We, with one warrior, have slain ! A thousand, a thousand, a thousand, a thousand, Long life to our king, Who knocked over a thousand so fine! Soho!-let us roar, He has given us more Red gallons of gore Than all Syria can furnish of wine! "Do you hear that flourish of trumpets?" Yes the king is coming! See! the people are aghast with admiration, and lift up their eyes to the heavens in reverence! He comes!-he is coming!there he is! "Who?-where?-the king?—I do not behold him ; -cannot say that I perceive him." Then you must be blind. "Very possible. Still I see nothing but a tumultuous mob of idiots and madmen, who are busy in prostrating themselves before a gigantic camelopard, and endeavouring to obtain a kiss of the animal's hoofs. See! the beast has very justly kicked one of the rabble over—and another—and another—and another. Indeed I cannot help admiring the animal for the excellent use he is making of his feet.” Rabble, indeed !—why, these are the noble and free citizens of Epidaphne! Beast, did you say?-take care that you are not overheard. Do you not perceive that the animal has the visage of a man? Why, my dear sir, that camelopard is no other than Antiochus Epiphanes-Antiochus the Illustrious, King of Syria, and the most potent of all the autocrats of the East! It is true that he is entitled at times Antiochus EpimanesAntiochus the madman, but that is because all people have not the capacity to appreciate his merits. It is also certain that he is at present ensconced in the hide of a beast, and is doing his best to play the part of a camelopard; but this is done for the better sustaining his dignity as king. Besides, the monarch is of gigantic stature, and the dress is therefore neither unbecoming nor over-large. We may, however, presume he would not have adopted it but for some occasion of especial state. Such, you will allow, is the massacre of a thousand Jews. With how superior a dignity the monarch perambulates on all fours! His tail, you perceive, is held aloft by his two principal concubines, Elline and Argelais; and his whole appearance would be infinitely prepossessing were it not for the protuberance of his eyes, which will certainly start out of his head, and the queer colour of his face, which has become nondescript from the quantity of wine he has swallowed. Let us follow him to the hippodrome, whither he is proceeding, and listen to the song of triumph which he is commencing : Who is king but Epiphanes? Say-do you know? Who is king but Epiphanes? Bravo!-bravo! There is none but Epiphanes, So tear down the temples, Well and strenuously sung! The populace are hailing him "Prince of Poets," as well as "Glory of the East," "Delight of the Universe," and "most remarkable of Camelopards." They have encored his effusion, and do you hear?—he is singing it over again. When he arrives at the hippodrome he will be crowned with the poetic wreath, in anticipation of his victory at the approaching Olympics. "But, good Jupiter! what is the matter in the crowd behind us?" Behind us, did you say?-oh! ah!-I perceive. My friend, it is well that you spoke in time. Let us get into a place of safety as soon as possible. Here!—let us conceal ourselves in the arch of this aqueduct, and I will inform you presently of the origin of the commotion. It has turned out as I have been anticipating. The singular appearance of the camelopard with the head of a man has, it seems, given offence to the notions of propriety entertained in general by the wild animals domesticated in the city. A mutiny has been the result; and, as is usual upon such occasions, all human efforts will be of no avail in quelling the mob. Several of the Syrians have already been devoured; but the general voice of the four-footed patriots seems to be for eating up the camelopard. "The Prince of Poets," therefore, is upon his hinder legs, running for his life. His courtiers have left him in the lurch, and his concubines have followed so excellent an example. "Delight of the Universe," thou art in a sad predicament! "Glory of the East," thou art in danger of mastication! Therefore never regard so piteously thy tail; it will undoubtedly be draggled in the mud, and for this there is no help. Look not behind thee, then, at its unavoidable degradation, but take courage, ply thy legs with vigour, and scud for the hippodrome! Remember that thou art Antiochus Epiphanés-Antiochus the Illustrious-also "Prince of Poets," "Glory of the East," 66 Delight of the Universe," and "most remarkable of Camelopards!" Heavens! what a Heavens! what a power of speed thou art displaying! What a capacity for leg-bail thou art developing! Run, Prince!-Bravo, Epiphanes !Well done, Camelopard !—Glorious Antiochus! He runs he leaps !-he flies! Like an arrow from a catapult he approaches the hippodrome! He leaps!-he shrieks! he is there! This is well; for hadst thou, Glory of the East," been half a second longer in reaching the gates of the Amphitheatre, there is not a bear's cub in Epidaphne that would not have had a nibble at thy carcase. Let us be off-let us take our departure for we shall find our delicate modern ears unable to endure the vast uproar which is about to commence in celebration of the king's escape! Listen! it has already commenced. See!-the whole town is topsy-turvy. "Surely this is the most populous city of the East! What a wilderness of people! what a jumble of all ranks and ages! what a multiplicity of sects and nations! what a variety of costumes! what a Babel of languages! what a screaming of beasts! what a tinkling of instruments! what a parcel of philosophers!" Come, let us be off! "Stay a moment! I see a vast hubbub in the hippodrome; what is the meaning of it, I beseech you?" That?-oh, nothing! The noble and free citizens of Epidaphne being, as they declare, well satisfied of the faith, valour, wisdom, and divinity of their king, and having, moreover, been eye-witnesses of his late superhuman agility, do think it no more than their duty to invest his brows (in addition to the poetic crown) with the wreath of victory in the foot-race-a wreath which it is evident he must obtain at the celebration of the next Olympiad, and which, therefore, they now give him in advance. THE ISLAND OF THE FAY. Nullus enim locus sine genio est.—Servius. "LA MUSIQUE," says Marmontel, in those "Contes Moraux "* which in all our translations we have insisted upon calling "Moral Tales," as if in mockery of their spirit-"la musique est le seul des talens qui jouissede de lui même; tous les autres veulent des temoins." He here confounds the pleasure derivable from sweet sounds with the capacity for creating them. No more than any other talent, is that for music susceptible of complete enjoyment where there is no second party to appreciate its exercise; and it is only in common with other talents that it produces effects which may be fully enjoyed in solitude. The idea which the raconteur has either failed to entertain clearly, or has sacrificed in its expression to his national love of point, is doubtless the very tenable one that the higher order of music is the most thoroughly estimated when we are exclusively alone. The proposition in this form will be admitted at once by those who love the lyre for its own sake and for its spiritual uses. But there is one pleasure still within the reach of fallen mortality, and perhaps only one, which owes even more than does music to the accessory sentiment of seclusion. I mean the happiness experienced in the contemplation * Moraux is here derived from mœurs, and its meaning is "fashionable," or more strictly, "of manners." |