The Battle of the Books, and other Short PiecesSwift, Jonathan
General
The Battle of the Books, and other Short Pieces
Swift, Jonathan
Ancients and moderns, Quarrel of; English essays; Satire, English
The goddess and her train, having mounted the chariot, which was drawn by
tame geese, flew over infinite regions, shedding her influence in due
places, till at length she arrived at her beloved island of Britain; but
in hovering over its metropolis, what blessings did she not let fall upon
her seminaries of Gresham and Covent-garden! And now she reached the
fatal plain of St. James's library, at what time the two armies were upon
the point to engage; where, entering with all her caravan unseen, and
landing upon a case of shelves, now desert, but once inhabited by a
colony of virtuosos, she stayed awhile to observe the posture of both
armies.
But here the tender cares of a mother began to fill her thoughts and move
in her breast: for at the head of a troup of Modern bowmen she cast her
eyes upon her son Wotton, to whom the fates had assigned a very short
thread. Wotton, a young hero, whom an unknown father of mortal race
begot by stolen embraces with this goddess. He was the darling of his
mother above all her children, and she resolved to go and comfort him.
But first, according to the good old custom of deities, she cast about to
change her shape, for fear the divinity of her countenance might dazzle
his mortal sight and overcharge the rest of his senses. She therefore
gathered up her person into an octavo compass: her body grow white and
arid, and split in pieces with dryness; the thick turned into pasteboard,
and the thin into paper; upon which her parents and children artfully
strewed a black juice, or decoction of gall and soot, in form of letters:
her head, and voice, and spleen, kept their primitive form; and that
which before was a cover of skin did still continue so. In this guise
she marched on towards the Moderns, indistinguishable in shape and dress
from the divine Bentley, Wotton's dearest friend. "Brave Wotton," said
the goddess, "why do our troops stand idle here, to spend their present
vigour and opportunity of the day? away, let us haste to the generals,
and advise to give the onset immediately." Having spoke thus, she took
the ugliest of her monsters, full glutted from her spleen, and flung it
invisibly into his mouth, which, flying straight up into his head,
squeezed out his eye-balls, gave him a distorted look, and
half-overturned his brain. Then she privately ordered two of her beloved
children, Dulness and Ill-manners, closely to attend his person in all
encounters. Having thus accoutred him, she vanished in a mist, and the
hero perceived it was the goddess his mother.
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