Chapter 2

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

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

_Epictetus._ Than any in the Greek?

_Seneca._ We trust so.

_Epictetus._ Than your Cicero's?

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

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

_Seneca._ Senators must have clients, and must protect them.

_Epictetus._ Innocent or guilty?

_Seneca._ Doubtless.

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

_Seneca._ I would.

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

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

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

_Seneca._ And a trifle to spare--pressed upon me by that godlike youth, my pupil Nero.

_Epictetus._ Seneca! where God hath placed a mine, He hath placed the materials of an earthquake.

_Seneca._ A true philosopher is beyond the reach of Fortune.

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

PETER THE GREAT AND ALEXIS

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

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

_Peter._ I believe it well.

_Alexis._ I would not anger you.

_Peter._ What hope hadst thou, rebel, in thy flight to Vienna?

_Alexis._ The hope of peace and privacy; the hope of security; and, above all things, of never more offending you.

_Peter._ That hope thou hast accomplished. Thou imaginedst, then, that my brother of Austria would maintain thee at his court--speak!

_Alexis._ No, sir! I imagined that he would have afforded me a place of refuge.

_Peter._ Didst thou, then, take money with thee?

_Alexis._ A few gold pieces.

_Peter._ How many?

_Alexis._ About sixty.

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

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

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

And now another word with thee about thy scandalous flight from the palace, in time of quiet, too! To the point! Did my brother of Austria invite thee? Did he, or did he not?

_Alexis._ May I answer without doing an injury or disservice to his Imperial Majesty?

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

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

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

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

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

_Alexis._ He received me kindly.

_Peter._ I see he did.

_Alexis._ Derision, O my father! is not the fate I merit.

_Peter._ True, true! it was not intended.

_Alexis._ Kind father! punish me then as you will.

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

_Alexis._ Alas! I am not ignorant of this.

_Peter._ He dismissed thee at my order. If I had demanded from him his daughter, to be the bedfellow of a Kalmuc, he would have given her, and praised God.

_Alexis._ O father! is his baseness my crime?

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

_Alexis._ I have rejoiced at your happiness and your safety.

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

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

_Peter._ I destroy them! how? Of what plans art thou speaking?

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

_Peter._ Thou liest; nor six. And civilized, forsooth? Why, the robes of the metropolitan, him at Upsal, are not worth three ducats, between Jew and Livornese. I have no notion that Poland and Sweden shall be the only countries that produce great princes. What right have they to such as Gustavus and Sobieski? Europe ought to look to this before discontents become general, and the people do to us what we have the privilege of doing to the people. I am wasting my words: there is no arguing with positive fools like thee. So thou wouldst have desired me to let the Polanders and Swedes lie still and quiet! Two such powerful nations!

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

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

_Alexis._ Sir! God forbid!

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

_Alexis._ My father! I have dreamed of none such.

_Peter._ Thou hast, and hast talked about them--Scythians, I think, they call 'em. Now, who told thee, Mr. Professor, that the Scythians were a happier people than we are; that they were inoffensive; that they were free; that they wandered with their carts from pasture to pasture, from river to river; that they traded with good faith; that they fought with good courage; that they injured none, invaded none, and feared none? At this rate I have effected nothing. The great founder of Rome, I heard in Holland, slew his brother for despiting the weakness of his walls; and shall the founder of this better place spare a degenerate son, who prefers a vagabond life to a civilized one, a cart to a city, a Scythian to a Muscovite? Have I not shaved my people, and breeched them? Have I not formed them into regular armies, with bands of music and haversacks? Are bows better than cannon? shepherds than dragoons, mare's milk than brandy, raw steaks than broiled? Thine are tenets that strike at the root of politeness and sound government. Every prince in Europe is interested in rooting them out by fire and sword. There is no other way with false doctrines: breath against breath does little.

_Alexis._ Sire, I never have attempted to disseminate my opinions.

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

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

_Peter._ How so? give me thy reasons--thy fancies, rather; for reason thou hast none.

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

_Peter._ Malignant atheist!

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

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

_Alexis._ Father! father! my heart is broken! If I have offended, forgive me!

_Peter._ The State requires thy signal punishment.

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

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

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

_Peter._ Accuse me, rebel! Accuse me, traitor!

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

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

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

_Chancellor._ Your Majesty's will and pleasure!

_Peter._ Is the Senate assembled in that room?

_Chancellor._ Every member, sire.

_Peter._ Conduct this youth with thee, and let them judge him; thou understandest me.

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

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

_Chancellor._ [_Returning._] Sire, sire!

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

_Chancellor._ No, sire! Nor has either been done.

_Peter._ Then thy head quits thy shoulders.

_Chancellor._ O sire!

_Peter._ Curse thy silly _sires_! what art thou about?

_Chancellor._ Alas! he fell.

_Peter._ Tie him up to thy chair, then. Cowardly beast! what made him fall?

_Chancellor._ The hand of Death; the name of father.

_Peter._ Thou puzzlest me; prithee speak plainlier.

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

_Peter._ So far, well enough.

_Chancellor._ He smiled.

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

_Chancellor._ He said calmly, but not without sighing twice or thrice, 'Lead me to the scaffold: I am weary of life; nobody loves me.' I condoled with him, and wept upon his hand, holding the paper against my bosom. He took the corner of it between his fingers, and said, 'Read me this paper; read my death-warrant. Your silence and tears have signified it; yet the law has its forms. Do not keep me in suspense. My father says, too truly, I am not courageous; but the death that leads me to my God shall never terrify me.'

_Peter._ I have seen these white-livered knaves die resolutely; I have seen them quietly fierce like white ferrets with their watery eyes and tiny teeth. You read it?

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

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

_Chancellor._ And it please your Majesty, might I call a--a----

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

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

HENRY VIII AND ANNE BOLEYN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Henry._ Thou hast, however, thy bridal cheeks, with lustre upon them when there is none elsewhere, and obstinate lips resisting all impression; but, now thou talkest about miscarrying, who is the father of that boy?

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

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

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

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

_Anne._ Faintness and drowsiness came upon me suddenly.

_Henry._ Well, since thou really and truly sleepedst, what didst dream of?

_Anne._ I begin to doubt whether I did indeed sleep.

_Henry._ Ha! false one--never two sentences of truth together! But come, what didst think about, asleep or awake?

_Anne._ I thought that God had pardoned me my offences, and had received me unto Him.

_Henry._ And nothing more?

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

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

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

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

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

_Henry._ And Brereton and Norris--what have they taught thee?

_Anne._ They are your servants, and trusty ones.

_Henry._ Has not Weston told thee plainly that he loved thee?

_Anne._ Yes; and----

_Henry._ What didst thou?

_Anne._ I defied him.

_Henry._ Is that all?

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

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

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

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

_Anne._ I have regularly placed it out to interest.

_Henry._ Where? I demand of thee.

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

_Henry._ Think on my munificence to thee; recollect who made thee. Dost sigh for what thou hast lost?

_Anne._ I do, indeed.

_Henry._ I never thought thee ambitious; but thy vices creep out one by one.

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

_Henry._ Wast thou conning over something in that dingy book for thy defence? Come, tell me, what wast thou reading?

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

_Henry._ To whine and whimper, no doubt, is vastly heavenly.

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

_Henry._ I do not remember that notion anywhere. Take care no enemy rake out of it something of materialism. Guard well thy empty hot brain; it may hatch more evil. As for those odd words, I myself would fain see no great harm in them, knowing that grief and frenzy strike out many things which would else lie still, and neither spurt nor sparkle. I also know that thou hast never read anything but Bible and history--the two worst books in the world for young people, and the most certain to lead astray both prince and subject. For which reason I have interdicted and entirely put down the one, and will (by the blessing of the Virgin and of holy Paul) commit the other to a rigid censor. If it behoves us kings to enact what our people shall eat and drink--of which the most unruly and rebellious spirit can entertain no doubt--greatly more doth it behove us to examine what they read and think. The body is moved according to the mind and will; we must take care that the movement be a right one, on pain of God's anger in this life and the next.