The same writer (p. 268) repudiates the charges of excessive barbarity and cruelty brought against Suvóroff by C.F.P. Masson, in his _Mémoires Secrets sur la Russie_ (_vide_, e.g., ed. 1800, i. 311): "Souvorow ne scroit que le plus ridicule bouffon, s'il n'étoit pas montré le plus barbare guerrier. C'est un monstre, qui renferme dans le corps d'un singe l'âme d'un chien de boucher. Attila, son compatriote, et don't il descend, peut-être ne fut ni si heureux, ni si féroce." Suvóroff did not regard himself as "half-demon." "Your pencil," he reminded the artist Müller, "will delineate the features of my face. These are visible: but my inner man is hidden. I must tell you that I have shed rivers of blood. I tremble, but I love my neighbour. In my whole life I have made no one unhappy; not an insect hath perished by my hand. I was little; I was big. In fortune's ebb and flow, relying on God, I stood immovable--even as now." (_Suvóroff_, 1890, p. 228, note.)] {322}[409] [See, for instance, _The Storm_, in "Souvarof's Catechism," Appendix (pp. 299-305) to the _Life, etc._, by Tranchant de Laverne, 1814: "Break down the fence.... Fly over the walls! Stab them on the ramparts!... Fire down the streets! Fire briskly!... Kill every enemy in the streets! Let the cavalry hack them!" etc.] {323}[410] [The "tusk" of the plough is the coulter or share. Compare "Dens vomeris" (Virg., _Georg._, i. 22).] {324}[hu] _Of thine imaginary deathless bough_ _The unebbing sea of blood and tears must flow_.--[MS. erased.] {326}[hv] _Entailed upon Humanity's estate_.--[MS. erased.] {327}[hw] _As a brook's stream to cope with Ocean's flood shed_ _But still we moderns equal you in bloodshed_.--[MS. erased.] {328}[hx] _As in a General's letter when well whacked_ _Whatever deeds be done I will relate 'em,_ _With some small variations in the text_ _Of killed and wounded who will not be missed_.--[MS. erased.] [hy] _Whose leisure hours are wasted on an harlot_.--[MS. erased.] {329}[hz] _The desperate death-cry and the Battle's roar_.--[MS. erased.] [411] End of Canto 7. 1822.--[MS.] CANTO THE EIGHTH. I. Oh, blood and thunder! and oh, blood and wounds! These are but vulgar oaths, as you may deem, Too gentle reader! and most shocking sounds:-- And so they are; yet thus is Glory's dream Unriddled, and as my true Muse expounds At present such things, since they are her theme, So be they her inspirers! Call them Mars, Bellona, what you will--they mean but wars. II. All was prepared--the fire, the sword, the men To wield them in their terrible array,-- The army, like a lion from his den, Marched forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay,-- A human Hydra, issuing from its fen To breathe destruction on its winding way, Whose heads were heroes, which cut off in vain Immediately in others grew again.