THE EPISODE OF BENTLEY AND WOTTON.
Day being far spent, and the numerous forces of the Moderns half
inclining to a retreat, there issued forth, from a squadron of
their heavy-armed foot, a captain whose name was Bentley, the most
deformed of all the Moderns; tall, but without shape or comeliness;
large, but without strength or proportion. His armour was patched
up of a thousand incoherent pieces, and the sound of it, as he
marched, was loud and dry, like that made by the fall of a sheet of
lead, which an Etesian wind blows suddenly down from the roof of
some steeple. His helmet was of old rusty iron, but the vizor was
brass, which, tainted by his breath, corrupted into copperas, nor
wanted gall from the same fountain, so that, whenever provoked by
anger or labour, an atramentous quality, of most malignant nature,
was seen to distil from his lips. In his right hand he grasped a
flail, and (that he might never be unprovided of an offensive
weapon) a vessel full of ordure in his left. Thus completely
armed, he advanced with a slow and heavy pace where the Modern
chiefs were holding a consult upon the sum of things, who, as he
came onwards, laughed to behold his crooked leg and humped
shoulder, which his boot and armour, vainly endeavouring to hide,
were forced to comply with and expose. The generals made use of
him for his talent of railing, which, kept within government,
proved frequently of great service to their cause, but, at other
times, did more mischief than good; for, at the least touch of
offence, and often without any at all, he would, like a wounded
elephant, convert it against his leaders. Such, at this juncture,
was the disposition of Bentley, grieved to see the enemy prevail,
and dissatisfied with everybody's conduct but his own. He humbly
gave the Modern generals to understand that he conceived, with
great submission, they were all a pack of rogues, and fools, and
confounded logger-heads, and illiterate whelps, and nonsensical
scoundrels; that, if himself had been constituted general, those
presumptuous dogs, the Ancients, would long before this have been
beaten out of the field. "You," said he, "sit here idle, but when
I, or any other valiant Modern kill an enemy, you are sure to seize
the spoil. But I will not march one foot against the foe till you
all swear to me that whomever I take or kill, his arms I shall
quietly possess." Bentley having spoken thus, Scaliger, bestowing
him a sour look, "Miscreant prater!" said he, "eloquent only in
thine own eyes, thou railest without wit, or truth, or discretion.
The malignity of thy temper perverteth nature; thy learning makes
thee more barbarous; thy study of humanity more inhuman; thy
converse among poets more grovelling, miry, and dull. All arts of
civilising others render thee rude and untractable; courts have
taught thee ill manners, and polite conversation has finished thee
a pedant. Besides, a greater coward burdeneth not the army. But
never despond; I pass my word, whatever spoil thou takest shall
certainly be thy own; though I hope that vile carcase will first
become a prey to kites and worms."
Bentley durst not reply, but, half choked with spleen and rage,
withdrew, in full resolution of performing some great achievement.
With him, for his aid and companion, he took his beloved Wotton,
resolving by policy or surprise to attempt some neglected quarter
of the Ancients' army. They began their march over carcases of
their slaughtered friends; then to the right of their own forces;
then wheeled northward, till they came to Aldrovandus's tomb, which
they passed on the side of the declining sun. And now they
arrived, with fear, toward the enemy's out-guards, looking about,
if haply they might spy the quarters of the wounded, or some
straggling sleepers, unarmed and remote from the rest. As when two
mongrel curs, whom native greediness and domestic want provoke and
join in partnership, though fearful, nightly to invade the folds of
some rich grazier, they, with tails depressed and lolling tongues,
creep soft and slow. Meanwhile the conscious moon, now in her
zenith, on their guilty heads darts perpendicular rays; nor dare
they bark, though much provoked at her refulgent visage, whether
seen in puddle by reflection or in sphere direct; but one surveys
the region round, while the other scouts the plain, if haply to
discover, at distance from the flock, some carcase half devoured,
the refuse of gorged wolves or ominous ravens. So marched this
lovely, loving pair of friends, nor with less fear and
circumspection, when at a distance they might perceive two shining
suits of armour hanging upon an oak, and the owners not far off in
a profound sleep. The two friends drew lots, and the pursuing of
this adventure fell to Bentley; on he went, and in his van
Confusion and Amaze, while Horror and Affright brought up the rear.
As he came near, behold two heroes of the Ancient army, Phalaris
and AEsop, lay fast asleep. Bentley would fain have despatched
them both, and, stealing close, aimed his flail at Phalaris's
breast; but then the goddess Affright, interposing, caught the
Modern in her icy arms, and dragged him from the danger she
foresaw; both the dormant heroes happened to turn at the same
instant, though soundly sleeping, and busy in a dream. For
Phalaris was just that minute dreaming how a most vile poetaster
had lampooned him, and how he had got him roaring in his bull. And
AEsop dreamed that as he and the Ancient were lying on the ground,
a wild ass broke loose, ran about, trampling and kicking in their
faces. Bentley, leaving the two heroes asleep, seized on both
their armours, and withdrew in quest of his darling Wotton.
He, in the meantime, had wandered long in search of some
enterprise, till at length he arrived at a small rivulet that
issued from a fountain hard by, called, in the language of mortal
men, Helicon. Here he stopped, and, parched with thirst, resolved
to allay it in this limpid stream. Thrice with profane hands he
essayed to raise the water to his lips, and thrice it slipped all
through his fingers. Then he stopped prone on his breast, but, ere
his mouth had kissed the liquid crystal, Apollo came, and in the
channel held his shield betwixt the Modern and the fountain, so
that he drew up nothing but mud. For, although no fountain on
earth can compare with the clearness of Helicon, yet there lies at
bottom a thick sediment of slime and mud; for so Apollo begged of
Jupiter, as a punishment to those who durst attempt to taste it
with unhallowed lips, and for a lesson to all not to draw too deep
or far from the spring.
At the fountain-head Wotton discerned two heroes; the one he could
not distinguish, but the other was soon known for Temple, general
of the allies to the Ancients. His back was turned, and he was
employed in drinking large draughts in his helmet from the
fountain, where he had withdrawn himself to rest from the toils of
the war. Wotton, observing him, with quaking knees and trembling
hands, spoke thus to himself: O that I could kill this destroyer
of our army, what renown should I purchase among the chiefs! but to
issue out against him, man against man, shield against shield, and
lance against lance, what Modern of us dare? for he fights like a
god, and Pallas or Apollo are ever at his elbow. But, O mother! if
what Fame reports be true, that I am the son of so great a goddess,
grant me to hit Temple with this lance, that the stroke may send
him to hell, and that I may return in safety and triumph, laden
with his spoils. The first part of this prayer the gods granted at
the intercession of his mother and of Momus; but the rest, by a
perverse wind sent from Fate, was scattered in the air. Then
Wotton grasped his lance, and, brandishing it thrice over his head,
darted it with all his might; the goddess, his mother, at the same
time adding strength to his arm. Away the lance went hizzing, and
reached even to the belt of the averted Ancient, upon which,
lightly grazing, it fell to the ground. Temple neither felt the
weapon touch him nor heard it fall: and Wotton might have escaped
to his army, with the honour of having remitted his lance against
so great a leader unrevenged; but Apollo, enraged that a javelin
flung by the assistance of so foul a goddess should pollute his
fountain, put on the shape of -, and softly came to young Boyle,
who then accompanied Temple: he pointed first to the lance, then
to the distant Modern that flung it, and commanded the young hero
to take immediate revenge. Boyle, clad in a suit of armour which
had been given him by all the gods, immediately advanced against
the trembling foe, who now fled before him. As a young lion in the
Libyan plains, or Araby desert, sent by his aged sire to hunt for
prey, or health, or exercise, he scours along, wishing to meet some
tiger from the mountains, or a furious boar; if chance a wild ass,
with brayings importune, affronts his ear, the generous beast,
though loathing to distain his claws with blood so vile, yet, much
provoked at the offensive noise, which Echo, foolish nymph, like
her ill-judging sex, repeats much louder, and with more delight
than Philomela's song, he vindicates the honour of the forest, and
hunts the noisy long-eared animal. So Wotton fled, so Boyle
pursued. But Wotton, heavy-armed, and slow of foot, began to slack
his course, when his lover Bentley appeared, returning laden with
the spoils of the two sleeping Ancients. Boyle observed him well,
and soon discovering the helmet and shield of Phalaris his friend,
both which he had lately with his own hands new polished and gilt,
rage sparkled in his eyes, and, leaving his pursuit after Wotton,
he furiously rushed on against this new approacher. Fain would he
be revenged on both; but both now fled different ways: and, as a
woman in a little house that gets a painful livelihood by spinning,
if chance her geese be scattered o'er the common, she courses round
the plain from side to side, compelling here and there the
stragglers to the flock; they cackle loud, and flutter o'er the
champaign; so Boyle pursued, so fled this pair of friends: finding
at length their flight was vain, they bravely joined, and drew
themselves in phalanx. First Bentley threw a spear with all his
force, hoping to pierce the enemy's breast; but Pallas came unseen,
and in the air took off the point, and clapped on one of lead,
which, after a dead bang against the enemy's shield, fell blunted
to the ground. Then Boyle, observing well his time, took up a
lance of wondrous length and sharpness; and, as this pair of
friends compacted, stood close side by side, he wheeled him to the
right, and, with unusual force, darted the weapon. Bentley saw his
fate approach, and flanking down his arms close to his ribs, hoping
to save his body, in went the point, passing through arm and side,
nor stopped or spent its force till it had also pierced the valiant
Wotton, who, going to sustain his dying friend, shared his fate.
As when a skilful cook has trussed a brace of woodcocks, he with
iron skewer pierces the tender sides of both, their legs and wings
close pinioned to the rib; so was this pair of friends transfixed,
till down they fell, joined in their lives, joined in their deaths;
so closely joined that Charon would mistake them both for one, and
waft them over Styx for half his fare. Farewell, beloved, loving
pair; few equals have you left behind: and happy and immortal
shall you be, if all my wit and eloquence can make you.
And now. . . .
DESUNT COETERA.
