Whether governed by the Court, by the Sorbonne, or by the Philosophers, it was always equally powerful for evil, and equally impotent for good.I might speak of the attacks by which it attempted to depress the rising fame of Corneille; I might speak of the reluctance with which it gave its tardy confirmation to the applauses which the whole civilised world had bestowed on the genius of Voltaire.I might prove by overwhelming evidence that, to the latest period of its existence, even under the superintendence of the all-accomplished D'Alembert, it continued to be a scene of the fiercest animosities and the basest intrigues.I might cite Piron's epigrams, and Marmontel's memoirs, and Montesquieu's letters.But I hasten on to another topic.
One of the modes by which our Society proposes to encourage merit is the distribution of prizes.The munificence of the king has enabled it to offer an annual premium of a hundred guineas for the best essay in prose, and another of fifty guineas for the best poem, which may be transmitted to it.This is very laughable.In the first place the judges may err.Those imperfections of human intellect to which, as the articles of the Church tell us, even general councils are subject, may possibly be found even in the Royal Society of Literature.The French academy, as I have already said, was the most illustrious assembly of the kind, and numbered among its associates men much more distinguished than ever will assemble at Mr Hatchard's to rummage the box of the English Society.Yet this famous body gave a poetical prize, for which Voltaire was a candidate, to a fellow who wrote some verses about THE FROZEN AND THE BURNINGPOLE.
Yet, granting that the prizes were always awarded to the best composition, that composition, I say without hesitation, will always be bad.A prize poem is like a prize sheep.The object of the competitor for the agricultural premium is to produce an animal fit, not to be eaten, but to be weighed.Accordingly he pampers his victim into morbid and unnatural fatness; and, when it is in such a state that it would be sent away in disgust from any table, he offers it to the judges.The object of the poetical candidate, in like manner, is to produce, not a good poem, but a poem of that exact degree of frigidity or bombast which may appear to his censors to be correct or sublime.
Compositions thus constructed will always be worthless.The few excellences which they may contain will have an exotic aspect and flavour.In general, prize sheep are good for nothing but to make tallow candles, and prize poems are good for nothing but to light them.
The first subject proposed by the Society to the poets of England was Dartmoor.I thought that they intended a covert sarcasm at their own projects.Their institution was a literary Dartmoor scheme;--a plan for forcing into cultivation the waste lands of intellect,--for raising poetical produce, by means of bounties, from soil too meagre to have yielded any returns in the natural course of things.The plan for the cultivation of Dartmoor has, I hear, been abandoned.I hope that this may be an omen of the fate of the Society.
In truth, this seems by no means improbable.They have been offering for several years the rewards which the king placed at their disposal, and have not, as far as I can learn, been able to find in their box one composition which they have deemed worthy of publication.At least no publication has taken place.The associates may perhaps be astonished at this.But I will attempt to explain it, after the manner of ancient times, by means of an apologue.
About four hundred years after the Deluge, King Gomer Chephoraod reigned in Babylon.He united all the characteristics of an excellent sovereign.He made good laws, won great battles, and white-washed long streets.He was, in consequence, idolised by his people, and panegyrised by many poets and orators.A book was then a sermons undertaking.Neither paper nor any similar material had been invented.Authors were therefore under the necessity of inscribing their compositions on massive bricks.
Some of these Babylonian records are still preserved in European museums; but the language in which they are written has never been deciphered.Gomer Chephoraod was so popular that the clay of all the plains round the Euphrates could scarcely furnish brick-kilns enough for his eulogists.It is recorded in particular that Pharonezzar, the Assyrian Pindar, published a bridge and four walls in his praise.
One day the king was going in state from his palace to the temple of Belus.During this procession it was lawful for any Babylonian to offer any petition or suggestion to his sovereign.
As the chariot passed before a vintner's shop, a large company, apparently half-drunk, sallied forth into the street, and one of them thus addressed the king:
