Amours de Voyage | Page 7

twelvemonth ago said
nations must choose for themselves, you
Could not, of course,
interfere,--you, now, when a nation has chosen----
Pardon this folly!
The Times will, of course, have announced the occasion,
Told you
the news of to-day; and although it was slightly in error
When it
proclaimed as a fact the Apollo was sold to a Yankee,
You may
believe when it tells you the French are at Civita Vecchia.
II. Claude to Eustace.
Dulce it is, and decorum, no doubt, for the country to fall,--to
Offer
one's blood an oblation to Freedom, and die for the Cause; yet
Still,
individual culture is also something, and no man
Finds quite distinct
the assurance that he of all others is called on,
Or would be justified
even, in taking away from the world that
Precious creature, himself.
Nature sent him here to abide here;
Else why send him at all? Nature
wants him still, it is likely;
On the whole, we are meant to look after
ourselves; it is certain
Each has to eat for himself, digest for himself,
and in general
Care for his own dear life, and see to his own
preservation;
Nature's intentions, in most things uncertain, in this are
decisive;
Which, on the whole, I conjecture the Romans will follow,

and I shall.
So we cling to our rocks like limpets; Ocean may bluster,

Over and under and round us; we open our shells to imbibe our

Nourishment, close them again, and are safe, fulfilling the purpose

Nature intended,--a wise one, of course, and a noble, we doubt not.

Sweet it may be and decorous, perhaps, for the country to die; but,

On the whole, we conclude the Romans won't do it, and I sha'n't.
III. Claude to Eustace.
Will they fight? They say so. And will the French? I can hardly,

Hardly think so; and yet----He is come, they say, to Palo,
He is
passed from Monterone, at Santa Severa
He hath laid up his guns.
But the Virgin, the Daughter of Roma,
She hath despised thee and
laughed thee to scorn,--The Daughter of Tiber,
She hath shaken her
head and built barricades against thee!
Will they fight? I believe it.
Alas! 'tis ephemeral folly,
Vain and ephemeral folly, of course,
compared with pictures,
Statues, and antique gems!--Indeed: and yet
indeed too,
Yet, methought, in broad day did I dream,--tell it not in St.
James's,
Whisper it not in thy courts, O Christ Church!--yet did I,
waking,
Dream of a cadence that sings, Si tombent nos jeunes heros,
la
Terre en produit de nouveaux contre vous tous prets a se battre;

Dreamt of great indignations and angers transcendental,
Dreamt of a
sword at my side and a battle-horse underneath me.
IV. Claude to Eustace.
Now supposing the French or the Neapolitan soldier
Should by some
evil chance come exploring the Maison Serny
(Where the family
English are all to assemble for safety),
Am I prepared to lay down my
life for the British female?
Really, who knows? One has bowed and
talked, till, little by little,
All the natural heat has escaped of the
chivalrous spirit.
Oh, one conformed, of course; but one doesn't die
for good manners,
Stab or shoot, or be shot, by way of graceful
attention.
No, if it should be at all, it should be on the barricades there;


Should I incarnadine ever this inky pacifical finger,
Sooner far
should it be for this vapour of Italy's freedom,
Sooner far by the side
of the d----d and dirty plebeians.
Ah, for a child in the street I could
strike; for the full-blown lady----
Somehow, Eustace, alas! I have not
felt the vocation.
Yet these people of course will expect, as of course,
my protection,
Vernon in radiant arms stand forth for the lovely
Georgina,
And to appear, I suppose, were but common civility. Yes,
and
Truly I do not desire they should either be killed or offended.

Oh, and of course, you will say, 'When the time comes, you will be
ready.'
Ah, but before it comes, am I to presume it will be so?
What
I cannot feel now, am I to suppose that I shall feel?
Am I not free to
attend for the ripe and indubious instinct?
Am I forbidden to wait for
the clear and lawful perception?
Is it the calling of man to surrender
his knowledge and insight,
For the mere venture of what may,
perhaps, be the virtuous action?
Must we, walking our earth,
discerning a little, and hoping
Some plain visible task shall yet for
our hands be assigned us,--
Must we abandon the future for fear of
omitting the present,
Quit our own fireside hopes at the alien call of a
neighbour,
To the mere possible shadow of Deity offer the victim?

And is all this, my friend, but a weak and ignoble refining,
Wholly
unworthy the head or the heart of Your Own Correspondent?
V. Claude to Eustace.
Yes, we are fighting at last, it appears. This morning as usual,
Murray,
as usual, in hand, I enter the Caffe Nuovo;
Seating myself with a
sense as it were of a change in the weather,
Not understanding,
however, but thinking mostly of Murray,
And, for