FROM THE LUTRIN OF BOILEAU.
THE subject of the Lutrin is a dispute between the Chanter and Treasurer (or Dean) of a Cathedral Chapel in Paris, respecting the right of having a reading-desk in the Choir, and of giving the benediction. If the Chanter can succeed in publicly giving the benediction to the Dean himself, he thinks he shall establish that privilege without further trouble: on the other hand, if the Dean can get the start of him and bless the Chanter, his predominance is secured for ever,
Luckily for the Dean, whenever he and the Chanter are together, and a multitude assembled, he enjoys, from prescription, the greater influence; and how he gains his end accordingly, is set forth in the ensuing Battle of the Books, which is the original of Swift's prose satire. Boileau is quite at home in it. It gives him an opportunity, as Warton observes, of indulging in his favourite pastime of ridiculing bad authors. This perhaps is the liveliest and most inventive passage in all the Lutrin ; and it may be fairly pitted against the Battle of the Beaux and Ladies in the Rape of the Lock, being at once more satirical, probable, and full of life. If Pope's mock-heroic excels in delicacy and fancy, (which I cannot but think it does, out and out,) Boileau's may lay claim to a jollier and robuster spirit of ridicule, and to a greater portion of movement.
MEANWHILE the canons, far from all this noise,
With rapid mouthfuls urge the hungry joys:
With flowing cups and irritating salt,
Their thirst by turns they lay and they exalt
Fervent they feed, with palate and with eye;
Through all its caverns gapes a monstrous ven'son pie.
To these Fame comes, and hastens to relate
The law consulted and the threaten'd fate:
Up starts the chief, and cries "Consult we too!"
With bile and claret strove his sudden hue.
Groans Everard from the board untimely torn,
But far away among the rest is borne.
A short and secret passage knew the band; Through this they ruffle, and soon reach the stand, Where Barbin, bookseller of equal eye,
Sells good and bad to all who choose to buy.
Proud up the platform mount the valiant train
Making loud way, when lo! so fates ordain,
As proud and loud and close at hand are seen
The fervid squadron, headed by the Dean.
The chiefs approaching, shew a turbid grace;
They measure with their eyes, they fume, they
face;
And had they hoofs, had paw'd upon the place.
Thus two proud bulls, whom equal flames surprise
For some fair heifer with her Juno's eyes,
Forget their pasture, meet with horrid bows,
And stooping, threaten with their stormy brows.
But the sad Everard, elbow'd as he pass'd,
No longer could endure his demi-fast.
Plung'd in the shop, he seizes on a book,
A "Cyrus "* (lucky in the first he took,)
And aiming at the man (Boirude was he)
Launch'd at his head the chaste enormity.
Boirude evaded, graz'd in cheek alone,
But Sidrac's stomach felt it with a groan.
Punch'd by the dire " Artamenes," he fell
At the Dean's feet, and lay incapable.
His troop believe him dead, and with a start
Feel their own stomachs for the wounded part.
* "Artamenes, or the Grand Cyrus," written by Mademoiselle Scuderi. The books mentioned in this battle are either obsolete French romances, or sorry productions of the author's contemporaries.
But rage and fear alike now rouse their gall,
And twenty champions on the murd❜rer fall.
The canons to support the shock, advance :
On every side ferments the direful dance;
Then Discord gives a roar, loud as when meet
Two herds of rival graziers in a street.
The bookseller was out, the troops rush in,
Fast fly his quartos; his octavos spin.
On Everard most they fall as thick as hail,
As when in spring the stony showers prevail,
And beat the blossoms till the season fail.
All arm them as they can one gives a scotch
With "Love's Decree;" another, with the "Watch:"
This a French Tasso flings, a harmless wound,
And that the only "Jonas" ever bound.
The boy of Barbin vainly interferes,
And thrusts amidst the fray his generous ears:
Within, without, the books fly o'er and o'er,
Seek the dipp'd heads, and thump the dusty floor,
And strew the wondering platform at the door.
Here, with Guarini, Terence lies: and there
Jostles with Xenophon the fop La Serre.
Oh what unheard-of books, what great unknowns,
Quitted that day their dusty garrisons!
You," Almerinde and Simander," mighty twins,
Were there, tremendous in your ancient skins :
And you, most hidden " Caloander,” saw
The light for once, drawn forth by Gaillerbois.
Doubtful of blood, each handles his brain-pan :
On every chair there lies a clergyman.
A critical "Le Vayer" hits Giraut
Just where a reader yawns, and lays him low.
Marin, who thought himself translator-proof,
On his right shoulder feels a dire Brebeuf;
The weary pang pervades his arm; he frowns,
And damns the Lucan dear to country towns.
Poor Dodillon, with senses render'd thick
By a
"Pinchêne" in quarto, rises sick;
Then walks away. Him scorn'd in vain Garagne, Smitten in forehead by a Charlemagne :
O wonderful effect of sacred verse!
The warrior slumbers where he meant to curse.
Great glory with a Clelia," Bloc obtain'd;
Ten times he threw it, and ten times regain'd.
But nought, Fabri, withstood thy bulky Mars,
Thou canon, nurs'd in all the church's wars.
Big was Fabri, big bon'd, a large divine;
No water knew his elemental wine.
By him both Gronde and Grinde were overthrown,
And tenor Grosse, and Gruffe the bary-tone,
And Gingol, bad except in easy parts,
And Gigue, whose alto touched the ladies' hearts.
At last the Singers, turning one and all, Fly to regain the loop-holes of the Hall: So fly from a grey wolf, with sudden sweep, The bleating terrors of a flock of sheep; Or thus, o'erborne by the Pelidean powers, The Trojans turning sought their windy towers, Brontin beheld, and thus address'd Boirude : "Illustrious carrier of the sacred wood, Thou, who one step did'st never yet give way, Huge as the burthen was, and hot the day; Say shall we look on this inglorious scene, And bear a Canon conquering a Dean? And shall our children's children have it said, We stain'd the glory of the rochet's red ? Ah, no; disabled though I thus recline, A carcase still, and a Quinaut, are mine; Accept the covert of my bulk, and aim; A blow may crown thee with a David's fame." He said, and tended him the gentle book; With ardour in his eyes the Sexton took, Then lurk'd, then aim'd, and right between the eyes, Hit the great athlete, to his dumb surprise.
O feeble stroke! O bullet, not of lead!
The book, like butter, dumps against his head.
With scorn the Canon chafed: "Now mark," said he,
"Ye secret couple, base and cowardly,
See if this arm consents against the foe
To launch a book, that softens in the blow."
He said, and on an old Infortiat seiz❜d,
In distant ages much by lawyers greas'd,
A huge black-letter mass, whose mighty hoards
More mighty look'd bound in two ponderous boards.
Half sides of old black parchment wooed the grasp,
And from three nails there hung the remnant of a
To heave it on its shelf, among the I's, [clasp.
Would take three students of the common size.
The Canon, nathless, rais'd it to his head,
And on the pair, now crouching and half dead,
Sent with both hands the wooden thunder down :
Groan the two warriors, clashing in the crown,
And murder'd and undone with oak and nails,
Forth from the platform roll, and seek the guttery
[vales.
The Dean, astonish'd at a fall so dire,
Utters a cry as when the punch'd expire.
He curses in his heart all devilish broils,
And making awful room, six steps recoils.
Not long:-for now all eyes encountering his
To see how Deans endure calamities,
Like a great chief he makes no further stand,
But drawing from his cloak his good right hand,
And stretching meek the sacred fingers twain,
Goes blessing all around him, might and main.
He knows full well, not only that the foe
Once smitten thus, can neither stand nor go,
But that the public sense of their defeat
Must leave him lord, in church as well as street.
The crowd already on his side he sees;
The cry is fierce, "Profane ones, on your knees:"
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