CHAPTER XL
This alteration gave me great uneasiness; and I passed the night without sleep, in melancholy reflections on the vanity of young men, which prompts them to commit so many foolish actions, contrary to their own sober judgment. Next day, however, instead of profiting by this self-condemnation, I yielded still more to the dictates of the principle I had endeavoured to chastise, and if fortune had not befriended me more than prudence could expect, I should have been treated with the contempt it deserved. After breakfast my lady, who was a true author, bade me follow her into the study, where she expressed herself thus: "Since you are so learned, you cannot be void of taste; therefore I am to desire your opinion of a small performance in poetry, which I lately composed. You must know that I have planned a tragedy, the subject of which shall be, the murder of a prince before the altar, where he is busy at his devotions. After the deed is perpetrated, the regicide will harangue the people with the bloody dagger in his hand; and I have already composed a speech, which, I think, will suit the character extremely. Here it is." Then, taking up a scrap of paper, she read, with violent emphasis and gesture, as follows:--
"Thus have I sent the simple King to hell, Without or coffin, shroud, or passing bell: To me what are divine and human laws? I court no sanction but my own applause! Rapes, robberies, treasons, yield my soul delight, And human carnage gratifies my sight: I drag the parent by the hoary hair, And toss the sprawling infant on the spear, While the fond mother's cries regale my ear. I fight, I vanquish, murder friends and foes; Nor dare the immortal gods my rage oppose."
Though I did great violence to my understanding in praising this unnatural rhapsody, I nevertheless extolled it as a production that of itself deserved immortal fame; and besought her ladyship to bless the world with the fruits of those uncommon talents Heaven had bestowed upon her. She smiled with a look of self-complacency, and encouraged by the incense I had offered, communicated all her poetical works which I applauded, one by one, with as little candour as I had shown at first. Satiated with my flattery, which I hope my situation justified, she could not in conscience refuse me an opportunity of shining in my turn: and, therefore, after a compliment to my nice discernment and taste, observed, that doubtless I must have produced something in that way myself, which she desired to see. This was temptation I could by no means resist. I owned that while I was at college I wrote some detached pieces, at the desire of a friend who was in love; and at her request repeated the following verses, which indeed my love for Narcissa had inspired:--
On Celia,
Playing on the harpsichord and singing.
When Sappho struck the quivering wire, The throbbing breast was all on fire: And when she raised the vocal lay, The captive soul was charm'd away.
But had the nymph possessed with these Thy softer, chaster, power to please; Thy beauteous air of sprightly youth, Thy native smiles of artless truth;
The worm of grief had never preyed On the forsaken love-sick maid: Nor had she mourn'd a hapless flame, Nor dash'd on rocks her tender frame.