letters to dead authors-第16部分

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volutionism；　which　disdained　physical　force；　would　regret　their　application。

Our　foreign　affairs　are　not　in　a　state　which　even　you　would　consider　satisfactory；　for　we　have　just　had　to　contend　with　a　Revolt　of　Islam；　and　we　still　find　in　Russia　exactly　the　qualities　which　you　recognised　and　described。　　We　have　a　great　statesman　whose　methods　and　eloquence　somewhat　resemble　those　you　attribute　to　Laon　and　Prince　Athanase。　　Alas！　he　is　a　youth　of　more　than　seventy　summers；　and　not　in　his　time　will　Prometheus　retire　to　a　cavern　and　pass　a　peaceful　millennium　in　twining　buds　and　beams。

In　domestic　affairs　most　of　the　Reforms　you　desired　to　see　have　been　carried。　　Ireland　has　received　Emancipation；　and　almost　everything　else　she　can　ask　for。　　I　regret　to　say　that　she　is　still　unhappy；　her　wounds　unstanched；　her　wrongs　unforgiven。　　At　home　we　have　enfranchised　the　paupers；　and　expect　the　most　happy　results。　Paupers　（as　Mr。　Gladstone　says）　are　〃our　own　flesh　and　blood；〃　and；　as　we　compel　them　to　be　vaccinated；　so　we　should　permit　them　to　vote。　　Is　it　a　dream　that　Mr。　Jesse　Collings　（how　you　would　have　loved　that　man！）　has　a　Bill　for　extending　the　priceless　boon　of　the　vote　to　inmates　of　Pauper　Lunatic　Asylums？　　This　may　prove　that　last　element　in　the　Elixir　of　political　happiness　which　we　have　long　sought　in　vain。　　Atheists；　you　will　regret　to　hear；　are　still　unpopular；　but　the　new　Parliament　has　done　something　for　Mr。　Bradlaugh。　　You　should　have　known　our　Charles　while　you　were　in　the　〃Queen　Mab〃　stage。　　I　fear　you　wandered；　later；　from　his　robust　condition　of　intellectual　development。

As　to　your　private　life；　many　biographers　contrive　to　make　public　as　much　of　it　as　possible。　　Your　name；　even　in　life；　was；　alas！　a　kind　of　ducdame　to　bring　people　of　no　very　great　sense　into　your　circle。　This　curious　fascination　has　attracted　round　your　memory　a　feeble　folk　of　commentators；　biographers；　anecdotists；　and　others　of　the　tribe。　　They　swarm　round　you　like　carrion…flies　round　a　sensitive　plant；　like　night…birds　bewildered　by　the　sun。　　Men　of　sense　and　taste　have　written　on　you；　indeed；　but　your　weaker　admirers　are　now　disputing　as　to　whether　it　was　your　heart；　or　a　less　dignified　and　most　troublesome　organ；　which　escaped　the　flames　of　the　funeral　pyre。　　These　biographers　fight　terribly　among　themselves；　and　vainly　prolong　the　memory　of　〃old　unhappy　far…off　things；　and　sorrows　long　ago。〃　　Let　us　leave　them　and　their　squabbles　over　what　is　unessential；　their　raking　up　of　old　letters　and　old　stories。

The　town　has　lately　yawned　a　weary　laugh　over　an　enemy　of　yours；　who　has　produced　two　heavy　volumes；　styled　by　him　〃The　Real　Shelley。〃　The　real　Shelley；　it　appears；　was　Shelley　as　conceived　of　by　a　worthy　gentleman　so　prejudiced　and　so　skilled　in　taking　up　things　by　the　wrong　handle　that　I　wonder　he　has　not　made　a　name　in　the　exact　science　of　Comparative　Mythology。　　He　criticises　you　in　the　spirit　of　that　Christian　Apologist；　the　Englishman　who　called　you　〃a　damned　Atheist〃　in　the　post…office　at　Pisa。　　He　finds　that　you　had　〃a　little　turned…up　nose；〃　a　feature　no　less　important　in　his　system　than　was　the　nose　of　Cleopatra　（according　to　Pascal）　in　the　history　of　the　world。　　To　be　in　harmony　with　your　nose；　you　were　a　〃phenomenal〃　liar；　an　ill…bred；　ill…born；　profligate；　partly　insane；　an　evil…tempered　monster；　a　self…righteous　person；　full　of　self…　approbationin　fact　you　were　the　Beast　of　this　pious　Apocalypse。　Your　friend　Dr。　Lind　was　an　embittered　and　scurrilous　apothecary；　〃a　bad　old　man。〃　　But　enough　of　this　inopportune　brawler。

For　Humanity；　of　which　you　hoped　such　great　things；　Science　predicts　extinction　in　a　night　of　Frost。　　The　sun　will　grow　cold；　slowlyas　slowly　as　doom　came　on　Jupiter　in　your　〃Prometheus；〃　but　as　surely。　If　this　nightmare　be　fulfilled；　perhaps　the　Last　Man；　in　some　fetid　hut　on　the　ice…bound　Equator；　will　read；　by　a　fading　lamp　charged　with　the　dregs　of　the　oil　in　his　cruse；　the　poetry　of　Shelley。　　So　reading；　he；　the　latest　of　his　race；　will　not　wholly　be　deprived　of　those　sights　which　alone　（says　the　nameless　Greek）　make　life　worth　enduring。　　In　your　verse　he　will　have　sight　of　sky；　and　sea；　and　cloud；　the　gold　of　dawn　and　the　gloom　of　earthquake　and　eclipse。　　He　will　be　face　to　face；　in　fancy；　with　the　great　powers　that　are　dead；　sun；　and　ocean；　and　the　illimitable　azure　of　the　heavens。　　In　Shelley's　poetry；　while　Man　endures；　all　those　will　survive；　for　your　〃voice　is　as　the　voice　of　winds　and　tides；〃　and　perhaps　more　deathless　than　all　of　these；　and　only　perishable　with　the　perishing　of　the　human　spirit。



LETTERTo　Monsieur　de　Moliere；　Valet　de　Chambre　du　Roi



Monsieur；With　what　awe　does　a　writer　venture　into　the　presence　of　the　great　Moliere！　　As　a　courtier　in　your　time　would　scratch　humbly　（with　his　comb！）　at　the　door　of　the　Grand　Monarch；　so　I　presume　to　draw　near　your　dwelling　among　the　Immortals。　　You；　like　the　king　who；　among　all　his　titles；　has　now　none　so　proud　as　that　of　the　friend　of　Moliereyou　found　your　dominions　small；　humble；　and　distracted；　you　raised　them　to　the　dignity　of　an　empire：　　what　Louis　XIV。　did　for　France　you　achieved　for　French　comedy；　and　the　baton　of　Scapin　still　wields　its　sway　though　the　sword　of　Louis　was　broken　at　Blenheim。　　For　the　King　the　Pyrenees；　or　so　he　fancied；　ceased　to　exist；　by　a　more　magnificent　conquest　you　overcame　the　Channel。　　If　England　vanquished　your　country's　arms；　it　was　through　you　that　France　ferum　victorem　cepit；　and　restored　the　dynasty　of　Comedy　to　the　land　whence　she　had　been　driven。　　Ever　since　Dryden　borrowed　〃L'Etourdi；〃　our　tardy　apish　nation　has　lived　（in　matters　theatrical）　on　the　spoils　of　the　wits　of　France。

In　one　respect；　to　be　sure；　times　and　manners　have　altered。　　While　you　lived；　taste　kept　the　French　drama　pure；　and　it　was　the　congenial　business　of　English　playwrights　to　foist　their　rustic　grossness　and　their　large　Fescennine　jests　into　the　urban　page　of　Moliere。　　Now　they　are　diversely　occupied；　and　it　is　their　affair　to　lend　modesty　where　they　borrow　wit；　and　to　spare　a　blush　to　the　cheek　of　the　Lord　Chamberlain。　　But　still；　as　has　ever　been　our　wont　since　Etherege　saw；　and　envied；　and　imitated　your　successesstill　we　pilfer　the　plays　of　France；　and　take　our　bien；　as　you　said　in　your　lordly　manner；　wherever　we　can　find　it。　　We　are　the　privateers　of　the　stage；　and　it　is　rarely；　to　be　sure；　that　a　comedy　pleases　the　town　which　has　not　first　been　〃cut　out〃　from　the　countrymen　of　Moliere。　　Why　this　should　be；　and　what　〃tenebriferous　star〃　（as　Paracelsus；　your　companion　in　the　〃Dialogues　des　Morts；〃　would　have　believed）　thus　darkens　the　sun　of　English　humour；　we　know　not；　but　certainly　our　dependence　on　France　is　the　sincerest　tribute　to　you。　Without　you；　neither　Rotrou；　nor　Corneille；　nor　〃a　wilderness　of　monkeys〃　like　Scarron；　could　ever　have　given　Comedy　to　France　and　restored　her　to　Europe。

While　we　owe　to　you；　Monsieur；　the　beautiful　advent　of　Comedy；　fair　and　beneficent　as　Peace　in　the　play　of　Aristophanes；　it　is　still　to　you　that　we　must　turn　when　of　comedies　we　desire　the　best。　　If　you　studied　with　daily　and　nightly　care　the　works　of　Plautus　and　Terence；　if　you　〃let　no　musty　bouquin　escape　you〃　（so　your　enemies　declared）；　it　was　to　some　purpose　that　you　laboured。　　Shakespeare　excepted；　you　eclipsed　all　who　came　before　you；　and　from　those　that　follow；　however　fresh；　we　turn：　　we　turn　from　Regnard　and　Beaumarchais；　from　Sheridan　and　Goldsmith；　from　Musset　and　Pailleron　and　Labiche；　to　that　crowded　world　of　your　creations。　　〃Creations〃　one　may　well　say；　for　you　anticipated　Nature　herself：　　you　gave　us；　before　she　did；　in　Alceste　a　Rousseau　who　was　a　gentleman　not　a　lacquey；　in　a　mot　of　Don　Juan's；　the　secret　of　the　new　Religion　and　the　watchword　of　Comte；　l'amour　de　l'humanite。

Before　you　where　can　we　find；　save　in　Rabelais；　a　Frenchman　with　humour；　and　where；　unless　it　be　in　Montaigne；　the　wise　philosophy　of　a　secular　civilisation？　　With　a　heart　the　most　tender；　delicate；　loving；　and　generous；　a　heart　often　in　agony　and　torment；　you　had　to　make　life　endurable　（we　cannot　doubt　it）　without　any　whisper　of　promise；　or　hope；　or　warning　from　Religion。　　Yes；　in　an　age　when　the　greatest　mind　of　all；　the　mind　of　Pascal；　proclaimed　that　the　only　help　was　in　voluntary　blindness；　that　the　only　chance　was　to　hazard　all　on　a　bet　at　evens；　you；　Monsieur；　refused　to　be　blinded；　or　to　pretend　to　see　what　you　found　invisible。

In　Religion　you　beheld　no　promise　of　help。　　When　the　Jesuits　and　Jansenists　of　your　time　saw；　each　of　them；　in　Tartufe　the　portrait　of　their　rivals　（as　each　of　the　laughable　Marquises　in　your　play　conceived　that　you　were　girding　at　his　neighbour）；　you　all　the　while　were　mocking　every　credulous　excess　of　Faith。　　In　the　sermons　preached　to　Agnes　we　surely　hear　your　private　laughter；　in　the　arguments　for　credulity　which　are　presented　to　Don　Juan　by　his　valet　we　listen　to　the　eternal　self…defence　of　superstition。　　Thus；　desolate　of　belief；　you　sought　for　the　permanent　element　of　life　precisely　where　Pascal　recognised　all　that　was　most　fleeting　and　unsubstantialin　divertissement；　in　the　pleasure　of　looking　on；　a　spectator　of　the　accidents　of　existence；　an　observer　of　the　follies　of　mankind。　　Like　the　Gods　of　the　Epicurean；　you　seem　to　regard　our　life　as　a　play　that　is　played；　as　a　comedy；　yet　how　often　the　tragic　note　comes　in！　　What　pity；　and　in　the　laughter　what　an　accent　of　tears；　as　of　rain　in　the　wind！　　No　comedian　has　been　so　kindly　and　human　as　you；　none　has　had　a　heart；　like　you；　to　feel　for　his　butts；　and　to　leave　them　sometimes；　in　a　sense；　superior　to　their　tormentors。　　Sganarelle；　M。　de　Pourceaugnac；　George　Dandin；　and　the　restour　sympathy；　somehow；　is　with　them；　after　all；　and　M。　de　Pourceaugnac　is　a　gentleman；　despite　his　misadventures。

Though　triumphant　Youth　and　malicious　Love　in　your　plays　may　batter　and　defeat　Jealousy　and　Old　Age；　yet　they　have　not　all　the　victory；　or　you　did　not　mean　that　they　should　win　it。　　They　go　off　with　laughter；　and　their　victim　with　a　grimace；　but　in　him　we；　that　are　past　our　youth；　behold　an　actor　in　an　unending　tragedy；　the　defeat　of　a　generation。　　Your　sympathy　is　not　wholly　with　the　dogs　that　are　having　their　day；　you　can　throw　a　bone　or　a　crust　to　the　dog　that　has　had