_Virgil_.--My dear Horace, your company is my greatest delight, even in
the Elysian Fields. No wonder it was so when we lived together in Rome.
Never had man so genteel, so agreeable, so easy a wit, or a temper so
pliant to the inclinations of others in the intercourse of society. And
then such integrity, such fidelity, such generosity in your nature! A
soul so free from all envy, so benevolent, so sincere, so placable in its
anger, so warm and constant in its affections! You were as necessary to
Maecenas as he to Augustus. Your conversation sweetened to him all the
cares of his ministry; your gaiety cheered his drooping spirits; and your
counsels assisted him when he wanted advice. For you were capable, my
dear Horace, of counselling statesmen. Your sagacity, your discretion,
your secrecy, your clear judgment in all affairs, recommended you to the
confidence, not of Maecenas alone, but of Augustus himself; which you
nobly made use of to serve your old friends of the republican party, and
to confirm both the minister and the prince in their love of mild and
moderate measures, yet with a severe restraint of licentiousness, the
most dangerous enemy to the whole commonwealth under any form of
government.
_Horace_.--To be so praised by Virgil would have put me in Elysium while
I was alive. But I know your modesty will not suffer me, in return for
these encomiums, to speak of your character. Supposing it as perfect as
your poems, you would think, as you did of them, that it wanted
correction.
_Virgil_.--Don't talk of my modesty. How much greater was yours, when
you disclaimed the name of a poet, you whose odes are so noble, so
harmonious, so sublime!
_Horace_.--I felt myself too inferior to the dignity of that name.
_Virgil_.--I think you did like Augustus, when he refused to accept the
title of king, but kept all the power with which it was ever attended.
Even in your Epistles and Satires, where the poet was concealed, as much
as he could be, you may properly be compared to a prince in disguise, or
in his hours of familiarity with his intimate friends: the pomp and
majesty were let drop, but the greatness remained.
_Horace_.--Well, I will not contradict you; and, to say the truth, I
should do it with no very good grace, because in some of my Odes I have
not spoken so modestly of my own poetry as in my Epistles. But to make
you know your pre-eminence over me and all writers of Latin verse, I will
carry you to Quintilian, the best of all Roman critics, who will tell you
in what rank you ought to be placed.
_Virgil_.--I fear his judgment of me was biassed by your commendation.
But who is this shade that Mercury is conducting? I never saw one that
stalked with so much pride, or had such ridiculous arrogance expressed in
his looks!
_Horace_.--They come towards us. Hail, Mercury! What is this stranger
with you?
_Mercury_.--His name is Julius Caesar Scaliger, and he is by profession a
critic.
_Horace_.--Julius Caesar Scaliger! He was, I presume, a dictator in
criticism.
_Mercury_.--Yes, and he has exercised his sovereign power over you.
_Horace_.--I will not presume to oppose it. I had enough of following
Brutus at Philippi.
_Mercury_.--Talk to him a little. He'll amuse you. I brought him to you
on purpose.
_Horace_.--Virgil, do you accost him. I can't do it with proper gravity.
I shall laugh in his face.
_Virgil_.--Sir, may I ask for what reason you cast your eyes so
superciliously upon Horace and me? I don't remember that Augustus ever
looked down upon us with such an air of superiority when we were his
subjects.
_Scaliger_.--He was only a sovereign over your bodies, and owed his power
to violence and usurpation. But I have from Nature an absolute dominion
over the wit of all authors, who are subjected to me as the greatest of
critics or hypercritics.
_Virgil_.--Your jurisdiction, great sir, is very extensive. And what
judgments have you been pleased to pass upon us?
_Scaliger_.--Is it possible you should be ignorant of my decrees? I have
placed you, Virgil, above Homer, whom I have shown to be--
_Virgil_.--Hold, sir. No blasphemy against my master.
_Horace_.--But what have you said of me?
_Scaliger_.--I have said that I had rather have written the little
dialogue between you and Lydia than have been made king of Arragon.
_Horace_.--If we were in the other world you should give me the kingdom,
and take both the ode and the lady in return. But did you always
pronounce so favourably for us?
_Scaliger_.--Send for my works and read them. Mercury will bring them to
you with the first learned ghost that arrives here from Europe. There is
instruction for you in them. I tell you of your faults. But it was my
whim to commend that little ode, and I never do things by halves. When I
give praise, I give it liberally, to show my royal bounty. But I
generally blame, to exert all the vigour of my censorian power, and keep
my subjects in awe.
_Horace_.--You did not confine your sovereignty to poets; you exercised
it, no doubt, over all other writers.
_Scaliger_.--I was a poet, a philosopher, a statesman, an orator, an
historian, a divine without doing the drudgery of any of these, but only
censuring those who did, and showing thereby the superiority of my genius
over them all.
_Horace_.--A short way, indeed, to universal fame! And I suppose you
were very peremptory in your decisions?
_Scaliger_.--Peremptory! ay. If any man dared to contradict my opinions
I called him a dunce, a rascal, a villain, and frightened him out of his
wits.
_Virgil_.--But what said others to this method of disputation?
_Scaliger_.--They generally believed me because of the confidence of my
assertions, and thought I could not be so insolent or so angry if I was
not absolutely sure of being in the right. Besides, in my controversies,
I had a great help from the language in which I wrote. For one can scold
and call names with a much better grace in Latin than in French or any
tame modern tongue.
_Horace_.--Have not I heard that you pretended to derive your descent
from the princes of Verona?
_Scaliger_.--Pretended! Do you presume to deny it?
_Horace_.--Not I, indeed. Genealogy is not my science. If you should
claim to descend in a direct line from King Midas I would not dispute it.
_Virgil_.--I wonder, Scaliger, that you stooped to so low an ambition.
Was it not greater to reign over all Mount Parnassus than over a petty
state in Italy?
_Scaliger_.--You say well. I was too condescending to the prejudices of
vulgar opinion. The ignorant multitude imagine that a prince is a
greater man than a critic. Their folly made me desire to claim kindred
with the Scalas of Verona.
_Horace_.--Pray, Mercury, how do you intend to dispose of this august
person? You can't think it proper to let him remain with us. He must be
placed with the demigods; he must go to Olympus.
_Mercury_.--Be not afraid. He shall not trouble you long. I brought him
hither to divert you with the sight of an animal you never had seen, and
myself with your surprise. He is the chief of all the modern critics,
the most renowned captain of that numerous and dreadful band. Whatever
you may think of him, I can seriously assure you that before he went mad
he had good parts and great learning. But I will now explain to you the
original cause of the absurdities he has uttered. His mind was formed in
such a manner that, like some perspective glasses, it either diminished
or magnified all objects too much; but, above all others, it magnified
the good man to himself. This made him so proud that it turned his
brain. Now I have had my sport with him, I think it will be charity to
restore him to his senses, or rather to bestow what Nature denied him--a
sound judgment. Come hither, Scaliger. By this touch of my Caduceus I
give thee power to see things as they are, and, among others, thyself.
Look, gentlemen, how his countenance is fallen in a moment! Hear what he
says. He is talking to himself.
_Scaliger_.--Bless me! with what persons have I been discoursing? With
Virgil and Horace! How could I venture to open my lips in their
presence? Good Mercury, I beseech you let me retire from a company for
which I am very unfit. Let me go and hide my head in the deepest shade
of that grove which I see in the valley. After I have performed a
penance there, I will crawl on my knees to the feet of those illustrious
shades, and beg them to see me burn my impertinent books of criticism in
the fiery billows of Phlegethon with my own hands.
_Mercury_.--They will both receive thee into favour. This mortification
of truly knowing thyself is a sufficient atonement for thy former
presumption.