"Tu sais, mon cher Thirsis, qu'il a le privilege D'etouffer les ennuis dont l'aigreur nous a.s.siege.

Et que cette liqueur cha.s.se de nos esprits, Tous les facheux pensers dont nous sommes surpris, C'est ce qui nous oblige a cherir la bouteille."

You know, dear Thirsis, and full well you know, To wine this privilege we owe, It stifles all those sad invading cares Which irksome chagrin ever wears.

This sprightful liquid makes us brisk and gay, And drives effectually away Those thoughts vexatious that surprise our soul, And makes us cherish the full bowl.

Seneca, whom I have mentioned in the foregoing chapter, confirms what has been said, "Sometimes," says he, "one must go even so far as drunkenness; not, indeed, that it may drown us, but drown our cares: for drunkenness washes away care, and moves the very bottom of the soul. And as it is a sovereign remedy against some distempers, so is it a perfect cure for heaviness and sorrow. _Nonnunquam usque ad ebrietatem veniendum, non ut mergat nos, sed ut deprimat curas. Eluit enim curas, et ab imo animae movet, et ut morbis quibusdam, ita trist.i.tiae medetur_[8]. On this account certainly it was, Pliny maintained that Nepenthe, whose virtues Homer so much exaggerates, was nothing in the world but generous wine.

Horace, in like manner, insists that wine is the only proper expeller of the most racking cares.

---------------- Neque Mordaces aliter diffugiunt sollicitudines[9].

Nor otherwise are cank'ring cares remov'd.

And thus advises the sage Plancus to have recourse to this remedy:--

"Sic tu sapiens finire memento Trist.i.tiam, vitaeque labores Molli, Plance, mero."[9a]

So, thou, sage Plancus, this _memento_ keep, To lull the cares and toils of life asleep With cordial juleps of old mellow wine; The grand and universal anodyne.

In another place he thus beautifully sounds the praises of drunkenness:--

"Ebrietas quid non designat? operta recludit Spes jubet esse ratas: in praelia trudit inertem, Sollicitis animis onus eximit: addocet artes.

Facundi calices, quem non fecere disertum?

Contracta quem non in paupertate solutum."[9b]

In drunkenness what pow'rful magic lies, What's most envelop'd from researching eyes, (Transparent thing!) it evidently shows, The innocent no dark disguises knows.

By her commands our hopes maturely rise, Push'd on to war the coward dauntless dies, And sinking minds beneath unwieldy care, Cast off the load, and move with sprightful air.

To her, all arts their origin must owe: What wretch so dull but eloquent must grow, When the full goblets with persuasive wine, Inebriate with bright elegance divine, The drunken beggars plume like proudest kings, And the poor tipsy slave in fetters sings.

After all this, will any one accuse me for a plagiary, and that I steal from the most common places? No matter. I have company enough: do not all modern authors do so? However, I shall not, for all that, pa.s.s over in silence what Ovid has said of this same drunkenness. The pa.s.sage is this:--

"Vina parant animos, faciuntque coloribus aptos.

Cura fugit, multo diluiturque mero.

Tunc veniunt risus, tunc pauper cornua sumit, Tunc dolor et curae, rugaque frontis abit.

Tunc aperit mentes, aevo rarissima nostro Simplicitas, artes excutiente Deo."[9c]

As I am nothing less than a poet, I shall not presume _to dance with the Nine Sisters_, to make use of the thought of the ingenious Sarasin.

However, here follows an Ode of Anacreon, which may supply the place of a translation of those verses of Ovid.

I.

When I hold a full gla.s.s in my hand, I laugh and I merrily sing; I think I have sov'reign command And the treasures possess of a king.

II.

Let who will try their fate in the field, In war all their days let them pa.s.s: No arms but the bottle I'll weild, Fill, boy, then, a thundering gla.s.s,

III.

If Bacchus the victory gain, On the ground tho' I'm motionless laid; All agree it, _a truth very plain_, 'Tis better be _drunk_ than be _dead_.

And very probably the Greek philosopher had wine in view, when he caused an inscription to be made over his door in these words, in capitals, "Here are remedies for all sorts of afflictions: here are cures for all distempers of the soul."

The philosopher so often quoted by Seneca, desired no more than bread and cheese, to rival Jupiter in happiness. For my part, though I am no less a philosopher, yet I desire nothing to effect this but good wine.

For when I take a hearty gla.s.s, I find myself so much transported with joy, that I could almost cry out with that little fool in the Latin comedy[10], "Now could I pardon any one that would kill me, so much afraid am I lest some accident may trouble the purity of my happiness, and mingle some ungrateful bitter with the exquisite sweets I now enjoy." And, indeed, it is amongst bottles and gla.s.ses that one may truly say,

-------- "Mediis videat disc.u.mbere in astris, c.u.m Jove, et Iliaca porr.e.c.t.u.m sumere dextra Immortale merum[11]."

Far from the earth remov'd in realms above, I seem amongst the stars to sit with Jove: Lolling in ease celestial, lie supine, And taste from Ganymede immortal wine.

And without doubt Asclepiades had all this in his head, when he maintained that the G.o.ds produced nothing that equalled wine in goodness. Philostratus is much of the same sentiment, who after having taken notice of the edict of the Emperor Domitian, who forbad men to be castrated, and vines to be planted, he adds, that this admirable emperor did not reflect that he made the earth in some sort an eunuch, at the same time that he spared men.

Varro sounded the praise of drunkenness in terms no less pathetic.

"Vino nil quicquam jucundius eluet, Hoc continet coagulum convivii; Hoc hilaritatis dulce seminarium Hoc aegritudinem ad medendam invenerunt."[11a]

Than wine no orient jewels finer play, And dart more pleasantly their glittering ray.

This vital juice, the cream of all the feast, Strong cement, close uniting every breast, The sweet prolific seed of gay desires, Bright mirth, and gen'rous amity inspires.

This was found out a certain remedy To set mankind from all distempers free.

Monsieur La Motte, whom I must ever admire for his inimitable Court Fables, before mentioned, will furnish us with a beautiful ode to close this chapter[12].

"Bacchus contre moi tout conspire, Viens me consoler de mes maux: Je vois au mepris de la lire Couronner d'indignes rivaux.

Tout me rend la vie importune Une volage me trahit, J'eus peu de bien de la fortune, L'injustice me le ravit.

Mon plus cher ami m'abandonne, En vain j'implore son secours, Et la calomnie empoisonne.

Le reste de mes tristes jours.

Bacchus viens me verser a boire Encore----bon----je suis soulage, Chaque coup m'ote la memoire Des maux qui m'avoient afflige.

Verse encore----je vois l'allegresse Nager sur le jus precieux.

Donne, redouble----O douce yvresse!

Je suis plus heureux que les dieux."

Help, Bacchus, or I'm quite undone, All things against my peace conspire; Unworthy rivals many a one, I find, despising song and lyre.

My life's entirely irksome grown, By an inconstant I'm betray'd, On that small fortune, once my own, Injustice has severely prey'd.

Forsaken by my dearest friend, In vain his succour I implore; And calumnies rank poisons send, And what is left of life devour.

Bacchus, some wine; fill higher yet Again----so----I some comfort find; Each smiling gla.s.s makes me forget Those evils that have rack'd my mind.

Some more----I see gay images On the rich surface sprightly move, Fill double----O sweet drunkenness!

I'm happier than the G.o.ds above.