letters on literature-第17章

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societe；　only　he　never　troubles　himself　for　a　moment　about　the

〃decorum　of　the　boudoir。〃　　Do　you　remember　the　lines　on　the　ring

which　he　gave　his　lady？　　They　are　the　origin　and　pattern　of　all　the

verses　written　by　lovers　on　that　pretty　metempsychosis　which　shall

make　them　slippers；　or　fans；　or　girdles；　like　Waller's；　and　like

that　which　bound　〃the　dainty；　dainty　waist〃　of　the　Miller's

Daughter。





〃Ring　that　shalt　bind　the　finger　fair

Of　my　sweet　maid；　thou　art　not　rare；

Thou　hast　not　any　price　above

The　token　of　her　poet's　love；

Her　finger　may'st　thou　mate　as　she

Is　mated　every　wise　with　me！〃





And　the　poet　goes　on；　as　poets　will；　to　wish　he　were　this　favoured；

this　fortunate　jewel：





〃In　vain　I　wish！　　So；　ring；　depart；

And　say　'with　me　thou　hast　his　heart'！〃





Once　more　Ovid's　verses　on　his　catholic　affection　for　all　ladies；

the　brown　and　the　blonde；　the　short　and　the　tall；　may　have　suggested

Cowley's　humorous　confession；　〃The　Chronicle〃：





〃Margarita　first　possessed；

If　I　remember　well；　my　breast；

Margarita；　first　of　all；〃





and　then　follows　a　list　as　long　as　Leporello's。



What　disqualifies　Ovid　as　a　writer　of　vers　de　societe　is　not　so　much

his　lack　of　〃decorum〃　as　the　monotonous　singsong　of　his　eternal

elegiacs。　　The　lightest　of　light　things；　the　poet　of　society；　should

possess　more　varied　strains；　like　Horace；　Martial；　Thackeray；　not

like　Ovid　and　（here　is　a　heresy）　Praed。　　Inimitably　well　as　Praed

does　his　trick　of　antithesis；　I　still　feel　that　it　is　a　trick；　and

that　most　rhymers　could　follow　him　in　a　mere　mechanic　art。　　But　here

the　judgment　of　Mr。　Locker　would　be　opposed　to　this　modest　opinion；

and　there　would　be　opposition　again　where　Mr。　Locker　calls　Dr。　O。　W。

Holmes　〃perhaps　the　best　living　writer　of　this　species　of　verse。〃

But　here　we　are　straying　among　the　moderns　before　exhausting　the

ancients；　of　whom　I　fancy　that　Martial；　at　his　best；　approaches　most

near　the　ideal。



Of　course　it　is　true　that　many　of　Martial's　lyrics　would　be　thought

disgusting　in　any　well…regulated　convict　establishment。　　His

gallantry　is　rarely　〃honourable。〃　　Scaliger　used　to　burn　a　copy　of

Martial；　once　a　year；　on　the　altar　of　Catullus；　who　himself　was　far

from　prudish。　　But　Martial；　somehow；　kept　his　heart　undepraved；　and

his　taste　in　books　was　excellent。　　How　often　he　writes　verses　for

the　bibliophile；　delighting　in　the　details　of　purple　and　gold；　the

illustrations　and　ornaments　for　his　new　volume！　　These　pieces　are

for　the　fewfor　amateurs；　but　we　may　all　be　touched　by　his　grief

for　the　little　lass；　Erotion。　　He　commends　her　in　Hades　to　his　own

father　and　mother　gone　before　him；　that　the　child　may　not　be

frightened　in　the　dark；　friendless　among　the　shades





〃Parvula　ne　nigras　horrescat　Erotion　umbras

Oraque　Tartarei　prodigiosa　canis。〃





There　is　a　kind　of　playfulness　in　the　sorrow；　and　the　pity　of　a　man

for　a　child；　pity　that　shows　itself　in　a　smile。　　I　try　to　render

that　other　inscription　for　the　tomb　of　little　Erotion：





Here　lies　the　body　of　the　little　maid

Erotion；

From　her　sixth　winter's　snows　her　eager　shade

Hath　fleeted　on！

Whoe'er　thou　be　that　after　me　shalt　sway

My　scanty　farm；

To　her　slight　shade　the　yearly　offering　pay；

Sosafe　from　harm　…

Shall　thou　and　thine　revere　the　kindly　Lar；

And　this　alone

Be；　through　thy　brief　dominion；　near　or　far；

A　mournful　stone！





Certainly　he　had　a　heart；　this　foul…mouthed　Martial；　who　claimed　for

the　study　of　his　book　no　serious　hours；　but　moments　of　mirth；　when

men　are　glad　with　wine；　〃in　the　reign　of　the　Rose：〃　｛9｝





〃Haec　hora　est　tua；　cum　furit　Lyaeus；

Cum　regnat　rosa；　cum　madent　capilli；

Tunc　mevel　rigidi　legant　Catones。〃



But　enough　of　the　poets　of　old；　another　day　we　may　turn　to　Carew　and

Suckling；　Praed　and　Locker；　poets　of　our　own　speech；　lighter　lyrists

of　our　own　time。　｛10｝







ON　VERS　DE　SOCIETE







To　Mr。　Gifted　Hopkins。



Dear　Gifted；If　you　will　permit　me　to　use　your　Christian；　and

prophetic；　namewe　improved　the　occasion　lately　with　the　writers　of

light　verse　in　ancient　times。　　We　decided　that　the　ancients　were　not

great　in　verses　of　society；　because　they　had；　properly　speaking；　no

society　to　write　verses　for。　　Women　did　not　live　in　the　Christian

freedom　and　social　equality　with　men；　either　in　Greece　or　Romeat

least　not　〃modest　women；〃　as　Mr。　Harry　Foker　calls　them　in

〃Pendennis。〃　　About　the　others　there　is　plenty　of　pretty　verse　in

the　Anthology。　　What　you　need　for　verses　of　society　is　a　period　in

which　the　social　equality　is　recognized；　and　in　which　people　are

peaceable　enough　and　comfortable　enough　to　〃play　with　light　loves　in

the　portal〃　of　the　Temple　of　Hymen；　without　any　very　definite

intentions；　on　either　part；　of　going　inside　and　getting　married。



Perhaps　we　should　not　expect　vers　de　societe　from　the　Crusaders；　who

were　not　peaceable；　and　who　were　very　earnest　indeed；　in　love　or

war。　　But　as　soon　as　you　get　a　Court；　and　Court　life；　in　France；

even　though　the　times　were　warlike；　then　ladies　are　lauded　in　artful

strains；　and　the　lyre　is　struck　leviore　plectro。　　Charles　d'Orleans；

that　captive　and　captivating　prince；　wrote　thousands　of　rondeaux；

even　before　his　time　a　gallant　company　of　gentlemen　composed　the

Livre　des　Cent　Ballades；　one　hundred　ballades；　practically

unreadable　by　modern　men。　　Then　came　Clement　Marot；　with　his　gay　and

rather　empty　fluency；　and　Ronsard；　with　his　mythological

compliments；　his　sonnets；　decked　with　roses；　and　led　like　lambs　to

the　altar　of　Helen　or　Cassandra。　　A　few；　here　and　there；　of　his

pieces　are　lighter；　more　pleasant；　and；　in　a　quiet　way；　immortal；

such　as　the　verses　to　his　〃fair　flower　of　Anjou；〃　a　beauty　of

fifteen。　　So　they　ran　on；　in　France；　till　Voiture's　time；　and

Sarrazin's　with　his　merry　ballade　of　an　elopement；　and　Corneille's

proud　and　graceful　stanzas　to　Marquise　de　Gorla。



But　verses　in　the　English　tongue　are　more　worthy　of　our　attention。

Mr。　Locker　begins　his　collection　of　them；　Lyra　Elegantiarum　（no

longer　a　very　rare　book　in　England）；　as　far　back　as　Skelton's　age；

and　as　Thomas　Wyat's；　and　Sidney's；　but　those　things；　the　lighter

lyrics　of　that　day；　are　rather　songs　than　poems；　and　probably　were

all　meant　to　be　sung　to　the　virginals　by　our　musical　ancestors。



〃Drink　to　me　only　with　thine　eyes；〃　says　the　great　Ben　Jonson；　or

sings　it　rather。　　The　words；　that　he　versified　out　of　the　Greek

prose　of　Philostratus；　cannot　be　thought　of　without　the　tune。　　It　is

the　same　with　Carew's　〃He　that　loves　a　rosy　cheek；〃　or　with　〃Roses；

their　sharp　spines　being　gone。〃　　The　lighter　poetry　of　Carew's　day

is　all　powdered　with　gold　dust；　like　the　court　ladies'　hair；　and　is

crowned　and　diapered　with　roses；　and　heavy　with　fabulous　scents　from

the　Arabian　phoenix's　nest。　　Little　Cupids　flutter　and　twitter　here

and　there　among　the　boughs；　as　in　that　feast　of　Adonis　which

Ptolemy's　sister　gave　in　Alexandria；　or　as　in　Eisen's　vignettes　for

Dorat's　Baisers：





〃Ask　me　no　more　whither　do　stray

The　golden　atoms　of　the　day；

For　in　pure　love　did　Heaven　prepare

These　powders　to　enrich　your　hair。〃





It　would　be　affectation；　Gifted；　if　you　rhymed　in　that　fashion　for

the　lady　of　your　love；　and　presented　her；　as　it　were；　with　cosmical

cosmetics；　and　compliments　drawn　from　the　starry　spaces　and　deserts；

from　skies；　phoenixes；　and　angels。　　But　it　was　a　natural　and　pretty

way　of　writing　when　Thomas　Carew　was　young。　　I　prefer　Herrick　the

inexhaustible　in　dainties；　Herrick；　that　parson…pagan；　with　the　soul

of　a　Greek　of　the　Anthology；　and　a　cure　of　souls　（Heaven　help　them！）

in　Devonshire。　　His　Julia　is　the　least　mortal　of　these　〃daughters　of

dreams　and　of　stories；〃　whom　poets　celebrate；　she　has　a　certain

opulence　of　flesh　and　blood；　a　cheek　like　a　damask　rose；　and　〃rich

eyes；〃　like　Keats's　lady；　no　vaporous　Beatrice；　she；　but　a　handsome

English　wench；　with