Chapter 18

_Tasso._ Does the old twisted sage-tree grow still against the window?

_Cornelia._ It harboured too many insects at last, and there was always a nest of scorpions in the crevice.

_Tasso._ Oh! what a prince of a sage-tree! And the well, too, with its bucket of shining metal, large enough for the largest cocomero to cool in it for dinner.

_Cornelia._ The well, I assure you, is as cool as ever.

_Tasso._ Delicious! delicious! And the stone-work round it, bearing no other marks of waste than my pruning-hook and dagger left behind?

_Cornelia._ None whatever.

_Tasso._ White in that place no longer; there has been time enough for it to become all of one colour: grey, mossy, half-decayed.

_Cornelia._ No, no; not even the rope has wanted repair.

_Tasso._ Who sings yonder?

_Cornelia._ Enchanter! No sooner did you say the word cocomero than here comes a boy carrying one upon his head.

_Tasso._ Listen! listen! I have read in some book or other those verses long ago. They are not unlike my _Aminta_. The very words!

_Cornelia._ Purifier of love, and humanizer of ferocity, how many, my Torquato, will your gentle thoughts make happy!

_Tasso._ At this moment I almost think I am one among them.[10]

_Cornelia._ Be quite persuaded of it. Come, brother, come with me. You shall bathe your heated brow and weary limbs in the chamber of your childhood. It is there we are always the most certain of repose. The boy shall sing to you those sweet verses; and we will reward him with a slice of his own fruit.

_Tasso._ He deserves it; cut it thick.

_Cornelia._ Come then, my truant! Come along, my sweet smiling Torquato!

_Tasso._ The passage is darker than ever. Is this the way to the little court? Surely those are not the steps that lead down toward the bath? Oh yes! we are right; I smell the lemon-blossoms. Beware of the old wilding that bears them; it may catch your veil; it may scratch your fingers! Pray, take care: it has many thorns about it. And now, Leonora! you shall hear my last verses! Lean your ear a little toward me; for I must repeat them softly under this low archway, else others may hear them too. Ah! you press my hand once more. Drop it, drop it! or the verses will sink into my breast again, and lie there silent! Good girl!

Many, well I know, there are Ready in your joys to share, And (I never blame it) you Are almost as ready too. But when comes the darker day, And those friends have dropt away, Which is there among them all You should, if you could, recall? One who wisely loves and well Hears and shares the griefs you tell; Him you ever call apart When the springs o'erflow the heart; For you know that he alone Wishes they were _but_ his own. Give, while these he may divide, Smiles to all the world beside.

_Cornelia._ We are now in the full light of the chamber; cannot you remember it, having looked so intently all around?

_Tasso._ O sister! I could have slept another hour. You thought I wanted rest: why did you waken me so early? I could have slept another hour or longer. What a dream! But I am calm and happy.

_Cornelia._ May you never more be otherwise! Indeed, he cannot be whose last verses are such as those.

_Tasso._ Have you written any since that morning?

_Cornelia._ What morning?

_Tasso._ When you caught the swallow in my curtains, and trod upon my knees in catching it, luckily with naked feet. The little girl of thirteen laughed at the outcry of her brother Torquatino, and sang without a blush her earliest lay.

_Cornelia._ I do not recollect it.

_Tasso._ I do.

Rondinello! rondinello! Tu sei nero, ma sei bello. Cosa fà se tu sei nero? Rondinello! sei il primiero De' volanti, palpitanti, (E vi sono quanti quanti!) Mai tenuto a questo petto, E perciò sei il mio diletto.[11]

_Cornelia._ Here is the cocomero; it cannot be more insipid. Try it.

_Tasso._ Where is the boy who brought it? where is the boy who sang my _Aminta_? Serve him first; give him largely. Cut deeper; the knife is too short: deeper; mia brava Corneliolina! quite through all the red, and into the middle of the seeds. Well done!

FOOTNOTES:

[10] The miseries of Tasso arose not only from the imagination and the heart. In the metropolis of the Christian world, with many admirers and many patrons, bishops, cardinals, princes, he was left destitute, and almost famished. These are his own words: '_Appena_ in questo stato ho comprato _due meloni_: e benchè io sia stato _quasi sempre infermo_, molte volte mi sono contentato del manzo: e la ministra di latte o di zucca, _quando ho potuto averne_, mi è stata in vece di delizie.' In another part he says that he was unable to pay the carriage of a parcel. No wonder; if he had not wherewithal to buy enough of zucca for a meal. Even had he been in health and appetite, he might have satisfied his hunger with it for about five farthings, and have left half for supper. And now a word on his insanity. Having been so imprudent not only as to make it too evident in his poetry that he was the lover of Leonora, but also to signify (not very obscurely) that his love was returned, he much perplexed the Duke of Ferrara, who, with great discretion, suggested to him the necessity of feigning madness. The lady's honour required it from a brother; and a true lover, to convince the world, would embrace the project with alacrity. But there was no reason why the seclusion should be in a dungeon, or why exercise and air should be interdicted. This cruelty, and perhaps his uncertainty of Leonora's compassion, may well be imagined to have produced at last the malady he had feigned. But did Leonora love Tasso as a man would be loved? If we wish to do her honour, let us hope it: for what greater glory can there be, than to have estimated at the full value so exalted a genius, so affectionate and so generous a heart!

[11] The author wrote the verses first in English, but he found it easy to write them better in Italian: they stood in the text as below: they only do for a girl of thirteen:

'Swallow! swallow! though so jetty Are your pinions, you are pretty: And what matter were it though You were blacker than a crow? Of the many birds that fly (And how many pass me by!) You 're the first I ever prest, Of the many, to my breast: Therefore it is very right You should be my own delight.'

LA FONTAINE AND DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULT

_La Fontaine._ I am truly sensible of the honour I receive, M. de la Rochefoucault, in a visit from a personage so distinguished by his birth and by his genius. Pardon my ambition, if I confess to you that I have long and ardently wished for the good fortune, which I never could promise myself, of knowing you personally.

_Rochefoucault._ My dear M. de la Fontaine!

_La Fontaine._ Not '_de_ la', not '_de_ la'. I am _La_ Fontaine, purely and simply.

_Rochefoucault._ The whole; not derivative. You appear, in the midst of your purity, to have been educated at court, in the lap of the ladies. What was the last day (pardon!) I had the misfortune to miss you there?

_La Fontaine._ I never go to court. They say one cannot go without silk stockings; and I have only thread: plenty of them indeed, thank God! Yet, would you believe it? Nanon, in putting a _solette_ to the bottom of one, last week, sewed it so carelessly, she made a kind of cord across: and I verily believe it will lame me for life; for I walked the whole morning upon it.

_Rochefoucault._ She ought to be whipped.

_La Fontaine._ I thought so too, and grew the warmer at being unable to find a wisp of osier or a roll of packthread in the house. Barely had I begun with my garter, when in came the Bishop of Grasse, my old friend Godeau, and another lord, whose name he mentioned, and they both interceded for her so long and so touchingly, that at last I was fain to let her rise up and go. I never saw men look down on the erring and afflicted more compassionately. The bishop was quite concerned for me also. But the other, although he professed to feel even more, and said that it must surely be the pain of purgatory to me, took a pinch of snuff, opened his waistcoat, drew down his ruffles, and seemed rather more indifferent.

_Rochefoucault._ Providentially, in such moving scenes, the worst is soon over. But Godeau's friend was not too sensitive.

_La Fontaine._ Sensitive! no more than if he had been educated at the butcher's or the Sorbonne.

_Rochefoucault._ I am afraid there are as many hard hearts under satin waistcoats as there are ugly visages under the same material in miniature cases.

_La Fontaine._ My lord, I could show you a miniature case which contains your humble servant, in which the painter has done what no tailor in his senses would do; he has given me credit for a coat of violet silk, with silver frogs as large as tortoises. But I am loath to get up for it while the generous heart of this dog (if I mentioned his name he would jump up) places such confidence on my knee.

_Rochefoucault._ Pray do not move on any account; above all, lest you should disturb that amiable grey cat, fast asleep in his innocence on your shoulder.

_La Fontaine._ Ah, rogue! art thou there? Why! thou hast not licked my face this half-hour.

_Rochefoucault._ And more, too, I should imagine. I do not judge from his somnolency, which, if he were President of the Parliament, could not be graver, but from his natural sagacity. Cats weigh practicabilities. What sort of tongue has he?

_La Fontaine._ He has the roughest tongue and the tenderest heart of any cat in Paris. If you observe the colour of his coat, it is rather blue than grey; a certain indication of goodness in these contemplative creatures.

_Rochefoucault._ We were talking of his tongue alone; by which cats, like men, are flatterers.

_La Fontaine._ Ah! you gentlemen of the court are much mistaken in thinking that vices have so extensive a range. There are some of our vices, like some of our diseases, from which the quadrupeds are exempt; and those, both diseases and vices, are the most discreditable.

_Rochefoucault._ I do not bear patiently any evil spoken of the court: for it must be acknowledged, by the most malicious, that the court is the purifier of the whole nation.

_La Fontaine._ I know little of the court, and less of the whole nation; but how can this be?

_Rochefoucault._ It collects all ramblers and gamblers; all the market-men and market-women who deal in articles which God has thrown into their baskets, without any trouble on their part; all the seducers and all who wish to be seduced; all the duellists who erase their crimes with their swords, and sweat out their cowardice with daily practice; all the nobles whose patents of nobility lie in gold snuff-boxes, or have worn Mechlin ruffles, or are deposited within the archives of knee-deep waistcoats; all stock-jobbers and church-jobbers, the black-legged and the red-legged game, the flower of the _justaucorps_, the _robe_, and the _soutane_. If these were spread over the surface of France, instead of close compressure in the court or cabinet, they would corrupt the whole country in two years. As matters now stand, it will require a quarter of a century to effect it.

_La Fontaine._ Am I not right then in preferring my beasts to yours? But if yours were loose, mine (as you prove to me) would be the last to suffer by it, poor dear creatures! Speaking of cats, I would have avoided all personality that might be offensive to them: I would not exactly have said, in so many words, that, by their tongues, they are flatterers, like men. Language may take a turn advantageously in favour of our friends. True, we resemble all animals in something. I am quite ashamed and mortified that your lordship, or anybody, should have had the start of me in this reflection. When a cat flatters with his tongue he is not insincere: you may safely take it for a real kindness. He is loyal, M. de la Rochefoucault! my word for him, he is loyal. Observe too, if you please, no cat ever licks you when he wants anything from you; so that there is nothing of baseness in such an act of adulation, if we must call it so. For my part, I am slow to designate by so foul a name, that (be it what it may) which is subsequent to a kindness. Cats ask plainly for what they want.

_Rochefoucault._ And, if they cannot get it by protocols they get it by invasion and assault.

_La Fontaine._ No! no! usually they go elsewhere, and fondle those from whom they obtain it. In this I see no resemblance to invaders and conquerors. I draw no parallels: I would excite no heart-burnings between us and them. Let all have their due.

I do not like to lift this creature off, for it would waken him, else I could find out, by some subsequent action, the reason why he has not been on the alert to lick my cheek for so long a time.

_Rochefoucault._ Cats are wary and provident. He would not enter into any contest with you, however friendly. He only licks your face, I presume, while your beard is but a match for his tongue.

_La Fontaine._ Ha! you remind me. Indeed I did begin to think my beard was rather of the roughest; for yesterday Madame de Rambouillet sent me a plate of strawberries, the first of the season, and raised (would you believe it?) under glass. One of these strawberries was dropping from my lips, and I attempted to stop it. When I thought it had fallen to the ground, 'Look for it, Nanon; pick it up and eat it,' said I.

'Master!' cried the wench, 'your beard has skewered and spitted it.' 'Honest girl,' I answered, 'come, cull it from the bed of its adoption.'

I had resolved to shave myself this morning: but our wisest and best resolutions too often come to nothing, poor mortals!

_Rochefoucault._ We often do very well everything but the only thing we hope to do best of all; and our projects often drop from us by their weight. A little while ago your friend Molière exhibited a remarkable proof of it.

_La Fontaine._ Ah, poor Molière! the best man in the world; but flighty, negligent, thoughtless. He throws himself into other men, and does not remember where. The sight of an eagle, M. de la Rochefoucault, but the memory of a fly.

_Rochefoucault_. I will give you an example: but perhaps it is already known to you.

_La Fontaine._ Likely enough. We have each so many friends, neither of us can trip but the other is invited to the laugh. Well; I am sure he has no malice, and I hope I have none: but who can see his own faults?

_Rochefoucault._ He had brought out a new edition of his comedies.

_La Fontaine._ There will be fifty; there will be a hundred: nothing in our language, or in any, is so delightful, so graceful; I will add, so clear at once and so profound.

_Rochefoucault._ You are among the few who, seeing well his other qualities, see that Molière is also profound. In order to present the new edition to the dauphin, he had put on a sky-blue velvet coat, powdered with fleurs-de-lis. He laid the volume on his library table; and, resolving that none of the courtiers should have an opportunity of ridiculing him for anything like absence of mind, he returned to his bedroom, which, as may often be the case in the economy of poets, is also his dressing-room. Here he surveyed himself in his mirror, as well as the creeks and lagoons in it would permit.

_La Fontaine._ I do assure you, from my own observation, M. de la Rochefoucault, that his mirror is a splendid one. I should take it to be nearly three feet high, reckoning the frame, with the Cupid above and the elephant under. I suspected it was the present of some great lady; and indeed I have since heard as much.

_Rochefoucault._ Perhaps then the whole story may be quite as fabulous as the part of it which I have been relating.

_La Fontaine._ In that case, I may be able to set you right again.

_Rochefoucault._ He found his peruke a model of perfection; tight, yet easy; not an inch more on one side than on the other. The black patch on the forehead....

_La Fontaine._ Black patch too! I would have given a fifteen-sous piece to have caught him with that black patch.

_Rochefoucault._ He found it lovely, marvellous, irresistible. Those on each cheek....

_La Fontaine._ Do you tell me he had one on each cheek?

_Rochefoucault._ Symmetrically. The cravat was of its proper descent, and with its appropriate charge of the best Strasburg snuff upon it. The waistcoat, for a moment, puzzled and perplexed him. He was not quite sure whether the right number of buttons were in their holes; nor how many above, nor how many below, it was the fashion of the week to leave without occupation. Such a piece of ignorance is enough to disgrace any courtier on earth. He was in the act of striking his forehead with desperation; but he thought of the patch, fell on his knees, and thanked Heaven for the intervention.

_La Fontaine._ Just like him! just like him! good soul!

_Rochefoucault._ The breeches ... ah! those require attention: all proper: everything in its place. Magnificent. The stockings rolled up, neither too loosely nor too negligently. A picture! The buckles in the shoes ... all but one ... soon set to rights ... well thought of! And now the sword ... ah, that cursed sword! it will bring at least one man to the ground if it has its own way much longer ... up with it! up with it higher.... _Allons!_ we are out of danger.

_La Fontaine._ Delightful! I have him before my eyes. What simplicity! aye, what simplicity!

_Rochefoucault._ Now for hat. Feather in? Five at least. Bravo!

He took up hat and plumage, extended his arm to the full length, raised it a foot above his head, lowered it thereon, opened his fingers, and let them fall again at his side.

_La Fontaine._ Something of the comedian in that; aye, M. de la Rochefoucault? But, on the stage or off, all is natural in Molière.

_Rochefoucault._ Away he went: he reached the palace, stood before the dauphin.... O consternation! O despair! 'Morbleu! bête que je suis,' exclaimed the hapless man, 'le livre, où donc est-il?' You are forcibly struck, I perceive, by this adventure of your friend.

_La Fontaine._ Strange coincidence! quite unaccountable! There are agents at work in our dreams, M. de la Rochefoucault, which we shall never see out of them, on this side the grave. [_To himself._] Sky-blue? no. Fleurs-de-lis? bah! bah! Patches? I never wore one in my life.

_Rochefoucault._ It well becomes your character for generosity, M. La Fontaine, to look grave, and ponder, and ejaculate, on a friend's untoward accident, instead of laughing, as those who little know you, might expect. I beg your pardon for relating the occurrence.

_La Fontaine._ Right or wrong, I cannot help laughing any longer. Comical, by my faith! above the tiptop of comedy. Excuse my flashes and dashes and rushes of merriment. Incontrollable! incontrollable! Indeed the laughter is immoderate. And you all the while are sitting as grave as a judge; I mean a criminal one; who has nothing to do but to keep up his popularity by sending his rogues to the gallows. The civil indeed have much weighty matter on their minds: they must displease one party: and sometimes a doubt arises whether the fairer hand or the fuller shall turn the balance.

_Rochefoucault._ I congratulate you on the return of your gravity and composure.

_La Fontaine._ Seriously now: all my lifetime I have been the plaything of dreams. Sometimes they have taken such possession of me, that nobody could persuade me afterward they were other than real events. Some are very oppressive, very painful, M. de la Rochefoucault! I have never been able, altogether, to disembarrass my head of the most wonderful vision that ever took possession of any man's. There are some truly important differences, but in many respects this laughable adventure of my innocent, honest friend Molière seemed to have befallen myself. I can only account for it by having heard the tale when I was half asleep.

_Rochefoucault._ Nothing more probable.

_La Fontaine._ You absolutely have relieved me from an incubus.

_Rochefoucault._ I do not yet see how.

_La Fontaine._ No longer ago than when you entered this chamber, I would have sworn that I myself had gone to the Louvre, that I myself had been commanded to attend the dauphin, that I myself had come into his presence, had fallen on my knee, and cried, 'Peste! où est donc le livre?' Ah, M. de la Rochefoucault, permit me to embrace you: this is really to find a friend at court.

_Rochefoucault._ My visit is even more auspicious than I could have ventured to expect: it was chiefly for the purpose of asking your permission to make another at my return to Paris.... I am forced to go into the country on some family affairs: but hearing that you have spoken favourably of my _Maxims_, I presume to express my satisfaction and delight at your good opinion.

_La Fontaine._ Pray, M. de la Rochefoucault, do me the favour to continue here a few minutes. I would gladly reason with you on some of your doctrines.

_Rochefoucault._ For the pleasure of hearing your sentiments on the topics I have treated, I will, although it is late, steal a few minutes from the court, of which I must take my leave on parting for the province.

_La Fontaine._ Are you quite certain that all your _Maxims_ are true, or, what is of greater consequence, that they are all original? I have lately read a treatise written by an Englishman, Mr. Hobbes; so loyal a man that, while others tell you kings are appointed by God, he tells you God is appointed by kings.

_Rochefoucault._ Ah! such are precisely the men we want. If he establishes this verity, the rest will follow.

_La Fontaine._ He does not seem to care so much about the rest. In his treatise I find the ground-plan of your chief positions.

_Rochefoucault._ I have indeed looked over his publication; and we agree on the natural depravity of man.

_La Fontaine._ Reconsider your expression. It appears to me that what is natural is not depraved: that depravity is deflection from nature. Let it pass: I cannot, however, concede to you that the generality of men are bad. Badness is accidental, like disease. We find more tempers good than bad, where proper care is taken in proper time.

_Rochefoucault._ Care is not nature.

_La Fontaine._ Nature is soon inoperative without it; so soon indeed as to allow no opportunity for experiment or hypothesis. Life itself requires care, and more continually than tempers and morals do. The strongest body ceases to be a body in a few days without a supply of food. When we speak of men being naturally bad or good, we mean susceptible and retentive and communicative of them. In this case (and there can be no other true or ostensible one) I believe that the more are good; and nearly in the same proportion as there are animals and plants produced healthy and vigorous than wayward and weakly. Strange is the opinion of Mr. Hobbes, that, when God hath poured so abundantly His benefits on other creatures, the only one capable of great good should be uniformly disposed to greater evil.

_Rochefoucault._ Yet Holy Writ, to which Hobbes would reluctantly appeal, countenances the supposition.