The piece gets a little tame in the middle, Horatius, ... ah! what is
this?
But deign me so to canonize,
O’er highest heaven my fame will rise.
Yes, very happy. A very good ode, Horatius. You have distinctly added
to your reputation. I am very glad to note that you disavow that most
dangerous tendency, which I am sorry to see is growing among some of my
poets, to defer to the popular judgment. Even poor Virgil is tainted by
it in this last epic, as he calls it, published in one of those measly
magazinelets. I am afraid Virgil is coming to think more of the so-called
glories of Rome than of his truest friends. Such defection on your part,
I warn you candidly, I should feel very deeply. Now what is this other? I
hope none of that Epicurean stuff which is such a handicap, if I may so
phrase it, upon your best powers for good....
Ah, Postumus, how fleet, how fleet,
The years slip by no prayers may stay
Since beldame Age knows not delay,
Since Death pursues with ruthless feet—
I think you might have found a fitter name than Postumus; but it is very
passable. I suppose you have verified all these mythological allusions
in the Greek; it is not your industry I need ever distrust.
Your land, your house, your yielding wife
Renounce; and of these trees you trim;
None follows, save the cypress grim,
The lordling of the little life.
Yes, the tone of the work is quite good.... And then—really Horatius, you
are too annoying—then you must spoil all again in the last stanza. I have
warned you a thousand times against that, Horatius. Listen, sir, to what
you say here—
He breaks your seals, the worthier heir,
He sweeps your bins, the worthier lord,
Dashing imperial winds abroad,
While Pontiffs envy and despair.
Now, understand once and for all, Horatius, that I will not have such
pernicious and disloyal trash as this put out to pollute the State. You
say you meant nothing impious? Well, then I will ask you, Horatius, who
is Chief Pontiff? The prince; so I had thought. And then you say you
had no intention of disloyalty? In that case I will merely answer that
you have expressed yourself very badly. You will agree, I suppose—even
you who were out with Brutus, when I understand you threw away your
shield—that what we must all work for in Rome, is a settled social order?
And I suppose that you are not incapable of perceiving that this is
impossible without the maintenance of religion? And perhaps you may have
heard that His Highness is supreme head of our religion? And then, do you
tell me, sir, that you did not see that this last stanza—this Pontiff’s
ambition, or whatever it is—is pernicious in the highest degree? Now this
is what I shall do. I shall make you, Horatius, write an ode of fourteen
stanzas in praise of His Highness as Chief Pontiff. Take your tablets and
write down the heads of the poem, as I dictate them.
First: The deplorable desuetude.
I beg your pardon: I think I was asking you to take down the heads of
the ode. What! I? You say that I gave you the subjects of this one? Very
possibly, though I do not remember: with the ode as a whole I am very
well satisfied. You say I gave the hint of the Pontiff? Very true; I
recollect it quite well, but it was not to be used, or wasted, in the
spirit in which you have used it here. Perhaps, however, you meant it to
refer to the Pontiffs of the old regime, whose unworthy excesses I may
have doubtless mentioned to you at some time? I could wish, Horatius,
that your execution were on a level with your intention: you lay yourself
open to a great deal of misconstruction. I think we must substitute
“late” for “while.”
What is that you are sputtering about Minucius? I told you to glance at
Minucius? Well, in one respect you are quite right. I do not remember
that I ever spoke of him to you, but the extravagance of Minucius not
only makes him a man impossible to be seen abroad with, but constitutes
a great scandal on the pontificate. And I tell you, sir, I tell you that
that man’s insolence to his betters is more than any well-ordered State
could endure. He has got the Prince’s ear, and presumes upon it. Yes,
you may jab at Minucius whenever you can, and as hard as you can. I am
very glad I suggested that, and you have taken up the hint very cleverly.
Sit down, my good Horatius; you must be tired of standing, and we men of
letters are all equal, whatever our social position. I will read you a
chapter of my own history that I threw off last night. You will remember,
of course, what happened while I was Urban Prefect.