Authors have too frequently received ill treatment even from those to
whom they dedicated their works.
Some who felt hurt at the shameless treatment of such mock Mæcenases
have observed that no writer should dedicate his works but to his
FRIENDS, as was practised by the ancients, who usually addressed those
who had solicited their labours, or animated their progress. Theodosius
Gaza had no other recompense for having inscribed to Sixtus IV. his
translation of the book of Aristotle on the Nature of Animals, than the
price of the binding, which this charitable father of the church
munificently bestowed upon him.
Theocritus fills his Idylliums with loud complaints of the neglect of
his patrons; and Tasso was as little successful in his dedications.
Ariosto, in presenting his Orlando Furioso to the Cardinal d'Este, was
gratified with the bitter sarcasm of--"_Dove diavolo avete pigliato
tante coglionerie?_" Where the devil have you found all this nonsense?
When the French historian Dupleix, whose pen was indeed fertile,
presented his book to the Duke d'Epernon, this Mæcenas, turning to the
Pope's Nuncio, who was present, very coarsely exclaimed--"Cadedids! ce
monsieur a un flux enragé, il chie un livre toutes les lunes!"
Thomson, the ardent author of the Seasons, having extravagantly praised
a person of rank, who afterwards appeared to be undeserving of
eulogiums, properly employed his pen in a solemn recantation of his
error. A very different conduct from that of Dupleix, who always spoke
highly of Queen Margaret of France for a little place he held in her
household: but after her death, when the place became extinct, spoke of
her with all the freedom of satire. Such is too often the character of
some of the literati, who only dare to reveal the truth, when they have
no interest to conceal it.
Poor Mickle, to whom we are indebted for so beautiful a version of
Camoens' Lusiad, having dedicated this work, the continued labour of
five years, to the Duke of Buccleugh, had the mortification to find, by
the discovery of a friend, that he had kept it in his possession three
weeks before he could collect sufficient intellectual desire to cut open
the pages! The neglect of this nobleman reduced the poet to a state of
despondency. This patron was a political economist, the pupil of Adam
Smith! It is pleasing to add, in contrast with this frigid Scotch
patron, that when Mickle went to Lisbon, where his translation had long
preceded his visit, he found the Prince of Portugal waiting on the quay
to be the first to receive the translator of his great national poem;
and during a residence of six months, Mickle was warmly regarded by
every Portuguese nobleman.
"Every man believes," writes Dr. Johnson to Baretti, "that mistresses
are unfaithful, and patrons are capricious. But he excepts his own
mistress, and his own patron."
A patron is sometimes oddly obtained. Benserade attached himself to
Cardinal Mazarin; but his friendship produced nothing but civility. The
poet every day indulged his easy and charming vein of amatory and
panegyrical poetry, while all the world read and admired his verses.
One evening the cardinal, in conversation with the king, described his
mode of life when at the papal court. He loved the sciences; but his
chief occupation was the belles lettres, composing little pieces of
poetry; he said that he was then in the court of Rome what Benserade was
now in that of France. Some hours afterwards, the friends of the poet
related to him the conversation of the cardinal. He quitted them
abruptly, and ran to the apartment of his eminence, knocking with all
his force, that he might be certain of being heard. The cardinal had
just gone to bed; but he incessantly clamoured, demanding entrance; they
were compelled to open the door. He ran to his eminence, fell upon his
knees, almost pulled off the sheets of the bed in rapture, imploring a
thousand pardons for thus disturbing him; but such was his joy in what
he had just heard, which he repeated, that he could not refrain from
immediately giving vent to his gratitude and his pride, to have been
compared with his eminence for his poetical talents! Had the door not
been immediately opened, he should have expired; he was not rich, it was
true, but he should now die contented! The cardinal was pleased with his
_ardour_, and probably never suspected his _flattery_; and the next week
our new actor was pensioned.
On Cardinal Richelieu, another of his patrons, he gratefully made this
epitaph:--
Cy gist, ouy gist, par la mort bleu,
Le Cardinal de Richelieu,
Et ce qui cause mon ennuy
Ma PENSION avec lui.
Here lies, egad, 'tis very true,
The illustrious Cardinal Richelieu:
My grief is genuine--void of whim!
Alas! my _pension_ lies with him!
Le Brun, the great French artist, painted himself holding in his hand
the portrait of his earliest patron. In this accompaniment the Artist
may be said to have portrayed the features of his soul. If genius has
too often complained of its patrons, has it not also often over-valued
their protection?