Chapter V

He could not sleep. That intellect, whose wings Dared the cold ultimate heights of Space and Time Sank, like a wounded eagle, with dazed eyes Back, headlong through the clouds to throb on earth. What shaft had pierced him? That which also pierced His great forebears--the hate of little men. They flocked around him, and they flung their dust Into the sensitive eyes and laughed to see How dust could blind them. If one prickling grain Could so put out his vision and so torment That delicate brain, what weakness! How the mind That seemed to dwarf us, dwindles! Is he mad? So buzzed the fools, whose ponderous mental wheels Nor dust, nor grit, nor stones, nor rocks could irk Even for an instant. Newton could not sleep, But all that careful malice could design Was blindly fostered by well-meaning folly, And great sane folk like Mr. Samuel Pepys Canvassed his weakness and slept sound all night. For little Samuel with his rosy face Came chirping into a coffee-house one day Like a plump robin, "Sir, the unhappy state Of Mr. Isaac Newton grieves me much. Last week I had a letter from him, filled With strange complainings, very curious hints, Such as, I grieve to say, are common signs --I have observed it often--of worse to come. He said that he could neither eat nor sleep Because of all the embroilments he was in, Hinting at nameless enemies. Then he begged My pardon, very strangely. I believe Physicians would confirm me in my fears. 'Tis very sad.... Only last night, I found Among my papers certain lines composed By--whom d'you think?--My lord of Halifax (Or so dear Mrs. Porterhouse assured me) Expressing, sir, the uttermost satisfaction In Mr. Newton's talent. Sir, he wrote Answering the charge that science would put out The light of beauty, these very handsome lines:

'When Newton walked by Witham stream
There fell no chilling shade
To blight the drifting naiad's dream
Or make her garland fade.

The mist of sun was not less bright
That crowned Urania's hair.
He robbed it of its colder light,
But left the rainbow there.'

They are very neat and handsome, you'll agree. Solid in sense as Dryden at his best, And smooth as Waller, but with something more,-- That touch of grace, that airier elegance Which only rank can give. 'Tis very sad That one so nobly praised should--well, no matter!-- I am told, sir, that these troubles all began At Cambridge, when his manuscripts were burned. He had been working, in his curious way, All through the night; and, in the morning greyness Went down to chapel, leaving on his desk A lighted candle. You can imagine it,-- A sadly sloven altar to his Muse, Littered with papers, cups, and greasy plates Of untouched food. I am told that he would eat His Monday's breakfast, sir, on Tuesday morning, Such was his absent way! When he returned, He found that Diamond (his little dog Named Diamond, for a black patch near his tail) Had overturned the candle. All his work Was burned to ashes. It struck him to the quick, Though, when his terrier fawned about his feet, He showed no anger. He was heard to say, 'O Diamond, Diamond, little do you know...' But, from that hour, ah well, we'll say no more."

Halley was there that day, and spoke up sharply, "Sir, there are hints and hints! Do you _mean_ more?" --"I do, sir," chirruped Samuel, mightily pleased To find all eyes, for once, on his fat face. "I fear his intellects are disordered, sir." --"Good! That's an answer! I can deal with that. But tell me first," quoth Halley, "why he wrote That letter, a week ago, to Mr. Pepys." --"Why, sir," piped Samuel, innocent of the trap, "I had an argument in this coffee-house Last week, with certain gentlemen, on the laws Of chance, and what fair hopes a man might have Of throwing six at dice. I happened to say That Mr. Isaac Newton was my friend, And promised I would sound him." "Sir," said Halley, "You'll pardon me, but I forgot to tell you I heard, a minute since, outside these doors, A very modish woman of the town, Or else a most delicious lady of fashion, A melting creature with a bold black eye, A bosom like twin doves; and, sir, a mouth Like a Turk's dream of Paradise. She cooed, 'Is Mr. Pepys within?' I greatly fear That they denied you to her!" Off ran Pepys! "A hint's a hint," laughed Halley, "and so to bed. But, as for Isaac Newton, let me say, Whatever his embroilments were, he solved With just one hour of thought, not long ago The problem set by Leibnitz as a challenge To all of Europe. He published his result Anonymously, but Leibnitz, when he saw it, Cried out, at once, old enemy as he was, 'That's Newton, none but Newton! From this claw I know the old lion, in his midnight lair.'"