Calamities and Quarrels of Authors. Disraeli IsaacЧитать онлайн книгу.
the history of such a literary hero as Gabriel, the birth has ever been attended by portents. Gabriel’s mother “dreamt a dream,” that she was delivered “of an immense elder gun that can shoot nothing but pellets of chewed paper; and thought, instead of a boy, she was brought to bed of one of those kistrell birds called a wind-sucker.” At the moment of his birth came into the world “a calf with a double tongue, and eares longer than any ass’s, with his feet turned backwards.” Facetious analogies of Gabriel’s literary genius!
He then paints to the life the grotesque portrait of Harvey; so that the man himself stands alive before us. “He was of an adust swarth choleric dye, like restie bacon, or a dried scate-fish; his skin riddled and crumpled like a piece 122 of burnt parchment, with channels and creases in his face, and wrinkles and frets of old age.” Nash dexterously attributes this premature old age to his own talents; exulting humorously—
“I have brought him low, and shrewdly broken him; look on his head, and you shall find a gray haire for euerie line I have writ against him; and you shall haue all his beard white too by the time he hath read ouer this booke.”
To give a finishing to the portrait, and to reach the climax of personal contempt, he paints the sordid misery in which he lived at Saffron-Walden:—“Enduring more hardness than a camell, who will liue four dayes without water, and feedes on nothing but thistles and wormwood, as he feeds on his estate on trotters, sheep porknells, and buttered rootes, in an hexameter meditation.”
In his Venetian velvet and pantofles of pride, we are told—
“He looks, indeed, like a case of tooth-pickes, or a lute-pin stuck in a suit of apparell. An Vsher of a dancing-schoole, he is such a basia de vmbra de vmbra de los pedes; a kisser of the shadow of your feetes shadow he is!”
This is, doubtless, a portrait resembling the original, with its Cervantic touches; Nash would not have risked what the eyes of his readers would instantly have proved to be fictitious; and, in fact, though the Grangerites know of no portrait of Gabriel Harvey, they will find a woodcut of him by the side of this description; it is, indeed, in a most pitiable attitude, expressing that gripe of criticism which seized on Gabriel “upon the news of the going in hand of my booke.”
The ponderosity and prolixity of Gabriel’s “period of a mile,” are described with a facetious extravagance, which may be given as a specimen of the eloquence of ridicule. Harvey entitled his various pamphlets “Letters.”
“More letters yet from the doctor? Out upon it, here’s a packet of epistling, as bigge as a packe of woollen cloth, or a stack of salt fish. Carrier, didst thou bring it by wayne, or by horsebacke? By wayne, sir, and it hath crackt me three axle-trees.—Heavie newes! Take them again! I will never open them.—My cart (quoth he, deep-sighing,) hath cryde creake under them fortie times euerie furlong; wherefore if you be a good man rather make mud-walls with them, mend highways, or damme up quagmires with them.
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“When I came to unrip and unbumbast[89] this Gargantuan bag pudding, and found nothing in it but dogs tripes, swines livers, oxe galls, and sheepes guts, I was in a bitterer chafe than anie cooke at a long sermon, when his meat burnes.
“O ’tis an vnsconscionable vast gor-bellied volume, bigger bulkt than a Dutch hoy, and more cumbersome than a payre of Switzer’s galeaze breeches.”[90]
And in the same ludicrous style he writes—
“One epistle thereof to John Wolfe (Harvey’s printer) I took and weighed in an ironmonger’s scale, and it counter poyseth a cade[91] of herrings with three Holland cheeses. It was rumoured about the Court that the guard meant to trie masteries with it before the Queene, and instead of throwing the sledge, or the hammer, to hurle it foorth at the armes end for a wager.
“Sixe and thirtie sheets it comprehendeth, which with him is but sixe and thirtie full points (periods); for he makes no more difference ’twixt a sheet of paper and a full pointe, than there is ’twixt two black puddings for a pennie, and a pennie for a pair of black puddings. Yet these are but the shortest prouerbes of his wit, for he never bids a man good morrow, but he makes a speech as long as a proclamation, nor drinkes to anie, but he reads a lecture of three howers long, de Arte bibendi. O ’tis a precious apothegmatical pedant.”
It was the foible of Harvey to wish to conceal the humble avocation of his father: this forms a perpetual source of the bitterness or the pleasantry of Nash, who, indeed, calls his pamphlet “a full answer to the eldest son of the halter maker,” which, he says, “is death to Gabriel to remember; wherefore from time to time he doth nothing but turmoile his thoughts how to invent new pedigrees, and what great nobleman’s bastard he was likely to be, not whose sonne he is reputed to be. Yet he would not have a shoo to put on 124 his foote if his father had not traffiqued with the hangman.—Harvey nor his brothers cannot bear to be called the sonnes of a rope-maker, which, by his private confession to some of my friends, was the only thing that most set him afire against me. Turne over his two bookes he hath published against me, wherein he hath clapt paper God’s plentie, if that could press a man to death, and see if, in the waye of answer, or otherwise, he once mentioned the word rope-maker, or come within forty foot of it; except in one place of his first booke, where he nameth it not neither, but goes thus cleanly to worke:—‘and may not a good sonne have a reprobate for his father?’ a periphrase of a rope-maker, which, if I should shryue myself, I never heard before.” According to Nash, Gabriel took his oath before a justice, that his father was an honest man, and kept his sons at the Universities a long time. “I confirmed it, and added, Ay! which is more, three proud sonnes, that when they met the hangman, their father’s best customer, would not put off their hats to him—”
Such repeated raillery on this foible of Harvey touched him more to the quick, and more raised the public laugh, than any other point of attack; for it was merited. Another foible was, perhaps, the finical richness of Harvey’s dress, adopting the Italian fashions on his return from Italy, “when he made no bones of taking the wall of Sir Philip Sidney, in his black Venetian velvet.”[92] On this the fertile invention of Nash raises a scandalous anecdote concerning Gabriel’s wardrobe; “a tale of his hobby-horse reuelling and domineering at Audley-end, when the Queen was there; to which place Gabriel came ruffling it out, hufty tufty, in his suit of veluet—” which he had “untrussed, and pelted the outside from the lining of an old velvet saddle he had borrowed!” “The rotten mould of that worm-eaten relique, he means, 125 when he dies, to hang over his tomb for a monument.”[93] Harvey was proud of his refined skill in “Tuscan authors,” and too fond of their worse conceits. Nash alludes to his travels in Italy, “to fetch him twopenny worth of Tuscanism, quite renouncing his natural English accents and gestures, wrested himself wholly to the Italian punctilios, painting himself like a courtezan, till the Queen declared, ‘he looked something like an Italian!’ At which he roused his plumes, pricked his ears, and run away with the bridle betwixt his teeth.” These were malicious tales, to make his adversary contemptible, whenever the merry wits at court were willing to sharpen themselves on him.
One of the most difficult points of attack was to break through that bastion of sonnets and panegyrics with which Harvey had fortified himself by the aid of his friends, against the assaults of Nash. Harvey had been commended by the learned and the ingenious. Our Lucian, with his usual adroitness, since he could not deny Harvey’s intimacy with Spenser and Sidney, gets rid of their suffrages by this malicious sarcasm: “It is a miserable thing for a man to be said to have had friends, and now to have neer a one left!” As for the others, whom Harvey calls “his gentle and liberall friends,” Nash boldly caricatures the grotesque crew, as “tender itchie brained infants, that cared not what they did, so they might come in print; worthless whippets, and jack-straws, who meeter it in his commendation, whom he would compare with the highest.” The works of these young writers he describes by an image exquisitely ludicrous and satirical:—
“These mushrumpes, who pester the world with their pamphlets, are like those barbarous people in the hot countries, who, when they have bread to make, doe no more than clap the dowe upon a post on the outside of their houses, and there leave it to the