spectacles and stage-playing. By the time the\nplay had reached its climax, with the entry of Lucianus who spoke the\nlines which had been inserted by the Prince, the King, who had been\ngrowing more and more fretful (for he has no taste for letters) rose\nfrom his seat and gave the signal for departure, and the Chamberlain\nimmediately gave orders that the play should cease. The King remarked\nthat the heat in the hall was oppressive and he withdrew, followed\nby the Court, and the Prince, who was in an ecstasy of joy at the\nbeautiful performance, clapped his hands loudly and congratulated us\nwarmly, saying that he had seldom enjoyed a play so much.\n\nSo tedious is the routine at these courts that this little incident\nwas much discussed and debated, and the Prince\u2019s conduct in so loudly\napplauding a play after His Majesty had signified that the performance\nwas tedious has been severely commented on. To-morrow we sail for\nHamburg.\n\n\n\n\nROMEO AND ROSALINE\n\n One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun\n Ne\u2019er saw her match since first the world begun.\n ROMEO ON ROSALINE.\n _Romeo and Juliet_, Act I, Scene ii.\n\n Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,\n So soon forsaken? Young men\u2019s love then lies\n Not truly in their hearts but in their eyes.\n Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine\n Hath wash\u2019d thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!\n _Romeo and Juliet_, Act II, Scene ii.\n\n\n_Letter from Rosaline to her friend Olivia_\n\n VERONA.\n\nMy dear Olivia,\n\nThank you very much for your kind letter. I am only just beginning to\nbe able to write letters, as you may well imagine after all that we\nhave gone through, and I am still in half-mourning, although _they_ say\nthis is ridiculous. As a matter of fact, nobody has a better right to\nbe in mourning for Romeo than I, considering that he would certainly\nhave married me had it not been for a series of quite extraordinary\naccidents. Mamma says that I was to blame, but I will tell you exactly\nwhat happened, and you can judge for yourself.\n\nI made Romeo\u2019s acquaintance two years ago. We at once got on well\ntogether, and I never minded his childishness, which used to get on\nsome people\u2019s nerves. He was the kind of person whom it was really\nimpossible to dislike, because he was so impetuous, so full of high\nspirits and good humour. Some people thought he was good looking; I\nnever did. It was never his looks that attracted me, but I liked him\nfor _himself_. Wherever I went he used to be there, and whenever we met\nhe always talked to me the whole time and never looked at any one else,\nso that we were _practically_ engaged although nothing was announced.\n\nAfter this had gone on for some time Mamma became annoyed; she said we\nmust do one thing or the other; we must either be engaged and announce\nour engagement or else that I must give up seeing Romeo altogether.\nThis of course I refused to do. At last we made a compromise: in our\nown house I was allowed to see Romeo as much as I liked, but if I went\nout to banquets or masques I was to talk to other people and not to\nRomeo. Papa and Mamma had nothing against my marrying Romeo, because\nMamma never liked the Capulets, although they are Papa\u2019s relations.\nThe result of this compromise, which was only arranged quite lately,\nwas quite disastrous. Romeo could not understand it at all. He thought\nit was my fault, and that I was growing tired of him. It was then\nthat he begged me to let our engagement be publicly announced. I did\nnot want the announcement to be made public until the winter, because\none never really has such fun once an engagement is known. However, I\nwould no doubt have given in in the end. As it was, Romeo was annoyed,\nand just before the Capulets\u2019 banquet we had a scene. I told him\nquite plainly that he had no business to treat me as if I belonged to\nhim. I had given him to understand, however, that I should be at the\nCapulets\u2019 banquet, and I fully expected him to come and to beg for a\nreconciliation.\n\nHe came to the banquet, and it so happened that Lady Capulet\u2019s\ndaughter, who was far too young for that kind of thing, was allowed\nto come down that night. A child of that age is of course allowed to\ndo anything, as it is supposed not to matter what they do. And as she\nhad been told that the one thing she was not to do was to speak to a\nMontague, out of sheer naughtiness and perverseness she went to Romeo\nand made the most outrageous advances to him. Romeo, out of _pique_\nand simply to annoy me, kept up the farce, and they say that he even\nclimbed over a wall that night, right into the house of the Capulets,\nand spoke to Juliet! All this time Juliet was betrothed to her cousin,\nthe County Paris, and it was arranged that their marriage was to take\nplace shortly.\n\nWhat exactly happened we none of us know, but it is quite certain that\nLady Capulet had found out what was going on, and having heard that\nRomeo had been climbing her garden wall and serenading Juliet under\nher very nose, she thought it would be an excellent opportunity to\nsettle the old family quarrel and reconcile the two families by an\nalliance. So she forced Romeo to _promise_ her he would marry Juliet,\nand some people say that the marriage ceremony was actually performed\nin secret, but this is _not true_, as I will tell you later. Of course,\nLady Capulet did not dare tell her husband; on the contrary, every\narrangement was made for Juliet\u2019s marriage with Paris; but the day\nbefore it was to come off a put-up quarrel was brought about between\nRomeo and one of the Capulets, which ended in Romeo\u2019s being banished to\nMantua. He wrote to me every day, saying how miserable he was that all\nthis tiresome business had happened, and how he was longing to see me\nagain, and how it was not his fault.\n\nLady Capulet then gave Juliet a strong sleeping draught, which was to\nhave the effect of making her like a corpse for forty-two hours. Every\none was to think she was dead. She was to be taken to the vault of the\nCapulets and Romeo was to fetch her after the forty-two hours were\nover, when she should come to from her sleep. This was Lady Capulet\u2019s\nplan, and Romeo of course could do nothing but accept it, much as he\nmust have hated this kind of thing. Romeo had many faults, but I must\nsay he was never deceitful. I did not know anything about it at the\ntime. All we knew was that, owing to a street brawl which had ended\nunfortunately, Romeo had been banished to Mantua. He wrote from there\nevery day. He said over and over again in his letters that he was in\ngreat difficulties, but that he hoped to be back soon and see me\nagain. I did not answer his letters because I was annoyed by the way in\nwhich he had spoken to Juliet at the ball. I had not then heard about\nthe incident of the orchard, otherwise I should have been angrier still.\n\nWhile things were in this state the whole matter took a tragic turn\nby the stupidity of Lady Capulet\u2019s nurse, who gave Juliet the wrong\nsleeping draught. Instead of giving her a potion which made her sleep\nfor forty-two hours, they gave her some very strong rat poison which\nhappened to be lying about. She drank it, poor thing, and never woke\nagain.\n\nRomeo came back from Mantua to meet Juliet at the vault, where he no\ndoubt intended to have a final explanation with her and her family, to\nexplain the whole thing: his engagement to me, and the impossibility of\nhis contracting any alliance with the Capulet family, especially as he\nhad very strong principles on this point. But when he got to the tomb\nhe found the County Paris, who was nominally engaged to Juliet, and of\ncourse extremely angry to find a Montague in such a place. They fought,\nand Paris killed Romeo, thus putting an end to all Lady Capulet\u2019s\nintrigues. But she was not to be defeated thus. She had already bribed\nan old Franciscan monk, called Friar Laurence, to say that he had\nsecretly _married_ Juliet and Romeo, and her nurse (a horrible old\nwoman) corroborated the friar\u2019s evidence. And so, with very much\nsolemnity and fuss, a reconciliation was brought about between the two\nfamilies, and they say that Benvolio, Montague\u2019s nephew, is to marry\nKatherine, Lady Capulet\u2019s niece by marriage, and thus the quarrel\nbetween the families has finally been settled and Lady Capulet has got\nher way.\n\nI don\u2019t mind the two families being reconciled in the least; in fact we\nare all very glad of it, as life in Verona was made quite intolerable\nby their constant brawling and quarrelling. But what I do think is\nunfair, and what is particularly irritating to _me_, is that everybody,\neven Papa and Mamma, take it for granted that Romeo was really in love\nwith Juliet, and had given up all thoughts of me. Nobody knows the\ntruth except me, and I cannot tell it without making myself appear\nconceited and ridiculous. You can imagine how irritating this is. Of\ncourse, when all this happened I was so overcome by the shock that I\nwas very ill and did not care what was said, one way or the other. Papa\nand Mamma had to take me to Venice for a few days, as I was in such\na state of nerves. Now, the change of air has done me good, and I am\nslowly getting better again. I am told that everybody believes that\nRomeo and Juliet were married by Friar Laurence. Of course, once such\na legend gets about nothing will ever make people think the contrary.\nBut even if they _were_ married it would not really affect me, for\nit was a sheer case of coercion. If Romeo did marry Juliet he did it\nbecause he could not help himself, after having been discovered in her\ngarden by that old cat Lady Capulet, who is a very, very wicked woman,\nand capable of anything. In fact I am not at all sure that she did not\npoison her daughter on purpose, and, so bring about the reconciliation\nbetween the two families without having all the trouble of facing and\ndefeating her husband\u2019s opposition to the match.\n\nWhen you next come to see me I will show you Romeo\u2019s letters.\nFortunately I have kept them all. They are very beautiful, and some of\nthem are in rime; and you will see for yourself whether he loved me or\nnot. I cannot read them without crying. You have no idea what lovely\nthings he says in them. For instance, one day he sent me a pair of\nsilk gloves, and with them, written on a small scroll:\n\n Oh that I were a glove upon thy hand,\n That I might touch thy cheek.\n\nHis letters were full of lovely things like that, and I cannot think of\nthem without crying.\n\n Your loving\n ROSALINE.\n\n\n\n\nA FIRST NIGHT\n\n\n_Letter from Jean-Antoine de Binet to a Friend in Paris, July 20, 1602_\n\nYesterday I went to the theatre to see a Tragedy played by the Lord\nChamberlain, his servants, called \u201cThe Revenge of Hamlet, Prince of\nDenmark.\u201d I was taken thither by Guasconi, who is attached to the\nItalian Ambassador, and who desired that I should not miss any of the\ncuriosities of the city. The play was new, and the theatre was crowded\nwith people, many of whom were of high rank, since noblemen in this\ncountry are fond of visiting the playhouse. They sit in places kept\nfor them on the stage, and encourage the players by applause, and they\nexpress their approval and their blame.\n\nThe play is written partly in a kind of verse, which is pleasing to\nthe ear and not without a certain happy fancy; but Guasconi told me\nthat the English, who have learnt our science and make sonnets and\nmadrigals after the pattern of our masters, do not consider this kind\nof writing to be either poetry or literature; but these rough and\nunpolished rhythms are used to tickle the popular ear and to please the\ntaste of the common people.\n\nThere were in the theatre many well-known faces. Sir Bacon was sitting\nin the front, but he went to sleep shortly after the beginning of\nthe play, and slept right until the end, none daring to disturb him.\nAt the end of the play his servants woke him up by shaking him. He\nis a busy man, and goes to the theatre for repose, liking well the\nmusic, the high screeching of the players, and the buzz of tongues,\nand finding them conducive to repose. In one of the boxes Guasconi\npointed me out the beautiful Countess of Nottingham, whom, he said,\nthe English consider to be one of their most beautiful countrywomen.\nShe has the marks of race, and was richly and elegantly dressed in\nblack and crimson colours. With her was a young nobleman whom I took\nto be her son, but Guasconi told me that this was not so. He was\nher second husband. One nobleman, the Earl of Essex, arrived in the\nmiddle of the performance, and talked loudly to his friends, paying\nbut little attention to the players. Since his father was beheaded\nnot long ago it was considered a lapse in taste on his part to visit\nthe theatre so soon. In the theatre were several well-known players\nfrom other theatres, who were much clapped by the populace when they\nentered. The crowd was good-humoured, and pleased with the show: but\nthey made a great noise, eating oranges and nuts, and throwing shells\nand peel right and left. There were also in the audience some men of\nletters, scholars and noblemen, whose fame as writers of verse is the\ntalk of the town. For instance, Lord Southampton, who has written over\na hundred sonnets; Sir Iger and the Countess of Pembrock, the author\nof \u201cThe Fall of Troy,\u201d which those who know say is the finest epic\nwhich has been written since the death of Virgil. There were also many\nstudents, who were tempestuous and unruly in the expression of their\nenjoyment, and among these many vagabond writers and ballad-mongers.\n\nThe show was not displeasing, being full of much excellent clowning\nand fine dresses. It is a tale of murder and revenge such as have\nbeen brought into the fashion by the Italian story-tellers. It is\nbrutal, and therefore suits the English taste, for Guasconi tells me\nthe English will not go to the playhouse unless they can see tales of\nbattle and murder with plenty of fighting on the stage, mixed with\ngrotesque episodes and rough horseplay. The players declaimed their\nwords nicely, and the utterance of the verse, especially that which\nwas spoken by the young boy who played the part of the mad heroine\nof the play, struck me as being not unmelodious poetry, but when I\nsaid this to the young literary noblemen with whom we supped after\nthe performance, they split their sides with laughter, and said how\nimpossible it was for a foreigner to judge the literature of a country\nwhich was not his own.\n\nThe author of the play, whose name I have forgotten, but which was\nsomething like John or James Shockper or Shicksperry, was himself, they\ntold me, one of the players, which proved that he could neither be a\nman of education nor capable of writing his own tongue. In the play,\nthey told me, he had played the part of the ghost. If this really be\nso, he cannot be a man of talent, for he spoke his lines so feebly and\nso haltingly that the vagabonds in the body of the theatre laughed and\ninterrupted him several times, shouting such things as \u201cSpeak louder!\u201d\nand \u201cGo back to your grave.\u201d The stage plays are, I was told, almost\nalways written by players, for they best know what suits the popular\ntaste, being of the populace and vagabonds themselves.\n\nThe scene which pleased the audience most was that of a fight in which\nthe players fought bravely, more after the Italian style than the\nFrench, and the audience was greatly delighted by the close of the\nplay, and laughed heartily when all the characters were killed and\nrolled about on the stage, the actor who played the King was especially\npopular; he had a jovial face, so that whenever he spoke, and sometimes\neven before he spoke, the audience laughed, heartily enjoying his comic\ntalent.\n\nThere is no intelligible story in the play, nor is it possible to\nfollow the sequence of events that happen on the stage; but it is\nrather the aim of the performance to present the public with a series\nof varied pictures, pleasant to the eye owing to the finery, the brave\ndresses, the glint of steel rapiers, the tinselled cloaks, and pleasing\nto the ear owing to the interludes of viol and hautboy playing.\n\nAt the end of the performance there was loud clapping, and the chief\nactor, who is famous in this country--so famous, indeed, that there is\ntalk of emancipating him from his position as a vagabond and making\nhim equal to a soldier of the Queen--was called on to the stage; nor\nwould the public let him depart until he had spoken to them, which\nhe did. He thanked them for their warm welcome, and for expressing\ntheir pleasure at the performance of the fine play which John or James\nShicksperry had written. He said he had felt sure that this play would\nnot disappoint them, and he intended before long to give them another\nof the same kind, in which there would be still more murders, still\nmore fighting, many more ghosts, and yet finer dresses. What the name\nof that play was, he said, was as yet a secret: who had written it was\na secret. Here the audience shouted out: \u201cWe all know who has written\nit, it is old John or James.\u201d (Now I come to think of it, I remember\nhis name was Bill or Billy or Ben.) Since they had guessed, he said, he\nwould not conceal it any longer: it _was_ Billy, and the play, which he\nknew they would enjoy, and in which there was plenty of clowning, was\ncalled \u201cKing Lear.\u201d\n\nThe audience was pleased at this, and cheered for several minutes. They\nshouted for the author, for old Ben, and went on shouting while people\nhurried backward and forward across the stage. The author did not come\nforward, and the shouting continued. At last the chief actor returned,\nand bowing to the audience, said that old Ben was no longer in the\nhouse: he had gone to the tavern. After this there was more cheering,\nand the actor, kissing his hand to the audience, left the stage.\n\nGuasconi took me to the Mermaid Tavern, a low place where the actors go\nafter such performances, and where some of the nobles and the learned\nrepair also, for the sake of change and to enjoy the spectacle. Here\nwe were obliged to drink a great deal of a hot and nauseous mixture\ncalled sack, which is made of good wines spoilt by the admixture of\nmuch sugar and spice. I hate these English mixtures; their sweetmeats\nare made of sugared cake mixed with meat, and with their meat they eat\nsugared fruits. You can imagine how nauseous is this system, and indeed\nit reminds me of their plays. Their plays are like their plum puddings,\nfull of great lumps of suet in which little sweet plums and currants\nare imbedded, but difficult to find. I said this to Guasconi, but he\ntold me I must not judge of the English either by their food or their\nplays, but that if I wished to judge of their literature I should read\nthe Sonnets of the Countess of Rutland, and he quoted one which begins:\n\n Shall I compare thee to a summer\u2019s day?\n\nMoreover, he said, the English were not a literary but a musical\nnation. Their music was unequalled in all Europe; it was the art (and\nthe only art) in which they excelled; witness the divine melodies\nof Orlando Gibbons, Morley, and Dowland, which, indeed, I had heard\nperformed at the Court, and had greatly enjoyed, for we have nothing\nlike it in France.\n\nThe author of the play, Ben Shicksperry, arrived at the Mermaid late,\nand a learned man who was there, and whose name they told me was\nWill Johnson, condescended not only to speak but to drink with him.\nThe players made a great noise, toasting each other, likewise the\nnoblemen, who spent the time in violent disputes on the merits and\ndemerits of this writer and that writer. After a time everybody began\nto talk of public affairs, of the policy of Spain, and of a party\nof English politicians whom they called pro-Spaniards: and they all\nagreed that these latter deserved to be immersed in a horse-trough,\nand so, late in the night, they set out to accomplish this unrefined\njoke. The English, in spite of their great culture, and their learning,\ntheir wonderful power of speaking foreign languages--for every one\nof the noblemen speaks perfectly not only Greek and Latin, but five\nor six other languages, and is well versed in astrology, music, and\nchess-playing--the English, I repeat, in spite of all this, have\nsomething barbarous at heart, which is awakened after they have\npartaken much of that nauseous potion called sack.\n\n\n\n\nTHE POET, THE PLAYER, AND THE LITERARY AGENT\n\n\n_Letter from Mr. Nichols, Literary Agent, to Lord Bacon_\n\nMy Lord,\n\nI have now submitted the plays which your lordship forwarded to me\nto seven publishers: Messrs. Butter, Mr. Blount, Mr. Thorpe, Mr.\nWaterson, Mr. Andrew Wise, Mr. Steevens, and Mr. G. Eld; and I very\nmuch regret to inform your lordship that I have not been able to\npersuade any of these publishers to make an offer for the publication\nof any of the plays, although Mr. Thorpe would be willing to print them\nat your lordship\u2019s expense, provided that they appeared under your\nlordship\u2019s name. The cost, however, would be very great. No one of\nthese publishers is willing to publish the plays anonymously, and they\nagree in saying that while the plays contain passages of exceptional\nmerit, there is, unfortunately, at the present moment no demand in\nthe market for the literary play. This form of literature is in fact\nat present a drug on the market; and they suggest that your lordship,\nwhose anonymity I have of course respected, should convert these plays\ninto essays, epics, masques, or any other form which is at present\npopular with the reading public. There is certainly very little chance\nat present of my being able to find a publisher for work of this\ndescription. Therefore I await your lordship\u2019s instructions before\nsending them to any other publishers.\n\nAt the same time I would suggest, should your lordship not consider\nsuch a course to be derogatory, that I should submit the plays in\nquestion to one or two of the best known theatrical managers with a\nview to performance. I would of course keep the authorship of the plays\na secret.\n\nAwaiting your lordship\u2019s commands in this matter,\n\n I am,\n Your lordship\u2019s most humble and\n obedient servant,\n J.\u00a0J. NICHOLS.\n\n\n_Letter from Mr. Nichols to Lord Bacon_\n\nMy Lord,\n\nI am in receipt of a communication from Mr. Fletcher, the chief of\nthe Lord Chamberlain\u2019s servants, now playing at the Globe Theatre.\nMr. Fletcher informs me that he has read the plays with considerable\ninterest. He considers that they are not only promising but contain\npassages of positive merit.\n\nMr. Fletcher, however, adds that your lordship is no doubt fully aware\nthat such plays are totally unsuited to the stage; indeed it would be\nimpossible to produce them for many reasons. With regard to the first\nbatch, namely, the Biblical series, the David and Saul trilogy, Joseph\nand Potiphar, and King Nebuchadnezzar, there could of course be no\nquestion of their production, however much they might be altered or\nadapted for the stage; for it would be impossible to obtain a licence,\nnot only on account of the religious subject matter, which of necessity\nmust prove shocking to the greater part of the audience, but also\nowing to the boldness of the treatment. Mr. Fletcher begs me to tell\nyour lordship that he is far from suggesting that your lordship has\nhandled these solemn themes in any but the most reverent manner; but\nat the same time he is anxious to point out that the public, being but\ninsufficiently educated, is likely to misunderstand your lordship\u2019s\nintentions, and to regard your lordship\u2019s imaginative realization of\nthese sacred figures as sacrilegious.\n\nWith regard to the second series, the tragedies, Mr. Fletcher states\nthat the play entitled \u201cHamlet\u201d might, if about three-quarters of the\nwhole play were omitted, be made fit for stage presentation, but even\nthen the matter would be extremely hazardous. Even if enough of the\nplay were left in order to render the story coherent, the performance\nwould still last several hours and be likely to try the patience of any\nbut a special audience. Such a play would doubtless appeal to a limited\nand cultivated public, but as your lordship is aware, the public which\nfrequents the Globe Theatre is neither chosen nor cultivated, and it is\ndoubtful whether a public of this kind would sit through a play many\nof the speeches in which are over a hundred lines long. Mr. Fletcher\nadds that a play of this kind is far more suited for the closet than\nfor the stage, and suggests that your lordship should publish it as\na historical chronicle. With regard to these tragedies Mr. Fletcher\nfurther points out that there are already in existence several plays on\nthe themes which your lordship has treated, which have not only been\nproduced but enjoyed considerable success.\n\nWith regard to the third series, the comedies, Mr. Fletcher states\nthat these plays, although not without considerable charm and while\ncontaining many passages of graceful and melodious writing, are far\nmore in the nature of lyrical poems than of plays. Mr. Fletcher adds\nthat if these were also considerably reduced in length and rendered\neven still more lyrical and accompanied by music, they might be\nperformed as masques or else in dumb show.\n\nFinally, Mr. Fletcher suggests, if the author of these plays is anxious\nthat they should be performed, that your lordship should send the plays\nto an experienced actor who should alter and arrange them for stage\npresentation. Mr. Fletcher suggests that should your lordship see your\nway to agree to this, he has in his company a player named William\nShakespeare who is admirably fitted for the undertaking, and who has\nalready had much experience in adapting and altering plays for the\nstage.\n\n I am,\n Your lordship\u2019s most obedient\n and humble servant,\n J.\u00a0J. NICHOLS.\n\n\n_Letter from Mr. Nichols to Lord Bacon_\n\nMy Lord,\n\nIn accordance with your lordship\u2019s instructions I submitted the plays\nto Mr. William Shakespeare. I am now in receipt of Mr. Shakespeare\u2019s\nfull report on the plays.\n\nMr. Shakespeare confirms Mr. Fletcher\u2019s opinion that the plays in their\npresent state are far too long for production. The religious series he\ndoes not discuss, as being by their nature precluded from performance.\nWith regard to the historical tragedies, \u201cEdward III,\u201d \u201cMary Tudor,\u201d\n\u201cLady Jane Grey,\u201d and \u201cKatherine Parr\u201d Mr. Shakespeare points out that\nnone of these plays would be passed by the Censor because they contain\nmany allusions which would be considered to touch too nearly, and give\npossible offence to, certain exalted personages.\n\nWith regard to the tragedies, Mr. Shakespeare is quite willing to\narrange \u201cHamlet, Prince of Denmark\u201d for the stage. More than half of\nthe play will have to be omitted: the whole of the first act, dealing\nwith Hamlet\u2019s student days at Wittenburg, Mr. Shakespeare considers to\nbe totally irrelevant to the subsequent action of the play, although\nthe long scene between the young prince and Dr. Faustus contains many\npassages which are not only poetical but dramatic. Mr. Shakespeare\nregrets to have to sacrifice these passages, but maintains that if\nthis act be allowed to stand as it is at present, the play would be\ncondemned to failure. Mr. Shakespeare is also anxious to cut out the\nwhole of the penultimate act, which deals entirely with Ophelia\u2019s love\naffair with Horatio. This act, though containing much that is subtle\nand original, would be likely, Mr. Shakespeare says, to confuse, and\npossibly to shock, the audience. As to the soliloquies, Mr. Shakespeare\nsays that it is impossible to get an audience at the present day to\nlisten to a soliloquy of one hundred lines. Mr. Shakespeare suggests\nthat if possible they should all be cut down to a quarter of their\npresent length.\n\nOut of the remaining plays, Mr. Shakespeare selects the following\nas being fit for the stage: \u201cMacbeth,\u201d \u201cRomeo and Juliet,\u201d\n\u201cMephistopheles,\u201d \u201cParis and Helen,\u201d \u201cAlexander the Great,\u201d and \u201cTitus\nAndronicus.\u201d Of all these Mr. Shakespeare says that by far the finest\nfrom a stage point of view is the last. It is true that the action of\nthis play is at present a little slow and lacking in incident, but Mr.\nShakespeare says that he sees a way, by a few trifling additions, of\nincreasing its vitality; and he is certain that, should this play be\nwell produced and competently played, it would prove successful. The\ntragedy of \u201cMacbeth\u201d might also be adapted to the popular taste, but\nhere again Mr. Shakespeare says the play is at least four times too\nlong.\n\nI would be glad if your lordship would inform me what reply I am to\nmake to Mr. Shakespeare.\n\n I am,\n Your lordship\u2019s obedient and humble\n servant,\n J.\u00a0J. NICHOLS.\n\n\n_Letter from Lord Bacon to Mr. Nichols_\n\nSir,\n\nI am quite willing that Mr. Shakespeare should try his hand on\n\u201cHamlet,\u201d \u201cMacbeth,\u201d \u201cRomeo and Juliet,\u201d and \u201cTitus Andronicus,\u201d but I\ncannot consent to let him shorten my \u201cMephistopheles,\u201d my \u201cAlexander\nthe Great,\u201d or my \u201cParis and Helen.\u201d I should of course wish to see a\nprinted copy of the play as arranged by Mr. Shakespeare before it is\nproduced.\n\n I am,\n Your obedient servant,\n BACON.\n\n\n_Letter from Lord Bacon to Mr. Nichols_\n\nSir,\n\nI received the printed copies of my four plays as arranged by Mr.\nShakespeare. I would be much obliged if you would communicate to him\nthe following instructions: (1) \u201cHamlet\u201d may stand as it is. The whole\nnature of the play is altered, and the chief character is at present\nquite unintelligible, but if Mr. Shakespeare thinks that in its present\nform it will please an audience, he is at liberty to produce it, as\nit is not a piece of work for which I have any special regard, and\nit was written more as an exercise than anything else. (2) I cannot\nallow \u201cRomeo and Juliet\u201d to appear with the changed ending made by Mr.\nShakespeare. Mr. Shakespeare is perhaps right in thinking that his\nversion of the play, ending as it does with the marriage of Juliet and\nParis and the reconciliation of Romeo and Rosaline, is more subtle and\ntrue to life, but in this matter I regard my knowledge of the public\nas being more sound than that of Mr. Shakespeare. As a member of the\npublic myself, I am convinced that the public is sentimental, and\nwould be better pleased by the more tragic and romantic ending which I\noriginally wrote. (3) With regard to Mr. Shakespeare\u2019s suggestion that\nin \u201cMacbeth\u201d the sleep-walking scene should fall to Macbeth, instead of\nto Lady Macbeth, I will not hear of any such change. (Confidential: The\nreason of my refusal is that this change seems to me merely dictated\nby the vanity of the actor, and his desire that the man\u2019s part may\npredominate over the woman\u2019s.) (4) \u201cTitus Andronicus.\u201d I have no\nobjection to Mr. Shakespeare\u2019s alterations.\n\n Your obedient servant,\n BACON.\n\n\n_Letter from Lord Bacon to Mr. Nichols_\n\nSir,\n\nI was present last night at the Globe Theatre at the performance of my\nplay \u201cMacbeth,\u201d as produced by Mr. Shakespeare. I confess that I was\nmuch disgusted by the liberties which Mr. Shakespeare has taken with\nmy work, which I am certain far exceed the changes and alterations\nwhich were originally presented to me, and which I myself revised and\napproved. For instance, Mr. Shakespeare has made a great many more\nomissions than he originally suggested. And at the end of many of the\nscenes he has introduced many totally unwarranted tags, such as, for\ninstance:\n\n I\u2019ll see it done.\n What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won.\n\nAnd, worst of all:\n\n It is concluded:--Banquo, thy soul\u2019s flight,\n If it find Heaven, must find it out to-night.\n\nThe whole play is riddled with such additions, not to speak of several\nincidents of an altogether barbarous and outrageous character, and\nof certain other interpolations of coarse buffoonery, inserted in\nthe most serious parts of the play to raise a laugh among the more\nignorant portions of the rabble. Of course I cannot now withdraw them\nfrom the stage without risking the discovery of their authorship. Mr.\nShakespeare is at liberty to produce and perform in any of the plays\nwritten by me which are now in his possession, provided that they\nappear under his name, and that the authorship is attributed to him.\n\n Your obedient servant,\n BACON.\n\n\n\n\nBATH, 1663\n\n\n_Letter from a Frenchman to a Friend in Paris_\n\n BATH, _August 20, 1663_.\n\nWe arrived here with the Court last week, the physician having decided\nthat the hot waters of this far-off and desolate spot would prove more\nbeneficial to the Queen\u2019s health than the cold waters of beautiful\nTunbridge Wells. Bath has not the sunny elegance of the latter place,\nbut the Court are doing their best to enliven this otherwise dreary\nspot. One of their chief occupations is to play at bowls, but you must\nnot think that this game is confined, as in France, to artisans and\nlackeys. On the contrary, it is here a game of gentlefolk, and there\nis both skill in it and a certain art, and the places where these\ngames are played are singularly charming and elegant. They are called\n\u201cboulingrins.\u201d They consist of small meadows, of which the grass is\nas smooth as a billiard table. As soon as the heat of the day is\nover everybody meets here, and many heavy wagers are made. I confess\nthat I have lost considerable sums at this sport, but have been more\nsuccessful at cock-fighting.\n\nThere is dancing every night at the King\u2019s. Often a comedy is played,\nwhich is followed by a supper. As for music, it never ceases. The\nEnglish are above all things a musical nation; their skill both in the\nart of singing and dancing far excelling that of our courtiers. For\ninstance, the Chevalier de Grammont, who is reckoned one of our most\naccomplished dancers, is not sufficiently skilful to take part in the\nRoyal dance.\n\nThe fashionable instrument is now the guitar, which was introduced\nhere by an Italian, whose compositions so pleased the King that\neverybody became mad about this instrument, so that you see no one at\nthe Court who does not play the guitar, whether or no they possess a\ntalent for so doing. Some, such as the Earl of Arran, play as well\nas the Italian himself. Others extract but futile discord from this\ndifficult instrument. It is a curious thing that the English, who have\nobtained an unexampled liberty in political matters, show themselves\ncuriously slavish and lacking in initiative and independence in\nmatters of thought, pleasure, and recreation. Their political liberty\nis extraordinary; for instance, in their Parliament the members are\nnot only allowed to speak their minds freely, but also to do a number\nof astonishing things, such as call the most important members of\nthe State to the Bar! The Earl of Bristol remained free in the town\nafter he had accused the Lord Chancellor of high treason! And even the\npopulace considers that it has the right to speak of public affairs.\n\nNot long ago, at the Stock Exchange, I heard a political speech quoted\non every side, and even the boatmen in the barges discuss matters\nof State with the noble Lords whom they convey to the Houses of\nParliament. On the other hand, in matters of pleasure and pastime the\nEnglish are slaves of convention; everybody wishes to do what every\none else is doing. The matter of the guitar-playing is an instance of\nthis. As soon as some high personage makes a sport, an occupation, or a\nmanner of dress fashionable, the crowd follow in abject obedience and\nperfect uniformity like sheep.\n\nIndeed, we not long ago had a narrow escape from having a peculiarly\ntedious occupation forced upon us: the Duke of York fell in love\nwith a Scotch game called _goff_, which is played, so they say, in\nthe more sterile regions of the extreme north of Scotland, where the\ninhabitants still feed on oats and wear scarcely any clothes. This game\nconsists in hitting a hard ball about the size of a turkey\u2019s egg into\nthe dense heath with a kind of stick. Several hours are then spent in\nlooking for the ball, and when, after much difficulty and discomfort,\nit has been found, the player immediately hits it as hard as he can\ninto the distance and resumes the laborious search. This game would no\ndoubt have become the fashion had not the King, who has a horror of\nintroducing an element of seriousness into pastimes which are designed\nexclusively for recreation, remarked that such a game was fit only for\nvery small children or for men who were so old that they had reached\ntheir second childhood. After that we heard no more of this intolerable\nsport.\n\nAgain, Prince Rupert, who is distinguished by his studious habits,\nhis love of chemistry and mathematics and his awkward manners,\nattempted to introduce a game of cards called \u201cTrump\u201d or \u201cWhist.\u201d\nThe most notable feature of this game is that it must be played in\ncomplete silence. It is not surprising, therefore, that it failed to\nfind favour at Court, for the English love conversation above all\nthings, and excel in repartee, apt quotation, and madrigal-making.\nBut it is curious that although the Court is highly cultivated, and\nalthough the courtiers speak elegantly both in English and Latin, and\nmake verses and madrigals in these languages, there appears at the\npresent time to be no English literature at all. Our Ambassador tells\nme that among learned circles in London, although there are certain\nphilosophers of merit, such as Hobbes, there remain but few traces of\nthe art of letters for which England was once famous. The only writers\nwhose memory still subsists to a certain degree are Bacon, Morus,\nBuchanan, and in the last century a certain Miltonius who acquired\nan evil notoriety by his scurrilous and seditious pamphlets. Letters\nhave deserted England and given way to music and painting. The art\nof madrigal-making, which is cultivated at Court with assiduity and\nexquisite skill, belongs, of course, to music.\n\nWhat has struck me most since I have been here is the beauty of the\nEnglish women; they are all being painted at this moment by a painter\ncalled Lely; he is an accomplished artist, but he does not succeed in\nrendering the personality of the people he paints, and his pictures are\nall alike. Most of these ladies speak French not only with correctness\nbut with elegance; some of them, such as Miss Stewart, for instance,\nspeak French better than their own language. Others, on the other\nhand, are so unfamiliar with our manners and customs that they seem to\nimagine that a Frenchman must necessarily be half-witted, and address\nhim in a kind of broken language such as nurses and mothers use to\ntheir babies.\n\nLady Hyde is remarkable, even in England, for her grace and her wit.\nHer hands are delicate and her feet astonishing. She is surrounded by\nthe wits of the Court, and one evening after supper she organized a\nkind of tournament of wit. It was thus: we all sat round the gaming\ntable, but instead of playing we had set before us counters made of\nmother-of-pearl, on each one of which a letter of the alphabet was\nworked in gold. These were placed face downwards and turned up in turn;\neach player who turned up a letter was obliged to compose a line of\na sonnet beginning with the letter in question. The game would have\nproved highly successful had not Lord Rochester caused some annoyance\nby ending the sonnet, which had up till then been delicate and tender,\nwith an unexpectedly crude and uncourtly expression, which, while\nit tickled the mirth of some of the company, offended our sensitive\nhostess.\n\nMiss Stewart is childish and frivolous. She laughs at everything and\neverybody. She has a passion for those games which are usually played\nonly by children of twelve and thirteen; such as, for instance, Blind\nMan\u2019s Buff, and even when at cards the play is at its highest, she\nbuilds houses and castles with the cards, and forces everybody to join\nin the pastime. She is encouraged in her gaiety and her frivolity by\nthe Duke of Buckingham, who sings agreeably, and has a wonderful talent\nfor mimicking, not without a certain spice of malice, the voices and\nthe tricks of his friends.\n\nPlay is everywhere high, and at every \u201cboulingrin\u201d there is a pavilion\nwhere refreshments are sold--liquors such as cyder, hydromel, sparkling\nale, and Spanish wine. There is a race of men called \u201cRooks\u201d who meet\ntogether to smoke and to drink. They are what we should call grooms in\nFrance, and they always have about them enough money to lend to those\nwho have lost at play; they are themselves so skilful at games of\nhazard, especially at one particular game which is played with three\ncards, that no one who plays with them wins. The Chevalier de Grammont\nonce tried his luck with them at dice, and, strange to say, the first\ntime he played he won. They begged him to continue the game. This he\nrefused to do, in spite of the many well-turned compliments they paid\nto his prowess.\n\nThe English are somewhat concerned at this moment at the state of\ntheir Navy, which they say leaves much to be desired. There are many\npoliticians who are in favour of building an increased number of ships,\nbut it appears that this cannot be done without grievously taxing\nthe rich, who are already overtaxed. The Duke of Buckingham told me\nyesterday that if the taxes were to be in any way increased he would be\nobliged to dismiss his gardener and his Groom of the Chambers. Besides\nwhich, he assured me that this agitation in favour of an increased Navy\nwas entirely due to a foolish fear of the Dutch, a fear which he said\nwas utterly groundless, for it was inconceivable that the Dutch could\nwish to invade England; moreover, if they did so they would be defeated\nby the English Navy, such as it was.\n\n\n\n\nPETER THE GREAT\n\n\n_Letter from an English Architect_\n\n ST. PETERSBURG, _July, 1715_.\n\nDear Sir,\n\nAlthough it is almost six weeks ago that I arrived at St. Petersburg,\nI have not until this moment had leisure to write you my impressions.\nAnd now before I impart these to you I must advert to a conversation\nwhich I had in Berlin with X----, who, as you know, spent many years in\nRussia, before the accession of the present Czar, and who is an eminent\nRussian scholar. He assured me that in entering the Russian service at\nthe present moment I was doing a foolish and perilous thing. Russia, he\nsaid, was on the eve of a grave crisis, which might very probably lead\nto the dismemberment of the nation. This was owing to the character\nof the present Sovereign. The Czar was inspired with inordinate\nambition and blind obstinacy; he was, moreover, pursued by a demon\nof restlessness, and a desire to change and reform everything that\nwas old. This love of improvement was no doubt in itself a laudable\nambition; yet in view of the peculiar circumstances of the case, the\nignorance of the great mass of Russians, the fundamental conservatism\nof the educated class, the deficiency and the inadequacy of all\nnecessary material and instruments, the designs of the Czar were akin\nto madness.\n\nHe was attempting to make bricks without straw, and this could only\nhave one result--the disruption of the kingdom of Russia and the\nconsequent rise of a large and powerful Poland. Poland would once again\nreduce Russia to servitude, and all civilized Europe would once more be\nrevolted by the spectacle of civil and religious tyranny. Moreover, a\npowerful Poland was, as far as all European countries were concerned,\nfar less to be desired than a powerful Russia. I will comment on these\nremarks in due time. At present I must resume my narrative.\n\nOn arriving at St. Petersburg I went straight to the Summer Palace. I\nwas told that the Czar had gone to Cronstot. He had left orders that\nI was to follow him thither as soon as I arrived, in a snow which was\nwaiting to convey the Dutch Minister. It was a fine, sultry day when\nwe started from St. Petersburg. I was much impressed by the sight of\nthe city, which possesses already many thousands of houses and some\nfine churches and palaces. We started with a fair wind, but soon a\nstorm arose, and our condition was the more perilous owing to the\nlack of experience of the captain and the mate. The Dutch Minister\nwas prostrate with sea-sickness, and upon his asking whether there\nwas any chance of escape--and he seemed, such were his pains, to hope\nfor a negative answer--the captain, who was facing the emergency by\ndoing nothing at all, kept on repeating in a soothing voice the word\n_Nichevo_ (which means \u201call is well\u201d) \u201cwe shall arrive.\u201d All seemed\nto be very far from well. The mate, when consulted, folded his hands\ntogether and said _Bog Znaet_, which means \u201cGod knows.\u201d At last, after\ntwo days and three nights, which we spent without fire or provisions,\nwe arrived at Cronstot. We were forthwith bidden to the Czar\u2019s\npleasure-house, Peterhof, on the coast of Ingria, whither a fair wind\ntook us without further mishap.\n\nWe were at once taken into the Czar\u2019s presence. Anything less like the\nstate and formal etiquette of Paris, Berlin, or Madrid, it would be\ndifficult to imagine. To speak of the simplicity of the Czar would\nbe to understate my meaning. He seemed to be divested not only of the\nformality of sovereigns, but of the ordinary convention and reserve\nwhich unwittingly hang over every human being like a cloak. He greeted\nus as if he had known us all his life, and as if he were continuing a\nconversation but lately interrupted. His dress--which was dark, plain,\nand sober--his demeanour, his manner, were not only free from all trace\nof pomp but would have struck one as simple in a common sailor. And yet\nthe overwhelming mastery and intelligence and power of the man were\ninstantly apparent in the swiftness of his look and the stamp of his\ncountenance. It was clear from the first moment that he was a man who\nwent straight to the point and had the knack of eliminating and casting\naside the unessential and the superfluous with the quick decision with\nwhich a skilful gardener removes dead flowers from a tree with his\ngarden knife.\n\nThis was evident when speaking of the concern he had felt for us owing\nto the storm. The Dutch Minister launched out into a diffuse narrative.\nThe Czar at once seized on the essential fact that the skipper was\nincapable and deftly changed the subject, keeping the garrulous\nMinister charmed all the while. He welcomed me to Russia and said that\nhe had been awaiting my arrival with impatience, as he had much work\nfor me to do. \u201cBut we will talk of that later,\u201d he said, \u201cat present\nyou must be hungry.\u201d\n\nWe then followed him into another room, where we were presented to the\nCzarina. The Czarina, who is of humble origin, has that peculiar grace,\nthat intangible beauty and charm, which baffle verbal description\nand cause the painter to burn his canvas. She is the embodiment of\nspontaneous and untaught refinement, and her manner, like that art\nwhich consists in concealing all art, proceeds from the certain\ninstinct which bids her make the right gestures and say the right word\nwithout either effort or forethought.\n\nWe proceeded to dinner, which was served punctually at noon. The first\ncourse consisted of many cold meats, followed by a second hot course,\nand then by a third course of fruits. During dinner we were all of\nus plied with Tockay wine. His Majesty himself partook of it freely\nbut forebore drinking too much; but we by the end of the meal could\nscarcely stand, and the Dutch Minister was obliged nevertheless to\nempty a bowl holding a full quart of brandy which he received at the\nCzarina\u2019s hand. The result was he rolled under the table, and was\ncarried away by two men to a quiet place where he could sleep.\n\nThe Czar laughed and talked without ceasing, and asked many pertinent\nquestions concerning England and Scotland, and was thoroughly posted\nin all the latest news. Talking of the Stuarts, he said they would\nnever return, because, apart from their talent for mismanagement, the\nEnglish people did not feel strongly enough on the subject to make a\nrising in their favour, however popular such a restoration would be if\nit could be effected by a _Deus ex machina_. The Stuarts, he said, had\nalways had the people on their side and the oligarchy against them. He\nblamed the English people with regard to Ireland, saying the English\nhad neither annihilated the Irish nor made them happy. He compared this\nto the action of the Poles in Russia in the past, and pointed to the\nresult.\n\nAfter dinner I retired to sleep, but at four o\u2019clock we were awakened\nand brought back to the Czar\u2019s presence. He gave us each a hatchet and\norders to follow him. He led us into a wood of young trees, where he\nmarked a walk of a hundred yards to be cut to the seashore. He fell to\nwork, and we (there were seven of us) followed; (the Dutch Minister\nfound such a work in his half-dazed condition hard) and in three hours\u2019\ntime the path was cut. At supper, to which we were bidden, more Tockay\nwas consumed, and the Czar joked with the Dutch Minister about the\nviolent exercise he had caused him to take. We retired early, but about\neight the next morning, I was bidden to Court to partake of breakfast,\nwhich consisted, instead of coffee or tea, of large cups of brandy and\npickled cucumbers.\n\nAfter dinner we were taken on board the Czar\u2019s vessel. The Czarina and\nher ladies sought the cabin, but the Czar remained with us in the open\nair, laughing and joking. A strong wind was blowing, which in two hours\nbecame a gale, and the Czar himself took the helm and showed the utmost\nskill in working a ship as well as huge strength of body. After being\ntossed about for seven hours we at last reached the port of Cronstot,\nwhere the Czar left us with the words: \u201cGood night, gentlemen. I fear I\nhave carried the jest too far.\u201d\n\nThe next day I returned to St. Petersburg, and was lodged in the Summer\nPalace so as to be near the Czar. The Czar sent for me early in the\nmorning, and discoursed for two hours on various buildings he wished\nme to design. He went into every detail, and soon showed me that he was\nas skilled an architect as he was a sailor. He also talked on various\nother subjects, including theology, mechanics, music, painting, the\nEnglish Navy, and the German Army. England, he said, was his model as\nfar as the Navy was concerned, Germany for the Army, and France for\narchitecture. At the same time he was not disposed slavishly to follow\nany particular models, and force on his people those details of any\nsystem which might not be in concord with the genius of the Russian\ncharacter. It is undeniable that the Germans have far the best system\nof military discipline, he said, but it would be quite impossible to\nget Russian soldiers to act with the mathematical precision of the\nPrussians.\n\n\u201cI adopt the system as far as I can, and adapt it to my material. That\nis why I get as many Scotch officers as I can, and English architects,\nbecause it is difficult to make a Frenchman understand that Russia\nisn\u2019t France, and that a Russian workman must work in his own way.\u201d\n\nI had not been in St. Petersburg long before I realized that X----\u2019s\nforebodings are baseless. He is right in saying that the Czar is\nambitious. He is right in saying that he is actuated by restlessness,\nif by restlessness he means a ceaseless and indefatigable energy. He is\nright in saying that the Czar\u2019s materials are bad and scanty and that\nthe Czar thus had to make bricks without straw. He is right in saying\nthat the Russians are fundamentally conservative and regard all reforms\nwith distrust.\n\nBut what he has not realized is this, that a man of genius can make\nbricks without straw. The Czar has proved it. He has built St.\nPetersburg on a marsh. He has built a fleet and organized an army. He\nhas made palaces, schools, academies, factories, and dockyards, and he\nhas inspired others with his fever for work. Like all great workers he\nnever gives one an impression of hurry. He seems always to have leisure\nto see whom he wants, to have his say out, and to indulge in recreation\nwhen he feels so inclined. He rises every morning at four o\u2019clock. From\neleven to twelve he receives petitions from all ranks of his subjects,\nwho have access to him during that hour. He dines at twelve o\u2019clock.\nAt one he sleeps for an hour; the afternoon and evening he spends in\ndiversions, and at ten he goes to bed.\n\nHe seems to delight in finding out a project which appears to be\nimpossible, and in achieving it forthwith. No scheme is too large for\nhim to devise, and no detail of it too small for him to attend to. He\nhas the gift of discovering any useful scrap of knowledge either in\nmen or books. At his balls and entertainments, which he now gives at\nthe Summer Palace or, on extraordinary occasions, at the Senate House,\nall degrees of persons are invited. Different tables are arranged in\nseparate rooms for the clergy, the officers of the Army, those of\nthe Navy, the merchants, the ship-builders, the foreign skippers.\nAfter dinner the Czar goes from room to room and talks to everybody,\nespecially with the masters of foreign trading vessels. The Dutch and\nEnglish skippers treat him with familiarity, and call him by no other\nname than Skipper Peter, which delights him, and the whole time he\nmarks down any points which interest him in a note-book.\n\nIn conversing with these men, various in rank and condition, he never\nappears to be courting popularity or to be ingeniously fencing with\nsubjects of which he is ignorant. On the contrary, he makes it manifest\nthat he is talking on a subject because it interests him and because he\nis thoroughly acquainted with it. And any man who is an expert at any\ntrade or profession cannot converse with him for a few moments without\nrealizing that he knows what he is talking about and that his knowledge\nis the result of practical experience. He has a hatred of baseless\ntheory, a contempt for convention, and an insatiable passion for fact\nand reality. He has no respect for inherited rank or for the glory of\nlineage; merit is to him the only rank. He will at a moment\u2019s notice,\nshould he think it necessary, degrade a nobleman into a peasant or make\na pastry-cook into a Minister. Indeed he has done this in the case of\nPrince Menzikoff.\n\nIt is useless to pretend that he is as popular with the Russian people\nas he is with foreigners. Many of the ignorant peasantry regard him\nas the Antichrist, and they worship his utterly worthless son, the\nCzarevitch, because they consider that he respects and embodies\ntheir ancient customs. In spite of this there is no danger that\nwhat the Czar has accomplished will be overturned in the immediate\nfuture. He has done something which cannot be undone, like putting\nsalt into a pudding. Moreover, his genius and his versatility, his\nextraordinarily varied talents, are based on a soundness of judgement,\na level-headedness and a sanity of instinct which, while they lead him\nto do things which are seemingly impossible, justify him, in that\nsuccess is achieved, and prevent him from undertaking what, owing\neither to the backwardness of the population or the temper of popular\nfeeling, would in reality and of necessity end in failure. He knows\nexactly where to draw the line. In a speech he made to the Senate some\ntime ago he said that the ancient seat of all sciences was Greece,\nwhence they were expelled and dispersed over Europe and hindered from\npenetrating further than into Poland. The transmigration of sciences\nwas like the circulation of the blood, and he prognosticated that\nthey would some time or other quit their abode in Western Europe and\nsettle for some centuries in Russia, and afterwards perhaps return to\ntheir original home in Greece. In the meantime he recommended to their\npractice the Latin saying _ora et labora_.\n\nNow what the Czar has already achieved is that he has made such a\ncirculation possible. He has broken down the barrier which was between\nRussia and Western Europe, and let in to the great veins of his country\na new drop of blood which nothing can either expel or destroy.\n\n\n\n\n\u201cHAMLET\u201d AND DR. DODD\n\n\n_Letter from a Frenchman, translated from the French_\n\n LONDON, _June 28, 1777_.\n\nSir,\n\nIt is now three days since I arrived in London. I am still bewildered\nby the noise of the carriages and overwhelmed by an admiration which\nany foreigner must feel when for the first time he beholds the streets,\nthe lanterns, and the pavements of London. Nothing could be better than\nthese three things. The streets are wide; the manner in which they are\nlit up at night, and the commodity of the ways made for foot-passengers\nso that they may be safe from vehicles in the most dangerous\nthoroughfares are astonishing. There is nothing to compare with it\nin Europe. It is only in London that such thoroughfares and such\nsuperb nightly illumination are to be found, and where so careful an\nattention is paid to the safety of the public. And all this decoration,\nand indeed half of the city, are not more than twenty years old!\n\nI have already become an adopted Englishman. I drink my tea twice a\nday, I eat my \u201ctostes\u201d well buttered. I read my Gazette scrupulously\nevery morning and every evening. I have been waiting with impatience\nfor one of those plays to be performed which have obtained universal\napplause, such as those, for instance, of the \u201cdivine\u201d Shakespeare.\nI have at last been rewarded. Yesterday I read on the playbill\n(_affiche_), \u201cHamlet, Prince of Denmark.\u201d So I said to my sister, who\nis with me, \u201cWe must go and see \u2018Hamlet.\u2019\u201d We set out, therefore, for\nCovent Garden.\n\nWe had intended to take tickets for the boxes, but there were none\nleft. We tried to get into the first gallery (our _premi\u00e8res loges_),\nbut there were no seats to be had there. I proposed then that we should\ntry the upper gallery, but we were advised not to. There remained the\npit. This was also full. I remained standing, and my sister obtained\nhalf a seat at the end of a crowded bench. It was all most brilliant.\nThe house, which is square and partly gray and partly gilded, without\nharmony of ornament or design, is not imposing in itself. But the\ncrowd of spectators, the quantity of lights, the rapt attention of the\ncoloured crowd, make a striking _ensemble_.\n\nNo sooner had we seated ourselves than to my extreme astonishment\nsomething fell on to my sister\u2019s hat. It turned out to be a piece of\norange peel. Here I must mention that an essential part of a lady\u2019s\n_coiffure_ in London is a flat round hat, which is a most ingenious\ndevice of coquetry. It heightens beauty and diminishes ugliness; it\nconfers grace and play to the features. It is impossible to tell\nyou all the varied effects an Englishwoman can derive from her hat.\nCuriously enough, the hat is not worn on State occasions, and neither\nat Court nor at assemblies, nor even in the _premi\u00e8res loges_ of\nthe theatre, and its place is taken by French feathers. I was just\nwondering whence the piece of orange peel had proceeded when I saw a\nman come from behind the scenes with a large broom in his hand. Knowing\nthat Shakespeare makes use of everything that pertains to human life,\nI thought that \u201cHamlet\u201d was going to begin by a sweeping scene. I was\nmistaken. It was only a servant who was cleaning the front of the\nstage, which I now noticed was covered with the remains of the feast of\noranges and apples which was taking place in the upper gallery, and of\nwhich my sister had received a small sample on her hat.\n\nAt last the play began. Not having the good fortune to understand the\nEnglish language, I could not follow one word of the dialogue. But I am\ntold that the play gains rather than loses by being translated, though\nour Anglomaniacs say it is untranslatable. But I have now read the\nplay in M. Letourneur\u2019s translation. The play is sheer madness--nay,\nmore, it is the wildest and most extravagant thing that a madman could\ndevise in a fit of delirium. Towards the end of the play only six\ncharacters remain alive, and they all die a violent death. The King and\nthe Queen are poisoned on the stage. Hamlet, after having assassinated\nthe Lord Chamberlain and his son, dies himself of a poisoned wound. His\nlady-love throws herself out of the window and is drowned; the Ghost,\nwho enlivens this farrago of horrors, was poisoned himself (in the ear).\n\nLest the spectators should be overcome by so many murders, the \u201cdivine\u201d\nShakespeare has given them moments of relief in the person of the Lord\nChamberlain, who is a coarse buffoon, and the conversation of the\ngrave-diggers, who, while they crack their insipid jests, dig a real\ngrave, throw real black earth on to the stage, of the same colour\nand substance as that which is found in churchyards, full of real\nbones and real skulls. In order to give an effect of reality, there\nare some large skulls and some small ones. Hamlet recognizes one as\nhaving belonged to a clown whom he knew. He seems to caress it, and\nto moralize over it. And these horrors, and the still more disgusting\npleasantry, seemed vastly to please the upper gallery, the pit, and\neven the boxes. The people who were near me and behind me stood up on\ntheir seats and craned forward to look, and one man, in order to see\nbetter, lifted himself up by pulling my hair.\n\nWhat strikes me most in thinking of this performance is the contrast\nthat exists in England between the mildness and the leniency of the\nEnglish customs and legislation in criminal matters, and the barbarity\nand savagery of the entertainments in their playhouses. On the same\nmorning that \u201cHamlet\u201d was performed, the execution of Dr. Dodd was\ncarried out at Tyburn. Doctor Dodd was a minister of the Church, highly\nrespected for his eloquence. He had been _Aumonier_ to the King, and\ncherished the ambition of becoming a bishop. With this object, he had\ncaused his wife to offer the sum of a thousand guineas to the wife of\na Minister. The transaction was discovered and Dr. Dodd was dismissed\nfrom his post, but still retained a living. He had been the tutor of a\nson of a man who is well known here, Lord Chesterfield, and in the name\nof the young lord he signed a bond of four thousand guineas. This was\nalso discovered, and it constitutes what they here call the crime of\nforgery, for which Dr. Dodd was condemned to death. In spite of many\npetitions the sentence was carried out yesterday, June 27. I assisted\nat the execution. A stranger accustomed to the terror-inspiring\nmachinery, to the noise and fuss with which, in the rest of Europe, the\ndecrees of justice are executed, and which are designed to serve as a\nterrible example, would be astonished at the manner in which it is done\nhere. Here there are no soldiers, no representatives of the army, no\noutward signs of ferocity, no preliminary torture. Here that humanity,\nwhich the law seems to forget from the moment the judge has uttered the\nword guilty--by letting a long delay elapse between the pronouncement\nof the sentence and the execution--reappears as soon as the prison\nopens its doors and delivers the prisoner to the sheriffs, who are\ncharged with carrying out the sentence. The sheriffs are not military\nmen; they have no mercenaries under them, but merely a certain number\nof constables, ordinary _bourgeois_, whose only uniform consists in a\nlong stick painted and partially gilded.\n\nThe victim, bound, without constraint, by the cord which is to hang\nhim, is seated on a cart draped in black, or he may obtain leave to use\na carriage, and this is what was done yesterday. The carriage passed\nslowly up Oxford Street, one of the longest and broadest streets of\nLondon. The prisoner had no escort, save a small number of constables\non foot, and some sheriffs on horseback. He is condemned by the law, it\nis the law which leads him to death. The officers show no signs, either\nof threatening or fear, lest the people should oppose themselves to a\nseverity which has their safety for object.\n\nThe immense crowd which fills the streets, especially in a case like\nthis one, which has been so much talked about, maintains a respectful\nsilence. When they arrived at Tyburn Dr. Dodd left his carriage and\nmounted on a cart which stopped under the horizontal beam of the\ngallows. The executioner then appeared, untied the rope, and attached\nit to the transverse beam. The victim conversed with a minister of\nthe Church, who recalled his crime, and spoke of the necessity of\nexpiation. After a short pause, the executioner covered the victim\u2019s\nhead with a handkerchief, which he drew down to his chin. The first\nsheriff made a sign; the executioner touched the horse, the cart\nwent on, and the work of execution was thus almost imperceptibly\naccomplished. After the body has remained hanging for an hour it is\ncut down and restored to the relatives of the deceased. He is then no\nlonger a culprit, but a citizen who regains the rights he had forfeited\nby crime. His memory is not held in obloquy; for instance, the brother\nof Dr. Dodd succeeded to his living on the recommendation of Lord\nChesterfield.\n\nNow to return to the playhouse and \u201cHamlet.\u201d How is it that a people\nwhich abhors bloodshed in general, which fears murder, to whom poison\nand assassination are unknown, and which carries regard even towards\nthe criminal to the extent I have described, can take pleasure in\ntheatrical spectacles as barbarous and revolting as their own? The\nexecutions at London seem but games. The tragedies of the playhouse,\non the other hand, are butcheries, causing even such spectators as are\nfamiliar with bloodshed to shudder.\n\nIt is only fair to say that those Englishmen who have read and\ntravelled are slightly embarrassed when a foreigner, who has heard the\nextravagant praises paid to the \u201cdivine\u201d Shakespeare, comes to London\nto see for himself the works of this genius. They tell us that the\npopulace are the lords of the English stage, and that they must needs\nbe pleased. It is their depraved taste, we are told, which maintains\nthese spectacles which would empty the theatres in any other country.\nI am quite ready to believe it; but then it is only drunken sailors\nwho should be asked to admire Shakespeare, since it is only by drunken\nsailors that his altars are supported.\n\nOn the other hand, I cannot help adding that educated society shares\nto a certain extent the prejudice of the rabble, since it shares their\npleasures. The boxes are always full when Shakespeare is on the bill,\nand last night the play was well received; the disgusting jokes and\nthe extravagant ravings duly listened to and applauded by men, women,\nlawyers, merchants, lords, and sailors. One and all they seemed to\nbreathe with delight the obnoxious vapours of that earth which is made\nup of the remains of corpses. Compare this deliberate brutality, which\neducated men have tried to justify in books, with the mildness of the\npenal laws and the real executions, and explain it if you can! As for\nme, I will not visit the playhouse again until the question is solved.\n\n\n\n\nHERR M\u00dcLLER\n\n\n_Letter from Sir Richard C---- to his Cousin_\n\n ROME, _January 4, 1787_.\n\nI have been here a fortnight and have been able more or less to look\nround. I wrote a long letter to Horace yesterday in which I described\nat great length the journey from Venice, so I will not repeat to you\nwhat I have already written to him.\n\nRome is a great deal altered since I was here last, ten years ago. It\nis being spoilt, and such damage as the Goths and Vandals left undone\nis now being accomplished by the modern architects. I am afraid that\nby the time the next generation is grown up the beautiful Rome that\nwe have known and loved will have entirely disappeared, and that when\nour sons and daughters make the pilgrimage which we looked upon as the\nreward of our studies and the greatest privilege of our youth, they\nwill find a new city, elegant no doubt, and not without grandeur,\nbut devoid of that special charm, that rare and solemn dignity, which\nclothed the city as we knew it. Of course, certain of the monuments and\nworks of art will always remain, and nothing can prevent Nature from\nperforming her careless miracles. No defacing hand will be allowed to\ntouch the trees that grow in the Coliseum, or to desecrate the verdure\nand the luxuriant vegetation which is allowed to run riot in the baths\nof Caracalla. Again, no modern artist will be allowed to lay hands on\nthe grassy Forum, or to intrude upon the Gardens of the Borghese Palace\nwhich remind one of the fabled meadows and parterres of Elysium. But\nit is in the body of the city that the barbarians of the present day\nare allowed to commit their impious sacrilege, and it is not only a\nmelancholy and bitter task to trace the remains of antiquity in the\nRome of to-day, but it is even difficult to recognize in what now\nexists the city as she was when we were last here together.\n\nThe weather has so far not been very favourable. The _sirocco_ is\nblowing, and daily brings with it a quantity of rain, but it is warm,\nwarmer than it ever is in London. Rome is, I need scarcely tell you,\nvery full of visitors at this moment, and it is especially crowded\nwith our dear countrymen, whom I sedulously try to avoid, for I have\nnot come to Rome, as do so many of our friends, for the purpose of\ncontinuing London life, and of hearing and helping to increase the\nscandal and the tittle-tattle with which we are only too familiar. It\nis for this reason that I have thus far shunned society, and the only\npeople I have seen are artists and students, of whom there are many.\nMost of them are Germans, and several of these have received me with\ngreat civility and kindness, and afforded me much useful assistance in\nvisiting the museums and conducting my trifling researches.\n\nSo far I have not seen much. The new museum is a very fine institution,\nand possesses many treasures. I have visited the ruins of the palace\nof the Caesars, the Coliseum, which impressed me more than ever by its\nsize and solemnity, the Sistine Chapel, and St. Peter\u2019s, on to the roof\nof which I climbed in order to enjoy the view.\n\nThe theatres are opened once more, and a few nights ago I went to the\nopera. Anfossi is here, and they gave \u201cAlessandro nel Indie\u201d (which is\ntedious) followed by a ballet representing the Siege and Fall of Troy,\nwhich I greatly enjoyed. I have also seen, since I have been here,\nGoldoni\u2019s \u201cLocandiera.\u201d As you know, all parts here are played by men;\nand all the dancers in the ballet are men also. They act with ease and\nnaturalness, and their facial play is especially remarkable.\n\nFrom the moment I arrived in Rome until yesterday I was oppressed and\nsomewhat saddened by the feeling--whether this was the result of the\nsirocco or of the shock of seeing so many unexpected changes I do not\nknow--that I was not in any way in touch with Rome. I never seemed to\nsay to myself \u201cThis is Rome indeed!\u201d nor to experience that peculiar\ncharm which I remember feeling so acutely when I was here last. It\nwas in vain that I brooded over the ruins, admired the monuments of\nantiquity, and the masterpieces of the Italian painters; it was in\nvain that I lingered on the Palatine in the twilight, or roamed in the\nBaths of Diocletian. I admired with my reason, but I did not feel with\nmy heart as before. Something was wanting. But yesterday the magic\nreturned.\n\nI went for a walk by myself along the Appian Way to the tomb of\nMetella. It was a gray day; it had been raining nearly all the morning,\nbut by the time I started the rain had ceased, though a layer of high,\npiled-up clouds remained; the air was mild and almost sultry.\n\nI walked along the Appian Way, and the desolation of the Campagna,\nwith its fragments of broken arches, its ruined aqueducts and the\ndistant hills, which on a day like this seem curiously near and\ndistinct, came over me. In the distance, above Rome itself, the clouds\nhad slightly lifted, and St. Peter\u2019s was lit up by a watery gleam of\nlight. I cannot describe to you the beauty and the melancholy of the\nscene.\n\nAll at once, while I was standing by the grassy plain and looking\ntowards Rome, I became aware of a plaintive sound: a Roman shepherd boy\ndressed in sheepskins was tootling one or two monotonous notes on a\nwooden pipe. His music seemed to complete the landscape, and to express\nthe very spirit of the Campagna, which brings home to me the Rome of\nancient days more poignantly and more nearly than all monuments and\nmuseums.\n\nThe veil which had hung over me during all these days was abruptly\nlifted. The old spell and the old charm returned, and I could say to\nmyself: \u201cThis is Rome! I have at last found what I was seeking.\u201d\n\nI had remained for some time musing, when I suddenly noticed that a man\nwas sitting not far from me, seated on a stool and making a sketch in\nwater-colour of a broken archway. He had been there the whole time,\nbut I had not noticed him. I do not know why, but I felt a desire to\nspeak to some one, and I approached him and asked in French if he could\ntell me the time. He answered me civilly, and by his accent I perceived\nthat he was a German, one of the artists no doubt who are here so\nnumerous, although I did not remember having seen him before. He was\nextremely handsome--I should say between thirty and forty--and though\nhis face was young, his eyes had a penetrating sadness about them, an\nalmost tragic expression, as though they had sounded bitter depths of\nexperience.\n\nWe fell into conversation, and he told me that he was a German, that\nhis name was M\u00fcller, and that he was spending some months in Rome. I\nsaid that I presumed he was an artist; he replied that he was only now\nlearning the rudiments of the art of drawing, but that he had begun too\nlate, and that he would never be anything but a dilettante.\n\nAs he spoke he folded up his sketching-book, for it was already too\ndark to draw, and we walked towards the city together. He said he had\nnever been to Rome before, but that he had been steeped ever since his\nyouth in the culture of antiquity, and the monuments and the pictures\nwhich he had seen since his arrival were to him like old friends with\nwhom he had frequently corresponded, but whom he had never seen in the\nflesh. But all previous study, he said, as far as Rome was concerned,\nstruck him as being ineffectual as soon as he arrived in the city,\nbecause he was sure that it is only in Rome itself that one can prepare\noneself to study Rome. He had not been here many weeks, but so far, the\nthree things which had impressed him most were the Rotunda, which he\nconsidered the thing most _spiritually_ great he had seen, St. Peter\u2019s,\nand the Apollo Belvidere, which he thought, as a work of genius, was\nthe greatest of all; for although he had seen innumerable casts of this\nwork, and indeed possessed one himself, it was as though he had never\nseen the statue before.\n\nI told him that he was to be congratulated on never having seen Rome\nbefore, since his impressions would not be marred by the memories of\na Rome more unspoiled and more charming. He said that he was only too\nkeenly aware of the havoc which the modern architects had wrought, and\nthat he feared that in twenty years\u2019 time Rome would be unrecognizable.\n\n\u201cBut perhaps,\u201d he added, \u201cwe are mistaken. Rome has an assimilative\npower so great that it is able to suffer any amount of alteration,\nvandalism, superstructure, and addition, without losing anything of\nits eternal character and divinity. In Rome there is a continuity with\nwhich nothing can interfere.\u201d And he added that he thought there was\nsomething in the atmosphere, the vegetation, the very grass and the\nweeds of the place which acted like a spell and softened what was ugly\nand modern, reconciled all differences, and reduced all discords into\nan eternal harmony which was the genius of the city.\n\nWe talked of other matters also, and I found that he was well versed\nin ancient and modern literature, and had an intimate knowledge of\nEnglish. He admired the plays of Shakespeare; with Dryden he was\nless well acquainted, but he possessed a knowledge very striking in\na foreigner of the untrodden byways of our literature. For instance,\nhe told me that he had read the plays of Marlowe with great interest,\nespecially the tragical history of Dr. Faustus. This, he told me, was\na favourite theme for German writers; in the last few years there had\nbeen almost a hundred plays written on the subject.\n\nI asked him if he wrote himself. He said he had done so, and had begun\nmany books, but that he found it difficult to finish them.\n\n\u201cI have dabbled,\u201d he said, \u201cin art, in science, and in literature; they\nall interest me equally. But I am affected by the malady of our age,\nwhich is dilettantism, and I fear I shall be nothing but a dilettante\nall my life.\u201d\n\nI asked him if he was engaged on any literary labour at present. He\nsaid he was thinking of writing a poem on the subject of Dr. Faustus,\nand that he had indeed already written fragments of it. I expressed my\nsurprise that he should choose a subject which he had himself told me\nhad already been used by a multitude of writers. He then smiled, and\nsaid:\n\n\u201cEverything has been thought and everything has been said already. What\nwe have to do is to think it and to say it again. The Greeks,\u201d he went\non, \u201cnever bothered themselves to search for new subjects. They wrote\nnew plays on old themes. Likewise many generations of painters found\nsufficient subject-matter in the Madonna and Child. I mean,\u201d he said,\n\u201cto follow their example. Dr. Faustus shall be for me what the Madonna\nand Child were to them.\u201d\n\nWe separated at the gate, after a most pleasant conversation. Herr\nM\u00fcller expressed a wish to see me again, and he told me that he was\nstaying with an artist called Tishbein.\n\n _January 6._\n\nI received this morning your letter dated December 18. I shall stay\nhere until the Carnival, and then to Naples, where, they say, Vesuvius\nis in eruption. The German artist whom I met the other day turns out to\nbe a celebrity. His real name is _Goethe_, and he is the author of \u201cThe\nSorrows of Werther,\u201d a book which you have probably not read, but of\nwhich you must certainly have heard, for it created a considerable stir\nabout (I think) twelve years ago.\n\n\n\n\nHEINE IN PARIS\n\n\n_Fragment of an unpublished letter from Lady G---- to Lord C----_\n\n PARIS, 183--.\n\nMy dear Uncle H----,\n\nWe arrived in Paris last night.... (Here I omit a passage regarding\nthe children of a family some of whom still survive.) Last night we\nspent a very agreeable evening at Madame Jaubert\u2019s. There were a great\nmany people present, for we had been invited to meet the celebrated\nBellini. There were many people I did not know, and many others who\nwere introduced to me whose names did not reach me. Signor Bellini\nhimself came early. His appearance is charming; he is just like a\nfat child, pink and white, amiable and good-natured, and not in the\nleast conceited or pretentious. Soon afterwards Prince and Princess\nBelgiojoso arrived. This was the first time I had set eyes on the\nPrincess. Her beauty and the grace of her person have not, indeed, been\nexaggerated. She resembles a classical statue, but her face has an\nexpression which recalls later and more romantic times. Her features\nare regular, but there is something mysterious and rather _strange_\nabout her face and her dark orbs. Her hair is like ebony, but her skin\nis very white, and she smiles with a kind of wearied look, as though\nshe were a Chinese idol. Her hands and her hair are most beautiful,\nand she walks into a room as if there could not be the slightest doubt\nthat she is the most beautiful woman there. And this is true, although\nperhaps she is too slender. She was elegantly dressed in violet velvet,\ntrimmed with fur, which showed her graceful figure and disappeared\nin the folds of a black skirt; she wore a black lace mantilla, which\nshe took off when she came into the room. She talks well, and her\nvoice is musical, but, at the same time, it has a cold ring like a\ncrystal glass being tapped. Of course one could not help seeing that\nshe was agreeable and accomplished, but I could not restrain a wicked\nwish to see her dethroned from her pedestal. It is impossible to say\nthat she gives herself airs, but at the same time there is something\n_irritating_ about her beauty.\n\nAs soon as they arrived, Madame Jaubert took the Prince to the\npianoforte and said he must sing a duet with Madame de Vergennes, and\nthat it should be the duet out of the \u201cPirate,\u201d as Bellini was there.\nThe Prince said that he was loth to sing before the Master, but Madame\nJaubert appealed to Bellini, and they both succeeded in persuading him.\nMadame de Vergennes herself accompanied at the pianoforte. The Prince\nhas a real tenor voice, his _m\u00e9thode_ is excellent, and they sang the\nduet as it should be sung. Madame Jaubert said to me that if you ask\nmusicians to a party you must let them play an active part at once in\npublic, but if, on the other hand, you invite politicians and literary\nmen it is best to place them in corners and let them talk.\n\nBellini was childish about the music: he danced with delight when they\nhad finished, and clapped his hands and said: \u201cDo sing it again!\u201d\nSomebody suggested their singing a French song, but Bellini said: \u201cNo,\nno, please sing some more of my own music: I do enjoy it so much more,\nand you know it is much better.\u201d So they sang something from \u201cNorma,\u201d\nand after that the trio from \u201cThe Comte Ory,\u201d in which the Prince, M.\ndu Tillet, and a young girl took part, with Madame de Vergennes at the\npianoforte.\n\nWhen the trio was over, Madame Jaubert interrupted the music, although\nwe were all anxious to hear more, I myself among others; but she\ntook me aside and whispered to me that you must always stop music\n_before_ people have had enough, because the moment they have one\nsecond too much of it they will go away with the impression that they\nhave spent a tiresome evening. I think she was right. But there was\na young man there, a M. de Musset--he writes--who was both obstinate\nand persistent, and never ceased for a moment asking for more. Madame\nJaubert was firm and turned a deaf ear to him. This young man was\nintroduced to me: he is good-looking and well-mannered, but sulky\nand overdressed. He is in love with Princess Belgiojoso, and this I\nsuppose affected him on this occasion because she was paying but scant\nattention to him, and talked incessantly to Major Fraser, who was there.\n\nGradually the greater part of the people took their departure, and\nwe all sat down round the table in a small room and talked about\ntable-turning and spirits. Then, I forget how, the conversation turned\nupon caricatures, and Princess Belgiojoso said, with a lovely smile,\nthat nobody had ever been able to caricature her. Upon which M. de\nMusset instantly accepted the challenge and said he would make a\ncaricature of the Princess at once. He fetched a scrap-book which was\nin the room, and a pencil, and on a blank page, drew, in four strokes,\nher face and figure in profile, exaggerating her thinness and making an\nenormous black eye. It exactly resembled her; we all craned over the\ntable to look at it, and she took up the book and said in a tone of\nthe utmost indifference: \u201cReally, M. de Musset, it is unfair that you\nshould have all the talents,\u201d and she shut the book.\n\nMadame Jaubert took the book and put it away, and I heard her whisper\nto M. de Musset: \u201cYou have burnt your boats.\u201d He turned round and\nlooked at the Princess and his eyes filled with tears, and at that\nmoment I felt that I could have gladly chastised her.\n\nAfter that we went in to supper. Almost everybody had gone; the\nonly people who remained were Prince and Princess Belgiojoso, M. de\nMusset, Major Fraser, Mlle. de Ruti\u00e8res, a lovely Cr\u00e9ole, the Comte\nd\u2019Alton-Sh\u00e9e, Bellini, and Herr Heine, the German writer. I sat between\nhim and Prince Belgiojoso. M. de Musset was on Madame Jaubert\u2019s left,\nBellini and the Princess were sitting opposite us.\n\nHerr Heine, like all Germans, is a trifle tiring and long-winded; of\ncourse he is cultivated and accomplished, and they say he has written\nmost interesting books, but I cannot read a word of German. He talks\nFrench well, but he is heavy and continues a subject long after one\nhas sufficiently discussed it. This is so different from the French,\nwho skate over every topic so lightly and never dwell too long on any\nsubject, and understand what you want to say before you have half said\nit. All the same, you see at once that he is an interesting man, and\nevery now and then he says something truly remarkable. He wears big\nspectacles, and his hair, which is very fair, is cut straight and is\nrather long and bunches over his low collar. He astonished everybody at\nsupper by saying that the perpetual praise of Goethe and Byron tired\nhim.\n\n\u201cI cannot understand you Parisians,\u201d he said, \u201cwhen you talk about\npoetry. You go out of the way to search out and idolize all sorts of\nforeign poets when you have got a real native poet who is worth all\nthese foreigners put together.\u201d Somebody said \u201cVictor Hugo.\u201d \u201cNothing\nof the sort,\u201d he answered, \u201cVictor Hugo is like a wheel which turns\nround and round in space without any intellectual cog-wheel. It is all\nwords, words, words. But he has no thought and no real feeling. He is\nscreaming at the top of his voice about nothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen who is our great poet?\u201d asked Madame Jaubert.\n\n\u201cWhy, M. de Musset, of course,\u201d said Herr Heine.\n\nWe all laughed, and Madame Jaubert said it was a very pretty\ncompliment. M. de Musset himself appreciated the joke quite as much as\nwe did. But they say he really does write very well, rather in the same\nmanner as Lord Francis Egerton.\n\nM. de Musset remained sulky all through supper. Once or twice he said\nthings across the table to Princess Belgiojoso, and she answered him\nas if she were an empty portfolio from which her real self was absent.\nWe talked about music; Herr Heine said we were all barbarians as far\nas music was concerned; that it was true the Italians had a notion of\nwhat tune meant, but that the French, and especially the Parisians,\ndid not know the difference between music and pastry. Somebody asked\nhim how he could say such things after what we had heard that evening,\nand appealed to Bellini as to whether his music had ever been better\ninterpreted.\n\n\u201cAh, Bellini is a genius,\u201d said Herr Heine, and he turned to him and\nadded: \u201cYou are a great genius, Bellini, but you will have to expiate\nyour genius by an early death. You are condemned to die. All great\ngeniuses die young--very young, and you will die like Raphael and\nMozart.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t talk like that! for Heaven\u2019s sake don\u2019t say that!\u201d said Bellini.\n\u201cPlease do not speak about death. Forbid him to talk like that,\u201d he\nsaid to the Princess.\n\n\u201cPerhaps my fears are groundless,\u201d Herr Heine said to the Princess.\n\u201cPerhaps Bellini is not a genius after all. Besides which I have never\nheard a note of his music. I purposely came in this evening after it\nwas all over. Is he a genius, Princess? What do you think?\u201d Then he\naddressed himself again to Bellini: \u201cLet us hope, my dear friend, that\nthe world has made a mistake about you, and that you are not a genius\nafter all. It is a bad thing to be. It is the gift of the wicked fairy.\nThe good fairies have given you every other gift, the face of a cherub,\nthe simplicity of a child, and the digestion of an ostrich. Let us hope\nthe bad fairy did not come in and spoil it all by giving you genius.\u201d\n\nBellini laughed, but I suspect he did not appreciate the joke.\n\nPrincess Belgiojoso said that Herr Heine had no right to talk like\nthat, for he was a poet himself.\n\n\u201cA poet, yes,\u201d he answered, \u201cbut not a genius. That is quite a\ndifferent thing. I have never been accused of that, not even in my own\ncountry.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut no man is a prophet in his own country,\u201d said Madame Jaubert.\n\n\u201cI am neither a prophet in my own country nor in any one else\u2019s,\u201d said\nHerr Heine. \u201cMy countrymen think I am frivolous, and the French think\nI am German and heavy. When I am with people like you they think I am\nan old professor, and when I am with professors they consider I am\na frivolous _mondain_. When I am with Conservatives I am reckoned a\nRevolutionary, and by Revolutionaries I am considered a Reactionary.\nAnd when I am among the geniuses,\u201d he said, bowing with an ironical\nsmile towards Bellini, \u201cI become a pedant, a philosopher, and an\nignoramus, almost as bad as M. Cousin.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wondered,\u201d said Madame Jaubert, \u201cwhether we should get through the\nevening without an allusion to M. Cousin.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen I die,\u201d said Herr Heine, \u201cI should like a stool to be placed on\neither side of my tomb, with an inscription: \u2018Here lies a man who fell\nfrom Heaven between two stools.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cGeniuses,\u201d said M. de Musset....\n\n (The end of the letter is missing)\n\n_P.S._--Bellini died suddenly to-day, so Herr Heine\u2019s prophecy came\ntrue.\n\n\n\n\nSMITH MAJOR\n\n\n_Letter from a Private Schoolboy to a Public Schoolboy_\n\n ST. JAMES, _March 4, 1885_.\n\nDear Chinee,\n\nThanks awfuly for your letter. Eton must be jolly. I am glad I\u2019m coming\nnext term instead of at Micalmass. I shall be glad to leave this\nbeastly hole. Wilson ma. has got a scholarship at Westminster and we\nwere going to have a whole holiday extra only now its stopped worse\nluck! Yesterday the Head went to London and Mac sent a message to the\nFirst Div. to say we wernt to dig in Wilderness while the Head was\naway. Middleton brought the message and Wilson ma. told him to go and\nask Mac if the message was genuine. Middleton thought he was ragging\nbut he said: \u201cYou must take my message you Second Division squit if you\ndon\u2019t I\u2019ll smack your head.\u201d So Middleton did. Mac was in an awful wax\nand sent for Wilson and asked him what he meant by it. Wilson said it\nwas a joke--he never thought Middleton would take the message.\n\nWhen the Head came back we were all sent for after tea and there was a\npi-jaw. Wilson had his First Div. privileges taken away for the rest of\nthe term, and the Holiday was stopped.\n\nThe other day Mason missed three Guatemalar green parrots from his\nstamp collexion which he had swoped with Jackson for a toad. It was\na beastly swindel because the toad was blind. Jackson who is always\nsucking up to Colly sneeked about the stamps and Mac said he knew it\nwas someone in his Div. who had bagged the stamps and if the chap\ndidn\u2019t own up he\u2019d give the whole Div. an electric shock with his\nbeastly battery.\n\nNobody owned up and the whole Second Div. had to join hands and they\nsaid Mac gave them the biggest shock theyd ever had. They didnt care\nbut when it was over Middleton took the battery and threw it at Mac\u2019s\nhead. We all thought hed be expelled but Mac didn\u2019t even sneek to\nthe Head which was jolly decent of him. Mac can be awfully decent\nsometimes. After this Butler began to blub and then he said he had\nbagged the stamps but he meant to give them back. Mac told Butler he\nwould find himself in Queer Street. We all knew what that meant and\ndidnt we just tell him! Nothing happened till Monday morning--then at\nreeding over the Head gave the Second Div. a jaw. He said they were\nmutinus and as bad as feenians--a feenian is a man who eats mustard\nwith mutton--and that Butler was a thief and a traitor worse than\nGladstone. Butler\u2019s pater is a liberal and some of the chaps say he\u2019s\na pal of Gladstone\u2019s and you can just think how the Head gave it\nhim. Butler was swished. Simpson ma. and Pearse held him down and he\nsqueeled like anything. The Head gave him fifteen from the shoulder\nwhich Gordon says is against the law. The Head had a glass of shery\nbefore the swishing.\n\nLast week there was elexions going on. The Head got a notice from the\nReding Club asking him to vote for the Lib. Wasnt he waxy! He read us\nout the letter at tea and jawed about the Church and State and said he\nwould send back the letter with some coppers in it so that they would\nhave to pay 8_d._ He said a radical was worse than a feenian. We were\ntaken to the elexion and we all wore blue ribbons in our buttonholes.\nThe Libs werent allowed to go. There are only seven but I believe\nRowley\u2019s pater is a lib. although he swears he isnt.\n\nNext week we are going to have athletic sports. I think I shall win the\nhurdel race and the high. Campbell\u2019s sister\u2019s name is Ann. Mason saw it\nat the end of a letter. Now we all call him Mary Ann. He\u2019s awfully sick\nabout it.\n\nThere\u2019s a new chap called Gunter--a little beast. He\u2019s the cheekiest\nsquit I\u2019ve ever seen. Colly reported him for stealing sugar from the\npantry and he was warned that if he did anything again he would be\nturned out of the choir and swiped although it was his first term. He\n_has_ got cheek! He called Alston who is now top of the First Div. and\ncaptain of the Eleven, Piggy. Alston smacked his head. Fancy a Fourth\nDiv. squit calling Alston piggy! Only the Head dares do that. He\u2019s\nawfully dirty too and never washes. Colly nabbed him smacking Melton\nmi. with a slipper and he was reported again so he was swished. The\nHead said it was the first time a new chap had ever been swished and\nafterwards he kicked the Head\u2019s straw hat through the Hall. We don\u2019t\nknow yet what will happen but we think he\u2019ll be expeled.\n\nI got into a row with Mac last week. While we were having tea he passed\nup that Bell and me were to stop talking. It never got to us and Mac\nsent for me afterwards and said he knew what I was up to and I\u2019d better\nlook out or I\u2019d find myself in Queer Street and he stopped me talking\nfor a week.\n\nThe Head\u2019s reading us out an awfully good Book called \u201cTresure\nIsland\u201d and he\u2019s just finished a better one called \u201cThe Last Abot of\nGlasconbury.\u201d In the First Div. we do have to swot but in the First\nSet with Colly for maths and French we don\u2019t do a stroke of work. You\nshould hear Lambert the frenchy cheek him. He goes up to him and asks\nhim whether one ought to pronounce _yeux_ youks or yeks and Colly\ndoesn\u2019t dare pronounce it and says he ought to know. Then Lambert says\n\u201cI\u2019ve forgotten Sir I really don\u2019t know how to.\u201d\n\nYesterday in school we lit some patent pills which you burn and a snake\ncomes out. Colly who is awfully blind asked what I was doing. I just\nhad time to put it in my desk and said I had dropped my pen. Only one\nbung and he believed it! On Valentine\u2019s Day we sent Colly some sweets\nwith biter alows inside them the stuff Mac puts on Watson\u2019s fingers\nwhen he bites his nails and he eat them.\n\nLast week the Choir expedition came off. They went to Reding to see\nthe biskits made and then to Bath. If I was staying on next term I\nshould be in the Eleven and get my flanels.\n\nI forgot to tell you another awful row there\u2019s been. Hetherington who\nis a new chap sits next to Ferguson at dinner. Ferguson always bags\nhis sausage at breakfast on Sundays. The other day the Matron found a\nletter in Ferguson\u2019s drawer written by Hetherington to Ferguson saying,\n\u201cDear Mister Ferguson. May I please have my sausage next Sunday. I\u2019m so\nhungry.\u201d Ferguson was swished but he didn\u2019t care a rap. The Head says\nhe\u2019s callus. I had an awfully good catty. I shot Hichens mi. in the\nback of his head by mistake and it bled awfuly. I thought I was in for\nit but the Head only bagged my catty for the rest of the term. We sent\nfor a lot of snakes and green lizzards from Covent Garden and most of\nus bought some. I bought a Salamander but it died. Up to the Head one\ncan\u2019t keep a toad in one\u2019s desk as we used to when we were in Colly\u2019s\ndiv. We still have Hashed Cat and Dead Fly pudding on Thursdays and\nnobody eats it and Mac still asks us why we arnt hungry. But I\u2019m in\ntraining now for the sports and don\u2019t eat pudding at all. None of us\ndo.\n\nPlease write and tell me about the sort of things a chap ought to know\nbefore going to Eton.\n\n Yours ever,\n P. SMITH.\n\nI\u2019m Smith ma. now because my minor\u2019s here. He isnt bad.\n\n\n\n\nFROM SATURDAY TO MONDAY\n\n\n_Letter from a Frenchwoman to an English Friend in Italy_\n\n HOTEL RITZ, LONDON.\n _Monday, June 1909_.\n\nMy very dear Mary,\n\nHere is the second tome of my first impressions of your country and\nyour compatriots, which I promised to share with you. After the\ntown the country! After one day of the London season, the English\ncountry life, the home, the Sunday at home! I have spent what you\ncall a Saturday week-end, or a Sunday over. I will relate you all my\nadventures, and tell you in all frankness the good and the bad.\n\nThe sister of our dear Jackie invited me for the Saturday week-end to\nher beautiful _chateau_. By misfortune our dear Jackie was prevented\nfrom coming himself. He was kept all Sunday at the Foreign Office to\nhelp to copy out telegrams! Is it not ignoble to spoil his holiday\nlike that? Jackie, who has so little holiday, and who works so hard in\nParis! His sister--perhaps you know her--is Lady Arlington, the wife of\nSir Arlington. Their _chateau_ is in Surrey. I had never been presented\nto her, but she wrote me most amiably and proposed three trains I might\ntake. I chose the first, which arrived at half-past four, and found an\nauto at the station. After five minutes we arrived at the _chateau_,\nwhich is fine, but rather heavy: style, Louis XIV, outside. In the\ninterior, a mixture--Queen Elizabeth, Vandyke, Maple, Modern style,\nMorris. _Je n\u2019aime pas les m\u00e9langes._ But the English comfort always\nseduces me. The chintzes, the flowers, the nick-nacks, the thousand\nlittle nothings! Oh, it is charming! When I arrived I was shown into\na large hall, all panelled (the panelling repainted) with some fine\npictures (some Vandykes and a Sir Joshua) and some horrors. And a\npicture of Lady Arlington by a modern French painter; a nightmare like\na coloured photograph! There was a large tea table and a buffet all\nprepared, but neither the master nor the mistress of the house there\nto receive me. In the corner of the room a pale young man was sitting\nreading a book. He got up when I entered and looked embarrassed and\nsaid nothing. I did not know whether it was Sir Arlington or not.\nThen he said: \u201cIt has stopped raining; I think I will go out.\u201d And he\nabandoned me to my fate!\n\nI waited five minutes, ten minutes, one quarter of an hour; then Lady\nArlington entered. She is not like Jackie at all, but a blonde, very\ntall, handsome, and striking. She was dressed simply (but not well)\nin white serge, and I was embarrassed, because they had told me the\nEnglish were all that is most elegant for Saturday week-ends, and I\nwas very dressed, with a big hat, with a lace veil, and ... (a page of\ntechnical details omitted). Lady Arlington was most amiable, and did\nnot seem at all embarrassed at not having been there to receive me. She\ngave me tea.\n\nPresently other guests entered; they had all been at Ascot Races--some\nof them staying in this house, others coming in their autos from\nneighbouring _chateaux_. They were all simply dressed, the men in\n_tennis_. I felt red with shame to be the only one dressed. Lady\nArlington did not present one single person to me. Two pretty young\nwomen arrived (one a real Sir Joshua and the other a Greuze), and an\nolder lady--very handsome--who began to talk _politique_. Also a\ngreat many men, most of them bald although young; they all sat down\nand we drank tea. Then the master of the house arrived, a tall man\nwith a beard, _tr\u00e8s, tr\u00e8s bien_, like a Vandyke. He seemed timid. Lady\nArlington said to him: \u201cYou know Madame,\u201d and then stopped, as though\nshe had forgotten my name.\n\nWe of course talked of dear Jackie at once, but when I said it was\na shame to disturb his holiday, Lady Arlington said, \u201cOh yes,\u201d as\nthough she did not understand. Then a man who had not been presented\nto me began to talk to me. He is no longer in his first youth, but\nvery beautiful and gentle like a seigneur in a Pinturicchio, and we\ndiscussed Sargent\u2019s pictures and art in general. I found him very\nwell-informed, intelligent, and even erudite; he has written a book\nabout _Villon_. Then more people arrived: an old man with a beard, who\nmy \u201cItalian nobleman\u201d whispered to me was Wreathall, the celebrated\nnovelist. He is, between us, a _raseur_, and told stories enough to\nmake one sleep about ghosts in a kitchen. There also arrived two\nAmerican ladies, one a real American, full of life; the other just like\nan Englishwoman, and, to speak the truth, one would not have known she\nwas American except by her clothes; she was dressed well, just like a\nFrenchwoman.\n\nThen came some sportsmen, some clubmen, and a little man with a\n_pince-nez_. They all talked together about their friends, calling\neverybody by their little names; for example, Janie, and Letty,\nand Tommy, and Bobbie, so all that was Greek to me. Soon everybody\ndisappeared into the garden by twos, and I was left alone with Lady\nArlington and my \u201cItalian nobleman!\u201d The pale young man who was there\nwhen I arrived gave a glance into the hall and went out again. Lady\nArlington told me he was a celebrated M.P., and very remarkable. I\ncontinued to discuss art and history, in which he was so strong, with\nmy \u201cItalian nobleman,\u201d until at last Lady Arlington said she was sure I\nwould like rest, and she conducted me to my bedroom, a ravishing room\nfurnished with all the English comfort, looking over the superb garden\nwith its admirable lawns.\n\nI was glad to go to my room, so as to have plenty of time to make\nmy toilet, because they had told me the English are so exact. I\ndisembarrass myself of my things and put on a dressing-gown. I lie\ndown, and presently I hear cries from the garden; I look out of the\nwindow and I see in the distance they are playing at croquet with great\ngaiety. I am almost tempted to go downstairs once more, but as I am\nalready undressed I have not the energy; so I remain in my room and\nread a book, and at half-past seven my maid comes, so that I was ready\nalmost before half-past eight, the dinner hour. When the dinner gong\nrang, and I left my room to descend, some of the men were only just\ncoming in from the garden. I was the first downstairs.\n\nThere was no one in the salon except the little man with the\n_pince-nez_. He said nothing at all at first, but after five minutes\nhe said he was glad it had stopped raining, and after that not a word.\nWe did not sit down at table until nine. Sir Arlington gave me the\narm, and on the other side was an oldish distinguished man with well\ncut features, _tr\u00e8s bien_, with good manners, but so devoted to his\nneighbouress that he paid no attention to me. She was a beauty, but\ndressed, it is inconceivable! _Fagot\u00e9e, ma ch\u00e8re!_ If you could have\nseen it! It was to cry about! Her dress was made in Paris too, but all\nput on anyhow.\n\nSir Arlington is a delicious gentleman, but _distrait_; he cares only\nfor birds and animals, and often undertakes long expeditions for sport\nin Africa. I asked him who all the people were, and imagine, he had\nno idea who was the small man with the _pince-nez_, or several of the\nothers. He said: \u201cThose are my wife\u2019s literary friends; they are very\nnice, but too clever for me.\u201d He is modest, like all the Englishmen.\nLady Arlington has, it appears, the mania for _hommes de lettres_ as\nwell as for music, gardening, and a thousand other things, although,\nbetween us, she is _une sotte--b\u00eate comme une oie et poseuse_! and\nalways making exaggerated exclamations, such as How thrilling! How\ndarling! and always in ecstasy about nothing. I talked with Sir\nArlington nearly all dinner, as my other neighbour was so occupied.\nThere was no general conversation, and we were twenty-two at table.\n\nAfter dinner, according to the British custom, the ladies went into\nthe drawing-room; they broke up into groups, the young women sat on a\nsofa and two or three others--the Americans also--grouped themselves\nround them. The others talked _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_. Lady Arlington sat beside\nme, with another lady who seemed to be very pleased that I was French,\nand just as we had begun to talk Lady Arlington left us and joined the\ngroup by the sofa. The lady who remained with me talked of nothing but\nParis and French things, and what a salad! Caf\u00e9s chantants, R\u00e9jane,\nDe Bussy, Fursy, and Maeterlinck, and all _\u00e0 c\u00f4t\u00e9_! The men stayed\nvery late, but came out at last, and then Lady Arlington arranged the\nBridge. There were four tables; everybody played except the M.P., who\nsat down and began reading a book; the novelist, who went to bed; the\nlittle man with the _pince-nez_, who I discovered was a celebrated\npainter; my \u201cItalian nobleman,\u201d and the political lady. She took the\nM.P. away from his book, and settled herself down in a corner with him\nfor the rest of the evening.\n\nLady Arlington took my \u201cItalian nobleman\u201d apart and said something\nto him in a whisper, and I heard him answer: \u201cI have been talking\nto her the whole afternoon.\u201d Then she went up to the painter and\nsaid something to him, and he came and sat down beside me. We talked\nFrench literature and theatres; he is intelligent, but twenty years in\nbehind about everything French, and though I was told he was an _homme\nd\u2019esprit_, I could not understand his allusions nor his pleasantries.\n\nThe Bridge went on late; it was already half-past twelve when we went\nto bed. Lady Arlington asked me if I would have breakfast in my room,\nbut I, who wanted to see a real English breakfast, decided to descend.\nI was resolved to make no mistake about my clothes, so I came down\nthe next morning at ten in a dress I had got for the _Mont Dore_, a\nsimple jacket and a short skirt. Imagine my astonishment! Everybody\nwas dressed in muslins, as elegant as possible, _grandes toilettes_.\nLady Arlington was dressed in white and silver and green and gold, half\n_d\u00e9collet\u00e9e_, with a huge green hat. I am not wicked, you know, but she\nlooked like a great white parrot with her blonde coiffure! It is only\nEnglish complexions which can support such toilettes in the morning.\n\nAfter breakfast Lady Arlington and the M.P. went to the church; she\nsaid that afterwards she would show me her \u201cFriendship\u2019s Garden,\u201d which\nI suppose is a garden reserved for her intimate friends. The guests\nwent into the garden and sat under the trees in small groups; nearly\nevery one had a book, and I found that wherever I went I made a desert,\na _vide_, and everybody said they must go and write letters. After\na time I went in doors, also to write letters, and in every drawing\nroom I found a _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_! I waited for Lady Arlington, but Sir\nArlington found me and asked me to take a walk, and he took me to see\nhis stables and the park, which is a dream. I asked about the garden,\nbut he said that was his wife\u2019s, and that he did not occupy himself\nwith it; but he showed me all that was practical and interesting. It\nwas admirable. I came in all out of breath before the lunch, and had\njust time to go upstairs and change my dress.\n\nThis time I thought I would be right, and I put on my most elegant\nWorth dress. But no! I come downstairs, I find everybody sitting at the\nlunch, and they have once more changed into short skirts and flannels.\nIt was despairing! There was only one empty place left, between the\npainter and the M.P. I talked French _politique_ with him; he was\namiable, but I could not see what they find remarkable in him.\n\nAfter lunch the tennis; it was not very hot, and Lady Arlington and\nsome of the other guests went out, and one of the young women (she who\nwas so pretty) quarrelled with one of the other women, and although\neverybody tried to calm her, she would not listen and went into the\nhouse, crying, my dear, crying hot tears, and there she remained for\nthe rest of the afternoon! I did not know what the drama was about.\nThen everybody disappeared; the \u201cItalian nobleman\u201d (always so well\nmeaning and so modest) proposed to me to look on at the tennis. We sat\ndown on chairs with the painter and the novelist until tea was brought.\n\nAt tea another man arrived from London, a lord, I forget his name,\nmiddle-aged and very gay; he at once got himself presented to me; we\nplayed a new game called croquet-golf until dinner. The others did\nnot seem to appreciate him so much, perhaps he shocked the English\nreserve; he is full of _en-train_ and the English humour. At dinner Sir\nArlington again gave me the arm. After dinner everybody played Bridge\nonce more, but I had the joy to find my friend the new arrival, who\ntalked to me the whole evening and regaled me with his drollery, and\nmade a thousand farces, causing me to die of laughing, simply (imagine\nhow!) by drawing pigs with his eyes shut!\n\nThis morning I returned to London, on which I will write you further\nimpressions soon. I adore England, the men are so well informed and\nfull of humour, the women are beautiful, but why do not they learn to\nput on clothes, and why are they so dressed and yet so untidy? Oh how\ndifferent you are from us!\n\n Your friend,\n JEANNE.\n\n\n\n\nA RUSSIAN SAILOR\n\n\n_Letter from a Russian Sailor to his Brother_\n\n COWES, _July 23 (August 6), 1909_.\n (St. Trafim\u2019s Day.)\n\nMy dear brother Ivan,\n\nI am alive and well, and I hope you are alive and well, and that\nall the family are thriving, and I beg you to greet my father, my\nstepmother, my brother Andrew, my sister, little Peter, and all my near\nones from me. Please also greet Dimitri Ivanovitch and Paul Borisovitch\nand Anna Nikolaevna. We arrived yesterday in this country. It belongs\nto the English, who possess so many countries. Their great Queen is\nno longer alive, but there is now a King in her place who is a blood\nrelation of our Emperor.\n\nWe were sent on shore yesterday to buy provisions. Everything is very\ncheap, except _vodka_, which costs three roubles a small bottle. But\nthe English drink a _vodka_ of their own which is also very dear, and\nthey drink a kind of beer which we do not care for much. The houses are\nall built of brick and warmed with coal. Even the working men live in\nstone houses and heat them with coal. There is no wood anywhere. The\nhouses and the streets are kept clean, and the people, even the gentry,\nobey the police, and are humble when they are given orders. The English\nare Christians, and like white men in all respects. They are not\nheathens. Most of them are rich, and they have many lacqueys who obey\ntheir masters like dumb slaves, and dare not look them in the face when\nthey speak to them.\n\nThe English food is nasty, and there is little to eat, although all\neat meat every day, except the very poor, who seldom receive alms from\nthe passers-by. There are here many beggars in the streets, but nobody\ngives them food or money. We gave a cripple a quarter of a rouble and\nhe was surprised.\n\nThere are many luxurious ships in the harbour all painted white and\npretty to look at. At night they are lit up by electricity. The English\nFleet is here, too, and it is very big, and the ships are fine, and\nwe were heavy-hearted when we looked at it and thought of our brave\nsailors who had been obliged to fight like lions for their dear\ncountry. But there is no help for it, and if Providence wills we shall\none day have another fleet bigger than the first. The tide is strong\nhere, and dangerous for us who do not know where the rocks are, and\nwhen we ask nobody can explain, for the English do not speak Russian\nat all. I only know three things in English: \u201cPlenty whisky,\u201d which\nmeans _vodka_; \u201cfive o\u2019clock,\u201d which means _shabash_ (all over); and\n\u201calright,\u201d which means \u201cI thank you.\u201d\n\nThe English sailors are like ours, but they have little to eat or\ndrink. The laws are strict here, and if a man who has taken drink walks\nabout in the streets he is put in prison. If that happened in Russia we\nshould mutiny. Moreover, it is forbidden to smoke almost everywhere.\nThis is strange, as the English smoke a great deal; but they are an\nobedient people, and clean. They respect their laws.\n\nOn shore it is merry. There are many clowns and acrobats dancing and\nsinging, just as though it were a fair. But the English do not know\nhow to sing, and they do not dance at all. Although there is much\nmerrymaking I have not seen one drunken man, so much afraid are they\nof being put in prison.\n\nThe English have a Duma, but an Englishman who speaks Russian told us\nthat it was just like ours, and that they did nothing but talk there.\nHe also told us that the English women had mutinied because so many of\nthem had been put in prison for beating the police, and that they were\nbeing starved in the prisons until they should submit. This seems to\nus cruel, but the English are often not kind to women and animals, and\nthey say the women interfere in what is not their business, just as\nthey do at home.\n\nThe English have no army, only mercenaries who are paid money. Some of\nthem are niggers. I asked the man who talked Russian why it was that\nif men were paid so much to be soldiers every one was not a soldier.\nHe said that soldiers were sent away to foreign climates, and that men\ndid not respect soldiers in England. It is also like that in China. The\nsailors are much respected and much loved, and they are all Englishmen,\nand white men, and not mercenaries. They are merry people, too.\n\nThe English naval officers are clean shaven, which makes them look very\nfunny, but they are good officers and know their business. The police\nare dressed in long great-coats and carry no weapons, because the\nEnglish people are docile and submissive; and they have few hooligans\nhere, although they say that in London there are many hooligans, but\nthese are hanged.\n\nYesterday we went to Portsmouth, a town, for we could not buy what we\nwanted in this place, which is only a village, although all the houses\nare built of stone. Portsmouth is a beautiful town, with many shops,\npalaces, theatres, and churches, and full of beautiful women who are\nall married to sailors. It is the custom of the place to obey the\nsailors in everything, and not to rob them. The English sailors are\nrich, much richer than some of our generals. They spend their money\ngenerously and treat everybody. They would be robbed in Russia, but\nhere everybody lives in terror of the police, and I am told that if\na poor man is arrested there is no chance of his not being condemned\nto prison. They are strict, so they say, in their prisons, and the\n\u201cunfortunates\u201d are not allowed even to speak to each other or to smoke.\nFancy this happening in Russia! If they are very bad they are sent to\nAmerica! But this only happens to the very bad criminals.\n\nThe English are polite to strangers, but uncivil among themselves.\nThey never greet each other, and even the naval officers never shake\nhands with each other. When I first heard this I did not believe it, as\nI thought only Turks behaved like that, but it is true, and they do not\nseem to mind. The gentry live quite apart from the common people, but\nthe common people do not mind, and, indeed, they laugh at them openly,\nand call them, so I was told, fools to their faces, and abuse them and\ntheir mothers openly and without fear of any unpleasantness. All this\nis because they obey and respect the law, and it\u2019s very well, but we\ncould not live in a country like this, because it would sadden us.\n\nEverything is in order here except the railways. There the disorder is\nterrible. You buy no ticket for your seat, and you cannot register your\nluggage. But the guards are strict and never let even a poor man travel\nwithout a ticket! That would be a bad business for you, Ivan, who never\ntake a ticket. They tell me it is impossible to make any arrangement\nwith the railway guards because the Government is powerful and they are\nafraid of being put in prison.\n\nI only travelled a short distance, but it was difficult to get a\nseat in the train. And if I had had any luggage it would certainly\nhave been stolen, as they will not allow you to take much luggage in\nthe carriage with you. The trains are bad. Their first class is more\nuncomfortable than our third class, because there is no room to lie\ndown. You can get tea everywhere; but the English do not know how to\nmake tea. It is thick and black and bitter, like soup which has been\nkept too long. They do not know how to make bread, and there is no\nblack bread. Their white bread is made of starch and is not fit to eat.\nBut since every one eats meat this does not matter.\n\nI cannot write any more. I am glad to have travelled in foreign\ncountries, and this is a clean country and the people are friendly and\nall right; but I shall be glad to get back to my native land, for which\nmy heart is weary, and to a place where a man can do as he pleases.\nWe always heard much of English freedom, but a man in prison in our\ncountry is freer than a man at large here. I send you a dozen postcards\nwhich are very beautiful. They did not cost much money.\n\nPlease greet my father, my stepmother, my brother, my sister, little\nPeter, and all who are near to me, as well as Dimitri Ivanovitch and\nPaul Borisovitch. Please heaven, I shall return home soon. To-day the\nEnglish King and those who are near to him will pay a visit to his\nMajesty the Emperor (God bless him!) and his near ones, and they will\ndrink tea together. To-night we shall eat and drink to their health,\nand if heaven pleases I shall have drink taken. Heaven bless you and\nall. I am, my dear brother Ivan, your affectionate brother,\n\n BASIL.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n CHISWICK PRESS: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.\n TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s Notes\n\n\nPunctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a\npredominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they\nwere not changed.\n\nSimple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation\nmarks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left\nunbalanced.","title":"Dead letters","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":48987}