letters to dead authors-第17部分

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ly　with　the　dogs　that　are　having　their　day；　you　can　throw　a　bone　or　a　crust　to　the　dog　that　has　had　his；　and　has　been　taught　that　it　is　over　and　ended。　Yourself　not　unlearned　in　shame；　in　jealousy；　in　endurance　of　the　wanton　pride　of　men　（how　could　the　poor　player　and　the　husband　of　Celimene　be　untaught　in　that　experience？）；　you　never　sided　quite　heartily；　as　other　comedians　have　done；　with　young　prosperity　and　rank　and　power。

I　am　not　the　first　who　has　dared　to　approach　you　in　the　Shades；　for　just　after　your　own　death　the　author　of　〃Les　Dialogues　des　Morts〃　gave　you　Paracelsus　as　a　companion；　and　the　author　of　〃Le　Jugement　de　Pluton〃　made　the　〃mighty　warder〃　decide　that　〃Moliere　should　not　talk　philosophy。〃　　These　writers；　like　most　of　us；　feel　that；　after　all；　the　comedies　of　the　Contemplateur；　of　the　translator　of　Lucretius；　are　a　philosophy　of　life　in　themselves；　and　that　in　them　we　read　the　lessons　of　human　experience　writ　small　and　clear。

What　comedian　but　Moliere　has　combined　with　such　depthswith　the　indignation　of　Alceste；　the　self…deception　of　Tartufe；　the　blasphemy　of　Don　Juansuch　wildness　of　irresponsible　mirth；　such　humour；　such　wit！　　Even　now；　when　more　than　two　hundred　years　have　sped　by；　when　so　much　water　has　flowed　under　the　bridges　and　has　borne　away　so　many　trifles　of　contemporary　mirth　（cetera　fluminis　ritu　feruntur）；　even　now　we　never　laugh　so　well　as　when　Mascarille　and　Vadius　and　M。　Jourdain　tread　the　boards　in　the　Maison　de　Moliere。　　Since　those　mobile　dark　brows　of　yours　ceased　to　make　men　laugh；　since　your　voice　denounced　the　〃demoniac〃　manner　of　contemporary　tragedians；　I　take　leave　to　think　that　no　player　has　been　more　worthy　to　wear　the　canons　of　Mascarille　or　the　gown　of　Vadius　than　M。　Coquelin　of　the　Comedie　Francaise。　　In　him　you　have　a　successor　to　your　Mascarille　so　perfect；　that　the　ghosts　of　playgoers　of　your　date　might　cry；　could　they　see　him；　that　Moliere　had　come　again。　　But；　with　all　respect　to　the　efforts　of　the　fair；　I　doubt　if　Mdlle。　Barthet；　or　Mdme。　Croizette　herself；　would　reconcile　the　town　to　the　loss　of　the　fair　De　Brie；　and　Madeleine；　and　the　first；　the　true　Celimene；　Armande。　　Yet　had　you　ever　so　merry　a　soubrette　as　Mdme。　Samary；　so　exquisite　a　Nicole？

Denounced；　persecuted；　and　buried　hugger…mugger　two　hundred　years　ago；　you　are　now　not　over…praised；　but　more　worshipped；　with　more　servility　and　ostentation；　studied　with　more　prying　curiosity　than　you　may　approve。　　Are　not　the　Molieristes　a　body　who　carry　adoration　to　fanaticism？　　Any　scrap　of　your　handwriting　（so　few　are　these）；　any　anecdote　even　remotely　touching　on　your　life；　any　fact　that　may　prove　your　house　was　numbered　15　not　22；　is　eagerly　seized　and　discussed　by　your　too　minute　historians。　　Concerning　your　private　life；　these　men　often　speak　more　like　malicious　enemies　than　friends；　repeating　the　fabulous　scandals　of　Le　Boulanger；　and　trying　vainly　to　support　them　by　grubbing　in　dusty　parish　registers。　　It　is　most　necessary　to　defend　you　from　your　friendsfrom　such　friends　as　the　veteran　and　inveterate　M。　Arsene　Houssaye；　or　the　industrious　but　puzzle…headed　M。　Loiseleur。　　Truly　they　seek　the　living　among　the　dead；　and　the　immortal　Moliere　among　the　sweepings　of　attorneys'　offices。　　As　I　regard　them　（for　I　have　tarried　in　their　tents）　and　as　I　behold　their　trivialitiesthe　exercises　of　men　who　neglect　Moliere's　works　to　gossip　about　Moliere's　great…grand…mother's　second…best　bedI　sometimes　wish　that　Moliere　were　here　to　write　on　his　devotees　a　new　comedy；　〃Les　Molieristes。〃　　How　fortunate　were　they；　Monsieur；　who　lived　and　worked　with　you；　who　saw　you　day　by　day；　who　were　attached；　as　Lagrange　tells　us；　by　the　kindest　loyalty　to　the　best　and　most　honourable　of　men；　the　most　open…handed　in　friendship；　in　charity　the　most　delicate；　of　the　heartiest　sympathy！　Ah；　that　for　one　day　I　could　behold　you；　writing　in　the　study；　rehearsing　on　the　stage；　musing　in　the　lace…seller's　shop；　strolling　through　the　Palais；　turning　over　the　new　books　at　Billaine's；　dusting　your　ruffles　among　the　old　volumes　on　the　sunny　stalls。　Would　that；　through　the　ages；　we　could　hear　you　after　supper；　merry　with　Boileau；　and　with　Racine；not　yet　a　traitor；laughing　over　Chapelain；　combining　to　gird　at　him　in　an　epigram；　or　mocking　at　Cotin；　or　talking　your　favourite　philosophy；　mindful　of　Descartes。　Surely　of　all　the　wits　none　was　ever　so　good　a　man；　none　ever　made　life　so　rich　with　humour　and　friendship。



LETTERTo　Robert　Burns



Sir；Among　men　of　Genius；　and　especially　among　Poets；　there　are　some　to　whom　we　turn　with　a　peculiar　and　unfeigned　affection；　there　are　others　whom　we　admire　rather　than　love。　　By　some　we　are　won　with　our　will；　by　others　conquered　against　our　desire。　　It　has　been　your　peculiar　fortune　to　capture　the　hearts　of　a　whole　peoplea　people　not　usually　prone　to　praise；　but　devoted　with　a　personal　and　patriotic　loyalty　to　you　and　to　your　reputation。　　In　you　every　Scot　who　IS　a　Scot　sees；　admires；　and　compliments　Himself；　his　ideal　selfindependent；　fond　of　whisky；　fonder　of　the　lassies；　you　are　the　true　representative　of　him　and　of　his　nation。　　Next　year　will　be　the　hundredth　since　the　press　of　Kilmarnock　brought　to　light　its　solitary　masterpiece；　your　Poems；　and　next　year；　therefore；　methinks；　the　revenue　will　receive　a　welcome　accession　from　the　abundance　of　whisky　drunk　in　your　honour。　　It　is　a　cruel　thing　for　any　of　your　countrymen　to　feel　that；　where　all　the　rest　love；　he　can　only　admire；　where　all　the　rest　are　idolators；　he　may　not　bend　the　knee；　but　stands　apart　and　beats　upon　his　breast；　observing；　not　adoringa　critic。　　Yet　to　some　of　uspetty　souls；　perhaps；　and　enviousthat　loud　indiscriminating　praise　of　〃Robbie　Burns〃　（for　so　they　style　you　in　their　Change…house　familiarity）　has　long　been　ungrateful；　and；　among　the　treasures　of　your　songs；　we　venture　to　select　and　even　to　reject。　　So　it　must　be！　　We　cannot　all　love　Haggis；　nor　〃painch；　tripe；　and　thairm；〃　and　all　those　rural　dainties　which　you　celebrate　as　〃warm…reekin；　rich！〃　　〃Rather　too　rich；〃　as　the　Young　Lady　said　on　an　occasion　recorded　by　Sam　Weller。


Auld　Scotland　wants　nae　skinking　ware　That　jaups　in　luggies；　But；　if　ye　wish　her　gratefu'　prayer；　Gie　her　a　Haggis！


You　HAVE　given　her　a　Haggis；　with　a　vengeance；　and　her　〃gratefu'　prayer〃　is　yours　for　ever。　　But　if　even　an　eternity　of　partridge　may　pall　on　the　epicure；　so　of　Haggis　too；　as　of　all　earthly　delights；　cometh　satiety　at　last。　　And　yet　what　a　glorious　Haggis　it　isthe　more　emphatically　rustic　and　even　Fescennine　part　of　your　verse！　　We　have　had　many　a　rural　bard　since　Theocritus　〃watched　the　visionary　flocks；〃　but　you　are　the　only　one　of　them　all　who　has　spoken　the　sincere　Doric。　　Yours　is　the　talk　of　the　byre　and　the　plough…tail；　yours　is　that　large　utterance　of　the　early　hinds。　　Even　Theocritus　minces　matters；　save　where　Lacon　and　Comatas　quite　out…do　the　swains　of　Ayrshire。　　〃But　thee；　Theocritus；　wha　matches？〃　you　ask；　and　yourself　out…match　him　in　this　wide　rude　region；　trodden　only　by　the　rural　Muse。　　〃THY　rural　loves　are　nature's　sel'；〃　and　the　wooer　of　Jean　Armour　speaks　more　like　a　true　shepherd　than　the　elegant　Daphnis　of　the　〃Oaristys。〃

Indeed　it　is　with　this　that　moral　critics　of　your　life　reproach　you；　forgetting；　perhaps；　that　in　your　amours　you　were　but　as　other　Scotch　ploughmen　and　shepherds　of　the　past　and　present。　　Ettrick　may　still；　with　Afghanistan；　offer　matter　for　idylls；　as　Mr。　Carlyle　（your　antithesis；　and　the　complement　of　the　Scotch　character）　supposed；　but　the　morals　of　Ettrick　are　those　of　rural　Sicily　in　old　days；　or　of　Mossgiel　in　your　days。　　Over　these　matters　the　Kirk；　with　all　her　power；　and　the　Free　Kirk　too；　have　had　absolutely　no　influence　whatever。　　To　leave　so　delicate　a　topic；　you　were　but　as　other　swains；　or；　as　〃that　Birkie　ca'd　a　lord；〃　Lord　Byron；　only　you　combined　（in　certain　of　your　letters）　a　libertine　theory　with　your　practice；　you　poured　out　in　song　your　audacious　raptures；　your　half…　hearted　repentance；　your　shame　and　your　scorn。　　You　spoke　the　truth　about　rural　lives　and　loves。　　We　may　like　it　or　dislike　it　but　we　cannot　deny　the　verity。

Was　it　not　as　unhappy　a　thing；　Sir；　for　you；　as　it　was　fortunate　for　Letters　and　for　Scotland；　that　you　were　born　at　the　meeting　of　two　ages　and　of　two　worldsprecisely　in　the　moment　when　bookish　literature　was　beginning　to　reach　the　people；　and　when　Society　was　first　learning　to　admit　the　low…born　to　her　Minor　Mysteries？　　Before　you　how　many　singers　not　less　truly　poets　than　yourselfthough　less　versatile　not　less　passionate；　though　less　sensuous　not　less　simple…　…had　been　born　and　had　died　in　poor　men's　cottages！　　There　abides　not　even　the　shadow　of　a　name　of　the　old　Scotch　song…smiths；　of　the　old　ballad…makers。　　The　authors　of　〃Clerk　Saunders；〃　of　〃The　Wife　of　Usher's　Well；〃　of　〃Fair　Annie；〃　and　〃Sir　Patrick　Spens；〃　and　〃The　Bonny　Hind；〃　are　as　unknown　to　us　as　Homer；　whom　in　their　directness　and　force　they　resemble。　　They　never；　perhaps；　gave　their　poems　to　writing；　certainly　they　never　gave　them　to　the　press。　　On　the　lips　and　in　the　hearts　of　the　people　they　have　their　lives；　and　the　singers；　after　a　life　obscure　and　untroubled　by　society　or　by　fame；　are　forgotten。　　〃The　Iniquity　of　Oblivion　blindly　scattereth　his　Poppy。〃

Had　you　been　born　some　years　earlier　you　would　have　been　even　as　these　unnamed　Immortals；　leaving　great　verses　to　a　little　clan　verses　retained　only　by　Memory。　　You　would　have　been　but　the　minstrel　of　your　native　valley：　　the　wider　world　would　not　have　known　you；　nor　you　the　world。　　Great　thoughts　of　independence　and　revolt　would　never　have　burned　in　you；　indignation　would　not　have　vexed　you。　　Society　would　not　have　given　and　denied　her　caresses。　You　would　have　been　happy。　　Your　songs　would　have　lingered　in　all　〃the　circle　of　the　summer　hills；〃　and　your　scorn；　your　satire；　your　narrative　verse；　would　have　been　unwritten　or　unknown。　　To　the　world　what　a　loss！　and　what　a　gain　to　you！　　We　should　have　possessed　but　a　few　of　your　lyrics；　as


When　o'er　the　hill　the　eastern　star　Tells　bughtin…time　is　near；　my　jo；　And　owsen　frae　the　furrowed　field；　Return　sae　dowf　and　wearie　O！


How　noble　that　is；　how　natural；　how　unconsciously　Greek！　　You　found；　oddly；　in　good　Mrs。　Barbauld；　the　merits　of