repellent to my principles. Bysshe and Mr Hogg have gone to the Kirk. I
pleaded the wearisome performance would be certain in my case to bring
on a headache and so I remained at home. They returned much exhausted by
the wrestlings of an eminent divine with Satan. I am engaged in
translating Madame Cottin's immortal "Claire D'Albe" into English prose.
This occupies my morning. Bysshe is translating a treatise of Buffon,
with which we were both of us charmed. In the evenings I read out
"Telemachus."
I regret to say that Bysshe fell asleep while I was but half way through
an instructive discourse of Idomeneius relating to the wise laws of
Crete. Mr Hogg is an attentive listener and it is a pleasure to read to
him.
_York, October_ 10, 1811.--Travelled by post-chaise from Darlington.
Read "Anna St Ives" by Holcroft in the chaise throughout the journey.
Bysshe was restless and suggested my skipping certain portions of the
narrative. I, of course, declined, knowing that it was the intention of
the authoress that her work should be read without omissions. Bysshe is
obliged to go to London. In the evenings I read out Dr Robertson's
historical works to Mr Hogg. We are on the eve of a great event. My
dear sister Eliza has consented to visit us and is about to arrive. What
a privilege for Mr Hogg, what a source of pleasure for Bysshe. I
ardently regret that he should not be present to welcome her.
_October_ 25.--Eliza has arrived. I am deeply touched by her kindness in
coming and overcome when I think what a joyful surprise her presence
will be for Bysshe, and how it will illuminate our household.
_October_ 26.--Bysshe arrived from London. Eliza spent the day brushing
her hair. In the evening I suggested reading aloud from Holcroft; but
Eliza, such is her kind-heartedness, feared that it might upset my
nerves. She felt certain too, that her esteemed friend, Miss Warne, whom
she regards as a pattern and model in all things, would not approve of
Holcroft.
_October_ 26.--Eliza is certain that Miss Warne would find nothing to
admire in York Minster. Changed our lodgings. Eliza thinks that the pure
mountain air of the Lakes would be salutary to my nerves. Bysshe and Mr
Hogg miss our evening readings. I sometimes, however, continue to read
to them in an undertone when Eliza is brushing her hair. But the
pleasure is marred by the trepidation I am in lest I should disturb her.
Eliza objects to the name Bysshe. She is certain Miss Warne could not
endure such a name, so in future my husband shall be called Percy. It is
certainly prettier and more romantic.
_Keswick, November_ 16.--We have made the acquaintance of the Southeys.
Mr Southey is a great reader and devotes two hours daily to the study
of the Portuguese and Spanish languages. Mrs Southey is an adept at
book-binding and binds her husband's books with elegance and neatness.
Bysshe, I mean Percy, has alas three times narrowly risked offending the
poet. The first time by inadvertently taking a book down from one of his
book-shelves, the second time by falling asleep when Mr Southey after
having locked him into his study was reading aloud to him his epic, "The
Curse of Kehama," and the third time by sharply criticising his action
in eating tea-cakes, and by subsequently devouring a whole plate of
them, himself.
Bysshe, I mean Percy, has implored me to beg Mrs Southey to instruct me
in the art of making tea-cakes. I wish Eliza could begin to realise the
existence of Bysshe, I mean Percy. She seems altogether unaware of his
presence in the house; but then Eliza is so much occupied in considering
what will be best for me that she has no time to bestow any attention to
anything else. Percy is contemplating the composition of a poem which is
to be called "Queen Mab." Eliza said that Miss Warne had a horror of
"Queen Mab"; Bysshe explained to her that his poem was to be didactic
and philosophical and had nothing to do with fairies. "That," said
Eliza, "makes it worse." Bysshe ran out of the room with shrill
exclamation of impatience. "Hush, hush!" said Eliza, "think of poor
Harriet's nerves."
_November_ 20.--Bysshe confessed to me that he could see neither beauty
nor charm in Eliza. This is curious since her black hair has always been
an object of universal admiration. I am afraid that Eliza does not
understand him. I need hardly say what a disappointment this is to me.
Bysshe and I were thinking of writing a novel in collaboration. But
Eliza said that Miss Warne considered that it was not seemly for a woman
to dabble in fiction. Bysshe, I mean Percy--(In writing I find it
difficult to accustom myself to the new name, but I am fortunately
successful in the presence of Eliza in always saying Percy)--Percy and I
are thinking of studying Hebrew. I have not yet told Eliza of this
project. She is opposed to my reading Latin authors in their original
tongue.
_November_ 30.--We were walking this afternoon in the neighbourhood of
the lake. Percy, Eliza and myself. Percy was talking of Plato's republic
when Eliza interrupted him by recalling to his mind something which she
had indeed often mentioned before, namely, Miss Warne's positive dislike
of all the Greek authors and especially Plato. Scarcely had she uttered
these words, when we looked round and found that Bysshe had vanished in
silence like a ghost in the trees. We called and searched for him in
vain.
But when we returned to the house we found him awaiting us buried in a
book.
The incident greatly displeased Eliza and she insisted upon my taking to
my bed as soon as we got home, although I confess I felt no suspicion of
any ailment, nor would she hear of my reading either aloud or to myself.
She sat by my bed-side, brushing her hair. She grieved me by saying that
she could not conceive what Miss Warne would think of Bysshe. I mean
Percy.
XI
FROM THE "JOURNAL INTIME" OF THE EMPEROR TIBERIUS
_February_ 1.--Disquieting news from Parthia. Artabanus is giving
trouble again. Shall probably have to send an expedition. The military
party in Rome say that there will probably be unrest in Thrace in the
spring. I remember they said the same thing last year. Slept wretchedly
last night. Claricles' medicine is worse than useless. Wrote three
despatches and one private letter. Fed Hannibal, the tortoise. Went for
a stroll in the afternoon. Picked the first wind-flower, and put it in
water. The gardener says we shall have some rain shortly. Please the
Gods this may be true, as the country needs it badly! Dined alone.
Played spilikins after dinner with Fufius, but found it a strain.
_February_ 2.--Woke at four and remained awake until seven, then went
asleep again, and overslept myself. Scolded Balbus for not calling me.
He said he did not dare call me more emphatically. Told him it must not
occur again.
_February_ 3.--Nothing particular.
_February_ 4.--Letter from my mother begging me to come and see her.
Says she is suffering from lung trouble. Women are so unreasonable. She
must realise that it is impossible for me to get away just at present.
Hannibal would not touch his lettuce to-day. This is the third day
running it has happened. Claricles has given him some medicine. Strolled
along to cliffs in the morning. Much vexed by a fisherman who pushed a
lobster under my very nose. I have a horror of shellfish. Varus and
Aufidius dined. Found their conversation a strain. So retired early.
Read the Seventh Book of the "Æneid," but found it insipid. Virgil will
certainly not live. He was a sycophant.
_February_ 10.--Anniversary of poor Julia's death. Began to write short
poem on the subject, but was interrupted by the arrival of the courier
from Rome. Much vexed, as it altogether interrupted my train of thought
and spoilt what would have been a fine elegy. News from Rome
unsatisfactory. It rained in the afternoon, so I did not go out. Sorted
my specimens of dried herbs, which are in a sad state of confusion.
Dined alone. Dictated a despatch to Sejanus. Read some of the "Alcestis"
(Euripides) before going to bed. Alcestis reminds me of Julia in many
ways. She had the same fervid altruism and the same knack of saying
really disagreeable things. But they both meant well....
_March_ 1.--A lovely spring day. Went for a stroll, and jotted down a
few ideas for a poem on Spring. The birds were singing. Listened for
some time to the babbling of the brook. Think of alluding to this in the
poem. "Desilientis aquae" would make a good ending to a pentameter.
Mentioned it to Fufius when I came in, casually. He said he did not
think it was very original. Fufius is hyper-critical. He does not _feel_
poetry. Finished the memorial lines on Julia ending "Ave atque Vale."
Shall not show them to Fufius. He would be certain to say something
disparaging. Positively haunted by the sight of the wild tulips in the
hills, fluttering in the breeze. Sights like this live in the memory.
Disturbed early in the morning by a noise of hammering. It is strange
that where-ever I go this happens. Made inquiries, and ascertained that
the stable roof is being repaired. If it is not the stable roof it is
sure to be something else. Last week it was a strayed cow which woke me
at five. Find it very difficult to get sleep in the early morning,
whatever precautions I take. In a month's time the nightingales will
begin, and then sleep will be out of the question. Thinking of writing a
poem called "To Sleep."
_March_ 10.--Claricles says I am overworked and need a change. Have
decided to go for a short walking tour, quite by myself. Thought of
taking Fufius, but knowing how self-willed he is, decided not to. Packed
my knapsack. Took an extra pair of sandals, a worsted scarf, an ivory
comb, two gold toothpicks, and a volume of Sappho's Songs. Find this
light, feminine verse suitable for outdoor life. Shall start early
to-morrow. Had my hair cut. The slave was clumsy when cutting round the
ears. They still smart. Find this fault to be universal among
haircutters. Shall take tablets with me in order to jot down any ideas
for future poems, although Claricles advises me to give up writing for
two or three weeks.
_March_ 13.--Returned earlier than I expected. Walking tour successful
on the whole. Visited Sorrentum, an idyllic spot. Not sure I don't
prefer it to Capreæ. It is a curious thing that man is always
discontented with what he has, and hankers after what he has not got.
Walked leisurely the first day, stopping every now and then for light
refreshment. Found the country people very civil and anxious to please.
Nobody knew who I was, and I was intensely gratified by many spontaneous
and frank experiences of loyalty and devotion to the Emperor. This is
refreshing in this sceptical age. It is a comfort to think that although
I may not go down to posterity as a great military genius like Julius
Cæsar, I shall at least leave a blameless name, as far as my domestic
life is concerned, and an untarnished reputation for benevolence,
kindness, and unswerving devotion to duty. Without being conceited, I
think that some of my verse will live. I think I shall be among the
Roman poets when I die; but this is not saying much, when one considers
the absurd praise given to poetasters such as Virgil and Ponticus.
Strolling along the seashore near Sorrentum a very pretty little
episode occurred. A woman, one of the fishermen's wives, was sitting by
her cottage door, spinning. Her child, a little girl about six years
old, was playing with a doll hard by.
I said "Good day" to the fisherman's wife, and she offered me a glass of
wine. I declined, as Claricles has forbidden me red wine, but I said I
would gladly accept a bowl of milk. She immediately went to fetch it,
and the child went with her. When they returned the child offered me the
bowl, lisping in a charming manner. I drank the milk, and the mother
then said to the child:
"Tell the kind gentleman whom you love best in the world."
"Papa and mamma," lisped the child.
"And after that?" asked the mother.
"After that the divine Emperor Tiberius, who is the father and the
mother of us all," she said.
I gave the mother a gold piece. Fufius says it is a mistake to give
money to the poor, and that it pauperises them. He says one does more
harm than good by indiscriminate charity. But I think it cannot be a bad
thing to follow the impulses of the heart. I should like this to be said
of me: "Although he had many faults, such as discontent and want of
boldness, his heart was in the right place." It is little incidents like
the one I noted above which make up for the many disappointments and
trials of a monarch's life. The second day of my tour was marred by a
thunder-shower, but I found a thrush's nest and three eggs in it. There
are few things which move me so inexpressibly as the sight of a thrush's
nest with the eggs lying in it. It is curious that the nightingale's
egg should be so ugly. Owing to the bad weather, and the rheumatism in
my joints which it brought on, I was obliged to cut short my tour.
(_This extract probably belongs to a later period_)
_June_.--Asinius Gallus has again sent in a petition about the prison
fare. It appears he has a conscientious objection to eating veal. The
officials say they can do nothing. If they make an exception in his
favour they will be obliged to do so in many less deserving cases. I
confess these little things worry me. Our prison system seems to me
lacking in elasticity; but it is dreadfully difficult to bring into
effect any sweeping reform; because if the prison disciplinary system is
modified to meet the requirements of the more cultivated prisoners, the
prisons would be crowded with ruffians who would get themselves arrested
on purpose. At least this is the official view, and it is shared by
Sejanus, who has gone into the matter thoroughly. I confess it leaves me
unconvinced. I am glad to say we are ahead of the Persians in the
matter. In Persia they think nothing of shutting up a prisoner--of
whatever rank--in a cell and keeping him isolated from the world
sometimes for as long as three months at a time. This seems to me
barbarous.
_July_ 6.--The heat is overpowering. Agrippina threatens to come home
and to bring her daughter. I wrote saying I thought it is very unwise to
bring children here at this time of year, owing to the prevalence of
fever. She answered that her daughter was looking forward to the
sea-bathing. If they come it will mean that my summer will be ruined.
_July_ 7.--I went to the home farm this afternoon. The farmer's wife is
very ill. There is little or no hope of her recovery. Spent two hours
there reading out passages of the "Odyssey." She does not understand
Greek; but it seemed to soothe her. Her husband told her that he felt
confident that she could not get worse after this. The faith of these
simple folk is most touching. How unlike Fufius and all his friends.
_August_ 1.--There is no news except that, as always occurs at this time
of year, the Phœnix is reported to have been seen in Egypt.
_August_ 3.--One of those distressing little incidents happened to-day
which entirely spoil one's comfort and peace of mind for the moment:
just like a piece of dust getting into one's eye. My old friend Lucius
Anuseius came all the way from Rhodes to see me. By some mistake he was
shown into the Chamber, where prisoners are examined, and before the
error was rectified he was rather rudely interrogated. It turned out
afterwards that Balbus mistook him for Titus Anuseius, the informer.
Balbus is growing more and more stupid; he forgets everything. I ought
to send him away; on the other hand, he knows my habits, and I should
feel lost without him. As it is, Claricles says that Lucius is likely to
feel it for several days. He is so sensitive and the slightest thing
upsets his nerves. All his family are touchy, and I am afraid he will
look upon the matter as a deliberate slight. If it had happened to
anyone else it would not have mattered. They would have understood at
once. This has quite put me out. But, as Fufius says, how little I
shall think of this in a year's time.
_August_ 7.--Lucius Anuseius left the island in a huff. It is most
regrettable.
_August_ 12.--Agrippina arrives to-morrow. There is nothing to be done.
How pleasant life would be were it not for one's relations.
XII
FROM THE DIARY OF ŒDIPUS REX
_Corinth. The Feast of the Minotaur._--My birthday and coming-of-age.
All went oft very successfully. Papa gave me a chariot and mamma a
pocket tooth-pick, set in gold, with an Egyptian inscription on it (two
flamingoes and a water-rat, which means in Egyptian "Be merry and
wise"). Nausicaa, my nurse, gave me a stylus-wiper with "A Present from
Corinth" beautifully worked into it in silk. Polyphemus, our faithful
old messenger (who has only one eye), gave me a pair of sandal strings.
Very useful, as I'm always losing mine.
In the morning, after I had received all the family congratulations and
tokens, at the first meal, there was a public presentation of gifts in
the palace.
The town of Corinth sent a deputation, headed by the Priest of the
Temple of Castor and Pollux, which presented me, on behalf of the city,
with a silver vase, symbolic of the freedom of the city, beautifully
embossed, and engraved with a suitable inscription.
The priest made a long speech, and papa, who never cared for oratory,
kept on muttering, "By Demeter, be brief," but the priest wasn't brief.
He spoke for nearly an hour.
Then I had to respond. I said I would earnestly endeavour to follow in
my father's footsteps and to deserve the good-will and esteem of my
future subjects, which was being manifested in so touching and patriotic
a fashion. My speech had all been written out for me beforehand by
Zoroaster, my Persian tutor; but I flatter myself I added a few
unexpected and telling touches.
For instance, I began by saying: "Unaccustomed as I am to speaking in
public--." They cheered this to the echo.
I also managed to bring in rather an amusing anecdote about how a
foreign merchant called Abraham tried to get the better of a Corinthian
merchant in a bargain, and how the Corinthian got the best of him by
guile. This provoked loud laughter.
My peroration, ending with the words:
"What do they know of Corinth who only Corinth know?"
(a quotation from Tyrtæus) was loudly cheered. But my cousin Thersites
almost spoilt the effect by adding audibly, "Quite enough."
In the afternoon there were games, and an ox was roasted whole for the
_ὁι πολλὸι._ Papa says, now I am of age, I must go and pay my respects
to the oracle at Delphi. It is a family tradition.
_Delphi_.--(What is the date?)--Arrived at last after a tedious journey.
The inn is very uncomfortable. This is too bad, as in the guide book
(Odysseus') it is marked with a constellation of the Pleiades, which
means very good. The wine tastes of tar. And the salt is a chemical
compound called _Σερεβος_. I made a scene and asked for ordinary slaves'
salt, and they hadn't got any.
Shall not stay at this inn again, and I shall warn others not to. It is
called ΞΕΝΩΛΟΧΕΙΟΝ ΒΑΓΟΝΛΗ. Disappointed in the Temple (very _late_
architecture) and still more in the Oracle. I suppose it thought I
didn't pay enough. But because one happens to be a prince, I don't see
why one should be robbed. Besides which. I am travelling incognito as
Kyrios Ralli. But the priests bowed, and they all called me, "your
Shiningness." The Oracle was quite absurd, and evidently in a very bad
temper. It said I would kill my father and marry my mother. It only
shows how absurd the whole thing is. I hate superstition, and oracles
ought to be stopped by law. Gypsies on the roadside are put in gaol. Why
should oracles be supported by the State? I shall write to the _False
Witness_ about it.
In the afternoon went to the theatre. Saw the tragedy of Adam and Eve, a
historical drama, translated from the Hebrew. Very long. The part of
the Archangel, danced by Thepsis, was very bad, and the man who danced
Eve was too old; but the snake was good. Scenery fine, especially the
tree (which had real leaves).
_Daulis, Tuesday_.--Arrived this morning. Very disappointing; the famous
Daulian nightingale is not singing this spring. Just my luck. Rather an
amazing incident happened yesterday on the way. My chariot was run into
by a stranger. He was on the wrong side of the road, and, of course,
entirely in the wrong. Also, his charioteer was not sober. We shouted,
and we gave them ample room, and time, but he ran straight into us and
his chariot was upset. The owner and charioteer were both taken to the
Æsculapian Home, which is under the management of the Red Serpent. The
doctor said it was serious. We did all we could, but had to go on, as I
was due at Daulis to-day.
_Thebes, a year later_.--Staying with Queen Jocasta, a charming widow.
All very comfortable. Everybody is concerned about the Sphinx, who is
really causing great annoyance, asking impertinent riddles, and playing
dangerous practical jokes on people who can't answer. They want me to
go. Very tiresome, as I never could answer a riddle; but it's difficult
to refuse.
_Wednesday_.--Saw the Sphinx. Guessed the riddle first shot. It asked
what was that which runs on two legs, has feathers and a beak, and barks
like a dog. I said "pheasant," and I added, "You put that in about the
barking to make it more difficult." The Sphinx was very angry and went
off in a huff, for good.
_Thursday_.--As a reward for getting rid of the Sphinx I am allowed to
marry the Queen; we are engaged. Everybody thinks it an excellent thing.
She is a little older than I am; but I don't think that matters.
* * * * *
(_Ten years later_)
_Thebes_.--Rather a severe epidemic of plague. They say it is not
bubonic, however. In fact, it is what they call plagueen. Still, there
are a great many deaths.
_Thebes, a week later_.--The plague increasing. Have sent for Tiresias
to find out what it comes from.
_Tuesday_.--Tiresias arrived. Very cross and guarded. Don't believe he
knows anything about it. Doesn't want to commit himself. He loves making
mysteries.
_Saturday_.--Insisted on Tiresias speaking out. Regret having done so
now. He flew into a passion, and threatened the whole court with
"exposure" and "revelations." That's the last thing we want now.
_Monday_.--Had it all out with Tiresias. He told the most absurd cock
and bull story. Utterly preposterous, but very disagreeable even to have
such things hinted. Said nothing to Jocasta, as yet. Luckily, there are
no proofs. Tiresias has raked up an old shepherd, who is ready to swear
I am not the son of the King of Corinth, but the son of Laius, King of
Thebes, and of Jocasta (my wife!); and that Laius was the man I
accidentally killed years ago on the road to Daulis!
Tiresias says this is the sole cause of the plague, which is getting
worse. They now say it _is_ Asiatic.
_Thursday_.--I interviewed and cross-examined the shepherd in the
presence of Tiresias. There seems to be no doubt whatsoever about the
facts. But I cannot see that any good can be done now, after all these
years, by making a public scandal. It is, after all, a family matter.
Tiresias says the plague will not stop unless the whole truth is
published. Very awkward. Don't know how to break it to Jocasta.
_Friday_ (_dictated_).--Jocasta overheard me discussing the matter with
Tiresias and jumped, rashly, to conclusions. She had hysterics, and,
losing all self-control, seriously injured both my eyes with a pin. I
may very likely be blind for life. She was very sorry afterwards, and is
now laid up. I and the children leave for Colonnus to-morrow, and it is
settled that I am to abdicate in favour of Creon on the plea of
ill-health and overwork. The children have been told nothing; but
Antigone, who is far too precocious, alluded to Jocasta as grand-mamma.
The matter will be hushed up as far as possible.
_Citium Colonnus, two months later_.--The air here is delicious. Must
say the change is doing me good.
XIII
FROM THE DIARY OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR