“ ‘Don't you design to let him pass a year at Oxford?’ ‘To what purpose?’ said he. ‘The Universities do but make pedants, and I intend to breed him a man of business.’
“As Mr. Lintot was talking I observed he sat uneasy on his saddle, for which I expressed some solicitude. ‘Nothing,’ says he. ‘I can bear it well enough; but, since we have the day before us, methinks it would be very pleasant for you to rest awhile under the woods.’ When we were alighted, ‘See, here, what a mighty pretty Horace I have in my pocket! What, if you amused yourself in turning an ode till we mount again? Lord! if you pleased. What a clever miscellany might you make at leisure hours!’ ‘Perhaps I may,’ said I, ‘if we ride on; the motion is an aid to my fancy; a round trot very much awakens my spirits; then jog on apace, and I'll think as hard as I can.’
“Silence ensued for a full hour; after which Mr. Lintot lugged the reins, stopped short, and broke out, ‘Well, sir, how far have you gone?’ I answered, seven miles. ‘Z—ds, sir,’ said Lintot, ‘I thought you had done seven stanzas. Oldisworth, in a ramble round Wimbledon Hill, would translate a whole ode in half this time. I'll say that for Oldisworth [though I lost by his Timothy's] he translates an ode of Horace the quickest of any man in England. I remember Dr. King would write verses in a tavern, three hours after he could not speak: and there is Sir Richard, in that rumbling old chariot of his, between Fleet Ditch and St. Giles's pound shall make you half a Job.’
“ ‘Pray, Mr. Lintot,’ said I, ‘now you talk of translators, what is your method of managing them?’ ‘Sir,’ replied he, ‘these are the saddest pack of rogues in the world: in a hungry fit, they'll swear they understand all the languages in the universe. I have known one of them take down a Greek book upon my counter, and cry, “Ah, this is Hebrew,” and must read it from the latter end. By G-d, I can never be sure in these fellows, for I neither understand Greek, Latin, French, nor Italian myself. But this is my way; I agree with them for ten shillings per sheet, with a proviso that I will have their doings corrected with whom I please; so by one or the other they are led at last to the true sense of an author; my judgement giving the negative to all my translators.’ ‘Then how are you sure these correctors may not impose upon you?’ ‘Why, I get any civil gentleman (especially any Scotchman) that comes into my shop, to read the original to me in English; by this I know whether my first translator be deficient, and whether my corrector merits his money or not.
“ ‘I'll tell you what happened to me last month. I bargained with S—— for a new version of Lucretius, to publish against Tonson's, agreeing to pay the author so many shillings at his producing so many lines. He made a great progress in a very short time, and I gave it to the corrector to compare with the Latin; but he went directly to Creech's translation, and found it the same, word for word, all but the first page. Now, what d'ye think I did? I arrested the translator for a cheat; nay, and I stopped the corrector's pay, too, upon the proof that he had made use of Creech instead of the original.’
“ ‘Pray tell me next how you deal with the critics?’ ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘nothing more easy. I can silence the most formidable of them; the rich ones for a sheet a-piece of the blotted manuscript, which cost me nothing; they'll go about with it to their acquaintance, and pretend they had it from the author, who submitted it to their correction: this has given some of them such an air, that in time they come to be consulted with and dedicated to as the tip-top critics of the town.—As for the poor critics, I'll give you one instance of my management, by which you may guess the rest: a lean man, that looked like a very good scholar, came to me, t'other day; he turned over your Homer, shook his head, shrugged up his shoulders, and pish'd at every line of it. “One would wonder,” says he, “at the strange presumption of some men; Homer is no such easy task as every stripling, every versifier—” He was going on, when my wife called to dinner; “Sir,” said I, “will you please to eat a piece of beef with me?” “Mr. Lintot,” said he, “I am very sorry you should be at the expense of this great book, I am really concerned on your account.” “Sir, I am much obliged to you: if you can dine upon a piece of beef together with a slice of pudding—?” “Mr. Lintot, I do not say but Mr. Pope, if he would condescend to advise with men of learning—” “Sir, the pudding is upon the table, if you please to go in.” My critic complies; he comes to a taste of your poetry, and tells me in the same breath, that the book is commendable, and the pudding excellent.’
“ ‘Now, sir,’ continued Mr. Lintot, ‘in return for the frankness I have shown, pray tell me, is it the opinion of your friends at Court that my Lord Lansdowne will be brought to the bar or not?’ I told him I heard he would not, and I hoped it, my lord being one I had particular obligations to.—‘That may be,’ replied Mr. Lintot; ‘but by G— if he is not, I shall lose the printing of a very good trial.’
“These, my lord, are a few traits with which you discern the genius of Mr. Lintot, which I have chosen for the subject of a letter. I dropped him as soon as I got to Oxford, and paid a visit to my Lord Carleton, at Middleton....
“I am,” &c.
DR. SWIFT TO MR. POPE.