The Crayon Papers by Washington Irving Read Free Book Online Page A

now determined to dazzle her with my own erudition, and launched into a harangue that would have done honor to an institute. Pope, Spenser, Chaucer, and the old dramatic writers were all dipped into, with the excursive flight of a swallow. I did not confine myself to English poets, but gave a glance at the French and Italian schools; I passed over Ariosto in full wing, but paused on Tasso’s Jerusalem Delivered. I dwelt on the character of Clorinda: “There’s a character,” said I, “that you will find well worthy a woman’s study. It shows to what exalted heights of heroism the sex can rise, how gloriously they may share even in the stern concerns of men.”
    “For my part,” said Julia, gently taking advantage of a pause, “for my part, I prefer the character of Sophronia.”
    I was thunderstruck. She then had read Tasso! This girl that I had been treating as an ignoramus in poetry! She proceeded with a slight glow of the cheek, summoned up perhaps by a casual glow of feeling:
    “I do not admire those masculine heroines,” said she, “who aim at the bold qualities of the opposite sex. Now Sophronia only exhibits the real qualities of a woman, wrought up to their highest excitement. She is modest, gentle, and retiring, as it becomes a woman to be; but she has all the strength of affection proper to a woman. She cannot fight for her people as Clorinda does, but she can offer herself up, and die to serve them. You may admire Clorinda, but you surely would be more apt to love Sophronia; at least,” added she, suddenly appearing to recollect herself, and blushing at having launched into such a discussion, “at least that is what papa observed when we read the poem together.”
    “Indeed,” said I, dryly, for I felt disconcerted and nettled at being unexpectedly lectured by my pupil; “indeed, I do not exactly recollect the passage.”
    “Oh,” said Julia, “I can repeat it to you;” and she immediately gave it in
Italian.
    Heavens and earth!—here was a situation! I knew no more of Italian than I did of the language of Psalmanazar. What a dilemma for a would-be-wise man to be placed in! I saw Julia waited for my opinion.
    “In fact,” said I, hesitating, “I—I do not exactly understand Italian.”
    “Oh,” said Julia, with the utmost naivete, “I have no doubt it is very beautiful in the translation.”
    I was glad to break up school, and get back to my chamber, full of the mortification which a wise man in love experiences on finding his mistress wiser than himself. “Translation! translation!” muttered I to myself, as I jerked the door shut behind me: “I am surprised my father has never had me instructed in the modern languages. They are all important. What is the use of Latin and Greek? No one speaks them; but here, the moment I make my appearance in the world, a little girl slaps Italian in my face. However, thank heaven, a language is easily learned. The moment I return home, I’ll set about studying Italian; and to prevent future surprise, I will study Spanish and German at the same time; and if any young lady attempts to quote Italian upon me again, I’ll bury her under a heap of High Dutch poetry!”
    * * * * *
    I felt now like some mighty chieftain, who has carried the war into a weak country, with full confidence of success, and been repulsed and obliged to draw off his forces from before some inconsiderable fortress.
    “However,” thought I, “I have as yet brought only my light artillery into action; we shall see what is to be done with my heavy ordnance. Julia is evidently well versed in poetry; but it is natural she should be so; it is allied to painting and music, and is congenial to the light graces of the female character. We will try her on graver themes.”
    I felt all my pride awakened; it even for a time swelled higher than my love. I was determined completely to establish my mental superiority, and subdue the intellect of this little being; it would then be time to