"Fons etiam rivo dare nomen idoneus, ut nec
Frigidior Thracam, nec purior ambiat Hebrus."
AQUILIUS.--The river was the Digentia, the cold Digentia.
"Me quoties reficit gelidus Digentia rivus."
It _may_ be here a river, but not _certainly_. Do you suppose he went
down in sight of the whole neighbourhood to bathe in the little river?
for _little_ river it is, and cold enough, too; for I have bathed in it,
and can testify of its coldness. Would you take him, 1 say, down from
his house to the river itself, when he had it conveyed to his own home
by a _rivus_, or channel, and by a _fons_ such as has been described,
from which, without doubt, he was supplied with water enough for his hot
and his cold baths? The gelidus Digentia rivus, I well know, and, as I
said, bathed in it. A countryman seeing me, cried out, "Fa morir!" The
Italians now (at least inland) never bathe; they have a perfect
hydrophobia. Few even wash themselves. I asked a boy, whom we took about
with us to carry our sketching materials, when he had last washed his
face. He confessed he had _never_ washed it, and that nobody did.
CURATE.--We know Horace delighted in Tibur,--his "Tibur argeo, positum
colono." In the passage criticised in the Pentameron, I shall always see
Tivoli, with its wood, its rocks, and cascatelle. He had the scene
before him when he wrote,--
"ego laudo ruris amaeni
_Rivos_; et museo circumlita saxa, nemusque."
Tibur still; its rocks, woods, and rivus again; and perhaps the "nemus"
was "Tiburni lucus."
AQUILIUS.--Perhaps a line in this epistle from the lover of country to
the lover of town, may throw some light on "obliquo" and "trepidare," if
indeed he has _the_ scene in his eye.
"Purior in vicis aqua tendit rumpere plumbum,
Quam que _per pronum_ trepidat cum murmure _rivum_."
Great indeed is the difference, whether the water passes through a
leaden pipe, or by the rivers, a mere direction by a channel open to the
sky, and whose bed is the rock.
But there is a passage which still more clearly, I think, marks the
distinction between the rivus and the river. The poet invites Maecenas to
the country, and tells him,--
"Jam pastor umbras cum grege languido
_Rivumque_ fessus querit, et horridi
Dumeta Silvani, caretque
_Ripa_ vagis taciturna ventis."
Now, if the shepherd had driven his flock to the river, all bleating and
languid with heat, the bank of the river would scarcely have been
_taciturn_; doubtless the shepherd sought the "fontem," into which the
water was _conveyed_, and under shade, a place not exposed to the sun,
or the wind, as was the ripa, the river's bank. And besides, in this
passage, the rivos and the ripa are certainly spoken of as two separate
places.
Here our friend and host began to mutter a little. He was evidently
going over his model-farm, while we were at the Sabine. He now talked
quicker--"John," (so he always called his hind, his factotum,) "plant
'em a little farther apart, d'ye see, and trench up well." "That's the
way." "Now, John, d'ye know how--to clap an old head on young
shoulders--why dig a trench the width of the spade, from the stem of an
apple-tree, and fill up with good vegetable mould. First pollard your
tree, John." "That's it, John." This and more was said, with a few
sleepy interruptions; he soon awoke, and said with an amusing
indifference,--"Well, any more news of Catullus?"
AQUILIUS.--We left Catullus asleep some time ago, and thinking it
probable that you and he might wake at the same time, we determined to
wait for you both, and, in the meanwhile, we have been discussing a
passage in Horace, of which, (for we will not now renew the
discussion,) I will one day hear your opinion. A very favourite author,
however, of yours, doubts the _felicity_ of Horace in the choice of
words.
CURATE.--And in the structure of his sentences, and says, "How simple in
comparison are Catullus and Lucretius."
GRATIAN.--Indeed! now I think that is but finding one fault, for the
choice of words and construction of sentences go pretty much together.
An ill-constructed sentence can hardly have a good choice of words, for
it is most probably unmusical, and that fault would make the choice a
jumble. If the words were nonsense in Milton, the music of them would
make you believe he could have used no other. They are breathed out so
naturally; take the first line of Paradise Lost--it is in this manner
perfect. Good words are, to good thoughts, what the stars are to the
night, sunshine to the brook, flowers to the field, and foliage to the
woods; clothing what is otherwise bare, giving glory to the dark, and to
the great and spacious; investing the rugged with grace, and adding the
vigour and motion of life to the inanimate, the motionless, and the
solid. I must defend my friend Horace against all comers.
"--rura, quae Liris quieta
Mordet aqua, taciturnus amnis."
Is there a bad choice of words there? How insidiously the silent river
_indents_ the banks with its quiet water, and how true to nature! It is
not your turbulent river that eats into the land, (it may overflow it,)
but that ever heavy weight of the taciturn rivers, running not in a
rocky bed, but through a deep soft soil.
CURATE.--You are lucky in your quotation, for we were discussing some
such matter. Horace is particularly happy in his river scenes. Did not
he know the value of his own words--he thus speaks of them:
"Verba loquor socianda chordis."
AQUILIUS.--Yes, but he speaks of them as immortal. "Ne credas
interitura." But if the "socianda chordis," means they are to be set to
music, I deny that music is
"Married to immortal verse,"
or there has long ago been a divorce. I am told, the more manifest the
nonsense, the better the song.
GRATIAN.--Then I leave you to sing it, and reserve your sense and
sense-verses for to-morrow. But it cannot be till the evening, for I
must attend an agricultural meeting in the morning, some distance off.
Would you believe it, I have to defend my own statement. A stupid fellow
said publicly, that he would not believe that the produce of my Belgian
carrots, which you saw, was 360 lbs. per land-yard, which is at the rate
of 25 tons, 14 cwt. 1 qr. 4 lbs. per acre. There are people who will
doubt every thing. You see they doubt what I say of my carrots, and what
Horace says of his own words.--So, good-night.
This "good night," Eusebius, was not the abrupt leave-taking which it
may here appear. For our friend's habit was to close the day not
unthankful. We regularly retired to the dining-room, where the servants
and family were assembled, and prayers were read. So that this
"good-night" of our excellent host were but his last worldly and social
words. And if devotion, and most kind feelings towards all
creatures--man and beast--can ensure pleasant and healthful sleep, his
pillow is a charm against comfortless dreams and rheumatic pains.
There we leave him--and if, Eusebius, you are amused with this our chat,
you may look again for Noctes Catullianae.
POSTSCRIPT.--This should have gone to you, my dear Eusebius, two days
ago, but by some accident it was left out of the post-bag. By the
neglect, however, I am enabled to tell you that our friend the Curate is
in trouble: the very trouble, too, which I foresaw. He came to us this
morning with a very long face, and told us that yesterday, on going as
usual to his parochial Sunday school, he was surprised that nearly all
the bigger girls were absent; that the mistress of the school did not
receive him with her usual respect; that the three maiden ladies, Lydia
Prateapace, Clarissa Gadabout, and Barbara Brazenstare, were at the
farther end of the room, affectedly busy with the children; that seeing
him, they slightly acknowledged his presence, as Goldsmith well
expresses it, by a "mutilated curtsey." He approached them, and
expressed his surprise at the absence of the elder children. Prateapace
looked first down, then away from him, and said it was no business of
hers to question their parents. Miss Gadabout added, that every body
knew the reason. And Brazenstare looked him boldly in the face, and
said, she supposed nobody knew so well as himself. Prateapace put in her
word, that now he was come, there was no need of their presence, as
there were not too many to teach. Upon which Gadabout cried, "Then let
us be off: it is quite time we should." And as they were moving off,
Brazenstare turned round and asked him, mutteringly, if he intended to
kiss the schoolmistress. Upon this, he went to some of the parents to
inquire respecting the absence of their daughters, and little
satisfaction could he get. They didn't like to say--but people did
say--indeed it was all about the township--that they were quite as well
at home, for that they might learn more than the book taught--for that
his honour had been reproved by good Mr. G. for too great familiarity.
So ends the matter, or rather such is the position of affairs at
present--the Curate has come to consult what is to be done. I tell him,
that if he knows what he is about, it will proceed with some violence,
then an opposition, and end with offerings of bouquets, and perhaps the
presentation of a piece of plate. Gratian tells him he hopes nothing so
bad as that will come to pass--the Curate almost fears it will, and is
vexed at his present awkward position.
You, Eusebius, already see enough mischief in it to delight you; you
are, I know, laughing immoderately, and determine to write the
inscription for the plate in perspective. Adieu, ever yours. AQUILIUS.
_Printed by William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh._
Footnotes:
[1] See No. CCCLXXIII, page 555.
[2] See next page.
[3] FORM 25 (_a._)