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Persons One Would Wish To Have Seen
Persons One Would Wish To Have Seen
Introductory Note
William Hazlitt (1778-1830) was the son of a Unitarian minister. He went
to Paris in his youth with the aim of becoming a painter, but gradually
convinced himself that he could not excel in this art. He then turned to
journalism and literature, and came into close association with Wordsworth,
Coleridge, Lamb, Hunt, and others of the Romantic School. He was, however, of
a sensitive and difficult temperament, and sooner or later quarreled with most
of his friends. Though a worshiper of Napoleon, whose life he wrote, he was a
strong liberal in politics, and supposed himself persecuted for his opinions.
Of all Hazlitt`s voluminous writings, those which retain most value to -
day are his literary criticisms and his essays on general topics. His clear
and vivacious style rose at times to a rare beauty; and when the temper of his
work was not marred by his touchiness and egotism he wrote with great charm
and a delicate fancy.
The following essay shows in a high degree the tact and grace of
Hazlitt`s best writing, and his power of creating a distinctive atmosphere. It
would be difficult to find a paper of this length which conveys so much of the
special quality of the literary circle which added so much to the glory of
English letters in the first quarter of the nineteenth century.
Of Persons One Would Wish To Have Seen
[Footnote 1: Originally published in the "New Monthly Magazine," January,
1826. The conversation described is supposed to take place at one of Charles
Lamb`s "Wednesdays," at 16 Mitre Court Buildings, London.]
"Come like shadows - so depart."
Lamb it was, I think, who suggested this subject, as well as the defence
of Guy Fawkes, which I urged him to execute. As, however, he would undertake
neither, I suppose I must do both, a task for which he would have been much
fitter, no less from the temerity than the felicity of his pen -
"Never so sure our rapture to create
As when it touch`d the brink of all we
hate."^2
[Footnote 2: Pope, "Moral Essays," II., 51.]
Compared with him, I shall, I fear, make but a commonplace piece of
business of it; but I should be loth the idea was entirely lost, and, besides,
I may avail myself of some hints of his in the progress of it. I am sometimes,
I suspect, a better reporter of the ideas of other people than expounder of my
own. I pursue the one too far into paradox or mysticism; the others I am not
bound to follow farther than I like, or than seems fair and reasonable.
On the question being started, Ayrton^3 said, "I suppose the two first
persons you would choose to see would be the two greatest names in English
literature, Sir Isaac Newton and Mr. Locke?" In this Ayrton, as usual,
reckoned without his host. Everyone burst out a - laughing at the expression
on Lamb`s face, in which impatience was restrained by courtesy. "Yes, the
greatest names," he stammered out hastily; "but they were not persons - not
persons." "Not persons," said Ayrton, looking wise and foolish at the same
time, afraid his triumph might be premature. "That is," rejoined Lamb, "not
characters, you know. By Mr. Locke and Sir Isaac Newton, you mean the `Essay
on the Human Understanding,` and the `Principia,` which we have to this day.
Beyond their contents there is nothing personally interesting in the men. But
what we want to see anyone bodily for, is when there is something peculiar,
striking in the individuals, more than we can learn from their writings, and
yet are curious to know. I dare say Locke and Newton were very like Kneller`s
portraits of them. But who could paint Shakespeare?" "Ay," retorted Ayrton,
"there it is,; then I suppose you would prefer seeing him and Milton instead?"
"No," said Lamb, "neither. I have seen so much of Shakespeare on the stage and
on book - stalls, in frontispieces and on mantelpieces, that I am quite tired
of the everlasting repetition: and as to Milton`s face, the impressions that
have come down to us of it I do not like; it is too starched and puritanical;
and I should be afraid of losing some of the manna of his poetry in the leaven
of his countenance and the precisian`s band and gown." "I shall guess no
more," said Ayrton. "Who is it, then, you would like to see `in his habit as
he lived,` if you had your choice of the whole range of English literature?"
Lamb then named Sir Thomas Browne and Fulke Greville, the friend of Sir Philip
Sidney, as the two worthies whom he should feel the greatest pleasure to
encounter on the floor of his apartment in their nightgowns and slippers and
to exchange friendly greeting with them. At this Ayrton laughed outright, and
conceived Lamb was jesting with him; but as no one followed his example, he
thought there might be something in it, and waited for an explanation in a
state of whimsical suspense. Lamb then (as well as I can remember a
conversation that passed twenty years ago - how time slips!) went on as
follows: "The reason why I pitch upon these two authors is, that their
writings are riddles, and they themselves the most mysterious of personages.
They resemble the soothsayers of old, who dealt in dark hints and doubtful
oracles; and I should like to ask them the meaning of what no mortal but
themselves, I should suppose, can fathom. There is Dr. Johnson: I have no
curiosity, no strange uncertainty about him; he and Boswell together have
pretty well let me into the secret of what passed through his mind. He and
other writers like him are sufficiently explicit; my friends, whose repose I
should be tempted to disturb (were it in my power), are implicit,
inextricable, inscrutable.
[Footnote 3: William Ayrton, a musician.]
"`And call up him who left half - told
The story of Cambuscan bold.`^4
[Footnote 4: Milton, "Il Penseroso," 109.]
"When I look at that obscure but gorgeous prose composition, the `Urn -
burial,` I seem to myself to look into a deep abyss, at the bottom of which
are hid pearls and rich treasure; or it is like a stately labyrinth of doubt
and withering speculation, and I would invoke the spirit of the author to lead
me through it. Besides, who would not be curious to see the lineaments of a
man who, having himself been twice married, wished that mankind were
propagated like trees!^5 As to Fulke Greville, he is like nothing but one of
his own `Prologues spoken by the ghost of an old king of Ormus,` a truly
formidable and inviting personage: his style is apocalyptical, cabalistical, a
knot worthy of such an apparition to untie; and for the unravelling a passage
or two, I would stand the brunt of an encounter with so portentous a
commentator!" "I am afraid, in that case," said Ayrton, "that if the mystery
were once cleared up, the merit might be lost;" and turning to me, whispered a
friendly apprehension, that while Lamb continued to admire these old crabbed
authors, he would never become a popular writer. Dr. Donne was mentioned as a
writer of the same period, with a very interesting countenance, whose history
was singular, and whose meaning was often quite as "uncomeatable," without a
personal citation from the dead, as that of any of his contemporaries. The
volume was produced; and while someone was expatiating on the exquisite
simplicity and beauty of the portrait prefixed to the old edition, Ayrton got
hold of the poetry, and exclaiming "What have we here?" read the following:
[Footnote 5: "Religio Medici," II., ix.]
"`Here lies a She - Sun and a He - Moon there,
She gives the best light to his sphere
Or each is both and all, and so
They unto one another nothing owe.`"^6
[Footnote 6: "Epithalamion on the Lady Elizabeth and Count Palatine."]
There was no resisting this, till Lamb, seizing the volume, turned to the
beautiful "Lines to His Mistress," dissuading her from accompanying him
abroad, and read them with suffused features and a faltering tongue:
"`By our first strange and fatal interview,
By all desires which thereof did ensue,
By our long starving hopes, by that remorse
Which my words` masculine persuasive force
Begot in thee, and by the memory
Of hurts, which spies and rivals threatened me,
I calmly beg. But by thy father`s wrath,
By all pains which want and divorcement hath,
I conjure thee; and all the oaths which I
And thou have sworn to seal joint constancy
Here I unswear, and overswear them thus -
Thou shalt not love by ways so dangerous.
Temper, O fair love! love`s impetuous rage,
Be my true mistris still, not my faign`d Page;
I`ll go, and, by thy kind leave, leave behind
Thee! only worthy to nurse it in my mind.
Thirst to come back; O, if thou die before,
My soul, from other lands to thee shall soar.
Thy (else almighty) beauty cannot move
Rage from the seas, nor thy love teach them love,
Nor tame wild Boreas` harshness: thou hast read
How roughly he in pieces shivered
Fair Orithea, whom he swore he lov`d.
Fair ill or good, `tis madness to have prov`d
Dangers unurg`d: Feed on this flattery,
That absent lovers one in th` other be.
Dissemble nothing, not a boy; nor change
Thy body`s habit, not mind; be not strange
To thyself only. All will spy in thy face
A blushing, womanly, discovering grace.
Richly - cloath`d apes are call`d apes, and as soon
Eclips`d as bright, we call the moon the moon.
Men of France, changeable camelions,
Spittles of diseases, shops of fashions,
Love`s fuellers, and the rightest company
Of players, which upon the world`s stage be,
Will quickly know thee . . . O stay here! for thee
England is only a worthy gallery,
To walk in expectation; till from thence
Our greatest King call thee to his presence.
When I am gone, dream me some happiness,
Nor let thy looks our long - hid love confess,
Nor praise, nor dispraise me; nor bless, nor curse
Openly love`s force, nor in bed fright thy nurse
With midnight`s starting, crying out, Oh, oh,
Nurse, oh my love is slain, I saw him go
O`er the white Alpes alone! I saw him, I,
Assail`d, fight, taken, stabb`d, bleed, fall, and die.
Augure me better change, except dread Jove
Think it enough for me to have had thy love.`"
Someone then inquired of Lamb if we could not see from the window the
Temple - walk in which Chaucer used to take his exercise; and on his name
being put to the vote, I was pleased to find that there was a general
sensation in his favor in all but Ayrton, who said something about the
ruggedness of the metre, and even objected to the quaintness of the
orthography. I was vexed at this superficial gloss, pertinaciously reducing
everything to its own trite level, and asked, "If he did not think it would be
worth while to scan the eye that had first greeted the Muse in that dim
twilight and early dawn of English literature; to see the head round which the
visions of fancy must have played like gleams of inspiration or a sudden
glory; to watch those lips that "lisped in numbers, for the numbers came` - as
by a miracle, or as if the dumb should speak? Nor was it alone that he had
been the first to tune his native tongue (however imperfectly to modern ears);
but he was himself a noble, manly character, standing before his age and
striving to advance it; a pleasant humorist withal, who has not only handed
down to us the living manners of his time, but had, no doubt, store of curious
and quaint devices, and would make as hearty a companion as mine host of the
Tabard. His interview with Petrarch is fraught with interest. Yet I would
rather have seen Chaucer in company with the author of the `Decameron,` and
have heard them exchange their best stories together - the `Squire`s Tale`
against the story of the "Falcon,` the `Wife of Bath`s Prologue` against the
`Adventures of Friar Albert.` How fine to see the high mysterious brow which
learning then wore, relieved by the gay, familiar tone of men of the world,
and by the courtesies of genius! Surely, the thoughts and feelings which
passed through the minds of these great revivers of learning, these Cadmuses
who sowed the teeth of letters, must have stamped an expression on their
features as different from the moderns as their books, and well worth the
perusal. Dante," I continued, "is as interesting a person as his own Ugolino,
one whose lineaments curiosity would as eagerly devour in order to penetrate
his spirit, and the only one of the Italian poets I should care much to see.
There is a fine portrait of Ariosto by no less a hand than Titian`s; light,
Moorish, spirited, but not answering our idea. The same artist`s large
colossal profile of Peter Aretine is the only likeness of the kind that has
the effect of conversing with `the mighty dead`; and this is truly spectral,
ghastly, necromantic." Lamb put it to me if I should like to see Spenser as
well as Chaucer; and I answered, without hesitation, "No; for that his
beauties were ideal, visionary, not palpable or personal, and therefore
connected with less curiosity about the man. His poetry was the essence of
romance, a very halo round the bright orb of fancy; and the bringing in the
individual might dissolve the charm. No tones of voice could come up to the
mellifluous cadence of his verse; no form but of a winged angel could vie with
the airy shapes he has described. He was (to our apprehensions) rather a
`creature of the element, that lived in the rainbow and played in the plighted
clouds,` than an ordinary mortal. Or if he appear, I should wish it to be as a
mere vision, like one of his own pageants, and that he should pass by
unquestioned like a dream or sound -
"` - That was Arion crown`d:
So went he playing on the wat`ry plain.`"^7
[Footnote 7: "The Fairy Queen," IV., xi. 23.]
Captain Burney muttered something about Columbus, and Martin Burney
hinted at the Wandering Jew; but the last was set aside as spurious, and the
first made over to the New World.
"I should like," said Mrs. Reynolds, "to have seen Pope talk with Patty
Blount; and I have seen Goldsmith." Everyone turned round to look at Mrs.
Reynolds, as if by so doing they could get a sight at Goldsmith.
"Where," asked a harsh, croaking voice, "was Dr. Johnson in the years
1745-46? He did not write anything that we know of, nor is there any account
of him in Boswell during those two years. Was he in Scotland with the
Pretender? He seems to have passed through the scenes in the Highlands in
company with Boswell, many years after, `with lack - lustre eye,` yet as if
they were familiar to him, or associated in his mind with interests that he
durst not explain. If so, it would be an additional reason for my liking him;
and I would give something to have seen him seated in the tent with the
youthful Majesty of Britain, and penning the Proclamation to all true subjects
and adherents of the legitimate government."
"I thought," said Ayrton, turning short round upon Lamb, "that you of the
Lake School did not like Pope?" "Not like Pope! My dear sir, you must be under
a mistake - I can read him over and over forever!" "Why, certainly, the `Essay
on Man` must be allowed to be a masterpiece." "It may be so, but I seldom look
into it." "Oh! then it`s his satires you admire?" "No, not his satires, but
his friendly epistles and his compliments." "Compliments! I did not know he
ever made any." "The finest," said Lamb, "that were ever paid by the wit of
man. Each of them is worth an estate for life - nay, is an immortality. There
is that superb one to Lord Cornbury:
"`Despise low joys, low gains;
Disdain whatever Cornbury disdains;
Be virtuous, and be happy for your pains.`^8
[Footnote 8: "Imitations of Horace, Epistles," I., vi. 60-2.]
Was there ever more artful insinuation of idolatrous praise? And then
that noble apotheosis of his friend Lord Mansfield (however little deserved),
when, speaking of the House of Lords, he adds:
"`Conspicuous scene! another yet is nigh,
(More silent far) where kings and poets lie;
Where Murray (long enough his country`s pride)
Shall be no more than Tully or than Hyde!`^9
[Footnote 9: Ibid., 50-3.]
And with what a fine turn of indignant flattery he addresses Lord
Bolingbroke:
"`Why rail they then, if but one wreath of mine,
O all - accomplish`d St. John, deck thy shrine?`^10
[Footnote 10: "Epil. to Satires," II., 138-9.]
Or turn," continued Lamb, with a slight hectic on his cheek and his eyes
glistening, "to his list of early friends:
"`But why then publish? Granville the polite,
And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write;
Well - natured Garth inflamed with early praise,
And Congreve loved, and Swift endured my lays:
The courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield read,
Ev`n mitred Rochester would nod the head;
And St. John`s self (great Dryden`s friend before)
Received with open arms one poet more.
Happy my studies, if by these approved!
Happier their author, if by these beloved!
From these the world will judge of men and books,
Not from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cooks.`"^11
[Footnote 11: "Prol. to Satires," 135-146.]
Here his voice totally failed him, and throwing down the book, he said,
"Do you think I would not wish to have been friends with such a man as this?"
"What say you to Dryden?" "He rather made a show of himself, and courted
popularity in that lowest temple of fame, a coffee - shop, so as in some
measure to vulgarize one`s idea of him. Pope, on the contrary, reached the
very beau ideal of what a poet`s life should be; and his fame while living
seemed to be an emanation from that which was to circle his name after death.
He was so far enviable (and one would feel proud to have witnessed the rare
spectacle in him) that he was almost the only poet and man of genius who met
with his reward on this side of the tomb, who realized in friends, fortune,
the esteem of the world, the most sanguine hopes of a youthful ambition, and
who found that sort of patronage from the great during his lifetime which they
would be thought anxious to bestow upon him after his death. Read Gay`s verses
to him on his supposed return from Greece, after his translation of Homer was
finished, and say if you would not gladly join the bright procession that
welcomed him home, or see it once more land at Whitehall stairs." "Still,"
said Mrs. Reynolds, "I would rather have seen him talking with Patty Blount,
or riding by in a coronet - coach with Lady Mary Wortley Montague!"
Erasmus Phillips, who was deep in a game of piquet at the other end of
the room, whispered to Martin Burney to ask if "Junius" would not be a fit
person to invoke from the dead. "Yes," said Lamb, "provided he would agree to
lay aside his mask."
We were now at a stand for a short time, when Fielding was mentioned as a
candidate; only one, however, seconded the proposition. "Richardson?" "By all
means, but only to look at him through the glass door of his back shop, hard
at work upon one of his novels (the most extraordinary contrast that ever was
presented between an author and his works); not to let him come behind his
counter, lest he should want you to turn customer, or to go upstairs with him,
lest he should offer to read the first manuscript of `Sir Charles Grandison,`
which was originally written in eight - and - twenty volumes octavo, or get
out the letters of his female correspondents, to prove that Joseph Andrews was
low."
There was but one statesman in the whole of English history that anyone
expressed the least desire to see - Oliver Cromwell, with his fine, frank,
rough, pimply face and wily policy; and one enthusiast, John Bunyan, the
immortal author of the "Pilgrim`s Progress." It seemed that if he came into
the room, dreams would follow him, and that each person would nod under his
golden cloud, "nigh - sphered in heaven," a canopy as strange and stately as
any in Homer.
Of all persons near our own time, Garrick`s name was received with the
greatest enthusiasm, who was proposed by Barron Field. He presently superseded
both Hogarth and Handel, who had been talked of, but then it was on condition
that he should act in tragedy and comedy, in the play and the farce, Lear and
Wildair and Abel Drugger. What a "sight for sore eyes" that would be! Who
would not part with a year`s income at least, almost with a year of his
natural life, to be present at it? Besides, as he could not act alone, and
recitations are unsatisfactory things, what a troop he must bring with him -
the silver - tongued Barry, and Quin, and Shuter and Weston, and Mrs. Clive
and Mrs. Pritchard, of whom I have heard my father speak as so great a
favorite when he was young. This would indeed be a revival of the dead, the
restoring of art; and so much the more desirable, as such is the lurking
scepticism mingled with our overstrained admiration of past excellence, that
though we have the speeches of Burke, the portraits of Reynolds, the writings
of Goldsmith, and the conversation of Johnson, to show what people could do at
that period, and to confirm the universal testimony to the merits of Garrick;
yet, as it was before our time, we have our misgivings, as if he was probably,
after all, little better than a Bartlemy - fair actor, dressed out to play
Macbeth in a scarlet coat and laced cocked - hat. For one, I should like to
have seen and heard with my own eyes and ears. Certainly, by all accounts, if
anyone was ever moved by the true histrionic aestus, it was Garrick. When he
followed the Ghost in "Hamlet," he did not drop the sword, as most actors do,
behind the scenes, but kept the point raised the whole way round, so fully was
he possessed with the idea, or so anxious not to lose sight of his part for a
moment. Once at a splendid dinner - party at Lord _____`s, they suddenly
missed Garrick, and could not imagine what was become of him, till they were
drawn to the window by the convulsive screams and peals of laughter of a young
negro boy, who was rolling on the ground in an ecstasy of delight to see
Garrick mimicking a turkey - cock in the courtyard, with his coat - tail stuck
out behind, and in a seeming flutter of feathered rage and pride. Of our party
only two persons present had seen the British Roscius; and they seemed as
willing as the rest to renew their acquaintance with their old favorite.
We were interrupted in the hey - day and mid - career of this fanciful
speculation, by a grumbler in a corner, who declared it was a shame to make
all this rout about a mere player and farce - writer, to the neglect and
exclusion of the fine old dramatists, the contemporaries and rivals of
Shakespeare. Lamb said he had anticipated this objection when he had named the
author of "Mustapha" and "Alaham"; and, out of caprice, insisted upon keeping
him to represent the set, in preference to the wild, hare - brained
enthusiast, Kit Marlowe; to the sexton of St. Ann`s, Webster, with his
melancholy yewtrees and death`s - heads; to Decker, who was but a garrulous
proser; to the voluminous Heywood; and even to Beaumont and Fletcher, whom we
might offend by complimenting the wrong author on their joint productions.
Lord Brooke, on the contrary, stood quite by himself, or, in Cowley`s words,
was "a vast species alone." Someone hinted at the circumstance of his being a
lord, which rather startled Lamb, but he said a ghost would perhaps dispense
with strict etiquette, on being regularly addressed by his title. Ben Jonson
divided our suffrages pretty equally. Some were afraid he would begin to
traduce Shakespeare, who was not present to defend himself. "If he grows
disagreeable," it was whispered aloud, "there is Godwin can match him." At
length, his romantic visit to Drummond of Hawthornden was mentioned, and
turned the scale in his favor.
Lamb inquired if there was anyone that was hanged that I would choose to
mention? And I answered, Eugene Aram.^12 The name of the "Admirable Crichton"
was suddenly started as a splendid example of waste talents, so different from
the generality of his countrymen. This choice was mightily approved by a North
- Briton present, who declared himself descended from that prodigy of learning
and accomplishment, and said he had family plate in his possession as vouchers
for the fact, with the initials A. C. - "Admirable Crichton"! Hunt laughed, or
rather roared, as heartily at this as I should think he has done for many
years.
[Footnote 12: See "Newgate Calendar" for 1758. - H.]
The last - named Mitre - courtier^13 then wished to know whether there
were any metaphysicians to whom one might be tempted to apply the wizard
spell? I replied, there were only six in modern times deserving the name -
Hobbes, Berkeley, Butler, Hartley, Hume, Leibnitz; and perhaps Jonathan
Edwards, a Massachusetts man.^14 As to the French, who talked fluently of
having created this science, there was not a tittle in any of their writings
that was not to be found literally in the authors I had mentioned. [Horne
Tooke, who might have a claim to come in under the head of grammar, was still
living.] None of these names seemed to excite much interest, and I did not
plead for the reappearance of those who might be thought best fitted by the
abstracted nature of their studies for the present spiritual and disembodied
state, and who, even while on this living stage, were nearly divested of
common flesh and blood. As Ayrton, with an uneasy, fidgety face, was about to
put some question about Mr. Locke and Dugald Stewart, he was prevented by
Martin Burney, who observed, "If J - was here, he would undoubtedly be for
having up those profound and redoubted socialists, Thomas Aquinas and Duns
Scotus." I said this might be fair enough in him who had read, or fancied he
had read, the original works, but I did not see how we could have any right to
call up these authors to give an account of themselves in person till we had
looked into their writings.
[Footnote 13: Lamb at this time occupied chambers in Mitre Court, Fleet
Street. - H.]
[Footnote 14: Bacon is not included in this list, nor do I know where he
should come in. It is not easy to make room for him and his reputation
together. This great and celebrated man in some of his works recommends it to
pour a bottle of claret into the ground of a morning, and to stand over it,
inhaling the perfumes. So he sometimes enriched the dry and barren soil of
speculation with the fine aromatic spirit of his genius. His essays and his
"Advancement of Learning" are works of vast depth and scope of observation.
The last, though it contains no positive discoveries, is a noble chart of the
human intellect, and a guide to all future inquirers. - H.]
By this time it should seem that some rumor of our whimsical deliberation
had got wind, and had disturbed the irritable genus in their shadowy abodes,
for we received messages from several candidates that we had just been
thinking of. Gray declined our invitation, though he had not yet been asked;
Gay offered to come, and bring in his hand the Duchess of Bolton, the original
Polly; Steele and Addison left their cards as Captain Sentry and Sir Roger de
Coverley; Swift came in and sat down without speaking a word, and quitted the
room as abruptly; Otway and Chatterton were seen lingering on the opposite
side of the Styx, but could not muster enough between them to pay Charon his
fare; Thomson fell asleep in the boat, and was rowed back again; and Burns
sent a low fellow, one John Barleycorn, an old companion of his, who had
conducted him to the other world, to say that he had during his lifetime been
drawn out of his retirement as a show, only to be made an exciseman of, and
that he would rather remain where he was. He desired, however, to shake hands
by his representative - the hand, thus held out, was in a burning fever, and
shook prodigiously.
The room was hung round with several portraits of eminent painters. While
we were debating whether we should demand speech with these masters of mute
eloquence, whose features were so familiar to us, it seemed that all at once
they glided from their frames, and seated themselves at some little distance
from us. There was Leonardo, with his majestic beard and watchful eye, having
a bust of Archimedes before him; next him was Raphael`s graceful head turned
round to the Fornarina; and on his other side was Lucretia Borgia, with calm,
golden locks; Michael Angelo had placed the model of St. Peter`s on the table
before him; Correggio had an angel at his side; Titian was seated with his
mistress between himself and Giorgione; Guido was accompanied by his own
Aurora, who took a dice - box from him; Claude held a mirror in his hand;
Rubens patted a beautiful panther (led in by a satyr) on the head; Vandyke
appeared as his own Paris, and Rembrandt was hid under furs, gold chains, and
jewels, which Sir Joshua eyed closely, holding his hand so as to shade his
forehead. Not a word was spoken; and as we rose to do them homage, they still
presented the same surface to the view. Not being bona - fide representations
of living people, we got rid of the splendid apparitions by signs and dumb
show. As soon as they had melted into thin air, there was a loud noise at the
outer door, and we found it was Giotto, Cimabue, and Ghirlandajo, who had been
raised from the dead by their earnest desire to see their illustrious
successors -
"Whose names on earth
In Fame`s eternal record live for aye!"
Finding them gone, they had no ambition to be seen after them, and mournfully
withdrew. "Egad!" said Lamb, "these are the very fellows I should like to have
had some talk with, to know how they could see to paint when all was dark
around them."
"But shall we have nothing to say," interrogated G. J_______, "to the
`Legend of Good Women`?" "Name, name, Mr. J_______," cried Hunt in a
boisterous tone of friendly exultation, "name as many as you please, without
reserve or fear of molestation!" J - was perplexed between so many amiable
recollections, that the name of the lady of his choice expired in a pensive
whiff of his pipe; and Lamb impatiently declared for the Duchess of Newcastle.
Mrs. Hutchinson was no sooner mentioned, than she carried the day from the
Duchess. We were the less solicitous on this subject of filling up the
posthumous lists of good women, as there was already one in the room as good,
as sensible, and in all respects as exemplary, as the best of them could be
for their lives! "I should like vastly to have seen Ninon de l`Enclos," said
that incomparable person; and this immediately put us in mind that we had
neglected to pay honor due to our friends on the other side of the Channel:
Voltaire, the patriarch of levity, and Rousseau, the father of sentiment;
Montaigne and Rabelais (great in wisdom and in wit); Moliere and that
illustrious group that are collected round him (in the print of that subject)
to hear him read his comedy of the "Tartuffe" at the house of Ninon; Racine,
La Fontaine, Rochefoucauld, St. Evremont, etc.
"There is one person," said a shrill, querulous voice, "I would rather
see than all these - Don Quixote!"
"Come, come!" said Hunt; "I thought we should have no heroes, real or
fabulous. What say you, Mr. Lamb? Are you for eking out your shadowy list with
such names as Alexander, Julius Caesar, Tamerlane, or Genghis Khan?" "Excuse
me," said Lamb; "on the subject of characters in active life, plotters and
disturbers of the world, I have a crotchet of my own, which I beg leave to
reserve." "No, no! come out with your worthies!" "What do you think of Guy
Fawkes and Judas Iscariot?" Hunt turned an eye upon him like a wild Indian,
but cordial and full of smothered glee. "Your most exquisite reason!" was
echoed on all sides; and Ayrton thought that Lamb had now fairly entangled
himself. "Why, I cannot but think," retorted he of the wistful countenance,
"that Guy Fawkes, that poor, fluttering, annual scarecrow of straw and rags,
is an ill - used gentleman. I would give something to see him sitting pale and
emaciated, surrounded by his matches and his barrels of gunpowder, and
expecting the moment that was to transport him to Paradise for his heroic self
- devotion; but if I say any more, there is that fellow Godwin will make
something of it. And as to Judas Iscariot, my reason is different. I would
fain see the face of him who, having dipped his hand in the same dish with the
Son of Man, could afterwards betray him. I have no conception of such a thing;
nor have I ever seen any picture (not even Leonardo`s very fine one) that gave
me the least idea of it." "You have said enough, Mr. Lamb, to justify your
choice."
"Oh! ever right, Menenius - ever right!"
"There is only one other person I can ever think of after this,"
continued Lamb;^15 but without mentioning a name that once put on a semblance
of mortality. "If Shakespeare was to come into the room, we should all rise up
to meet him; but if that person was to come into it, we should all fall down
and try to kiss the hem of his garment!"
[Footnote 15: In the original form of the essay, this speech is given to
Hunt.]
As a lady present seemed now to get uneasy at the turn the conversation
had taken, we rose up to go. The morning broke with that dim, dubious light by
which Giotto, Cimabue, and Ghirlandajo must have seen to paint their earliest
works; and we parted to meet again and renew similar topics at night, the next
night, and the night after that, till that night overspread Europe which saw
no dawn. The same event, in truth, broke up our little congress that broke up
the great one. But that was to meet again: our deliberations have never been
resumed.
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