Sir Thomas's countenance greatly relaxed at this well-timed compliment of old Montaigne's. He stepped two paces back, arranged his limbs, and drew up his body into something like the first position; after gently stroking its ruffle, he placed his right hand on his heart, and moving the left in a graceful semi-circle towards his head, he slowly took off his hat and feather, and inclined his stiff trunk into a profound reverence. Raising himself then with equal gravity, he advanced in solemn silence and kissed me on both cheeks. Upon the conclusion of this ceremonial, Montaigne, turning to me, exclaimed, "Of all things in the world, I would wish to have some account of the state of manners and society amongst you now-a-days. No doubt you have had great changes since our good old days. The wheel of society and manners is ever revolving, and, like the fiery wheel of some skilful Pyrotechnic, each new revolution presents us with some figure, more strange and more wonderful than its predecessor. Man has altered his doublet, and woman her fardingale, many a time for the worse, since I kept court[1] with my sovereign at Rouen. Yet I made but a shabby courtier after all—though I loved those chivalrous days of our ancient monarchy. "Truly, sieur,"[2] replied Sir Thomas, "your observations on those antiquated times, as they are now called by those shallow and fidimplicitary coxcombs, who fill our too credulous ears with their quisquiliary deblaterations, appear to me both orderly digested and aptly conceived. We have lived, sir, in those great eras,—those commendable measurements of the regent of this diurnal microcosme,—those exalted periodi, by which the sagacity of the sapient philosophunculi of this rotundal habitation, hath measured the unceasing rotations of the cælicolary spheroids,—in those times, seignior, when the old were respected, and in all estimation—the young sweet and judicious—the married women decorous rather than decorated, grave as well as gravid—the virgins pure and pitiful—the youth becomingly silent, and more given to listen to the legislative or literatorie discussions of their elders, than to any cunning tricks or vulpicularie conundrums, to the jeers, gibes, mopes, quips, jests, or jerks of their simiatick companions. Gallantry, sir, (said he, turning to me) or the exalted science of demulceating the amiable reservedness, and overcoming the attractive pudicity, of the gentler sex, by the display of rare and excellent endowments, was a discipline worthy of the accomplished chevaliers of these most memorable eras."
As Sir Thomas had finished this last period, and seemed to be clearing his throat, and arranging his attitude for a more detailed exposition upon the gallantry of the sixteenth century, we were interrupted by the approach of one of the little spirits who had announced themselves, on my first arrival, to be the domestics of the Literary Paradise. "That Peri, who approaches us," said Montaigne, "has on the Jovian livery, and comes to tell us that the evening is now far enough advanced for us to be setting out to Paulus' rout. I hear the old gentleman has spared no pains; his gardens are to be illuminated, his fountains in full play; we are to assemble in the library to have a promenade by moonlight, and to sup in the summer-house of the Elogia."
It immediately struck me, that amid all this splendour my appearance would be more than commonly shabby. I cast a mournful look at my threadbare habiliments (for I had on that decayed suit which I have appropriated solely for home consumption), I then partially and slily raised the oldest of my slippers, and directed a petitioning look to my Conductress, as much as to say, You, kindest lady, who have had
- ↑ "Montaigne nous apprend, qu'il n'etoit pas ennemi de l'agitation des cours, et qu'il y avoit passé une partie de sa vie. En effet il se trouva a Rouen, pendant que le Roi Charles IX. y etoit,"—Vie de Montaigne.
- ↑ I have attempted here an imitation of the extraordinary style of Sir Thomas Urquhart, a man of genius, as none who have perused his inimitable translation of part of Rabelais will be disposed to deny, or his extraordinary account of the murder of the admirable Crichton, in his tracts (under the one named the Jewel), but in other respects of the most ridiculous pretensions, and these conveyed in the most quaint and unintelligible phraseology, as every one who has turned over his Introduction to a Universal Language will most readily allow. Most of the singular words in this speech of Sir Thomas are cither sanctioned by his own authority, or coined according to those rules he seems to have adopted.
