Gulliver was
there unexpurgated, strong meat for a boy perhaps but not too strong I
hold--I have never regretted that I escaped niceness in these affairs.
The satire of Traldragdubh made my blood boil as it was meant to do,
but I hated Swift for the Houyhnhnms and never quite liked a horse
afterwards. Then I remember also a translation of Voltaire's "Candide,"
and "Rasselas;" and, vast book though it was, I really believe I read,
in a muzzy sort of way of course, from end to end, and even with some
reference now and then to the Atlas, Gibbon--in twelve volumes.
These readings whetted my taste for more, and surreptitiously I raided
the bookcases in the big saloon. I got through quite a number of
books before my sacrilegious temerity was discovered by Ann, the old
head-housemaid. I remember that among others I tried a translation of
Plato's "Republic" then, and found extraordinarily little interest in
it; I was much too young for that; but "Vathek"--"Vathek" was glorious
stuff. That kicking affair! When everybody HAD to kick!
The thought of "Vathek" always brings back with it my boyish memory of
the big saloon at Bladesover.
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