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The Boarding-School for young Gentlewomen, which was formerly kept on Mile-End-Green, being laid down, there is now one set up almost opposite to it at the two Golden-Balls, and much more convenient in every Respect; where, beside the common Instructions given to young Gentlewomen, they will be taught the whole Art of Paistrey and Preserving, with whatever may render them accomplished. Those who please to make Tryal of the Vigilance and Ability of the Persons concerned may enquire at the two Golden-Balls on Mile-End-Green near Stepney, where they will receive further Satisfaction.
This is to give Notice, that the Spectator has taken upon him to be Visitant of all Boarding-Schools, where young Women are educated; and designs to proceed in the said Office after the same Manner that the Visitants of Colleges do in the two famous Universities of this Land.
All Lovers who write to the Spectator, are desired to forbear one Expression which is in most of the Letters to him, either out of Laziness, or want of Invention, and is true of not above two thousand Women in the whole World; viz.
She has in her all that is valuable in Woman.
| [No. 315] | Saturday, March 1, 1712 | Addison |
Nec deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus
Inciderit.
Hor.
advises a Poet to consider thoroughly the Nature and Force of his Genius
.
Milton
seems to have known perfectly well, wherein his Strength lay, and has therefore chosen a Subject entirely conformable to those Talents, of which he was Master. As his Genius was wonderfully turned to the Sublime, his Subject is the noblest that could have entered into the Thoughts of Man. Every thing that is truly great and astonishing, has a place in it. The whole System of the intellectual World; the
Chaos
, and the Creation; Heaven, Earth and Hell; enter into the Constitution of his Poem.
Having in the First and Second Books represented the Infernal World with all its Horrors, the Thread of his Fable naturally leads him into the opposite Regions of Bliss and Glory.
If
Milton's
Majesty forsakes him any where, it is in those Parts of his Poem, where the Divine Persons are introduced as Speakers. One may, I think, observe that the Author proceeds with a kind of Fear and Trembling, whilst he describes the Sentiments of the Almighty. He dares not give his Imagination its full Play, but chuses to confine himself to such Thoughts as are drawn from the Books of the most Orthodox Divines, and to such Expressions as may be met with in Scripture. The Beauties, therefore, which we are to look for in these Speeches, are not of a Poetical Nature, nor so proper to fill the Mind with Sentiments of Grandeur, as with Thoughts of Devotion. The Passions, which they are designed to raise, are a Divine Love and Religious Fear. The Particular Beauty of the Speeches in the Third Book, consists in that Shortness and Perspicuity of Style, in which the Poet has couched the greatest Mysteries of Christianity, and drawn together, in a regular Scheme, the whole Dispensation of Providence, with respect to Man. He has represented all the abstruse Doctrines of Predestination, Free-Will and Grace, as also the great Points of Incarnation and Redemption, (which naturally grow up in a Poem that treats of the Fall of Man) with great Energy of Expression, and in a clearer and stronger Light than I ever met with in any other Writer. As these Points are dry in themselves to the generality of Readers, the concise and clear manner in which he has treated them, is very much to be admired, as is likewise that particular Art which he has made use of in the interspersing of all those Graces of Poetry, which the Subject was capable of receiving.
The Survey of the whole Creation, and of every thing that is transacted in it, is a Prospect worthy of Omniscience; and as much above that, in which
Virgil
has drawn his
Jupiter
, as the Christian Idea of the Supreme Being is more Rational and Sublime than that of the Heathens. The particular Objects on which he is described to have cast his Eye, are represented in the most beautiful and lively Manner.
Now had th' Almighty Father from above,
(From the pure Empyrean where he sits
High thron'd above all height) bent down his Eye,
His own Works and their Works at once to view.
About him all the Sanctities of Heav'n
Stood thick as Stars, and from his Sight received
Beatitude past utt'rance: On his right
The radiant Image of his Glory sat,
His only Son. On earth he first beheld
Our two first Parents, yet the only two
Of Mankind, in the happy garden plac'd,
Reaping immortal fruits of Joy and Love;
Uninterrupted Joy, unrival'd Love
In blissful Solitude. He then surveyed
Hell and the Gulph between, and Satan there
Coasting the Wall of Heaven on this side Night,
In the dun air sublime; and ready now
To stoop with wearied wings, and willing feel
On the bare outside of this world, that seem'd
Firm land imbosom'd without firmament;
Uncertain which, in Ocean or in Air.
Him God beholding from his prospect high,
Wherein past, present, future he beholds,
Thus to his only Son foreseeing spake.
Satan's
Approach to the Confines of the Creation, is finely imaged in the beginning of the Speech, which immediately follows. The Effects of this Speech in the blessed Spirits, and in the Divine Person to whom it was addressed, cannot but fill the Mind of the Reader with a secret Pleasure and Complacency.
Thus while God spake, ambrosial fragrance fill'd
All Heav'n, and in the blessed Spirits elect
Sense of new Joy ineffable diffus'd.
Beyond compare the Son of God was seen
Most glorious, in him all his Father shone
Substantially expressed, and in his face
Divine Compassion visibly appeared,
Love without end, and without measure Grace.
I need not point out the Beauty of that Circumstance, wherein the whole Host of Angels are represented as standing Mute; nor shew how proper the Occasion was to produce such a Silence in Heaven. The Close of this Divine Colloquy, with the Hymn of Angels that follows upon it, are so wonderfully Beautiful and Poetical, that I should not forbear inserting the whole Passage, if the Bounds of my Paper would give me leave.
No sooner had th' Almighty ceas'd, but all
The multitudes of Angels with a shout
(Loud as from numbers without number, sweet
As from blest Voices) utt'ring Joy, Heav'n rung
With Jubilee, and loud Hosanna's fill'd
Th' eternal regions; &c. &c.--
Satan's
Walk upon the Outside of the Universe, which, at a Distance, appeared to him of a globular Form, but, upon his nearer Approach, looked like an unbounded Plain, is natural and noble: As his Roaming upon the Frontiers of the Creation between that Mass of Matter, which was wrought into a World, and that shapeless unformed Heap of Materials, which still lay in Chaos and Confusion, strikes the Imagination with something astonishingly great and wild. I have before spoken of the
Limbo of Vanity,
which the Poet places upon this outermost Surface of the Universe, and shall here explain my self more at large on that, and other Parts of the Poem, which are of the same Shadowy Nature.
Aristotle
observes
, that the Fable of an Epic Poem should abound in Circumstances that are both credible and astonishing; or as the
French
Criticks chuse to phrase it, the Fable should be filled with the Probable and the Marvellous. This Rule is as fine and just as any in
Aristotle's
whole Art of Poetry.
If the Fable is only Probable, it differs nothing from a true History; if it is only Marvellous, it is no better than a Romance. The great Secret therefore of Heroic Poetry is to relate such Circumstances, as may produce in the Reader at the same time both Belief and Astonishment. This is brought to pass in a well-chosen Fable, by the Account of such things as have really happened, or at least of such things as have happened according to the received Opinions of Mankind. Milton's Fable is a Masterpiece of this Nature; as the War in Heaven, the Condition of the fallen Angels, the State of Innocence, and Temptation of the Serpent, and the Fall of Man, though they are very astonishing in themselves, are not only credible, but actual Points of Faith.
The next Method of reconciling Miracles with Credibility, is by a happy Invention of the Poet; as in particular, when he introduces Agents of a superior Nature, who are capable of effecting what is wonderful, and what is not to be met with in the ordinary course of things.
Ulysses's
Ship being turned into a Rock, and
Æneas's
Fleet into a Shoal of Water Nymphs; though they are very surprising Accidents, are nevertheless probable, when we are told that they were the Gods who thus transformed them. It is this kind of Machinery which fills the Poems both of
Homer
and
Virgil
with such Circumstances as are wonderful, but not impossible, and so frequently produce in the Reader the most pleasing Passion that can rise in the Mind of Man, which is Admiration. If there be any Instance in the
Æneid
liable to Exception upon this Account, it is in the Beginning of the Third Book, where
Æneas
is represented as tearing up the Myrtle that dropped Blood. To qualifie this wonderful Circumstance,
Polydorus
tells a Story from the Root of the Myrtle, that the barbarous Inhabitants of the Country having pierced him with Spears and Arrows, the Wood which was left in his Body took Root in his Wounds, and gave Birth to that bleeding Tree. This Circumstance seems to have the Marvellous without the Probable, because it is represented as proceeding from Natural Causes, without the Interposition of any God, or other Supernatural Power capable of producing it. The Spears and Arrows grow of themselves, without so much as the Modern Help of an Enchantment. If we look into the Fiction of
Milton's
Fable, though we find it full of surprizing Incidents, they are generally suited to our Notions of the Things and Persons described, and tempered with a due Measure of Probability. I must only make an Exception to the
Limbo of Vanity
, with his Episode of
Sin
and
Death
, and some of the imaginary Persons in his
Chaos
. These Passages are astonishing, but not credible; the Reader cannot so far impose upon himself as to see a Possibility in them; they are the Description of Dreams and Shadows, not of Things or Persons. I know that many Criticks look upon the Stories of
Circe
,
Polypheme
, the
Sirens
, nay the whole
Odyssey
and
Iliad
, to be Allegories; but allowing this to be true, they are Fables, which considering the Opinions of Mankind that prevailed in the Age of the Poet, might possibly have been according to the Letter. The Persons are such as might have acted what is ascribed to them, as the Circumstances in which they are represented, might possibly have been Truths and Realities. This Appearance of Probability is so absolutely requisite in the greater kinds of Poetry, that
Aristotle
observes the Ancient Tragick Writers made use of the Names of such great Men as had actually lived in the World, tho' the Tragedy proceeded upon Adventures they were never engaged in, on purpose to make the Subject more Credible. In a Word, besides the hidden Meaning of an Epic Allegory, the plain litteral Sense ought to appear Probable. The Story should be such as an ordinary Reader may acquiesce in, whatever Natural, Moral, or Political Truth may be discovered in it by Men of greater Penetration.
Satan
, after having long wandered upon the Surface, or outmost Wall of the Universe, discovers at last a wide Gap in it, which led into the Creation, and is described as the Opening through which the Angels pass to and fro into the lower World, upon their Errands to Mankind. His Sitting upon the Brink of this Passage, and taking a Survey of the whole Face of Nature that appeared to him new and fresh in all its Beauties, with the Simile illustrating this Circumstance, fills the Mind of the Reader with as surprizing and glorious an Idea as any that arises in the whole Poem. He looks down into that vast Hollow of the Universe with the Eye, or (as Milton calls it in his first Book) with the Kenn of an Angel. He surveys all the Wonders in this immense Amphitheatre that lye between both the Poles of Heaven, and takes in at one View the whole Round of the Creation.
His Flight between the several Worlds that shined on every side of him, with the particular Description of the Sun, are set forth in all the Wantonness of a luxuriant Imagination. His Shape, Speech and Behaviour upon his transforming himself into an Angel of Light, are touched with exquisite Beauty. The Poet's Thought of directing Satan to the Sun, which in the vulgar Opinion of Mankind is the most conspicuous Part of the Creation, and the placing in it an Angel, is a Circumstance very finely contrived, and the more adjusted to a Poetical Probability, as it was a received Doctrine among the most famous Philosophers, that every Orb had its Intelligence; and as an Apostle in Sacred Writ is said to have seen such an Angel in the Sun. In the Answer which this Angel returns to the disguised evil Spirit, there is such a becoming Majesty as is altogether suitable to a Superior Being. The Part of it in which he represents himself as present at the Creation, is very noble in it self, and not only proper where it is introduced, but requisite to prepare the Reader for what follows in the Seventh Book.
I saw when at his Word the formless Mass,
This World's material Mould, came to a Heap:
Confusion heard his Voice, and wild Uproar
Stood rul'd, stood vast Infinitude confin'd.
Till at his second Bidding Darkness fled,
Light shon, &c.
In the following Part of the Speech he points out the Earth with such Circumstances, that the Reader can scarce forbear fancying himself employed on the same distant View of it.
Look downward on the Globe whose hither Side
With Light from hence, tho but reflected, shines;
That place is Earth, the Seat of Man, that Light
His Day, &c.
I must not conclude my Reflections upon this Third Book of
Paradise Lost
, without taking Notice of that celebrated Complaint of
Milton
with which it opens, and which certainly deserves all the Praises that have been given it; tho' as I have before hinted, it may rather be looked upon as an Excrescence, than as an essential Part of the Poem. The same Observation might be applied to that beautiful Digression upon Hypocrisie, in the same Book.
L.
De Arte Poetica
,. II. 38-40.
Poetics
, iii. 4.
'The surprising is necessary in tragedy; but the Epic Poem goes farther, and admits even the improbable and incredible, from which the highest degree of the surprising results, because there the action is not seen.'
| [No. 316] | Monday, March 3, 1712 | John Hughes |
Libertas; quæ sera tamen respexit Inertem.
Virg. Ecl. I.
'Mr. Spectator,
'If you ever read a Letter which is sent with the more Pleasure for the Reality of its Complaints, this may have Reason to hope for a favourable Acceptance; and if Time be the most irretrievable Loss, the Regrets which follow will be thought, I hope, the most justifiable. The regaining of my Liberty from a long State of Indolence and Inactivity, and the Desire of resisting the further Encroachments of Idleness, make me apply to you; and the Uneasiness with which I I recollect the past Years, and the Apprehensions with which I expect the Future, soon determined me to it.
'Idleness is so general a Distemper that I cannot but imagine a Speculation on this Subject will be of universal Use. There is hardly any one Person without some Allay of it; and thousands besides my self spend more Time in an idle Uncertainty which to begin first of two Affairs, that would have been sufficient to have ended them both. The Occasion of this seems to be the Want of some necessary Employment, to put the Spirits in Motion, and awaken them out of their Lethargy. If I had less Leisure, I should have more; for I should then find my Time distinguished into Portions, some for Business, and others for the indulging of Pleasures: But now one Face of Indolence overspreads the whole, and I have no Land-mark to direct my self by. Were one's Time a little straitned by Business, like Water inclosed in its Banks, it would have some determined Course; but unless it be put into some Channel it has no Current, but becomes a Deluge without either Use or Motion.
'When Scanderbeg Prince of Epirus was dead, the Turks, who had but too often felt the Force of his Arm in the Battels he had won from them, imagined that by wearing a piece of his Bones near their Heart, they should be animated with a Vigour and Force like to that which inspired him when living. As I am like to be but of little use whilst I live, I am resolved to do what Good I can after my Decease; and have accordingly ordered my Bones to be disposed of in this Manner for the Good of my Countrymen, who are troubled with too exorbitant a Degree of Fire. All Fox-hunters upon wearing me, would in a short Time be brought to endure their Beds in a Morning, and perhaps even quit them with Regret at Ten: Instead of hurrying away to teaze a poor Animal, and run away from their own Thoughts, a Chair or a Chariot would be thought the most desirable Means of performing a Remove from one Place to another. I should be a Cure for the unnatural Desire of John Trott for Dancing, and a Specifick to lessen the Inclination Mrs. Fidget has to Motion, and cause her always to give her Approbation to the present Place she is in. In fine, no Egyptian Mummy was ever half so useful in Physick, as I should be to these feaverish Constitutions, to repress the violent Sallies of Youth, and give each Action its proper Weight and Repose.
'I can stifle any violent Inclination, and oppose a Torrent of Anger, or the Sollicitations of Revenge, with Success. But Indolence is a Stream which flows slowly on, but yet undermines the Foundation of every Virtue. A Vice of a more lively Nature were a more desirable Tyrant than this Rust of the Mind, which gives a Tincture of its Nature to every Action of ones Life. It were as little Hazard to be lost in a Storm, as to lye thus perpetually becalmed: And it is to no Purpose to have within one the Seeds of a thousand good Qualities, if we want the Vigour and Resolution necessary for the exerting them. Death brings all Persons back to an Equality; and this Image of it, this Slumber of the Mind, leaves no Difference between the greatest Genius and the meanest Understanding: A Faculty of doing things remarkably praise-worthy thus concealed, is of no more use to the Owner, than a Heap of Gold to the Man who dares not use it.
'To-Morrow is still the fatal Time when all is to be rectified: To-Morrow comes, it goes, and still I please my self with the Shadow, whilst I lose the Reality; unmindful that the present Time alone is ours, the future is yet unborn, and the past is dead, and can only live (as Parents in their Children) in the Actions it has produced.
'The Time we live ought not to be computed by the Numbers of Years, but by the Use has been made of it; thus 'tis not the Extent of Ground, but the yearly Rent which gives the Value to the Estate. Wretched and thoughtless Creatures, in the only Place where Covetousness were a Virtue we turn Prodigals! Nothing lies upon our Hands with such Uneasiness, nor has there been so many Devices for any one Thing, as to make it slide away imperceptibly and to no purpose. A Shilling shall be hoarded up with Care, whilst that which is above the Price of an Estate, is flung away with Disregard and Contempt. There is nothing now-a-days so much avoided, as a sollicitous Improvement of every part of Time; 'tis a Report must be shunned as one tenders the Name of a Wit and a fine Genius, and as one fears the Dreadful Character of a laborious Plodder: But notwithstanding this, the greatest Wits any Age has produced thought far otherwise; for who can think either Socrates or Demosthenes lost any Reputation, by their continual Pains both in overcoming the Defects and improving the Gifts of Nature. All are acquainted with the Labour and Assiduity with which Tully acquired his Eloquence.
'[Seneca] in his Letters to Lucelius[1] assures him, there was not a Day in which he did not either write something, or read and epitomize some good Author; and I remember Pliny in one of his Letters, where he gives an Account of the various Methods he used to fill up every Vacancy of Time, after several Imployments which he enumerates; [sometimes], says he, I hunt; but even then I carry with me a Pocket-Book, that whilst my Servants are busied in disposing of the Nets and other Matters I may be employed in something that may be useful to me in my Studies; and that if I miss of my Game, I may at the least bring home some of my own Thoughts with me, and not have the Mortification of having caught nothing all Day[2].
'Thus, Sir, you see how many Examples I recall to Mind, and what Arguments I use with my self, to regain my Liberty: But as I am afraid 'tis no Ordinary Perswasion that will be of Service, I shall expect your Thoughts on this Subject, with the greatest Impatience, especially since the Good will not be confined to me alone, but will be of Universal Use. For there is no Hopes of Amendment where Men are pleased with their Ruin, and whilst they think Laziness is a desirable Character: Whether it be that they like the State it self, or that they think it gives them a new Lustre when they do exert themselves, seemingly to be able to do that without Labour and Application, which others attain to but with the greatest Diligence.
I am, Sir,
Your most obliged humble Servant,
Samuel Slack.
Clytander to Cleone.
'Madam,
Permission to love you is all I desire, to conquer all the Difficulties those about you place in my Way, to surmount and acquire all those Qualifications you expect in him who pretends to the Honour of being,
'Madam,
Your most humble Servant,
'Clytander.
Z.
Ep
. 2.
Ep
. I. 6.
| [No. 317] | Tuesday, March 4, 1712 | Addison |
—fruges consumere nati.
Hor.
Augustus, a few Moments before his Death, asked his Friends who stood about him, if they thought he had acted his Part well; and upon receiving such an Answer as was due to his extraordinary Merit,
Let me then, says he, go off the Stage with your Applause
; using the Expression with which the Roman Actors made their
Exit
at the Conclusion of a Dramatick Piece. I could wish that Men, while they are in Health, would consider well the Nature of the Part they are engaged in, and what Figure it will make in the Minds of those they leave behind them: Whether it was worth coming into the World for; whether it be suitable to a reasonable Being; in short, whether it appears Graceful in this Life, or will turn to an Advantage in the next. Let the Sycophant, or Buffoon, the Satyrist, or the Good Companion, consider with himself, when his Body shall be laid in the Grave, and his Soul pass into another State of Existence, how much it will redound to his Praise to have it said of him, that no Man in England eat better, that he had an admirable Talent at turning his Friends into Ridicule, that no Body out-did him at an Ill-natured Jest, or that he never went to Bed before he had dispatched his third Bottle. These are, however, very common Funeral Orations, and Elogiums on deceased Persons who have acted among Mankind with some Figure and Reputation.
But if we look into the Bulk of our Species, they are such as are not likely to be remembred a Moment after their Disappearance. They leave behind them no Traces of their Existence, but are forgotten as tho' they had never been. They are neither wanted by the Poor, regretted by the Rich,
n
or celebrated by the Learned. They are neither missed in the Commonwealth, nor lamented by private Persons. Their Actions are of no Significancy to Mankind, and might have been performed by Creatures of much less Dignity, than those who are distinguished by the Faculty of Reason. An eminent French Author speaks somewhere to the following Purpose: I have often seen from my Chamber-window two noble Creatures, both of them of an erect Countenance and endowed with Reason. These two intellectual Beings are employed from Morning to Night, in rubbing two smooth Stones one upon another; that is, as the Vulgar phrase it, in polishing Marble.
My Friend, Sir
Andrew Freeport
, as we were sitting in the Club last Night, gave us an Account of a sober Citizen, who died a few Days since. This honest Man being of greater Consequence in his own Thoughts, than in the Eye of the World, had for some Years past kept a Journal of his Life. Sir
Andrew
shewed us one Week of it.
Since
the Occurrences set down in it mark out such a Road of Action as that I have been speaking of, I shall present my Reader with a faithful Copy of it; after having first inform'd him, that the Deceased Person had in his Youth been bred to Trade, but finding himself not so well turned for Business, he had for several Years last past lived altogether upon a moderate Annuity.
| Monday | Eight-a-Clock | I put on my Cloaths and walked into the Parlour. |
| Nine a-Clock | ditto. Tied my Knee-strings, and washed my Hands. | |
| Hours Ten, Eleven and Twelve. | Smoaked three Pipes of Virginia. Read the Supplement and Daily Courant. Things go ill in the North. Mr. Nisby's Opinion thereupon. | |
| One a-Clock in the Afternoon. | Chid Ralph for mislaying my Tobacco-Box. | |
| Two a-Clock. | Sate down to Dinner. Mem. Too many Plumbs, and no Sewet. | |
| From Three to Four. | Took my Afternoon's Nap. | |
| From Four to Six. | Walked into the Fields. Wind, S. S. E. | |
| From Six to Ten. | At the Club. Mr. Nisby's Opinion about the Peace. | |
| Ten a-Clock. | Went to Bed, slept sound. | |
| Tuesday, Being Holiday, | Eight a-Clock. | Rose as usual. |
| Nine a-Clock. | Washed Hands and Face, shaved, put on my double-soaled Shoes. | |
| Ten, Eleven, Twelve. | Took a Walk to Islington. | |
| One. | Took a Pot of Mother Cob's Mild. | |
| Between Two and Three. | Return'd, dined on a Knuckle of Veal and Bacon. Mem. Sprouts wanting. | |
| Three. | Nap as usual. | |
| From Four to Six. | Coffee-house. Read the News. A Dish of Twist. Grand Vizier strangled. | |
| From Six to Ten. | At the Club. Mr. Nisby's Account of the Great Turk. | |
| Ten. | Dream of the Grand Vizier. Broken Sleep. | |
| Wednesday | Eight a-Clock. | Tongue of my Shooe-Buckle broke. Hands but not Face. |
| Nine. | Paid off the Butcher's Bill. Mem. To be allowed for the last Leg of Mutton. | |
| Ten, Eleven. | At the Coffee-house. More Work in the North. Stranger in a black Wigg asked me how Stocks went. | |
| From Twelve to One. | Walked in the Fields. Wind to the South. | |
| From One to Two. | Smoaked a Pipe and an half. | |
| Two. | Dined as usual. Stomach good. | |
| Three. | Nap broke by the falling of a Pewter Dish. Mem. Cook-maid in Love, and grown careless. | |
| From Four to Six. | At the Coffee-house. Advice from Smyrna, that the Grand Vizier was first of all strangled, and afterwards beheaded. | |
| Six a-Clock in the Evening. | Was half an Hour in the Club before any Body else came. Mr. Nisby of Opinion that the Grand Vizier was not strangled the Sixth Instant. | |
| Ten at Night. | Went to Bed. Slept without waking till Nine next Morning. | |
| Thursday | Nine a-Clock. | Staid within till Two a-Clock for Sir Timothy; who did not bring me my Annuity according to his Promise. |
| Two in the Afternoon. | Sate down to Dinner. Loss of Appetite. Small Beer sour. Beef over-corned. | |
| Three. | Gave Ralph a box on the Ear. Turned off my Cookmaid. Sent a Message to Sir Timothy. Mem. I did not go to the Club to-night. Went to Bed at Nine a-Clock. | |
| Friday | Passed the Morning in Meditation upon Sir Timothy, who was with me a Quarter before Twelve. | |
| Twelve a-Clock. | Bought a new Head to my Cane, and a Tongue to my Buckle. Drank a Glass of Purl to recover Appetite. | |
| Two and Three. | Dined, and Slept well. | |
| From Four to Six. | Went to the Coffee-house. Met Mr. Nisby there. Smoaked several Pipes. Mr. Nisby of opinion that laced Coffee is bad for the Head. | |
| Six a-Clock. | At the Club as Steward. Sate late. | |
| Twelve a-Clock. | Went to Bed, dreamt that I drank Small Beer with the Grand Vizier. | |
| Saturday | Waked at Eleven, walked in the Fields. Wind N. E. | |
| Twelve. | Caught in a Shower. | |
| One in the Afternoon. | Returned home, and dryed my self. | |
| Two. | Mr. Nisby dined with me. First Course Marrow-bones, Second Ox-Cheek, with a Bottle of Brooks and Hellier. | |
| Three a-Clock. | Overslept my self. | |
| Six. | Went to the Club. Like to have faln into a Gutter. Grand Vizier certainly Dead. etc. |
I question not but the Reader will be surprized to find the above-mentioned Journalist taking so much care of a Life that was filled with such inconsiderable Actions, and received so very small Improvements; and yet, if we look into the Behaviour of many whom we daily converse with, we shall find that most of their Hours are taken up in those three Important Articles of Eating, Drinking and Sleeping. I do not suppose that a Man loses his Time, who is not engaged in publick Affairs, or in an Illustrious Course of Action. On the Contrary, I believe our Hours may very often be more profitably laid out in such Transactions as make no Figure in the World, than in such as are apt to draw upon them the Attention of Mankind. One may become wiser and better by several Methods of Employing one's Self in Secrecy and Silence, and do what is laudable without Noise, or Ostentation. I would, however, recommend to every one of my Readers, the keeping a Journal of their Lives for one Week, and setting down punctually their whole Series of Employments during that Space of Time. This Kind of Self-Examination would give them a true State of themselves, and incline them to consider seriously what they are about. One Day would rectifie the Omissions of another, and make a Man weigh all those indifferent Actions, which, though they are easily forgotten, must certainly be accounted for.
L.
As
| [No. 318] | Wednesday, March 5, 1712 | Steele |
—non omnia possumus omnes.
Virg.[1]
Mr. Spectator,
A certain Vice which you have lately attacked, has not yet been considered by you as growing so deep in the Heart of Man, that the Affectation outlives the Practice of it. You must have observed that Men who have been bred in Arms preserve to the most extreme and feeble old Age a certain Daring in their Aspect: In like manner, they who have pass'd their Time in Gallantry and Adventure, keep up, as well as they can, the Appearance of it, and carry a petulant Inclination to their last Moments. Let this serve for a Preface to a Relation I am going to give you of an old Beau in Town, that has not only been amorous, and a Follower of Women in general, but also, in Spite of the Admonition of grey Hairs, been from his sixty-third Year to his present seventieth, in an actual Pursuit of a young Lady, the Wife of his Friend, and a Man of Merit. The gay old Escalus has Wit, good Health, and is perfectly well bred; but from the Fashion and Manners of the Court when he was in his Bloom, has such a natural Tendency to amorous Adventure, that he thought it would be an endless Reproach to him to make no use of a Familiarity he was allowed at a Gentleman's House, whose good Humour and Confidence exposed his Wife to the Addresses of any who should take it in their Head to do him the good Office. It is not impossible that Escalus might also resent that the Husband was particularly negligent of him; and tho' he gave many Intimations of a Passion towards the Wife, the Husband either did not see them, or put him to the Contempt of over-looking them. In the mean time Isabella, for so we shall call our Heroine, saw his Passion, and rejoiced in it as a Foundation for much Diversion, and an Opportunity of indulging her self in the dear Delight of being admired, addressed to, and flattered, with no ill Consequence to her Reputation. This Lady is of a free and disengaged Behaviour, ever in good Humour, such as is the Image of Innocence with those who are innocent, and an Encouragement to Vice with those who are abandoned. From this Kind of Carriage, and an apparent Approbation of his Gallantry, Escalus had frequent Opportunities of laying amorous Epistles in her Way, of fixing his Eyes attentively upon her Action, of performing a thousand little Offices which are neglected by the Unconcerned, but are so many Approaches towards Happiness with the Enamoured. It was now, as is above hinted, almost the End of the seventh Year of his Passion, when Escalus from general Terms, and the ambiguous Respect which criminal Lovers retain in their Addresses, began to bewail that his Passion grew too violent for him to answer any longer for his Behaviour towards her; and that he hoped she would have Consideration for his long and patient Respect, to excuse the Motions of a Heart now no longer under the Direction of the unhappy Owner of it. Such for some Months had been the Language of Escalus both in his Talk and his Letters to Isabella; who returned all the Profusion of kind Things which had been the Collection of fifty Years with I must not hear you; you will make me forget that y'ou are a Gentleman, I would not willingly lose you as a Friend; and the like Expressions, which the Skilful interpret to their own Advantage, as well knowing that a feeble Denial is a modest Assent. I should have told you, that Isabella, during the whole Progress of this Amour, communicated it to her Husband; and that an Account of Escalus's Love was their usual Entertainment after half a Day's Absence: Isabella therefore, upon her Lover's late more open Assaults, with a Smile told her Husband she could hold out no longer, but that his Fate was now come to a Crisis. After she had explained her self a little farther, with her Husband's Approbation she proceeded in the following Manner. The next Time that Escalus was alone with her, and repeated his Importunity, the crafty Isabella looked on her Fan with an Air of great Attention, as considering of what Importance such a Secret was to her; and upon the Repetition of a warm Expression, she looked at him with an Eye of Fondness, and told him he was past that Time of Life which could make her fear he would boast of a Lady's Favour; then turned away her Head with a very well-acted Confusion, which favoured the Escape of the aged Escalus. This Adventure was Matter of great Pleasantry to Isabella and her Spouse; and they had enjoyed it two Days before Escalus could recollect himself enough to form the following Letter.Isabella, with the Help of her Husband, returned the following Answer.Madam,
"What happened the other Day, gives me a lively Image of the Inconsistency of human Passions and Inclinations. We pursue what we are denied, and place our Affections on what is absent, tho' we neglected it when present. As long as you refused my Love, your Refusal did so strongly excite my Passion, that I had not once the Leisure to think of recalling my Reason to aid me against the Design upon your Virtue. But when that Virtue began to comply in my Favour, my Reason made an Effort over my Love, and let me see the Baseness of my Behaviour in attempting a Woman of Honour. I own to you, it was not without the most violent Struggle that I gained this Victory over my self; nay, I will confess my Shame, and acknowledge I could not have prevailed but by Flight. However, Madam, I beg that you will believe a Moment's Weakness has not destroyed the Esteem I had for you, which was confirmed by so many Years of Obstinate Virtue. You have Reason to rejoice that this did not happen within the Observation of one of the young Fellows, who would have exposed your Weakness, and gloried in his own Brutish Inclinations.
I am, Madam,
Your most devoted Humble Servant."Sir,
"I cannot but account my self a very happy Woman, in having a Man for a Lover that can write so well, and give so good a Turn to a Disappointment. Another Excellence you have above all other Pretenders I ever heard of; on Occasions where the most reasonable Men lose all their Reason, you have yours most powerful. We are each of us to thank our Genius, that the Passion of one abated in Proportion as that of the other grew violent. Does it not yet come into your Head, to imagine that I knew my Compliance was the greatest Cruelty I could be guilty of towards you? In Return for your long and faithful Passion, I must let you know that you are old enough to become a little more Gravity; but if you will leave me and coquet it any where else, may your Mistress yield.
Isabella."'
Madam,
"What happened the other Day, gives me a lively Image of the Inconsistency of human Passions and Inclinations. We pursue what we are denied, and place our Affections on what is absent, tho' we neglected it when present. As long as you refused my Love, your Refusal did so strongly excite my Passion, that I had not once the Leisure to think of recalling my Reason to aid me against the Design upon your Virtue. But when that Virtue began to comply in my Favour, my Reason made an Effort over my Love, and let me see the Baseness of my Behaviour in attempting a Woman of Honour. I own to you, it was not without the most violent Struggle that I gained this Victory over my self; nay, I will confess my Shame, and acknowledge I could not have prevailed but by Flight. However, Madam, I beg that you will believe a Moment's Weakness has not destroyed the Esteem I had for you, which was confirmed by so many Years of Obstinate Virtue. You have Reason to rejoice that this did not happen within the Observation of one of the young Fellows, who would have exposed your Weakness, and gloried in his own Brutish Inclinations.
I am, Madam,
Your most devoted Humble Servant."
Sir,
"I cannot but account my self a very happy Woman, in having a Man for a Lover that can write so well, and give so good a Turn to a Disappointment. Another Excellence you have above all other Pretenders I ever heard of; on Occasions where the most reasonable Men lose all their Reason, you have yours most powerful. We are each of us to thank our Genius, that the Passion of one abated in Proportion as that of the other grew violent. Does it not yet come into your Head, to imagine that I knew my Compliance was the greatest Cruelty I could be guilty of towards you? In Return for your long and faithful Passion, I must let you know that you are old enough to become a little more Gravity; but if you will leave me and coquet it any where else, may your Mistress yield.
Isabella."'
T.
'Rideat et pulset Lasciva decentius Ætas.'
Hor.
| [No. 319] | Thursday, March 6, 1712 | Budgell |
Quo teneam vultus mutantem Protea nodo?
Hor.
I have endeavoured, in the Course of my Papers, to do Justice to the Age, and have taken care as much as possible to keep my self a Neuter between both Sexes. I have neither spared the Ladies out of Complaisance, nor the Men out of Partiality; but notwithstanding the great Integrity with which I have acted in this Particular, I find my self taxed with an Inclination to favour my own half of the Species. Whether it be that the Women afford a more fruitful Field for Speculation, or whether they run more in my Head than the Men, I cannot tell, but I shall set down the Charge as it is laid against me in the following Letter.
Mr. Spectator,
'I always make one among a Company of young Females, who peruse your Speculations every Morning. I am at present Commissioned, by our whole Assembly, to let you know, that we fear you are a little enclined to be partial towards your own Sex. We must however acknowledge, with all due Gratitude, that in some Cases you have given us our Revenge on the Men, and done us Justice. We could not easily have forgiven you several Strokes in the Dissection of the Coquets Heart, if you had not, much about the same time, made a Sacrifice to us of a Beau's Scull.
'You may, however, Sir, please to remember, that long since you attacked our Hoods and Commodes in such manner, as, to use your own Expression, made very many of us ashamed to shew our Heads. We must, therefore, beg leave to represent to you, that we are in Hopes, if you would please to make a due Enquiry, the Men in all Ages would be found to have been little less whimsical in adorning that Part, than our selves. The different Forms of their Wiggs, together with the various Cocks of their Hats, all flatter us in this Opinion.
'I had an humble Servant last Summer, who the first time he declared himself, was in a Full-Bottom'd Wigg; but the Day after, to my no small Surprize, he accosted me in a thin Natural one. I received him, at this our second Interview, as a perfect Stranger, but was extreamly confounded, when his Speech discovered who he was. I resolved, therefore, to fix his Face in my Memory for the future; but as I was walking in the Park the same Evening, he appeared to me in one of those Wiggs that I think you call a Night-cap, which had altered him more effectually than before. He afterwards played a Couple of Black Riding Wiggs upon me, with the same Success; and, in short, assumed a new Face almost every Day in the first Month of his Courtship.
'I observed afterwards, that the Variety of Cocks into which he moulded his Hat, had not a little contributed to his Impositions upon me.
'Yet, as if all these ways were not sufficient to distinguish their Heads, you must, doubtless, Sir, have observed, that great Numbers of young Fellows have, for several Months last past, taken upon them to wear Feathers.
'We hope, therefore, that these may, with as much Justice, be called Indian Princes, as you have styled a Woman in a coloured Hood an Indian Queen; and that you will, in due time, take these airy Gentlemen into Consideration.
'We the more earnestly beg that you would put a Stop to this Practice, since it has already lost us one of the most agreeable Members of our Society, who after having refused several good Estates, and two Titles, was lured from us last Week by a mixed Feather.
'I am ordered to present you the Respects of our whole Company, and am, Sir,
Your very humble Servant,
Dorinda.
Note, The Person wearing the Feather, tho' our Friend took him for an Officer in the Guards, has proved to be an arrant Linnen-Draper[1].'
I am not now at leisure to give my Opinion upon the Hat and Feather; however to wipe off the present Imputation, and gratifie my Female Correspondent, I shall here print a Letter which I lately received from a Man of Mode, who seems to have a very extraordinary Genius in his way.
Sir,
'I presume I need not inform you, that among Men of Dress it is a common Phrase to say Mr. Such an one has struck a bold Stroke; by which we understand, that he is the first Man who has had Courage enough to lead up a Fashion. Accordingly, when our Taylors take Measure of us, they always demand whether we will have a plain Suit, or strike a bold Stroke. 1 think I may without Vanity say, that I have struck some of the boldest and most successful Strokes of any Man in Great Britain. I was the first that struck the Long Pocket about two Years since: I was likewise the Author of the Frosted Button, which when I saw the Town came readily into, being resolved to strike while the Iron was hot, I produced much about the same time the Scallop Flap, the knotted Cravat, and made a fair Push for the Silver-clocked Stocking.
'A few Months after I brought up the modish Jacket, or the Coat with close Sleeves. I struck this at first in a plain Doily; but that failing, I struck it a second time in blue Camlet; and repeated the Stroke in several kinds of Cloth, till at last it took effect. There are two or three young Fellows at the other End of the Town, who have always their Eye upon me, and answer me Stroke for Stroke. I was once so unwary as to mention my Fancy in relation to the new-fashioned Surtout before one of these Gentlemen, who was disingenuous enough to steal my Thought, and by that means prevented my intended Stroke.
'I have a Design this Spring to make very considerable Innovations in the Wastcoat, and have already begun with a Coup d'essai upon the Sleeves, which has succeeded very well.
'I must further inform you, if you will promise to encourage or at least to connive at me, that it is my Design to strike such a Stroke the Beginning of the next Month, as shall surprise the whole Town.
'I do not think it prudent to acquaint you with all the Particulars of my intended Dress; but will only tell you, as a Sample of it, that I shall very speedily appear at White's in a Cherry-coloured Hat. I took this Hint from the Ladies Hoods, which I look upon as the boldest Stroke that Sex has struck for these hundred Years last past.
I am, Sir,
Your most Obedient, most Humble Servant,
Will. Sprightly.'
I have not Time at present to make any Reflections on this Letter, but must not however omit that having shewn it to Will. Honeycomb, he desires to be acquainted with the Gentleman who writ it.
X.
only an Ensign in the Train Bands.
| [No. 320] | Friday, March 7, 1712 | Steele |
'—non pronuba Juno,
Non Hymenæus adest, non illi Gratia lecto,
Eumenides stravere torum.'
Ovid[1].
Mr. Spectator,
'You have given many Hints in your Papers to the Disadvantage of Persons of your own Sex, who lay Plots upon Women. Among other hard Words you have published the Term Male-Coquets, and been very severe upon such as give themselves the Liberty of a little Dalliance of Heart, and playing fast and loose, between Love and Indifference, till perhaps an easie young Girl is reduced to Sighs, Dreams and Tears; and languishes away her Life for a careless Coxcomb, who looks astonished, and wonders at such an Effect from what in him was all but common Civility. Thus you have treated the Men who are irresolute in Marriage; but if you design to be impartial, pray be so honest as to print the Information I now give you, of a certain Set of Women who never Coquet for the Matter, but with an high Hand marry whom they please to whom they please. As for my Part, I should not have concerned my self with them, but that I understand I am pitched upon by them, to be married, against my Will, to one I never saw in my Life. It has been my Misfortune, Sir, very innocently, to rejoice in a plentiful Fortune, of which I am Master, to bespeak a fine Chariot, to give Direction for two or three handsome Snuff-Boxes, and as many Suits of fine Cloaths; but before any of these were ready, I heard Reports of my being to be married to two or three different young Women. Upon my taking Notice of it to a young Gentleman who is often in my Company he told me smiling, I was in the Inquisition. You may believe I was not a little startled at what he meant, and more so when he asked me if I had bespoke any thing of late that was fine. I told him several; upon which he produced a Description of my Person from the Tradesmen whom I had employed, and told me that they had certainly informed against me. Mr. Spectator, Whatever the World may think of me, I am more Coxcomb than Fool, and I grew very inquisitive upon this Head, not a little pleased with the Novelty. My Friend told me there were a certain Set of Women of Fashion whereof the Number of Six made a Committee, who sat thrice a Week, under the Title of the Inquisition on Maids and Batchelors. It seems, whenever there comes such an unthinking gay Thing as my self to Town, he must want all Manner of Necessaries, or be put into the Inquisition by the first Tradesman he employs. They have constant Intelligence with Cane-Shops, Perfumers, Toymen, Coach-makers, and China-houses. From these several Places, these Undertakers for Marriages have as constant and regular Correspondence, as the Funeral-men have with Vintners and Apothecaries. All Batchelors are under their immediate Inspection, and my Friend produced to me a Report given into their Board, wherein an old Unkle of mine, who came to Town with me, and my self, were inserted, and we stood thus; the Unkle smoaky, rotten, poor; the Nephew raw, but no Fool, sound at present, very rich. My Information did not end here, but my Friend's Advices are so good, that he could shew me a Copy of the Letter sent to the young Lady who is to have me which I enclose to you.Madam,
'This is to let you know, that you are to be Married to a Beau that comes out on Thursday Six in the Evening. Be at the Park. You cannot but know a Virgin Fop; they have a Mind to look saucy, but are out of Countenance. The Board has denied him to several good Families. I wish you Joy.
Corinna.'
Madam,
'This is to let you know, that you are to be Married to a Beau that comes out on Thursday Six in the Evening. Be at the Park. You cannot but know a Virgin Fop; they have a Mind to look saucy, but are out of Countenance. The Board has denied him to several good Families. I wish you Joy.
Corinna.'
What makes my Correspondent's Case the more deplorable, is, that as I find by the Report from my Censor of Marriages, the Friend he speaks of is employed by the Inquisition to take him in, as the Phrase is. After all that is told him, he has Information only of one Woman that is laid for him, and that the wrong one; for the Lady-Commissioners have devoted him to another than the Person against whom they have employed their Agent his Friend to alarm him. The Plot is laid so well about this young Gentleman, that he has no Friend to retire to, no Place to appear in, or Part of the Kingdom to fly into, but he must fall into the Notice, and be subject to the Power of the Inquisition. They have their Emissaries and Substitutes in all Parts of this united Kingdom. The first Step they usually take, is to find from a Correspondence, by their Messengers and Whisperers with some Domestick of the Batchelor (who is to be hunted into the Toils they have laid for him) what are his Manners, his Familiarities, his good Qualities or Vices; not as the Good in him is a Recommendation, or the ill a Diminution, but as they affect or contribute to the main Enquiry, What Estate he has in him? When this Point is well reported to the Board, they can take in a wild roaring Fox-hunter, as easily as a soft, gentle young Fop of the Town. The Way is to make all Places uneasie to him, but the Scenes in which they have allotted him to act. His Brother Huntsmen, Bottle Companions, his Fraternity of Fops, shall be brought into the Conspiracy against him. Then this Matter is not laid in so bare-faced a Manner before him, as to have it intimated Mrs. Such-a-one would make him a very proper Wife; but by the Force of their Correspondence they shall make it (as Mr. Waller said of the Marriage of the Dwarfs) as impracticable to have any Woman besides her they design him, as it would have been in Adam to have refused Eve. The Man named by the Commission for Mrs. Such-a-one, shall neither be in Fashion, nor dare ever to appear in Company, should he attempt to evade their Determination.
The Female Sex wholly govern domestick Life; and by this Means, when they think fit, they can sow Dissentions between the dearest Friends, nay make Father and Son irreconcilable Enemies, in spite of all the Ties of Gratitude on one Part, and the Duty of Protection to be paid on the other. The Ladies of the Inquisition understand this perfectly well; and where Love is not a Motive to a Man's chusing one whom they allot, they can, with very much Art, insinuate Stories to the Disadvantage of his Honesty or Courage, 'till the Creature is too much dispirited to bear up against a general ill Reception, which he every where meets with, and in due time falls into their appointed Wedlock for Shelter. I have a long Letter bearing Date the fourth Instant, which gives me a large Account of the Policies of this Court; and find there is now before them a very refractory Person who has escaped all their Machinations for two Years last past: But they have prevented two successive Matches which were of his own Inclination, the one, by a Report that his Mistress was to be married, and the very Day appointed, Wedding-Clothes bought, and all things ready for her being given to another; the second time, by insinuating to all his Mistress's Friends and Acquaintance, that he had been false to several other Women, and the like. The poor Man is now reduced to profess he designs to lead a single Life; but the Inquisition gives out to all his Acquaintance, that nothing is intended but the Gentleman's own Welfare and Happiness. When this is urged, he talks still more humbly, and protests he aims only at a Life without Pain or Reproach; Pleasure, Honour or Riches, are things for which he has no taste. But notwithstanding all this and what else he may defend himself with, as that the Lady is too old or too young, of a suitable Humour, or the quite contrary, and that it is impossible they can ever do other than wrangle from June to January, Every Body tells him all this is Spleen, and he must have a Wife; while all the Members of the Inquisition are unanimous in a certain Woman for him, and they think they all together are better able to judge, than he or any other private Person whatsoever.
Temple, March 3, 1711.
Sir,
Your Speculation this Day on the Subject of Idleness, has employed me, ever since I read it, in sorrowful Reflections on my having loitered away the Term (or rather the Vacation) of ten Years in this Place, and unhappily suffered a good Chamber and Study to lie idle as long. My Books (except those I have taken to sleep upon) have been totally neglected, and my Lord Coke and other venerable Authors were never so slighted in their Lives. I spent most of the Day at a Neighbouring Coffee-House, where we have what I may call a lazy Club. We generally come in Night-Gowns, with our Stockings about our Heels, and sometimes but one on. Our Salutation at Entrance is a Yawn and a Stretch, and then without more Ceremony we take our Place at the Lolling Table; where our Discourse is, what I fear you would not read out, therefore shall not insert. But I assure you, Sir, I heartily lament this Loss of Time, and am now resolved (if possible, with double Diligence) to retrieve it, being effectually awakened by the Arguments of Mr. Slack out of the Senseless Stupidity that has so long possessed me. And to demonstrate that Penitence accompanies my Confession, and Constancy my Resolutions, I have locked my Door for a Year, and desire you would let my Companions know I am not within. I am with great Respect,
Sir, Your most obedient Servant,
N. B.
T.
Hæ sunt qui tenui sudant in Cyclade.
Hor.
| No. 321[1] | Saturday, March 8, 1712 | Addison |
Nec satis est pulchra esse poemata, dulcia sunto.
Hor.
Those, who know how many Volumes have been written on the Poems of
Homer
and
Virgil
, will easily pardon the Length of my Discourse upon
Milton
. The
Paradise Lost
is looked upon, by the best Judges, as the greatest Production, or at least the noblest Work of Genius in our Language, and therefore deserves to be set before an English Reader in its full Beauty. For this Reason, tho' I have endeavoured to give a general Idea of its Graces and Imperfections in my Six First Papers, I thought my self obliged to bestow one upon every Book in particular. The Three first Books I have already dispatched, and am now entering upon the Fourth. I need not acquaint my Reader that there are Multitudes of Beauties in this great Author, especially in the Descriptive Parts of his Poem, which I have not touched upon, it being my Intention to point out those only, which appear to me the most exquisite, or those which are not so obvious to ordinary Readers. Every one that has read the Criticks who have written upon the
Odyssey
, the
Iliad
and the
Æneid
, knows very well, that though they agree in their Opinions of the great Beauties in those Poems, they have nevertheless each of them discovered several Master-Strokes, which have escaped the Observation of the rest. In the same manner, I question not, but any Writer who shall treat of this Subject after me, may find several Beauties in
Milton
, which I have not taken notice of. I must likewise observe, that as the greatest Masters of Critical Learning differ among one another, as to some particular Points in an Epic Poem, I have not bound my self scrupulously to the Rules which any one of them has laid down upon that Art, but have taken the Liberty sometimes to join with one, and sometimes with another, and sometimes to differ from all of them, when I have thought that the Reason of the thing was on my side.
We may consider the Beauties of the Fourth Book under three Heads. In the first are those Pictures of Still-Life, which we meet with in the Description of Eden, Paradise,
Adam's
Bower, &c. In the next are the Machines, which comprehend the Speeches and Behaviour of the good and bad Angels. In the last is the Conduct of
Adam
and
Eve
, who are the Principal Actors in the Poem.
In
Description of Paradise, the Poet has observed
Aristotle's
Rule of lavishing all the Ornaments of Diction on the weak unactive Parts of the Fable, which are not supported by the Beauty of Sentiments and Characters
. Accordingly the Reader may observe, that the Expressions are more florid and elaborate in these Descriptions, than in most other Parts of the Poem. I must further add, that tho' the Drawings of Gardens, Rivers, Rainbows, and the like dead Pieces of Nature, are justly censured in an Heroic Poem, when they run out into an unnecessary length; the Description of Paradise would have been faulty, had not the Poet been very particular in it, not only as it is the Scene of the Principal Action, but as it is requisite to give us an Idea of that Happiness from which our first Parents fell. The Plan of it is wonderfully Beautiful, and formed upon the short Sketch which we have of it in Holy Writ.
Milton's
Exuberance of Imagination has poured forth such a Redundancy of Ornaments on this Seat of Happiness and Innocence, that it would be endless to point out each Particular.
I must not quit this Head, without further observing, that there is scarce a Speech of
Adam
or
Eve
in the whole Poem, wherein the Sentiments and Allusions are not taken from this their delightful Habitation. The Reader, during their whole Course of Action, always finds himself in the Walks of Paradise. In short, as the Criticks have remarked, that in those Poems, wherein Shepherds are Actors, the Thoughts ought always to take a Tincture from the Woods, Fields and Rivers, so we may observe, that our first Parents seldom lose Sight of their happy Station in any thing they speak or do; and, if the Reader will give me leave to use the Expression, that their Thoughts are always Paradisiacal.
We are in the next place to consider the Machines of the Fourth Book.
Satan
being now within Prospect of Eden, and looking round upon the Glories of the Creation, is filled with Sentiments different from those which he discovered whilst he was in Hell. The Place inspires him with Thoughts more adapted to it: He reflects upon the happy Condition from which he fell, and breaks forth into a Speech that is softned with several transient Touches of Remorse and Self-accusation: But at length he confirms himself in Impenitence, and in his Design of drawing Man into his own State of Guilt and Misery. This Conflict of Passions is raised with a great deal of Art, as the opening of his Speech to the Sun is very bold and noble.
O thou that with surpassing Glory crown'd,
Look'st from thy sole Dominion like the God
Of this new World; at whose Sight all the Stars
Hide their diminish'd Heads; to thee I call,
But with no friendly Voice, and add thy name,
O Sun! to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my Remembrance from what State
I fell, how glorious once above thy Sphere.
This Speech is, I think, the finest that is ascribed to Satan in the whole Poem. The Evil Spirit afterwards proceeds to make his Discoveries concerning our first Parents, and to learn after what manner they may be best attacked. His bounding over the Walls of Paradise; his sitting in the Shape of a Cormorant upon the Tree of Life, which stood in the Center of it, and overtopped all the other Trees of the Garden, his alighting among the Herd of Animals, which are so beautifully represented as playing about Adam and Eve, together with his transforming himself into different Shapes, in order to hear their Conversation,
Circumstances that give an agreeable Surprize to the Reader, and are devised with great Art, to connect that Series of Adventures in which the Poet has engaged
this
Artificer of Fraud.
The Thought of
Satan's
Transformation into a Cormorant, and placing himself on the Tree of Life, seems raised upon that Passage in the
Iliad
, where two Deities are described, as perching on the Top of an Oak in the shape of Vulturs.
planting himself at the Ear of
Eve
under the
form
of a Toad, in order to produce vain Dreams and Imaginations, is a Circumstance of the same Nature; as his starting up in his own Form is wonderfully fine, both in the Literal Description, and in the Moral which is concealed under it.
Answer upon his being discovered, and demanded to give an Account of himself,
is
conformable to the Pride and Intrepidity of his Character.
Know ye not then, said Satan, fll'd with Scorn,
Know ye not Me? ye knew me once no mate
For you, there sitting where you durst not soar;
Not to know Me argues your selves unknown,
The lowest of your throng;—
Zephon's
Rebuke, with the Influence it had on
Satan
, is exquisitely Graceful and Moral.
Satan
is afterwards led away to
Gabriel
, the chief of the Guardian Angels, who kept watch in Paradise. His disdainful Behaviour on this Occasion is so remarkable a Beauty, that the most ordinary Reader cannot but take Notice of it.
Gabriel's
discovering his Approach at a Distance, is drawn with great strength and liveliness of Imagination.
O Friends, I hear the tread of nimble Feet
Hasting this Way, and now by glimps discern
Ithuriel and Zephon through the shade;
And with them comes a third of Regal Port,
But faded splendor wan; who by his gait
And fierce demeanor seems the Prince of Hell;
Not likely to part hence without contest:
Stand firm, for in his look defiance lours.
The Conference between
Gabriel
and
Satan
abounds with Sentiments proper for the Occasion, and suitable to the Persons of the two Speakers.
Satan
cloathing himself with Terror when he prepares for the Combat is truly sublime, and at least equal to
Homer's
Description of Discord celebrated by
Longinus
, or to that of Fame in
Virgil
, who are both represented with their Feet standing upon the Earth, and their Heads reaching above the Clouds.
While thus he spake, th' Angelic Squadron bright
Turn'd fiery red, sharpning in mooned Horns
Their Phalanx, and began to hem him round
With ported Spears, &c.
—On the other side Satan alarm'd,
Collecting all his might dilated stood
Like Teneriff, or Atlas, unremov'd.
His Stature reached the Sky, and on his Crest
Sat horror plum'd;—
I
here take
notice
, that
Milton
is every where full of Hints and sometimes literal Translations, taken from the greatest of the
Greek
and
Latin
Poets. But this I may reserve for a Discourse by it self, because I would not break the Thread of these Speculations, that are designed for English Readers, with such Reflections as would be of no use but to the Learned.
I must however observe in this Place, that the breaking off the Combat between
Gabriel
and
Satan
, by the hanging out of the Golden Scales in Heaven, is a Refinement upon
Homer's
Thought, who tells us, that before the Battle between
Hector
and
Achilles
,
Jupiter
weighed the Event of it in a pair of Scales. The Reader may see the whole Passage in the 22nd
Iliad
.
Virgil
, before the last decisive Combat, describes
Jupiter
in the same manner, as weighing the Fates of
Turnus
and
Æneas
.
Milton
, though he fetched this beautiful Circumstance from the
Iliad
and
Æneid
, does not only insert it as a Poetical Embellishment, like the Authors above-mentioned; but makes an artful use of it for the proper carrying on of his Fable, and for the breaking off the Combat between the two Warriors, who were upon the point of engaging.
To this we may further add, that Milton is the more justified in this Passage, as we find the same noble Allegory in Holy Writ, where a wicked Prince, some few Hours before he was assaulted and slain, is said to have been weighed in the Scales, and to have been found wanting.
I must here take Notice under the Head of the Machines, that
Uriel's
gliding down to the Earth upon a Sunbeam, with the Poet's Device to make him descend, as well in his return to the Sun, as in his coming from it, is a Prettiness that might have been admired in a little fanciful Poet, but seems below the Genius of
Milton
. The Description of the Host of armed Angels walking their nightly Round in Paradise, is of another Spirit.
So saying, on he led his radiant files,
Dazling the Moon;—
as that Account of the Hymns which our first Parents used to hear them sing in these their Midnight Walks, is altogether Divine, and inexpressibly amusing to the Imagination.
We are, in the last place, to consider the Parts which
Adam
and
Eve
act in the Fourth Book. The Description of them as they first appeared to
Satan
, is exquisitely drawn, and sufficient to make the fallen Angel gaze upon them with all that Astonishment, and those Emotions of Envy, in which he is represented.
Two of far nobler Shape erect and tall,
God-like erect! with native honour clad
In naked Majesty, seem'd lords of all;
And worthy seem'd: for in their looks divine
The image of their glorious Maker shon,
Truth, Wisdom, Sanctitude severe and pure;
Severe, but in true filial freedom plac'd:
For contemplation he and valour form'd,
For softness she and sweet attractive grace;
He for God only, she for God in him.
His fair large front, and eye sublime, declar'd
Absolute rule; and Hyacinthin Locks
Round from his parted forelock manly hung
Clustring, but not beneath his Shoulders broad.
She, as a Veil, down to her slender waste
Her unadorned golden tresses wore
Dis-shevel'd, but in wanton ringlets wav'd.
So pass'd they naked on, nor shun'd the Sight
Of God or Angel, for they thought no ill:
So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair
That ever since in love's embraces met.
There is a fine Spirit of Poetry in the Lines which follow, wherein they are described as sitting on a Bed of Flowers by the side of a Fountain, amidst a mixed Assembly of Animals.
The Speeches of these two first Lovers flow equally from Passion and Sincerity. The Professions they make to one another are full of Warmth: but at the same time founded on Truth. In a Word, they are the Gallantries of Paradise:
—When Adam first of Men—
Sole partner and sole part of all these joys,
Dearer thy self than all;—
But let us ever praise him, and extol
His bounty, following our delightful Task,
To prune these growing plants, and tend these flow'rs;
Which were it toilsome, yet with thee were sweet.
To whom thus Eve reply'd. O thou for whom,
And from whom I was form'd, flesh of thy flesh,
And without whom am to no end, my Guide
And Head, what thou hast said is just and right.
For we to him indeed all praises owe.
And daily thanks; I chiefly, who enjoy
So far the happier Lot, enjoying thee
Preeminent by so much odds, while thou
Like consort to thy self canst no where find, &c.
The remaining part of
Eve's
Speech, in which she gives an Account of her self upon her first Creation, and the manner in which she was brought to
Adam
, is I think as beautiful a Passage as any in
Milton
, or perhaps in any other Poet whatsoever. These Passages are all worked off with so much Art, that they are capable of pleasing the most delicate Reader, without offending the most severe.
That Day I oft remember, when from Sleep, &c.
A
of less Judgment and Invention than this great Author, would have found it very difficult to have filled
these
tender Parts of the Poem with Sentiments proper for a State of Innocence; to have described the Warmth of Love, and the Professions of it, without Artifice or Hyperbole: to have made the Man speak the most endearing things, without descending from his natural Dignity, and the Woman receiving them without departing from the Modesty of her Character; in a Word, to adjust the Prerogatives of Wisdom and Beauty, and make each appear to the other in its proper Force and Loveliness. This mutual Subordination of the two Sexes is wonderfully kept up in the whole Poem, as particularly in the Speech of Eve I have before mentioned, and upon the Conclusion of it in the following Lines.
So spake our general Mother, and with eyes
Of Conjugal attraction unreproved,
And meek surrender, half embracing lean'd
On our first father; half her swelling breast
Naked met his under the flowing Gold
Of her loose tresses hid: he in delight
Both of her beauty and submissive charms
Smil'd with superior Love.—
The Poet adds, that the Devil turned away with Envy at the sight of so much Happiness.
We have another View of our first Parents in their Evening Discourses, which is full of pleasing Images and Sentiments suitable to their Condition and Characters. The Speech of
Eve
, in particular, is dressed up in such a soft and natural Turn of Words and Sentiments, as cannot be sufficiently admired.
I shall close my Reflections upon this Book, with observing the Masterly Transition which the Poet makes to their Evening Worship in the following Lines.
Thus at their shady Lodge arriv'd, both stood,
Both turn'd, and under open Sky, ador'd
The God that made both Sky, Air, Earth and Heaven,
Which they beheld, the Moon's resplendent Globe,
And Starry Pole: Thou also mad'st the Night,
Maker Omnipotent, and thou the Day, &c.
Most of the Modern Heroick Poets have imitated the Ancients, in beginning a Speech without premising, that the Person said thus or thus; but as it is easie to imitate the Ancients in the Omission of two or three Words, it requires Judgment to do it in such a manner as they shall not be missed, and that the Speech may begin naturally without them. There is a fine Instance of this Kind out of
Homer
, in the Twenty Third Chapter of
Longinus
.
L.
From this date to the end of the series the Saturday papers upon Milton exceed the usual length of a
Spectator
essay. That they may not occupy more than the single leaf of the original issue, they are printed in smaller type; the columns also, when necessary, encroach on the bottom margin of the paper, and there are few advertisements inserted.
At the end of the third Book of the
Poetics
.
'The diction should be most laboured in the idle parts of the poem; those in which neither manners nor sentiments prevail; for the manners and the sentiments are only obscured by too splendid a diction.'
this great
shape
are
notice by the way
those
Dedication of the Fifth Volume of The Spectator
[To] The Right Honourable Thomas Earl of Wharton[1].
My
Lord
,
The Author of the
Spectator
having prefixed before each of his Volumes the Name of some great Person to whom he has particular Obligations, lays his Claim to your Lordship's Patronage upon the same Account. I must confess, my Lord, had not I already received great Instances of your Favour, I should have been afraid of submitting a Work of this Nature to your Perusal. You are so thoroughly acquainted with the Characters of Men, and all the Parts of human Life, that it is impossible for the least Misrepresentation of them to escape your Notice. It is Your Lordship's particular Distinction that you are Master of the whole Compass of Business, and have signalized Your Self in all the different Scenes of it. We admire some for the Dignity, others for the Popularity of their Behaviour; some for their Clearness of Judgment, others for their Happiness of Expression; some for the laying of Schemes, and others for the putting of them in Execution: It is Your Lordship only who enjoys these several Talents united, and that too in as great Perfection as others possess them singly. Your Enemies acknowledge this great Extent in your Lordship's Character, at the same time that they use their utmost Industry and Invention to derogate from it. But it is for Your Honour that those who are now Your Enemies were always so. You have acted in so much Consistency with Your Self, and promoted the Interests of your Country in so uniform a Manner, that even those who would misrepresent your Generous Designs for the Publick Good, cannot but approve the Steadiness and Intrepidity with which You pursue them. It is a most sensible Pleasure to me that I have this Opportunity of professing my self one of your great Admirers, and, in a very particular Manner,
My
Lord
,
Your Lordship's
Most Obliged,
And most Obedient,
Humble Servant,
THE
Spectator
.
This is the Thomas, Earl of Wharton, who in 1708 became Lord-lieutenant of Ireland, and took Addison for his Chief Secretary. He was the son of Philip, Baron Wharton, a firm Presbyterian, sometimes called the good Lord Wharton, to distinguish him from his son and grandson. Philip Wharton had been an opponent of Stuart encroachments, a friend of Algernon Sidney, and one of the first men to welcome William III. to England. He died, very old, in 1694. His son Thomas did not inherit the religious temper of his father, and even a dedication could hardly have ventured to compliment him on his private morals. But he was an active politician, was with his father in the secret of the landing of the Prince of Orange, and was made by William Comptroller of the Household. Thwarted in his desire to become a Secretary of State, he made himself formidable as a bold, sarcastic speaker and by the strength of his parliamentary interest. He is said to have returned at one time thirty members, and to have spent eighty thousand pounds upon the maintenance of his political position. He was apt, by his manners, to make friends of the young men of influence. He spent money freely also on the turf, and upon his seat of Winchenden, in Wilts. Queen Anne, on her accession, struck his name with her own hand from the list of Privy Councillors, but he won his way not only to restoration of that rank, but also in December, 1706, at the age of 67, to his title of Viscount Winchendon and Earl of Wharton. In November, 1708, he became Lord-lieutenant of Ireland, with Addison for secretary. He took over with him also Clayton the musician, and kept a gay court, easily accessible, except to Roman Catholics, whom he would not admit to his presence, and against whom he enforced the utmost rigour of the penal code. He had himself conformed to the Church of England. Swift accused him, as Lord-lieutenant, of shameless depravity of manners, of injustice, greed, and gross venality. This Lord Wharton died in 1715, and was succeeded by his son Philip, whom George I., in 1718, made Duke of Wharton for his father's vigorous support of the Hanoverian succession. His character was much worse than that of his father, the energetic politician and the man of cultivated taste and ready wit to whom Steele and Addison here dedicated the Fifth Volume of the
Spectator
.
| [No. 322] | Monday, March 10, 1712 | Steele |
Ad humum mærore gravi deducit et angit.
Hor.
It is often said, after a Man has heard a Story with extraordinary Circumstances, It is a very good one if it be true: But as for the following Relation, I should be glad were I sure it were false. It is told with such Simplicity, and there are so many artless Touches of Distress in it, that I fear it comes too much from the Heart.
Mr. Spectator,
'Some Years ago it happened that I lived in the same House with a young Gentleman of Merit; with whose good Qualities I was so much taken, as to make it my Endeavour to shew as many as I was able in my self. Familiar Converse improved general Civilities into an unfeigned Passion on both Sides. He watched an Opportunity to declare himself to me; and I, who could not expect a Man of so great an Estate as his, received his Addresses in such Terms, as gave him no reason to believe I was displeased by them, tho' I did nothing to make him think me more easy than was decent. His Father was a very hard worldly Man, and proud; so that there was no reason to believe he would easily be brought to think there was any thing in any Woman's Person or Character that could ballance the Disadvantage of an unequal Fortune. In the mean time the Son continued his Application to me, and omitted no Occasion of demonstrating the most disinterested Passion imaginable to me; and in plain direct Terms offer'd to marry me privately, and keep it so till he should be so happy as to gain his Father's Approbation, or become possessed of his Estate. I passionately loved him, and you will believe I did not deny such a one what was my Interest also to grant. However I was not so young, as not to take the Precaution of carrying with me a faithful Servant, who had been also my Mother's Maid, to be present at the Ceremony. When that was over I demanded a Certificate, signed by the Minister, my Husband, and the Servant I just now spoke of. After our Nuptials, we conversed together very familiarly in the same House; but the Restraints we were generally under, and the Interviews we had, being stolen and interrupted, made our Behaviour to each other have rather the impatient Fondness which is visible in Lovers, than the regular and gratified Affection which is to be observed in Man and Wife. This Observation made the Father very anxious for his Son, and press him to a Match he had in his Eye for him. To relieve my Husband from this Importunity, and conceal the Secret of our Marriage, which I had reason to know would not be long in my power in Town, it was resolved that I should retire into a remote Place in the Country, and converse under feigned Names by Letter. We long continued this Way of Commerce; and I with my Needle, a few Books, and reading over and over my Husband's Letters, passed my Time in a resigned Expectation of better Days. Be pleased to take notice, that within four Months after I left my Husband I was delivered of a Daughter, who died within few Hours after her Birth. This Accident, and the retired Manner of Life I led, gave criminal Hopes to a neighbouring Brute of a Country Gentle-man, whose Folly was the Source of all my Affliction. This Rustick is one of those rich Clowns, who supply the Want of all manner of Breeding by the Neglect of it, and with noisy Mirth, half Understanding, and ample Fortune, force themselves upon Persons and Things, without any Sense of Time and Place. The poor ignorant People where I lay conceal'd, and now passed for a Widow, wondered I could be so shy and strange, as they called it, to the Squire; and were bribed by him to admit him whenever he thought fit. I happened to be sitting in a little Parlour which belonged to my own Part of the House, and musing over one of the fondest of my Husband's Letters, in which I always kept the Certificate of my Marriage, when this rude Fellow came in, and with the nauseous Familiarity of such unbred Brutes, snatched the Papers out of my Hand. I was immediately under so great a Concern, that I threw my self at his Feet, and begged of him to return them. He with the same odious Pretence to Freedom and Gaiety, swore he would read them. I grew more importunate, he more curious, till at last, with an Indignation arising from a Passion I then first discovered in him, he threw the Papers into the Fire, swearing that since he was not to read them, the Man who writ them should never be so happy as to have me read them over again. It is insignificant to tell you my Tears and Reproaches made the boisterous Calf leave the Room ashamed and out of Countenance, when I had leisure to ruminate on this Accident with more than ordinary Sorrow: However, such was then my Confidence in my Husband, that I writ to him the Misfortune, and desired another Paper of the same kind. He deferred writing two or three Posts, and at last answered me in general, That he could not then send me what I asked for, but when he could find a proper Conveyance, I should be sure to have it. From this time his Letters were more cold every Day than the other, and as he grew indifferent I grew jealous. This has at last brought me to Town, where I find both the Witnesses of my Marriage dead, and that my Husband, after three Months Cohabitation, has buried a young Lady whom he married in Obedience to his Father. In a word, he shuns and disowns me. Should I come to the House and confront him, the Father would join in supporting him against me, though he believed my Story; should I talk it to the World, what Reparation can I expect for an Injury I cannot make out? I believe he means to bring me, through Necessity, to resign my Pretentions to him for some Provision for my Life; but I will die first. Pray bid him remember what he said, and how he was charmed when he laughed at the heedless Discovery I often made of my self; let him remember how awkward he was in my dissembled Indifference towards him before Company; ask him how I, who could never conceal my Love for him, at his own Request, can part with him for ever? Oh, Mr. Spectator, sensible Spirits know no Indifference in Marriage; what then do you think is my piercing Affliction?—- I leave you to represent my Distress your own way, in which I desire you to be speedy, if you have Compassion for Innocence exposed to Infamy.
Octavia.
T.
| [No. 323] | Tuesday, March 11, 1712 | Addison |
Modo Vir, modo Fœmina.
Virg.[1]
The journal with which I presented my Reader on Tuesday last, has brought me in several Letters, with Accounts of many private Lives cast into that Form. I have the
Rake's Journal,
the
Sot's Journal,
the
Whoremaster's Journal,
and among several others a very curious Piece, entituled,
The Journal of a Mohock
. By these Instances I find that the Intention of my last Tuesday's Paper has been mistaken by many of my Readers. I did not design so much to expose Vice as Idleness, and aimed at those Persons who pass away their Time rather in Trifle and Impertinence, than in Crimes and Immoralities. Offences of this latter kind are not to be dallied with, or treated in so ludicrous a manner. In short, my Journal only holds up Folly to the Light, and shews the Disagreeableness of such Actions as are indifferent in themselves, and blameable only as they proceed from Creatures endow'd with Reason.
My following Correspondent, who calls her self
Clarinda
, is such a Journalist as I require: She seems by her Letter to be placed in a modish State of Indifference between Vice and Virtue, and to be susceptible of either, were there proper Pains taken with her. Had her Journal been filled with Gallantries, or such Occurrences as had shewn her wholly divested of her natural Innocence, notwithstanding it might have been more pleasing to the Generality of Readers, I should not have published it; but as it is only the Picture of a Life filled with a fashionable kind of Gaiety and Laziness, I shall set down five Days of it, as I have received it from the Hand of my fair Correspondent.
Dear Mr. Spectator,
'You having set your Readers an Exercise in one of your last Week's Papers, I have perform'd mine according to your Orders, and herewith send it you enclosed. You must know, Mr. Spectator, that I am a Maiden Lady of a good Fortune, who have had several Matches offered me for these ten Years last past, and have at present warm Applications made to me by a very pretty Fellow. As I am at my own Disposal, I come up to Town every Winter, and pass my Time in it after the manner you will find in the following Journal, which I begun to write upon the very Day after your Spectator upon that Subject.
| Tuesday | Night. | Could not go to sleep till one in the Morning for thinking of my Journal. |
| Wednesday | From Eight 'till Ten | Drank two Dishes of Chocolate in Bed, and fell asleep after 'em. |
| From Ten to Eleven. | Eat a Slice of Bread and Butter, drank a Dish of Bohea, read the Spectator. | |
| From Eleven to One. | At my Toilet, try'd a new Head. Gave Orders for Veny to be combed and washed. Mem. I look best in Blue. | |
| From One till Half an Hour after Two. | Drove to the Change. Cheapned a Couple of Fans. | |
| Till Four. | At Dinner. Mem. Mr. Froth passed by in his new Liveries. | |
| From Four to Six. | Dressed, paid a Visit to old Lady Blithe and her Sister, having before heard they were gone out of Town that Day. | |
| From Six to Eleven. | At Basset. Mem. Never set again upon the Ace of Diamonds. | |
| Thursday | From Eleven at Night to Eight in the Morning. | Dream'd that I punted to Mr. Froth. |
| From Eight to Ten. | Chocolate. Read two Acts in Aurenzebe[2] abed. | |
| From Ten to Eleven. | Tea-Table. Sent to borrow Lady Faddle's Cupid for Veny. Read the Play-Bills. Received a Letter from Mr. Froth. Mem. locked it up in my strong Box. | |
| Rest of the Morning. | Fontange, the Tire-woman, her Account of my Lady Blithe's Wash. Broke a Tooth in my little Tortoise-shell Comb. Sent Frank to know how my Lady Hectick rested after her Monky's leaping out at Window. Looked pale. Fontange tells me my Glass is not true. Dressed by Three. | |
| From Three to Four. | Dinner cold before I sat down. | |
| From Four to Eleven. | Saw Company. Mr. Froth's Opinion of Milton. His Account of the Mohocks. His Fancy for a Pin-cushion. Picture in the Lid of his Snuff-box. Old Lady Faddle promises me her Woman to cut my Hair. Lost five Guineas at Crimp. | |
| Twelve a-Clock at Night. | Went to Bed. | |
| Friday | Eight in the Morning. | Abed. Read over all Mr. Froth's Letters. Cupid and Veny. |
| Ten a-Clock. | Stay'd within all day, not at home. | |
| From Ten to Twelve. | In Conference with my Mantua-Maker. Sorted a Suit of Ribbands. Broke my Blue China Cup. | |
| From Twelve to One. | Shut my self up in my Chamber, practised Lady Betty Modely's Skuttle. | |
| One in the Afternoon. | Called for my flowered Handkerchief. Worked half a Violet-Leaf in it. Eyes aked and Head out of Order. Threw by my Work, and read over the remaining Part of Aurenzebe. | |
| From Three to Four. | Dined. | |
| From Four to Twelve. | Changed my Mind, dressed, went abroad, and play'd at Crimp till Midnight. Found Mrs. Spitely at home. Conversation: Mrs. Brilliant's Necklace false Stones. Old Lady Loveday going to be married to a young Fellow that is not worth a Groat. Miss Prue gone into the Country. Tom Townley has red Hair. Mem. Mrs. Spitely whispered in my Ear that she had something to tell me about Mr. Froth, I am sure it is not true. | |
| Between Twelve and One. | Dreamed that Mr. Froth lay at my Feet, and called me Indamora[3]. | |
| Saturday | Rose at Eight a-Clock in the Morning. Sate down to my Toilet. | |
| From Eight to Nine. | Shifted a Patch for Half an Hour before I could determine it. Fixed it above my left Eye-brow. | |
| From Nine to Twelve. | Drank my Tea, and dressed. | |
| From Twelve to Two. | At Chappel. A great deal of good Company. Mem. The third Air in the new Opera. Lady Blithe dressed frightfully. | |
| From Three to Four. | Dined. Miss Kitty called upon me to go to the Opera before I was risen from Table. | |
| From Dinner to Six. | Drank Tea. Turned off a Footman for being rude to Veny. | |
| Six a-Clock. | Went to the Opera. I did not see Mr. Froth till the beginning of the second Act. Mr. Froth talked to a Gentleman in a black Wig. Bowed to a Lady in the front Box. Mr. Froth and his Friend clapp'd Nicolini in the third Act. Mr. Froth cried out Ancora. Mr. Froth led me to my Chair. I think he squeezed my Hand. | |
| Eleven at Night. | Went to Bed. Melancholy Dreams. Methought Nicolini said he was Mr. Froth. | |
| Sunday | Indisposed. | |
| Monday | Eight a-Clock. | Waked by Miss Kitty. Aurenzebe lay upon the Chair by me. Kitty repeated without Book the Eight best Lines in the Play. Went in our Mobbs to the dumb Man[4], according to Appointment. Told me that my Lover's Name began with a G. Mem. The Conjurer was within a Letter of Mr. Froth's Name, &c. |
Upon looking back into this my Journal, I find that I am at a loss to know whether I pass my Time well or ill; and indeed never thought of considering how I did it before I perused your Speculation upon that Subject. I scarce find a single Action in these five Days that I can thoroughly approve of, except the working upon the Violet-Leaf, which I am resolved to finish the first Day I am at leisure. As for Mr. Froth and Veny I did not think they took up so much of my Time and Thoughts, as I find they do upon my Journal. The latter of them I will turn off, if you insist upon it; and if Mr. Froth does not bring Matters to a Conclusion very suddenly, I will not let my Life run away in a Dream.
Your humble Servant,
Clarinda.
To resume one of the Morals of my first Paper, and to confirm Clarinda in her good Inclinations, I would have her consider what a pretty Figure she would make among Posterity, were the History of her whole Life published like these five Days of it. I
conclude my Paper with an Epitaph written by an uncertain Author
on Sir Philip Sidney's Sister, a Lady who seems to have been of a Temper very much different from that of Clarinda. The last Thought of it is so very noble, that I dare say my Reader will pardon me the Quotation.
On the Countess Dowager of Pembroke.
Underneath this Marble Hearse
Lies the Subject of all Verse,
Sidney's Sister, Pembroke's Mother:
Death, ere thou hast kil'd another,
Fair, and learn'd, and good as she,
Time shall throw a Dart at thee.
A quotation from memory of Virgil's 'Et juvenis quondam nunc fœmina.'
Æn
. vi. 448.
Dryden's.
The heroine of
Aurengzebe
.
Duncan Campbell, said to be deaf and dumb, and to tell fortunes by second sight. In 1732 there appeared 'Secret Memoirs of the late Mr. D. Campbell.... written by himself... with an Appendix by way of 'vindicating Mr. C. against the groundless aspersion cast upon him, that he but pretended to be deaf and dumb.'
Ben Jonson.
| [No. 324] | Wednesday, March 12, 1712 | Steele |
O curvæ in terris animæ, et cœlestium inanes.
Pers. [1]
Mr. Spectator,
The Materials you have collected together towards a general History of Clubs, make so bright a Part of your Speculations, that I think it is but a Justice we all owe the learned World to furnish you with such Assistances as may promote that useful Work. For this Reason I could not forbear communicating to you some imperfect Informations of a Set of Men (if you will allow them a place in that Species of Being) who have lately erected themselves into a Nocturnal Fraternity, under the Title of the Mohock Club, a Name borrowed it seems from a sort of Cannibals in India, who subsist by plundering and devouring all the Nations about them. The President is styled Emperor of the Mohocks; and his Arms are a Turkish Crescent, which his Imperial Majesty bears at present in a very extraordinary manner engraven upon his Forehead. Agreeable to their Name, the avowed design of their Institution is Mischief; and upon this Foundation all their Rules and Orders are framed. An outrageous Ambition of doing all possible hurt to their Fellow-Creatures, is the great Cement of their Assembly, and the only Qualification required in the Members. In order to exert this Principle in its full Strength and Perfection, they take care to drink themselves to a pitch, that is, beyond the Possibility of attending to any Motions of Reason and Humanity; then make a general Sally, and attack all that are so unfortunate as to walk the Streets through which they patrole. Some are knock'd down, others stabb'd, others cut and carbonado'd. To put the Watch to a total Rout, and mortify some of those inoffensive Militia, is reckon'd a Coup d'éclat. The particular Talents by which these Misanthropes are distinguished from one another, consist in the various kinds of Barbarities which they execute upon their Prisoners. Some are celebrated for a happy Dexterity in tipping the Lion upon them; which is performed by squeezing the Nose flat to the Face, and boring out the Eyes with their Fingers: Others are called the Dancing-Masters, and teach their Scholars to cut Capers by running Swords thro' their Legs; a new Invention, whether originally French I cannot tell: A third sort are the Tumblers, whose office it is to set Women on their Heads, and commit certain Indecencies, or rather Barbarities, on the Limbs which they expose. But these I forbear to mention, because they can't but be very shocking to the Reader as well as the Spectator. In [this] manner they carry on a War against Mankind; and by the standing Maxims of their Policy, are to enter into no Alliances but one, and that is Offensive and Defensive with all Bawdy-Houses in general, of which they have declared themselves Protectors and Guarantees[2].
'I must own, Sir, these are only broken incoherent Memoirs of this wonderful Society, but they are the best I have been yet able to procure; for being but of late Establishment, it is not ripe for a just History; And to be serious, the chief Design of this Trouble is to hinder it from ever being so. You have been pleas'd, out of a concern for the good of your Countrymen, to act under the Character of Spectator, not only the Part of a Looker-on, but an Overseer of their Actions; and whenever such Enormities as this infest the Town, we immediately fly to you for Redress. I have reason to believe, that some thoughtless Youngsters, out of a false Notion of Bravery, and an immoderate Fondness to be distinguished for Fellows of Fire, are insensibly hurry'd into this senseless scandalous Project: Such will probably stand corrected by your Reproofs, especially if you inform them, that it is not Courage for half a score Fellows, mad with Wine and Lust, to set upon two or three soberer than themselves; and that the Manners of Indian Savages are no becoming Accomplishments to an English fine Gentleman. Such of them as have been Bullies and Scowrers of a long standing, and are grown Veterans in this kind of Service, are, I fear, too hardned to receive any Impressions from your Admonitions. But I beg you would recommend to their Perusal your [Volume 1 link:[ninth]] Speculation: They may there be taught to take warning from the Club of Duellists; and be put in mind, that the common Fate of those Men of Honour was to be hang'd.
I am, Sir,
Your most humble Servant,
Philanthropos
March the 10th, 1711-12.
The following Letter is of a quite contrary nature; but I add it here, that the Reader may observe at the same View, how amiable Ignorance may be when it is shewn in its Simplicities, and how detestable in Barbarities. It is written by an honest Countryman to his Mistress, and came to the Hands of a Lady of good Sense wrapped about a Thread-Paper, who has long kept it by her as an Image of artless Love.
To her I very much respect, Mrs. Margaret Clark.
'Lovely, and oh that I could write loving Mrs. Margaret Clark, I pray you let Affection excuse Presumption. Having been so happy as to enjoy the Sight of your sweet Countenance and comely Body, sometimes when I had occasion to buy Treacle or Liquorish Powder at the Apothecary's Shop, I am so enamoured with you, that I can no more keep close my flaming Desire to become your Servant. And I am the more bold now to write to your sweet self, because I am now my own Man, and may match where I please; for my Father is taken away, and now I am come to my Living, which is Ten Yard Land, and a House; and there is never a Yard of Land in our Field but it is as well worth ten Pound a Year, as a Thief is worth a Halter; and all my Brothers and Sisters are provided for: Besides I have good Houshold-stuff, though I say it, both Brass and Pewter, Linnens and Woollens; and though my House be thatched, yet, if you and I match, it shall go hard but I will have one half of it slated. If you think well of this Motion, I will wait upon you as soon as my new Cloaths is made and Hay Harvest is in. I could, 'though I say it, have good—'
rest is torn off
; and Posterity must be contented to know, that Mrs. Margaret Clark was very pretty, but are left in the dark as to the Name of her Lover.
T.
'Sævis inter se convenit Ursis.'
Juv.
Gay tells also in his Trivia that the Mohocks rolled women in hogs-heads down Snow hill. Swift wrote of the Mohocks, at this time, in his Journal to Stella,
'Grub-street papers about them fly like lightning, and a list printed of near eighty put into several prisons, and all a lie, and I begin to think there is no truth, or very little, in the whole story.'
On the 18th of March an attempt was made to put the Mohocks down by Royal Proclamation.
This letter is said to have been really sent to one who married Mr. Cole, a Northampton attorney, by a neighbouring freeholder named Gabriel Bullock, and shown to Steele by his friend the antiquary, Browne Willis. See also
.
| [No. 325] | Thursday, March 13, 1712 | Budgell |
Quid frustra Simulacra fugacia captas?
Quod petis, est nusquam: quod amas avertere, perdes.
Ista repercussæ quam cernis imaginis umbra est,
Nil habet ista sui; tecum venitque, manetque,
Tecum discedet si tu discedere possis.
Ovid.
Will. Honeycomb
diverted us last Night with an Account of a young Fellow's first discovering his Passion to his Mistress. The young Lady was one, it seems, who had long before conceived a favourable Opinion of him, and was still in hopes that he would some time or other make his Advances. As he was one day talking with her in Company of her two Sisters, the Conversation happening to turn upon Love, each of the young Ladies was by way of Raillery, recommending a Wife to him; when, to the no small Surprize of her who languished for him in secret, he told them with a more than ordinary Seriousness, that his Heart had been long engaged to one whose Name he thought himself obliged in Honour to conceal; but that he could shew her Picture in the Lid of his Snuff-box. The young Lady, who found herself the most sensibly touched by this Confession, took the first Opportunity that offered of snatching his Box out of his Hand. He seemed desirous of recovering it, but finding her resolved to look into the Lid, begged her, that if she should happen to know the Person, she would not reveal her Name. Upon carrying it to the Window, she was very agreeably surprized to find there was nothing within the Lid but a little Looking-Glass, in which, after she had view'd her own Face with more Pleasure than she had ever done before, she returned the Box with a Smile, telling him, she could not but admire at his Choice.
Will
. fancying that his Story took, immediately fell into a Dissertation on the Usefulness of Looking-Glasses, and applying himself to me, asked, if there were any Looking Glasses in the Times of the Greeks and Romans; for that he had often observed in the Translations of Poems out of those Languages, that People generally talked of seeing themselves in Wells, Fountains, Lakes, and Rivers: Nay, says he, I remember Mr.
Dryden
in his
Ovid
tells us of a swingeing Fellow, called
Polypheme
, that made use of the Sea for his Looking-Glass, and could never dress himself to Advantage but in a Calm.
My Friend
Will
, to shew us the whole Compass of his Learning upon this Subject, further informed us, that there were still several Nations in the World so very barbarous as not to have any Looking-Glasses among them; and that he had lately read a Voyage to the South-Sea, in which it is said, that the Ladies of Chili always dress their Heads over a Bason of Water.
I am the more particular in my Account of
Will.'s
last Night's Lecture on these natural Mirrors, as it seems to bear some Relation to the following Letter, which I received the Day before.
Sir,
'I have read your last Saturday's Observations on the Fourth Book of Milton with great Satisfaction, and am particularly pleased with the hidden Moral, which you have taken notice of in several Parts of the Poem. The Design of this Letter is to desire your Thoughts, whether there may not also be some Moral couched under that Place in the same Book where the Poet lets us know, that the first Woman immediately after her Creation ran to a Looking-Glass, and became so enamoured of her own Face, that she had never removed to view any of the other Works of Nature, had not she been led off to a Man. If you think fit to set down the whole Passage from Milton, your Readers will be able to judge for themselves, and the Quotation will not a little contribute to the filling up of your Paper.
Your humble Servant,
R. T.'
The last Consideration urged by my Querist is so strong, that I cannot forbear closing with it. The Passage he alludes to, is part of
Eve's
Speech to
Adam
, and one of the most beautiful Passages in the whole Poem.
That Day I oft remember, when from sleep
I first awaked, and found my self repos d
Under a shade of flow'rs, much wondering where
And what I was, whence thither brought, and how.
Not distant far from thence a murmuring Sound
Of Waters issu'd from a Cave, and spread
Into a liquid Plain, then stood unmoved
Pure as th' Expanse of Heav'n: I thither went
With unexperienced Thought, and laid me down
On the green Bank, to look into the clear
Smooth Lake, that to me seemed another Sky.
As I bent down to look, just opposite,
A Shape within the watry Gleam appeared
Bending to look on me; I started back,
It started back; but pleas'd I soon returned,
Pleas'd it return'd as soon with answering Looks
Of Sympathy and Love; there I had fix d
Mine Eyes till now, and pined with vain Desire,
Had not a Voice thus warn'd me, What thou seest,
What there thou seest, fair Creature, is thy self,
With thee it came and goes: but follow me,
And I will bring thee where no Shadow stays
Thy coming, and thy soft Embraces, he
Whose Image thou art, him thou shalt enjoy
Inseparably thine, to him shalt bear
Multitudes like thy self, and thence be call'd
Mother of Human Race. What could I do,
But follow streight, invisibly thus led?
Till I espy'd thee, fair indeed and tall,
Under a Platan, yet methought less fair,
Less winning soft, less amiably mild,
Than that smooth watry Image: back I turn'd,
Thou following cry'dst aloud, Return fair Eve,
Whom fly'st thou? whom thou fly'st, of him thou art,
His Flesh, his Bone; to give thee Being, I lent
Out of my Side to thee, nearest my Heart,
Substantial Life, to have thee by my side
Henceforth an individual Solace dear.
Part of my Soul I seek thee, and thee claim
My other half!—-With that thy gentle hand
Seized mine, I yielded, and from that time see
How Beauty is excell'd by manly Grace,
And Wisdom, which alone is truly fair.
So spake our general Mother,—
X.
| [No. 326] | Friday, March 14, 1712 | Steele |
Inclusam Danaen turris ahenea
Robustæque fores, et vigilum canum
Tristes exubiæ, munierant satis
Nocturnis ab adulteris;
Si non—
Hor.
Mr. Spectator,
'Your Correspondent's Letter relating to Fortune-Hunters, and your subsequent Discourse upon it, have given me Encouragement to send you a State of my Case, by which you will see, that the Matter complained of is a common Grievance both to City and Country.
'I am a Country Gentleman of between five and six thousand a Year. It is my Misfortune to have a very fine Park and an only Daughter; upon which account I have been so plagu'd with Deer-Stealers and Fops, that for these four Years past I have scarce enjoy'd a Moment's Rest. I look upon my self to be in a State of War, and am forc'd to keep as constant watch in my Seat, as a Governour would do that commanded a Town on the Frontier of an Enemy's Country. I have indeed pretty well secur'd my Park, having for this purpose provided my self of four Keepers, who are Left-handed, and handle a Quarter-Staff beyond any other Fellow in the Country. And for the Guard of my House, besides a Band of Pensioner-Matrons and an old Maiden Relation, whom I keep on constant Duty, I have Blunderbusses always charged, and Fox-Gins planted in private Places about my Garden, of which I have given frequent Notice in the Neighbourhood; yet so it is, that in spite of all my Care, I shall every now and then have a saucy Rascal ride by reconnoitring (as I think you call it) under my Windows, as sprucely drest as if he were going to a Ball. I am aware of this way of attacking a Mistress on Horseback, having heard that it is a common Practice in Spain; and have therefore taken care to remove my Daughter from the Road-side of the House, and to lodge her next the Garden. But to cut short my Story; what can a Man do after all? I durst not stand for Member of Parliament last Election, for fear of some ill Consequence from my being off of my Post. What I would therefore desire of you, is, to promote a Project I have set on foot; and upon which I have writ to some of my Friends; and that is, that care may be taken to secure our Daughters by Law, as well as our Deer; and that some honest Gentleman of a publick Spirit, would move for Leave to bring in a Bill For the better preserving of the Female Game.
I am, Sir,
Your humble Servant.
Mile-End-Green, March 6, 1711-12.
Mr. Spectator,
Here is a young Man walks by our Door every Day about the Dusk of the Evening. He looks up at my Window, as if to see me; and if I steal towards it to peep at him, he turns another way, and looks frightened at finding what he was looking for. The Air is very cold; and pray let him know that if he knocks at the Door, he will be carry'd to the Parlour Fire; and I will come down soon after, and give him an Opportunity to break his Mind.
I am, Sir,
Your humble Servant,
Mary Comfitt.
If I observe he cannot speak, I'll give him time to recover himself, and ask him how he does.
Dear Sir,
I beg you to print this without Delay, and by the first Opportunity give us the natural Causes of Longing in Women; or put me out of Fear that my Wife will one time or other be delivered of something as monstrous as any thing that has yet appeared to the World; for they say the Child is to bear a Resemblance of what was desird by the Mother. I have been marryd upwards of six Years, have had four Children, and my Wife is now big with the fifth. The Expences she has put me to in procuring what she has longed for during her Pregnancy with them, would not only have handsomely defrayd the Charges of the Month, but of their Education too; her Fancy being so exorbitant for the first Year or two, as not to confine it self to the usual Objects of Eatables and Drinkables, but running out after Equipage and Furniture, and the like Extravagancies. To trouble you only with a few of them: When she was with Child of Tom, my eldest Son, she came home one day just fainting, and told me she had been visiting a Relation, whose Husband had made her a Present of a Chariot and a stately pair of Horses; and that she was positive she could not breathe a Week longer, unless she took the Air in the Fellow to it of her own within that time: This, rather than lose an Heir, I readily complyd with. Then the Furniture of her best Room must be instantly changed, or she should mark the Child with some of the frightful Figures in the old-fashion'd Tapestry. Well, the Upholsterer was called, and her Longing sav'd that bout. When she went with Molly, she had fix'd her Mind upon a new Set of Plate, and as much China as would have furnished an India Shop: These also I chearfully granted, for fear of being Father to an Indian Pagod. Hitherto I found her Demands rose upon every Concession; and had she gone on, I had been ruined: But by good Fortune, with her third, which was Peggy, the Height of her Imagination came down to the Corner of a Venison Pasty, and brought her once even upon her Knees to gnaw off the Ears of a Pig from the Spit. The Gratifications of her Palate were easily preferred to those of her Vanity; and sometimes a Partridge or a Quail, a Wheat-Ear or the Pestle of a Lark, were chearfully purchased; nay, I could be contented tho' I were to feed her with green Pease in April, or Cherries in May. But with the Babe she now goes, she is turned Girl again, and fallen to eating of Chalk, pretending 'twill make the Child's Skin white; and nothing will serve her but I must bear her Company, to prevent its having a Shade of my Brown: In this however I have ventur'd to deny her. No longer ago than yesterday, as we were coming to Town, she saw a parcel of Crows so heartily at Break-fast upon a piece of Horse-flesh, that she had an invincible Desire to partake with them, and (to my infinite Surprize) begged the Coachman to cut her off a Slice as if 'twere for himself, which the Fellow did; and as soon as she came home she fell to it with such an Appetite, that she seemed rather to devour than eat it. What her next Sally will be, I cannot guess: but in the mean time my Request to you is, that if there be any way to come at these wild unaccountable Rovings of Imagination by Reason and Argument, you'd speedily afford us your Assistance. This exceeds the Grievance of Pin-Money, and I think in every Settlement there ought to be a Clause inserted, that the Father should be answerable for the Longings of his Daughter. But I shall impatiently expect your Thoughts in this Matter and am
Sir,
Your most Obliged, and
most Faithful Humble Servant,
T.B.
Let me know whether you think the next Child will love Horses as much as Molly does China-Ware.
T.
| [No. 327] | Saturday, March 15, 1712 | Addison |
Major rerum mihi nascitur ordo.
Virg.
We were told in the foregoing Book how the evil Spirit practised upon
Eve
as she lay asleep, in order to inspire her with Thoughts of Vanity, Pride, and Ambition. The Author, who shews a wonderful Art throughout his whole Poem, in preparing the Reader for the several Occurrences that arise in it, founds upon the above-mention'd Circumstance, the first Part of the fifth Book.
Adam
upon his awaking finds
Eve
still asleep, with an unusual Discomposure in her Looks. The Posture in which he regards her, is describ'd with a Tenderness not to be express'd, as the Whisper with which he awakens her, is the softest that ever was convey'd to a Lover's Ear.
His wonder was, to find unwaken'd Eve
With Tresses discompos'd, and glowing Cheek,
As through unquiet Rest: he on his side
Leaning half-rais'd, with Looks of cordial Love
Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld
Beauty, which whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar Graces: then, with Voice
Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her Hand soft touching, whisper'd thus: Awake
My Fairest, my Espous'd, my latest found,
Heav'n's last best Gift, my ever new Delight!
Awake: the Morning shines, and the fresh Field
Calls us, we lose the Prime, to mark how spring
Our tended Plants, how blows the Citron Grove,
What drops the Myrrh, and what the balmy Reed,
How Nature paints her Colours, how the Bee
Sits on the Bloom, extracting liquid Sweets.
Such whispering wak'd her, but with startled Eye
On Adam, whom embracing, thus she spake:
O Sole, in whom my Thoughts find all Repose,
My Glory, my Perfection! glad I see
Thy Face, and Morn return'd—
I cannot but take notice that
Milton
, in the Conferences between
Adam
and
Eve
, had his Eye very frequently upon the
Book of Canticles
, in which there is a noble Spirit of Eastern Poetry; and very often not unlike what we meet with in
Homer
, who is generally placed near the Age of
Solomon
. I think there is no question but the Poet in the preceding Speech remember'd those two Passages which are spoken on the like occasion, and fill'd with the same pleasing Images of Nature.
My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my Love, my Fair one, and come away; for lo the Winter is past, the Rain is over and gone, the Flowers appear on the Earth, the Time of the singing of Birds is come, and the Voice of the Turtle is heard in our Land. The Fig-tree putteth forth her green Figs, and the Vines with the tender Grape give a good Smell. Arise my Love, my Fair-one and come away.
Come, my Beloved, let us go forth into the Field; let us get up early to the Vineyards, let us see if the Vine flourish, whether the tender Grape appear, and the Pomegranates bud forth.
His preferring the Garden of Eden, to that
—Where the Sapient King
Held Dalliance with his fair Egyptian Spouse,
shews that the Poet had this delightful Scene in his mind.
Eve's
Dream is full of those
high Conceits engendring Pride
, which, we are told, the Devil endeavour'd to instill into her. Of this kind is that Part of it where she fancies herself awaken'd by
Adam
in the following beautiful Lines.
[Why] sleep'st thou Eve? now is the pleasant Time,
The cool, the silent, save where Silence yields
To the night-warbling Bird, that now awake
Tunes sweetest his love-labour'd Song; now reigns
Full orb'd the Moon, and with more pleasing[1] Light
Shadowy sets off the Face of things: In vain,
If none regard. Heav'n wakes with all his Eyes,
Whom to behold but thee, Nature's Desire,
In whose sight all things joy, with Ravishment,
Attracted by thy Beauty still to gaze!
An injudicious Poet would have made
Adam
talk thro' the whole Work in such Sentiments as these: But Flattery and Falshood are not the Courtship of
Milton's Adam
, and could not be heard by
Eve
in her State of Innocence, excepting only in a Dream produc'd on purpose to taint her Imagination. Other vain Sentiments of the same kind in this Relation of her Dream, will be obvious to every Reader. Tho' the Catastrophe of the Poem is finely presag'd on this Occasion, the Particulars of it are so artfully shadow'd, that they do not anticipate the Story which follows in the ninth Book. I shall only add, that tho' the Vision it self is founded upon Truth, the Circumstances of it are full of that Wildness and Inconsistency which are natural to a Dream.
Adam
, conformable to his superior Character for Wisdom, instructs and comforts
Eve
upon this occasion.
So chear'd he his fair Spouse, and she was chear'd,
But silently a gentle Tear let fall
From either Eye, and wiped them with her hair;
Two other precious Drops, that ready stood
Each in their chrystal Sluice, he ere they fell
Kiss'd, as the gracious Sign of sweet Remorse
And pious Awe, that fear'd to have offended.
The
Morning Hymn
is written in Imitation of one of those
Psalms
, where, in the overflowings of Gratitude and Praise, the
Psalmist
calls not only upon the Angels, but upon the most conspicuous Parts of the inanimate Creation, to join with him in extolling their common Maker. Invocations of this nature fill the Mind with glorious Ideas of God's Works, and awaken that Divine Enthusiasm, which is so natural to Devotion. But if this calling upon the dead Parts of Nature, is at all times a proper kind of Worship, it was in a particular manner suitable to our first Parents, who had the Creation fresh upon their Minds, and had not seen the various Dispensations of Providence, nor consequently could be acquainted with those many Topicks of Praise which might afford Matter to the Devotions of their Posterity. I need not remark the beautiful Spirit of Poetry, which runs through this whole
Hymn
, nor the Holiness of that Resolution with which it concludes.
Having
mentioned those Speeches which are assigned to the Persons in this Poem, I proceed to the Description which the Poet
gives
of
Raphael
. His Departure from before the Throne, and the Flight through the Choirs of Angels, is finely imaged. As
Milton
every where fills his Poem with Circumstances that are marvellous and astonishing, he describes the Gate of Heaven as framed after such a manner, that it opened of it self upon the Approach of the Angel who was to pass through it.
'Till at the Gate
Of Heav'n arriv'd, the Gate self-open'd wide,
On golden Hinges turning, as by Work
Divine, the Sovereign Architect had framed.
The Poet here seems to have regarded two or three Passages in the 18th
Iliad
, as that in particular, where speaking of
Vulcan
,
Homer
says, that he had made twenty Tripodes running on Golden Wheels; which, upon occasion, might go of themselves to the Assembly of the Gods, and, when there was no more Use for them, return again after the same manner. Scaliger has rallied
Homer
very severely upon this Point, as M. Dacier has endeavoured to defend it. I will not pretend to determine, whether in this particular of
Homer
the Marvellous does not lose sight of the Probable. As the miraculous Workmanship of
Milton's
Gates is not so extraordinary as this of the
Tripodes
, so I am persuaded he would not have mentioned it, had not he been supported in it by a Passage in the Scripture, which speaks of Wheels in Heaven that had Life in them, and moved of themselves, or stood still, in conformity with the Cherubims, whom they accompanied.
There is no question but
Milton
had this Circumstance in his Thoughts, because in the following Book he describes the Chariot of the
Messiah
with
living
Wheels, according to the Plan in
Ezekiel's
Vision.
—Forth rush'd with Whirlwind sound
The Chariot of paternal Deity
Flashing thick flames?, Wheel within Wheel undrawn,
Itself instinct with Spirit—
I question not but
Bossu
, and the two
Daciers
, who are for vindicating every thing that is censured in
Homer
, by something parallel in Holy Writ, would have been very well pleased had they thought of confronting
Vulcan's Tripodes
with
Ezekiel's
Wheels.
Raphael's
Descent to the Earth, with the Figure of his Person, is represented in very lively Colours. Several of the
French, Italian
and
English
Poets have given a Loose to their Imaginations in the Description of Angels: But I do not remember to have met with any so finely drawn, and so conformable to the Notions which are given of them in Scripture, as this in
Milton
. After having set him forth in all his Heavenly Plumage, and represented him as alighting upon the Earth, the Poet concludes his Description with a Circumstance, which is altogether new, and imagined with the greatest Strength of Fancy.
—Like Maia's Son he stood,
And shook his Plumes, that Heavnly Fragrance fill'd
The Circuit wide.—
Raphael's
Reception by the Guardian Angels; his passing through the Wilderness of Sweets; his distant Appearance to
Adam
, have all the Graces that Poetry is capable of bestowing. The Author afterwards gives us a particular Description of
Eve
in her Domestick Employments
So saying, with dispatchful Looks in haste
She turns, on hospitable Thoughts intent,
What Choice to chuse for Delicacy best,
What order, so contrived, as not to mix
Tastes, not well join'd, inelegant, but bring
Taste after Taste; upheld with kindliest Change;
Bestirs her then, &c.—
Though in this, and other Parts of the same Book, the Subject is only the Housewifry of our first Parent, it is set off with so many pleasing Images and strong Expressions, as make it none of the least agreeable Parts in this Divine Work.
The natural Majesty of
Adam
, and at the same time his submissive Behaviour to the Superior Being, who had vouchsafed to be his Guest; the solemn Hail which the Angel bestows upon the Mother of Mankind, with the Figure of
Eve
ministring at the Table, are Circumstances which deserve to be admired.
Raphael's
Behaviour is every way suitable to the Dignity of his Nature, and to that Character of a sociable Spirit, with which the Author has so judiciously introduced him. He had received Instructions to converse with
Adam
, as one Friend converses with another, and to warn him of the Enemy, who was contriving his Destruction: Accordingly he is represented as sitting down at Table with
Adam
, and eating of the Fruits of Paradise. The Occasion naturally leads him to his Discourse on the Food of Angels. After having thus entered into Conversation with Man upon more indifferent Subjects, he warns him of his Obedience, and makes natural Transition to the History of that fallen Angel, who was employ'd in the Circumvention of our first Parents.
Had I followed Monsieur
Bossu's
Method in my first Paper of
Milton
, I should have dated the Action of
Paradise Lost
from the Beginning of
Raphael's
Speech in this Book, as he supposes the Action of the
Æneid
to begin in the second Book of that Poem. I could allege many Reasons for my drawing the Action of the
Æneid
rather from its immediate Beginning in the first Book, than from its remote Beginning in the second; and shew why I have considered the sacking of Troy as an Episode, according to the common Acceptation of that Word. But as this would be a dry unentertaining Piece of Criticism, and perhaps unnecessary to those who have read my first Paper, I shall not enlarge upon it. Whichever of the Notions be true, the Unity of
Milton's
Action is preserved according to either of them; whether we consider the Fall of Man in its immediate Beginning, as proceeding from the Resolutions taken in the infernal Council, or in its more remote Beginning, as proceeding from the first Revolt of the Angels in Heaven. The Occasion which
Milton
assigns for this Revolt, as it is founded on Hints in Holy Writ, and on the Opinion of some great Writers, so it was the most proper that the Poet could have made use of.
The Revolt in Heaven is described with great Force of Imagination and a fine Variety of Circumstances. The learned Reader cannot but be pleased with the Poet's Imitation of
Homer
in the last of the following Lines.
At length into the Limits of the North
They came, and Satan took his Royal Seat
High on a Hill, far blazing, as a Mount
Rais'd on a Mount, with Pyramids and Tow'rs
From Diamond Quarries hewn, and Rocks of Gold,
The Palace of great Lucifer, (so call
That Structure in the Dialect of Men
Interpreted)—
Homer
mentions Persons and Things, which he tells us in the Language of the Gods are call'd by different Names from those they go by in the Language of Men.
Milton
has imitated him with his usual Judgment in this particular Place, wherein he has likewise the Authority of Scripture to justifie him. The Part of
Abdiel
, who was the only Spirit that in this infinite Host of Angels preserved his Allegiance to his Maker, exhibits to us a noble Moral of religious Singularity. The Zeal of the Seraphim breaks forth in a becoming Warmth of Sentiments and Expressions, as the Character which is given us of him denotes that generous Scorn and Intrepidity which attends Heroic Virtue. The Author doubtless designed it as a Pattern to those who live among Mankind in their present State of Degeneracy and Corruption.
So spake the Seraph Abdiel, faithful found
Among the faithless, faithful only he;
Among innumerable false, unmov'd,
Unshaken, unseduc'd, unterrify'd;
His Loyalty he kept, his Love, his Zeal:
Nor Number, nor Example with him wrought
To swerve from truth, or change his constant Mind,
Though single. From amidst them forth he pass'd,
Long way through hostile Scorn, which he sustain'd
Superior, nor of Violence fear'd ought;
And, with retorted Scorn, his Back he turn'd
On those proud Tow'rs to swift Destruction doom'd.
L.
pleasant
gives us
| No. 328[1] | Monday, March 17, 1712 | Steele |
Delectata illa urbanitate tam stulta.
Petron. Arb.
That useful Part of Learning which consists in Emendation, Knowledge of different Readings, and the like, is what in all Ages Persons extremely wise and learned have had in great Veneration. For this reason I cannot but rejoyce at the following Epistle, which lets us into the true Author of the Letter to Mrs. Margaret Clark, part of which I did myself the Honour to publish in a former Paper. I must confess I do not naturally affect critical Learning; but finding my self not so much regarded as I am apt to flatter my self I may deserve from some professed Patrons of Learning, I could not but do my self the Justice to shew I am not a Stranger to such Erudition as they smile upon, if I were duly encouraged. However this only to let the World see what I could do; and shall not give my Reader any more of this kind, if he will forgive the Ostentation I shew at present.
March 13, 1712.
Sir,
'[Upon] reading your Paper of yesterday[2], I took the Pains to look out a Copy I had formerly taken, and remembered to be very like your last Letter: Comparing them, I found they were the very same, and have, underwritten, sent you that Part of it which you say was torn off. I hope you will insert it, that Posterity may know 'twas Gabriel Bullock that made Love in that natural Stile of which you seem to be fond. But, to let you see I have other Manuscripts in the same Way, I have sent you Enclosed three Copies, faithfully taken by my own Hand from the Originals, which were writ by a Yorkshire gentleman of a good estate to Madam Mary, and an Uncle of hers, a Knight very well known by the most ancient Gentry in that and several other Counties of Great Britain. I have exactly followed the Form and Spelling. I have been credibly informed that Mr. William Bullock, the famous Comedian, is the descendant of this Gabriel, who begot Mr. William Bullock's great grandfather on the Body of the above-mentioned Mrs. Margaret Clark. But neither Speed, nor Baker, nor Selden, taking notice of it, I will not pretend to be positive; but desire that the letter may be reprinted, and what is here recovered may be in Italic.
I am, Sir,
Your daily Reader.To her I very much respect, Mrs. Margaret Clark.
Lovely, and oh that I could write loving Mrs. Margaret Clark, I pray you let Affection excuse Presumption. Having been so happy as to enjoy the Sight of your sweet Countenance and comely Body, sometimes when I had occasion to buy Treacle or Liquorish Power at the apothecary's shop, I am so enamoured with you, that I can no more keep close my flaming Desire to become your Servant. And I am [the] more bold now to write to your sweet self, because I am now my own Man, and may match where I please; for my Father is taken away; and now I am come to my Living, which is ten yard Land, and a House; and there is never a Yard Land[3] in our Field but is as well worth ten Pound a Year, as a Thief's worth a Halter; and all my Brothers and Sisters are provided for: besides I have good Household Stuff, though I say it, both Brass and Pewter, Linnens and Woollens; and though my House be thatched, yet if you and I match, it shall go hard but I will have one half of it slated. If you shall think well of this Motion, I will wait upon you as soon as my new Cloaths is made, and Hay-Harvest is in. I could, though I say it, have good Matches in our Town; but my Mother (God's Peace be with her) charged me upon her Death-Bed to marry a Gentlewoman, one who had been well trained up in Sowing and Cookery. I do not think but that if you and I can agree to marry, and lay our Means together, I shall be made grand Jury-man e'er two or three Years come about, and that will be a great Credit to us. If I could have got a Messenger for Sixpence, I would have sent one on Purpose, and some Trifle or other for a Token of my Love; but I hope there is nothing lost for that neither. So hoping you will take this Letter in good Part, and answer it with what Care and Speed you can, I rest and remain,
Yours, if my own, Mr. Gabriel Bullock,
now my father is dead.
Swepston, Leicestershire.
When the Coal Carts come, I shall send oftener; and may come in one of them my self.
For sir William to go to london at westminster, remember a parlement.
Sir William, i hope that you are well. i write to let you know that i am in troubel abbut a lady you nease; and I do desire that you will be my frend; for when i did com to see her at your hall, i was mighty Abuesed. i would fain a see you at topecliff, and thay would not let me go to you; but i desire that you will be our frends, for it is no dishonor neither for you nor she, for God did make us all. i wish that i might see you, for thay say that you are a good man: and many doth wounder at it, but madam norton is abuesed and ceated two i beleive. i might a had many a lady, but i con have none but her with a good consons, for there is a God that know our harts, if you and madam norton will come to York, there i shill meet you if God be willing and if you pleased, so be not angterie till you know the trutes of things.
George Nelon I give my to me lady, and to Mr. Aysenby, and to madam norton March, the 19th; 1706.
This is for madam mary norton disforth Lady she went to York.
Madam Mary. Deare loving sweet lady, i hope you are well. Do not go to london, for they will put you in the nunnery; and heed not Mrs. Lucy what she saith to you, for she will ly and ceat you. go from to another Place, and we will gate wed so with speed, mind what i write to you, for if they gate you to london they will keep you there; and so let us gate wed, and we will both go. so if you go to london, you rueing your self, so heed not what none of them saith to you. let us gate wed, and we shall lie to gader any time. i will do any thing for you to my poore. i hope the devill will faile them all, for a hellish Company there be. from there cursed trick and mischiefus ways good lord bless and deliver both you and me.
I think to be at york the 24 day.
This is for madam mary norton to go to london for a lady that belongs to dishforth.
Madam Mary, i hope you are well, i am soary that you went away from York, deare loving sweet lady, i writt to let you know that i do remain faithful; and if can let me know where i can meet you, i will wed you, and I will do any thing to my poor; for you are a good woman, and will be a loving Misteris. i am in troubel for you, so if you will come to york i will wed you. so with speed come, and i will have none but you. so, sweet love, heed not what to say to me, and with speed come: heed not what none of them say to you; your Maid makes you believe ought.
So deare love think of Mr. george Nillson with speed; i sent you 2 or 3 letters before.
I gave misteris elcock some nots, and thay put me in pruson all the night for me pains, and non new whear i was, and i did gat cold.
But it is for mrs. Lucy to go a good way from home, for in york and round about she is known; to writ any more her deeds, the same will tell hor soul is black within, hor corkis stinks of hell.
March 19th, 1706.
To her I very much respect, Mrs. Margaret Clark.
Lovely, and oh that I could write loving Mrs. Margaret Clark, I pray you let Affection excuse Presumption. Having been so happy as to enjoy the Sight of your sweet Countenance and comely Body, sometimes when I had occasion to buy Treacle or Liquorish Power at the apothecary's shop, I am so enamoured with you, that I can no more keep close my flaming Desire to become your Servant. And I am [the] more bold now to write to your sweet self, because I am now my own Man, and may match where I please; for my Father is taken away; and now I am come to my Living, which is ten yard Land, and a House; and there is never a Yard Land[3] in our Field but is as well worth ten Pound a Year, as a Thief's worth a Halter; and all my Brothers and Sisters are provided for: besides I have good Household Stuff, though I say it, both Brass and Pewter, Linnens and Woollens; and though my House be thatched, yet if you and I match, it shall go hard but I will have one half of it slated. If you shall think well of this Motion, I will wait upon you as soon as my new Cloaths is made, and Hay-Harvest is in. I could, though I say it, have good Matches in our Town; but my Mother (God's Peace be with her) charged me upon her Death-Bed to marry a Gentlewoman, one who had been well trained up in Sowing and Cookery. I do not think but that if you and I can agree to marry, and lay our Means together, I shall be made grand Jury-man e'er two or three Years come about, and that will be a great Credit to us. If I could have got a Messenger for Sixpence, I would have sent one on Purpose, and some Trifle or other for a Token of my Love; but I hope there is nothing lost for that neither. So hoping you will take this Letter in good Part, and answer it with what Care and Speed you can, I rest and remain,
Yours, if my own, Mr. Gabriel Bullock,
now my father is dead.
Swepston, Leicestershire.
When the Coal Carts come, I shall send oftener; and may come in one of them my self.
For sir William to go to london at westminster, remember a parlement.
Sir William, i hope that you are well. i write to let you know that i am in troubel abbut a lady you nease; and I do desire that you will be my frend; for when i did com to see her at your hall, i was mighty Abuesed. i would fain a see you at topecliff, and thay would not let me go to you; but i desire that you will be our frends, for it is no dishonor neither for you nor she, for God did make us all. i wish that i might see you, for thay say that you are a good man: and many doth wounder at it, but madam norton is abuesed and ceated two i beleive. i might a had many a lady, but i con have none but her with a good consons, for there is a God that know our harts, if you and madam norton will come to York, there i shill meet you if God be willing and if you pleased, so be not angterie till you know the trutes of things.
George Nelon I give my to me lady, and to Mr. Aysenby, and to madam norton March, the 19th; 1706.
This is for madam mary norton disforth Lady she went to York.
Madam Mary. Deare loving sweet lady, i hope you are well. Do not go to london, for they will put you in the nunnery; and heed not Mrs. Lucy what she saith to you, for she will ly and ceat you. go from to another Place, and we will gate wed so with speed, mind what i write to you, for if they gate you to london they will keep you there; and so let us gate wed, and we will both go. so if you go to london, you rueing your self, so heed not what none of them saith to you. let us gate wed, and we shall lie to gader any time. i will do any thing for you to my poore. i hope the devill will faile them all, for a hellish Company there be. from there cursed trick and mischiefus ways good lord bless and deliver both you and me.
I think to be at york the 24 day.
This is for madam mary norton to go to london for a lady that belongs to dishforth.
Madam Mary, i hope you are well, i am soary that you went away from York, deare loving sweet lady, i writt to let you know that i do remain faithful; and if can let me know where i can meet you, i will wed you, and I will do any thing to my poor; for you are a good woman, and will be a loving Misteris. i am in troubel for you, so if you will come to york i will wed you. so with speed come, and i will have none but you. so, sweet love, heed not what to say to me, and with speed come: heed not what none of them say to you; your Maid makes you believe ought.
So deare love think of Mr. george Nillson with speed; i sent you 2 or 3 letters before.
I gave misteris elcock some nots, and thay put me in pruson all the night for me pains, and non new whear i was, and i did gat cold.
But it is for mrs. Lucy to go a good way from home, for in york and round about she is known; to writ any more her deeds, the same will tell hor soul is black within, hor corkis stinks of hell.
March 19th, 1706.
R.
This paper is No. 328 in the original issue, but Steele omitted it from the reprint and gave in its place the paper by Addison which here stands next to it marked with the same number, 328. The paper of Addison's had formed no part of the original issue. Of the original No. 328 Steele inserted a censure at the end of No. 330.
See
.
In some counties 20, in some 24, and in others 30 acres of Land.
| [No. 328 (b)] | Monday, March 17, 1712 | Addison |
Nullum me a labore reclinat otium.
Hor.
Mr. Spectator,
As I believe this is the first Complaint that ever was made to you of this nature, so you are the first Person I ever could prevail upon my self to lay it before. When I tell you I have a healthy vigorous Constitution, a plentiful Estate, no inordinate Desires, and am married to a virtuous lovely Woman, who neither wants Wit nor Good-Nature, and by whom I have a numerous Offspring to perpetuate my Family, you will naturally conclude me a happy Man. But, notwithstanding these promising Appearances, I am so far from it, that the prospect of being ruind and undone, by a sort of Extravagance which of late Years is in a less degree crept into every fashionable Family, deprives me of all the Comforts of my Life, and renders me the most anxious miserable Man on Earth. My Wife, who was the only Child and darling Care of an indulgent Mother, employd her early Years in learning all those Accomplishments we generally understand by good Breeding and polite Education. She sings, dances, plays on the Lute and Harpsicord, paints prettily, is a perfect Mistress of the French Tongue, and has made a considerable Progress in Italian. She is besides excellently skilld in all domestick Sciences, as Preserving, Pickling, Pastry, making Wines of Fruits of our own Growth, Embroydering, and Needleworks of every Kind. Hitherto you will be apt to think there is very little Cause of Complaint; but suspend your Opinion till I have further explain'd my self, and then I make no question you will come over to mine. You are not to imagine I find fault that she either possesses or takes delight in the Exercise of those Qualifications I just now mention'd; 'tis the immoderate Fondness she has to them that I lament, and that what is only design'd for the innocent Amusement and Recreation of Life, is become the whole Business and Study of her's. The six Months we are in Town (for the Year is equally divided between that and the Country) from almost Break of Day till Noon, the whole Morning is laid out in practising with her several Masters; and to make up the Losses occasion'd by her Absence in Summer, every Day in the Week their Attendance is requir'd; and as they all are People eminent in their Professions, their Skill and Time must be recompensed accordingly: So how far these Articles extend, I leave you to judge. Limning, one would think, is no expensive Diversion, but as she manages the Matter, 'tis a very considerable Addition to her Disbursements; Which you will easily believe, when you know she paints Fans for all her Female Acquaintance, and draws all her Relations Pictures in Miniature; the first must be mounted by no body but Colmar, and the other set by no body but Charles Mather. What follows, is still much worse than the former; for, as I told you, she is a great Artist at her Needle, 'tis incredible what Sums she expends in Embroidery; For besides what is appropriated to her personal Use, as Mantua's, Petticoats, Stomachers, Handkerchiefs, Purses, Pin-cushions, and Working Aprons, she keeps four French Protestants continually employ'd in making divers Pieces of superfluous Furniture, as Quilts, Toilets, Hangings for Closets, Beds, Window-Curtains, easy Chairs, and Tabourets: Nor have I any hopes of ever reclaiming her from this Extravagance, while she obstinately persists in thinking it a notable piece of good Housewifry, because they are made at home, and she has had some share in the Performance. There would be no end of relating to you the Particulars of the annual Charge, in furnishing her Store-Room with a Profusion of Pickles and Preserves; for she is not contented with having every thing, unless it be done every way, in which she consults an Hereditary Book of Receipts; for her female Ancestors have been always fam'd for good Housewifry, one of whom is made immortal, by giving her Name to an Eye-Water and two sorts of Puddings. I cannot undertake to recite all her medicinal Preparations, as Salves, Cerecloths, Powders, Confects, Cordials, Ratafia, Persico, Orange-flower, and Cherry-Brandy, together with innumerable sorts of Simple Waters. But there is nothing I lay so much to Heart, as that detestable Catalogue of counterfeit Wines, which derive their Names from the Fruits, Herbs, or Trees of whose Juices they are chiefly compounded: They are loathsome to the Taste, and pernicious to the Health; and as they seldom survive the Year, and then are thrown away, under a false Pretence of Frugality, I may affirm they stand me in more than if I entertaind all our Visiters with the best Burgundy and Champaign. Coffee, Chocolate, Green, Imperial, Peco, and Bohea-Tea seem to be Trifles; but when the proper Appurtenances of the Tea-Table are added, they swell the Account higher than one would imagine. I cannot conclude without doing her Justice in one Article; where her Frugality is so remarkable, I must not deny her the Merit of it, and that is in relation to her Children, who are all confind, both Boys and Girls, to one large Room in the remotest Part of the House, with Bolts on the Doors and Bars to the Windows, under the Care and Tuition of an old Woman, who had been dry Nurse to her Grandmother. This is their Residence all the Year round; and as they are never allowd to appear, she prudently thinks it needless to be at any Expence in Apparel or Learning. Her eldest Daughter to this day would have neither read nor writ, if it had not been for the Butler, who being the Son of a Country Attorney, has taught her such a Hand as is generally used for engrossing Bills in Chancery. By this time I have sufficiently tired your Patience with my domestick Grievances; which I hope you will agree could not well be containd in a narrower Compass, when you consider what a Paradox I undertook to maintain in the Beginning of my Epistle, and which manifestly appears to be but too melancholy a Truth. And now I heartily wish the Relation I have given of my Misfortunes may be of Use and Benefit to the Publick. By the Example I have set before them, the truly virtuous Wives may learn to avoid those Errors which have so unhappily mis-led mine, and which are visibly these three. First, in mistaking the proper Objects of her Esteem, and fixing her Affections upon such things as are only the Trappings and Decorations of her Sex. Secondly, In not distinguishing what becomes the different Stages of Life. And, Lastly, The Abuse and Corruption of some excellent Qualities, which, if circumscribd within just Bounds, would have been the Blessing and Prosperity of her Family, but by a vicious Extreme are like to be the Bane and Destruction of it.
L.
| [No. 329] | Tuesday, March 18, 1712 | Addison |
Ire tamen restat, Numa quo devenit et Ancus.
Hor.
My friend Sir
Roger De Coverley
told me t'other Night, that he had been reading my Paper upon
Westminster Abby
, in which, says he, there are a great many ingenious Fancies. He told me at the same time, that he observed I had promised another Paper upon the
Tombs
, and that he should be glad to go and see them with me, not having visited them since he had read History. I could not at first imagine how this came into the Knight's Head, till I recollected that he had been very busy all last Summer upon
Baker's Chronicle
, which he has quoted several times in his Disputes with Sir
Andrew Freeport
since his last coming to Town. Accordingly I promised to call upon him the next Morning, that we might go together to the
Abby
.
I found the Knight under his Butler's Hands, who always shaves him. He was no sooner Dressed, than he called for a Glass of the Widow
Trueby's
Water, which he told me he always drank before he went abroad. He recommended me to a Dram of it at the same time, with so much Heartiness, that I could not forbear drinking it. As soon as I had got it down, I found it very unpalatable; upon which the Knight observing that I
had
made several wry Faces, told me that he knew I should not like it at first, but that it was the best thing in the World against the Stone or Gravel.
I could have wished indeed that he had acquainted me with the Virtues of it sooner; but it was too late to complain, and I knew what he had done was out of Good-will. Sir
Roger
told me further, that he looked upon it to be very good for a Man whilst he staid in Town, to keep off Infection, and that he got together a Quantity of it upon the first News of the Sickness being at
Dautzick
:
of a sudden turning short to one of his Servants, who stood behind him, he bid him call
a
Hackney Coach, and take care it was an elderly Man that drove it.
He then resumed his Discourse upon Mrs.
Trueby's
Water, telling me that the Widow
Trueby
was one who did more good than all the Doctors and Apothecaries in the County: That she distilled every Poppy that grew within five Miles of her; that she distributed her Water gratis among all Sorts of People; to which the Knight added, that she had a very great Jointure, and that the whole Country would fain have it a Match between him and her; and truly, says Sir
Roger
, if I had not been engaged, perhaps I could not have done better.
His Discourse was broken off by his Man's telling him he had called a Coach. Upon our going to it, after having cast his Eye upon the Wheels, he asked the Coachman if his Axeltree was good; upon the Fellow's telling him he would warrant it, the Knight turned to me, told me he looked like an honest Man, and went in without further Ceremony.
We had not gone far, when Sir
Roger
popping out his Head, called the Coach-man down from his Box, and upon his presenting himself at the Window, asked him if he smoaked; as I was considering what this would end in, he bid him stop by the way at any good Tobacconist's, and take in a Roll of their best Virginia. Nothing material happened in the remaining part of our Journey, till we were set down at the West end of the
Abby
.
As we went up the Body of the Church, the Knight pointed at the Trophies upon one of the new Monuments, and cry'd out, A brave Man, I warrant him! Passing afterwards by Sir Cloudsly Shovel, he flung his Hand that way, and cry'd Sir Cloudsly Shovel! a very gallant Man! As we stood before Busby's Tomb, the Knight utter'd himself again after the same Manner, Dr. Busby, a great Man! he whipp'd my Grandfather; a very great Man! I should have gone to him myself, if I had not been a Blockhead; a very great Man!
We were immediately conducted into the little Chappel on the right hand. Sir
Roger
planting himself at our Historian's Elbow, was very attentive to every thing he said, particularly to the Account he gave us of the Lord who had cut off the King of
Morocco's
Head. Among several other Figures, he was very well pleased to see the Statesman Cecil upon his Knees; and, concluding them all to be great Men, was conducted to the Figure which represents that Martyr to good Housewifry, who died by the prick of a Needle. Upon our Interpreter's telling us, that she was a Maid of Honour to Queen Elizabeth, the Knight was very inquisitive into her Name and Family; and after having regarded her Finger for some time, I wonder, says he, that Sir Richard Baker has said nothing of her in his
Chronicle
.
We were then convey'd to the two Coronation-Chairs, where my old Friend, after having heard that the Stone underneath the most ancient of them, which was brought from Scotland, was called
Jacob's Pillar
, sat himself down in the Chair; and looking like the Figure of an old
Gothick
King, asked our Interpreter, What Authority they had to say, that
Jacob
had ever been in Scotland? The Fellow, instead of returning him an Answer, told him, that he hoped his Honour would pay his Forfeit. I could observe Sir
Roger
a little ruffled upon being thus trepanned; but our Guide not insisting upon his Demand, the Knight soon recovered his good Humour, and whispered in my Ear, that if
Will. Wimble
were with us, and saw those two Chairs, it would go hard but he would get a Tobacco-Stopper out of one or t'other of them.
Sir
Roger
, in the next Place, laid his Hand upon
Edward the Third's
Sword, and leaning upon the Pummel of it, gave us the whole History of the Black Prince; concluding, that in Sir Richard Baker's Opinion, Edward the Third was one of the greatest Princes that ever sate upon the English Throne.
We were then shewn
Edward the Confessor's
Tomb; upon which Sir
Roger
acquainted us, that he was the first who touched for the Evil; and afterwards
Henry the Fourth's
, upon which he shook his Head, and told us there was fine Reading in the Casualties in that Reign.
Our Conductor then pointed to that Monument where there is the Figure of one of our English Kings without an Head; and upon giving us to know, that the Head, which was of beaten Silver, had been stolen away several Years since: Some Whig, I'll warrant you, says Sir
Roger
; you ought to lock up your Kings better; they will carry off the Body too, if you don't take care.
THE glorious Names of
Henry the Fifth
and
Queen Elizabeth
gave the Knight great Opportunities of shining, and of doing Justice to Sir Richard Baker, who, as our Knight observed with some Surprize, had a great many Kings in him, whose Monuments he had not seen in the
Abby
.
For my own part, I could not but be pleased to see the Knight shew such an honest Passion for the Glory of his Country, and such a respectful Gratitude to the Memory of its Princes.
I must not omit, that the Benevolence of my good old Friend, which flows out towards every one he converses with, made him very kind to our Interpreter, whom he looked upon as an extraordinary Man; for which reason he shook him by the Hand at parting, telling him, that he should be very glad to see him at his Lodgings in Norfolk-Buildings, and talk over these Matters with him more at leisure.
L.
an
| [No. 330] | Wednesday, March 19, 1712 | Steele |
Maxima debetur pueris reverentia.
Juv.
The following Letters, written by two very considerate Correspondents, both under twenty Years of Age, are very good Arguments of the Necessity of taking into Consideration the many Incidents which affect the Education of Youth.
Sir,
'I have long expected, that in the Course of your Observations upon the several Parts of human Life, you would one time or other fall upon a Subject, which, since you have not, I take the liberty to recommend to you. What I mean, is the Patronage of young modest Men to such as are able to countenance and introduce them into the World. For want of such Assistances, a Youth of Merit languishes in Obscurity or Poverty, when his Circumstances are low, and runs into Riot and Excess when his Fortunes are plentiful. I cannot make my self better understood, than by sending you an History of my self, which I shall desire you to insert in your Paper, it being the only Way I have of expressing my Gratitude for the highest Obligations imaginable.
I am the Son of a Merchant of the City of London, who, by many Losses, was reduced from a very luxuriant Trade and Credit to very narrow Circumstances, in Comparison to that his former Abundance. This took away the Vigour of his Mind, and all manner of Attention to a Fortune, which he now thought desperate; insomuch that he died without a Will, having before buried my Mother in the midst of his other Misfortunes. I was sixteen Years of Age when I lost my Father; and an Estate of £200 a Year came into my Possession, without Friend or Guardian to instruct me in the Management or Enjoyment of it. The natural Consequence of this was, (though I wanted no Director, and soon had Fellows who found me out for a smart young Gentleman, and led me into all the Debaucheries of which I was capable) that my Companions and I could not well be supplied without my running in Debt, which I did very frankly, till I was arrested, and conveyed with a Guard strong enough for the most desperate Assassine, to a Bayliff's House, where I lay four Days, surrounded with very merry, but not very agreeable Company. As soon as I had extricated my self from this shameful Confinement, I reflected upon it with so much Horror, that I deserted all my old Acquaintance, and took Chambers in an Inn of Court, with a Resolution to study the Law with all possible Application. But I trifled away a whole Year in looking over a thousand Intricacies, without Friend to apply to in any Case of Doubt; so that I only lived there among Men, as little Children are sent to School before they are capable of Improvement, only to be out of harm's way. In the midst of this State of Suspence, not knowing how to dispose of my self, I was sought for by a Relation of mine, who, upon observing a good Inclination in me, used me with great Familiarity, and carried me to his Seat in the Country. When I came there, he introduced me to all the good Company in the County; and the great Obligation I have to him for this kind Notice and Residence with him ever since, has made so strong an Impression upon me, that he has an Authority of a Father over me, founded upon the Love of a Brother. I have a good Study of Books, a good Stable of Horses always at my command; and tho' I am not now quite eighteen Years of Age, familiar Converse on his Part, and a strong Inclination to exert my self on mine, have had an effect upon me that makes me acceptable wherever I go. Thus, Mr. Spectator, by this Gentleman's Favour and Patronage, it is my own fault if I am not wiser and richer every day I live. I speak this as well by subscribing the initial Letters of my Name to thank him, as to incite others to an Imitation of his Virtue. It would be a worthy Work to shew what great Charities are to be done without Expence, and how many noble Actions are lost, out of Inadvertency in Persons capable of performing them, if they were put in mind of it. If a Gentleman of Figure in a County would make his Family a Pattern of Sobriety, good Sense, and Breeding, and would kindly endeavour to influence the Education and growing Prospects of the younger Gentry about him, I am apt to believe it would save him a great deal of stale Beer on a publick Occasion, and render him the Leader of his Country from their Gratitude to him, instead of being a Slave to their Riots and Tumults in order to be made their Representative. The same thing might be recommended to all who have made any Progress in any Parts of Knowledge, or arrived at any Degree in a Profession; others may gain Preferments and Fortunes from their Patrons, but I have, I hope, receiv'd from mine good Habits and Virtues. I repeat to you, Sir, my Request to print this, in return for all the Evil an helpless Orphan shall ever escape, and all the Good he shall receive in this Life; both which are wholly owing to this Gentleman's Favour to,
Sir,
Your most obedient humble Servant,
S. P.
Mr. Spectator,
'I am a Lad of about fourteen. I find a mighty Pleasure in Learning. I have been at the Latin School four Years. I [don't] know I ever play'd truant[1], or neglected any Task my Master set me in my Life. I think on what I read in School as I go home at noon and night, and so intently, that I have often gone half a mile out of my way, not minding whither I went. Our Maid tells me, she often hears me talk Latin in my sleep. And I dream two or three Nights in the Week I am reading Juvenal and Homer. My Master seems as well pleased with my Performances as any Boy's in the same Class. I think, if I know my own Mind, I would chuse rather to be a Scholar, than a Prince without Learning. I [have] a very good[2] affectionate Father; but tho' very rich, yet so mighty near, that he thinks much of the Charges of my Education. He often tells me, he believes my Schooling will ruin him; that I cost him God-knows what in Books. I tremble to tell him I want one. I am forced to keep my Pocket-Mony, and lay it out for a Book, now and then, that he don't know of. He has order'd my Master to buy no more Books for me, but says he will buy them himself. I asked him for Horace t'other Day, and he told me in a Passion, he did not believe I was fit for it, but only my Master had a Mind to make him think I had got a great way in my Learning. I am sometimes a Month behind other Boys in getting the Books my Master gives Orders for. All the Boys in the School, but I, have the Classick Authors in usum Delphini, gilt and letter'd on the Back. My Father is often reckoning up how long I have been at School, and tells me he fears I do little good. My Father's Carriage so discourages me, that he makes me grow dull and melancholy. My Master wonders what is the matter with me; I am afraid to tell him; for he is a Man that loves to encourage Learning, and would be apt to chide my Father, and, not knowing my Father's Temper, may make him worse. Sir, if you have any Love for Learning, I beg you would give me some Instructions in this case, and persuade Parents to encourage their Children when they find them diligent and desirous of Learning. I have heard some Parents say, they would do any thing for their Children, if they would but mind their Learning: I would be glad to be in their place. Dear Sir, pardon my Boldness. If you will but consider and pity my case, I will pray for your Prosperity as long as I live.
London, March 2,1711.
Your humble Servant,
James Discipulus.
March the 18th.
Mr. Spectator,
The ostentation you showed yesterday would have been pardonable had you provided better for the two Extremities of your Paper, and placed in one the letter R., in the other Nescio quid meditans nugarum, et lotus in illis. A Word to the wise.
I am your most humble Servant, T. Trash.
to the Emendation of the above Correspondent, the Reader is desired in the Paper of the 17th to read R. for T
.
T.
at truant
loving
Steele had discontinued the signature R. since [Volume 1 link:
], for August 3, 1711.
| [No. 331] | Thursday, March 20, 1712 | Budgell |
Stolidam praebet tibi vellere barbam.
Pers.
When I was last with my Friend Sir
Roger
in
Westminster-Abby
, I observed that he stood longer than ordinary before the Bust of a venerable old Man. I was at a loss to guess the Reason of it, when after some time he pointed to the Figure, and asked me if I did not think that our Fore-fathers looked much wiser in their Beards than we do without them? For my part, says he, when I am walking in my Gallery in the Country, and see my Ancestors, who many of them died before they were of my Age, I cannot forbear regarding them as so many old Patriarchs, and at the same time looking upon myself as an idle Smock-fac'd young Fellow. I love to see your
Abrahams
, your
Isaacs
, and your
Jacobs
, as we have them in old Pieces of Tapestry, with Beards below their Girdles, that cover half the Hangings. The Knight added, if I would recommend Beards in one of my Papers, and endeavour to restore human Faces to their Ancient Dignity, that upon a Month's warning he would undertake to lead up the Fashion himself in a pair of Whiskers.
I smiled at my Friend's Fancy; but after we parted, could not forbear reflecting on the Metamorphoses our Faces have undergone in this Particular.
The Beard, conformable to the Notion of my Friend Sir
Roger
, was for many Ages look'd upon as the Type of Wisdom.
Lucian
more than once rallies the Philosophers of his Time, who endeavour'd to rival one another in Beard; and represents a learned Man who stood for a Professorship in Philosophy, as unqualify'd for it by the Shortness of his Beard.
Ælian
, in his Account of
Zoilus
, the pretended Critick, who wrote against
Homer
and
Plato
, and thought himself wiser than all who had gone before him, tells us that this
Zoilus
had a very long Beard that hung down upon his Breast, but no Hair upon his Head, which he always kept close shaved, regarding, it seems, the Hairs of his Head as so many Suckers, which if they had been suffer'd to grow, might have drawn away the Nourishment from his Chin, and by that means have starved his Beard.
I have read somewhere that one of the Popes refus'd to accept an Edition of a Saint's Works, which were presented to him, because the Saint in his Effigies before the Book, was drawn without a Beard.
We see by these Instances what Homage the World has formerly paid to Beards; and that a Barber was not then allow'd to make those Depredations on the Faces of the Learned, which have been permitted him of later Years.
Accordingly several wise Nations have been so extremely Jealous of the least Ruffle offer'd to their Beard, that they seem to have fixed the Point of Honour principally in that Part. The
Spaniards
were wonderfully tender in this Particular.
Don Quevedo
, in his third
Vision on the Last Judgment
, has carry'd the Humour very far, when he tells us that one of his vain-glorious Countrymen, after having receiv'd Sentence, was taken into custody by a couple of evil Spirits; but that his Guides happening to disorder his Mustachoes, they were forced to recompose them with a Pair of Curling-irons before they could get him to file off.
If we look into the History of our own Nation, we shall find that the Beard flourish'd in the
Saxon
Heptarchy, but was very much discourag'd under the
Norman
Line. It shot out, however, from time to time, in several Reigns under different Shapes. The last Effort it made seems to have been in
Queen Mary's
Days, as the curious Reader may find, if he pleases to peruse the Figures of
Cardinal Poole
, and
Bishop Gardiner;
tho' at the same time, I think it may be question'd, if Zeal against Popery has not induced our Protestant Painters to extend the Beards of these two Persecutors beyond their natural Dimensions, in order to make them appear the more terrible.
I find but few Beards worth taking notice of in the Reign of
King James the First.
During the Civil Wars there appeared one, which makes too great a Figure in Story to be passed over in Silence; I mean that of the redoubted
Hudibras
, an Account of which
Butler
has transmitted to Posterity in the following Lines:
His tawny Beard was th' equal Grace
Both of his Wisdom, and his Face;
In Cut and Dye so like a Tyle,
A sudden View it would beguile:
The upper Part thereof was Whey,
The nether Orange mixt with Grey.
The Whisker continu'd for some time among us after the Expiration of Beards; but this is a Subject which I shall not here enter upon, having discussed it at large in a distinct Treatise, which I keep by me in Manuscript, upon the Mustachoe.
If my Friend Sir
Roger's
Project, of introducing Beards, should take effect, I fear the Luxury of the present Age would make it a very expensive Fashion. There is no question but the Beaux would soon provide themselves with false ones of the lightest Colours, and the most immoderate Lengths. A fair Beard, of the Tapestry-Size Sir
Roger
seems to approve, could not come under twenty Guineas. The famous Golden Beard of
Æsculapius
would hardly be more valuable than one made in the Extravagance of the Fashion.
Besides, we are not certain that the Ladies would not come into the Mode, when they take the Air on Horse-back. They already appear in Hats and Feathers, Coats and Perriwigs; and I see no reason why we should not suppose that they would have their Riding-Beards on the same Occasion.
I may give the Moral of this Discourse, in another Paper,
X.
| [No. 332] | Friday, March 21, 1712 | Steele |
Minus aptus acutis
Naribus horum hominum
Hor.
Dear Short-Face,
'In your Speculation of Wednesday last, you have given us some Account of that worthy Society of Brutes the Mohocks; wherein you have particularly specify'd the ingenious Performance of the Lion-Tippers, the Dancing-Masters, and the Tumblers: But as you acknowledge you had not then a perfect History of the whole Club, you might very easily omit one of the most notable Species of it, the Sweaters, which may be reckon'd a sort of Dancing-Masters too. It is it seems the Custom for half a dozen, or more, of these well-dispos'd Savages, as soon as they have inclos'd the Person upon whom they design the Favour of a Sweat, to whip out their Swords, and holding them parallel to the Horizon, they describe a sort of Magick Circle round about him with the Points. As soon as this Piece of Conjuration is perform'd, and the Patient without doubt already beginning to wax warm, to forward the Operation, that Member of the Circle towards whom he is so rude as to turn his Back first, runs his Sword directly into that Part of the Patient wherein School-boys are punished; and, as it is very natural to imagine this will soon make him tack about to some other Point, every Gentleman does himself the same Justice as often as he receives the Affront. After this Jig has gone two or three times round, and the Patient is thought to have sweat sufficiently, he is very handsomly rubb'd down by some Attendants, who carry with them Instruments for that purpose, and so discharged. This Relation I had from a Friend of mine, who has lately been under this Discipline. He tells me he had the Honour to dance before the Emperor himself, not without the Applause and Acclamations both of his Imperial Majesty, and the whole Ring; tho' I dare say, neither I or any of his Acquaintance ever dreamt he would have merited any Reputation by his Activity.
'I can assure you, Mr. SPEC, I was very near being qualify'd to have given you a faithful and painful Account of this walking Bagnio, if I may so call it, my self: For going the other night along Fleet-street, and having, out of curiosity, just enter'd into Discourse with a wandring Female who was travelling the same Way, a couple of Fellows advanced towards us, drew their Swords, and cry'd out to each other, A Sweat! a Sweat! Whereupon suspecting they were some of the Ringleaders of the Bagnio, I also drew my Sword, and demanded a Parly; but finding none would be granted me, and perceiving others behind them filing off with great diligence to take me in Flank, I began to sweat for fear of being forced to it: but very luckily betaking my self to a Pair of Heels, which I had good Reason to believe would do me justice, I instantly got possession of a very snug Corner in a neighbouring Alley that lay in my Rear; which Post I maintain'd for above half an hour with great Firmness and Resolution, tho' not letting this Success so far overcome me, as to make me unmindful of the Circumspection that was necessary to be observ'd upon my advancing again towards the Street; by which Prudence and good Management I made a handsome and orderly Retreat, having suffer'd no other Damage in this Action than the Loss of my Baggage, and the Dislocation of one of my Shoe-heels, which last I am just now inform'd is in a fair way of Recovery. These Sweaters, by what I can learn from my Friend, and by as near a View as I was able to take of them myself, seem to me to have at present but a rude kind of Discipline amongst them. It is probable, if you would take a little Pains with them, they might be brought into better order. But I'll leave this to your own Discretion; and will only add, that if you think it worth while to insert this by way of Caution to those who have a mind to preserve their Skins whole from this sort of Cupping, and tell them at the same time the Hazard of treating with Night-Walkers, you will perhaps oblige others, as well as
Your very humble Servant,
Jack Lightfoot.
'P. S. My Friend will have me acquaint you, That though he would not willingly detract from the Merit of that extra-ordinary Strokes-Man Mr. Sprightly, yet it is his real Opinion, that some of those Fellows, who are employ'd as Rubbers to this new-fashioned Bagnio, have struck as bold Strokes as ever he did in his Life.
'I had sent this four and twenty Hours sooner, if I had not had the Misfortune of being in a great doubt about the Orthography of the word Bagnio. I consulted several Dictionaries, but found no relief; at last having recourse both to the Bagnio in Newgate-street, and to that in Chancery lane, and finding the original Manuscripts upon the Sign-posts of each to agree literally with my own Spelling, I returned home, full of Satisfaction, in order to dispatch this Epistle.'
Mr. Spectator,
As you have taken most of the Circumstances of human Life into your Consideration, we, the under-written, thought it not improper for us also to represent to you our Condition. We are three Ladies who live in the Country, and the greatest Improvements we make is by reading. We have taken a small Journal of our Lives, and find it extremely opposite to your last Tuesday's Speculation. We rise by seven, and pass the beginning of each Day in Devotion, and looking into those Affairs that fall within the Occurrences of a retired Life; in the Afternoon we sometimes enjoy the Company of some Friend or Neighbour, or else work or read; at Night we retire to our Chambers, and take Leave of each other for the whole Night at Ten of Clock. We take particular Care never to be sick of a Sunday. Mr. Spectator, We are all very good Maids, but are ambitious of Characters which we think more laudable, that of being very good Wives. If any of your Correspondents enquire for a Spouse for an honest Country Gentleman, whose Estate is not dipped, and wants a Wife that can save half his Revenue, and yet make a better Figure than any of his Neighbours of the same Estate, with finer bred Women, you shall have further notice [from],
Sir,
Your courteous Readers,
Martha Busie.
Deborah Thrifty.
Alice Early[1].
To this number there is added after a repeated advertisement of the
Lucubrations of Isaac Bickerstaff
in 4 vols. 8vo, a repetition in Italic type of the advertisement of the Boarding School on Mile-end Green (ending at the words
'render them accomplish'd
') to which a conspicuous place was given, with original additions by Steele, in
| [No. 333] | Saturday, March 22, 1712 | Addison |
—vocat in Certamina Divos.
Virg.
We are now entering upon the Sixth Book of
Paradise Lost
, in which the Poet describes the Battel of Angels; having raised his Reader's Expectation, and prepared him for it by several Passages in the preceding Books. I omitted quoting these Passages in my Observations on the former Books, having purposely reserved them for the opening of this, the Subject of which gave occasion to them. The Author's Imagination was so inflam'd with this great Scene of Action, that wherever he speaks of it, he rises, if possible, above himself. Thus where he mentions
Satan
in the Beginning of his Poem:
—Him the Almighty Power
Hurl'd headlong flaming from th' Ethereal Sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless Perdition, there to dwell
In Adamantine Chains and penal Fire,
Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to Arms.
We have likewise several noble Hints of it in the Infernal Conference.
O Prince! O Chief of many throned Powers,
That led th' imbattel'd Seraphim to War,
Too well I see and rue the dire Event,
That with sad Overthrow and foul Defeat
Hath lost us Heav'n, and all this mighty Host
In horrible Destruction laid thus low.
But see I the angry Victor has recalled
His Ministers of Vengeance and Pursuit,
Back to the Gates of Heav'n: The sulphurous Hail
Shot after us in Storm, overblown, hath laid
The fiery Surge, that from the Precipice
Of Heaven receiv'd us falling: and the Thunder,
Winged with red Lightning and impetuous Rage,
Perhaps hath spent his Shafts, and ceases now
To bellow through the vast and boundless Deep.
There are several other very sublime Images on the same Subject in the First Book, as also in the Second.
What when we fled amain, pursued and strook
With Heav'n's afflicting Thunder, and besought
The Deep to shelter us; this Hell then seem'd
A Refuge from those Wounds—
In short, the Poet never mentions anything of this Battel but in such Images of Greatness and Terror as are suitable to the Subject. Among several others I cannot forbear quoting that Passage, where the Power, who is described as presiding over the Chaos, speaks in the Third Book.
Thus Satan; and him thus the Anarch old
With faultring Speech, and Visage incompos'd,
Answer'd, I know thee, Stranger, who thou art,
That mighty leading Angel, who of late
Made Head against Heaven's King, tho' overthrown.
I saw and heard, for such a numerous Host
Fled not in silence through the frighted Deep
With Ruin upon Ruin, Rout on Rout,
Confusion worse confounded; and Heav'n's Gates
Pour'd out by Millions her victorious Bands
Pursuing—
It requir'd great Pregnancy of Invention, and Strength of Imagination, to fill this Battel with such Circumstances as should raise and astonish the Mind of the Reader; and at the same time an Exactness of Judgment, to avoid every thing that might appear light or trivial. Those who look into
Homer
, are surprized to find his Battels still rising one above another, and improving in Horrour, to the Conclusion of the
Iliad
.
Milton's
Fight of Angels is wrought up with the same Beauty. It is usher'd in with such Signs of Wrath as are suitable to Omnipotence incensed. The first Engagement is carry'd on under a Cope of Fire, occasion'd by the Flights of innumerable burning Darts and Arrows, which are discharged from either Host. The second Onset is still more terrible, as it is filled with those artificial Thunders, which seem to make the Victory doubtful, and produce a kind of Consternation even in the good Angels. This is follow'd by the tearing up of Mountains and Promontories; till, in the last place, the
Messiah
comes forth in the Fulness of Majesty and Terror, The Pomp of his Appearance amidst the Roarings of his Thunders, the Flashes of his Lightnings, and the Noise of his Chariot-Wheels, is described with the utmost Flights of Human Imagination.
There is nothing in the first and last Day's Engagement which does not appear natural, and agreeable enough to the Ideas most Readers would conceive of a Fight between two Armies of Angels.
The second Day's Engagement is apt to startle an Imagination, which has not been raised and qualify'd for such a Description, by the reading of the ancient Poets, and of
Homer
in particular. It was certainly a very bold Thought in our Author, to ascribe the first Use of Artillery to the Rebel Angels. But as such a pernicious Invention may be well supposed to have proceeded from such Authors, so it entered very properly into the Thoughts of that Being, who is all along describ'd as aspiring to the Majesty of his Maker. Such Engines were the only Instruments he could have made use of to imitate those Thunders, that in all Poetry, both sacred and profane, are represented as the Arms of the Almighty. The tearing up the Hills, was not altogether so daring a Thought as the former. We are, in some measure, prepared for such an Incident by the Description of the Giants' War, which we meet with among the Ancient Poets. What
made this Circumstance the more proper for the Poet's Use, is the Opinion of many learned Men, that the Fable of the Giants' War, which makes so great a noise in Antiquity,
and gave birth to the sublimest Description in Hesiod's Works was
an Allegory founded upon this very Tradition of a Fight between the good and bad Angels.
It may, perhaps, be worth while to consider with what Judgment Milton, in this Narration, has avoided every thing that is mean and trivial in the Descriptions of the
Latin
and
Greek
Poets; and at the same time improved every great Hint which he met with in their Works upon this Subject.
Homer
in that Passage, which
Longinus
has celebrated for its Sublimeness, and which
Virgil
and
Ovid
have copy'd after him, tells us, that the Giants threw
Ossa
upon
Olympus
, and
Pelion
upon
Ossa
. He adds an Epithet to
Pelion
which very much swells the Idea, by bringing up to the Reader's Imagination all the Woods that grew upon it. There is further a great Beauty in his singling out by Name these three remarkable Mountains, so well known to the
Greeks
. This last is such a Beauty as the Scene of
Milton's
War could not possibly furnish him with.
Claudian
, in his Fragment upon the Giants' War, has given full scope to that Wildness of Imagination which was natural to him. He tells us, that the Giants tore up whole Islands by the Roots, and threw them at the Gods. He describes one of them in particular taking up
Lemnos
in his Arms, and whirling it to the Skies, with all
Vulcan's Shop
in the midst of it. Another tears up
Mount Ida
, with the
River Enipeus
, which ran down the Sides of it; but the Poet, not content to describe him with this Mountain upon his Shoulders, tells us that the River flow'd down his Back, as he held it up in that Posture. It is visible to every judicious Reader, that such Ideas savour more of Burlesque, than of the Sublime. They proceed from a Wantonness of Imagination, and rather divert the Mind than astonish it.
Milton
has taken every thing that is sublime in these several Passages, and composes out of them the following great Image.
From their Foundations loos'ning to and fro,
They pluck'd the seated Hills, with all their Land,
Rocks, Waters, Woods; and by the shaggy Tops
Up-lifting bore them in their Hands—
We have the full Majesty of
Homer
in this short Description, improv'd by the Imagination of
Claudian
, without its Puerilities. I need not point out the Description of the fallen Angels seeing the Promontories hanging over their Heads in such a dreadful manner, with the other numberless Beauties in this Book, which are so conspicuous, that they cannot escape the Notice of the most ordinary Reader.
There are indeed so many wonderful Strokes of Poetry in this Book, and such a variety of Sublime Ideas, that it would have been impossible to have given them a place within the bounds of this Paper. Besides that, I find it in a great measure done to my hand at the End of my
Lord Roscommon's Essay on Translated Poetry
. I shall refer my Reader thither for some of the Master Strokes in the Sixth Book of
Paradise Lost
, tho' at the same time there are many others which that noble Author has not taken notice of.
Milton
, notwithstanding the sublime Genius he was Master of, has in this Book drawn to his Assistance all the Helps he could meet with among the Ancient Poets.
Sword of
Michael
, which makes so great
a
havock among the bad Angels, was given him, we are told, out of the Armory of God.
—But the Sword
Of Michael from the Armory of God
Was given him tempered so, that neither keen
Nor solid might resist that Edge: It met
The Sword of Satan, with steep Force to smite
Descending, and in half cut sheer—
This Passage is a Copy of that in
Virgil
, wherein the Poet tells us, that the Sword of
Æneas
, which was given him by a Deity, broke into Pieces the Sword of
Turnus
, which came from a mortal Forge. As the Moral in this Place is divine, so by the way we may observe, that the bestowing on a Man who is favoured by Heaven such an allegorical Weapon, is very conformable to the old
Eastern
way of Thinking. Not only Homer has made use of it, but we find the
Jewish
Hero in the
Book of Maccabees
, who had fought the Battels of the chosen People with so much Glory and Success, receiving in his Dream a Sword from the Hand of the
Prophet Jeremiah
. The following Passage, wherein
Satan
is described as wounded by the Sword of
Michael
, is in imitation of
Homer
.
The griding Sword with discontinuous Wound
Passed through him; butt the Ethereal Substance closed
Not long divisible; and from the Gash
A Stream of Nectarous Humour issuing flowed
Sanguine, (such as celestial Spirits may bleed)
And all his Armour stained—
Homer
tells us in the same manner, that upon
Diomedes
wounding the Gods, there flow'd from the Wound an Ichor, or pure kind of Blood, which was not bred from mortal Viands; and that tho' the Pain was exquisitely great, the Wound soon closed up and healed in those Beings who are vested with Immortality.
I question not but
Milton
in his Description of his furious
Moloch
flying from the Battel, and bellowing with the Wound he had received, had his Eye on
Mars
in the
Iliad
; who, upon his being wounded, is represented as retiring out of the Fight, and making an Outcry louder than that of a whole Army when it begins the Charge.
Homer
adds, that the
Greeks
and
Trojans
, who were engaged in a general Battel, were terrify'd on each side with the bellowing of this wounded Deity. The Reader will easily observe how
Milton
has kept all the Horrour of this Image, without running into the Ridicule of it.
—Where the Might of Gabriel fought,
And with fierce Ensigns pierc'd the deep Array
Of Moloch, furious King! who him defy'd,
And at his Chariot-wheels to drag him bound
Threaten'd, nor from the Holy One of Heav'n
Refrained his Tongue blasphemous: but anon
Down cloven to the Waste, with shattered Arms
And uncouth Pain fled bellowing.—
Milton
has likewise raised his Description in this Book with many Images taken out of the poetical Parts of Scripture. The
Messiah's
Chariot, as I have before taken notice, is formed upon a Vision of
Ezekiel
, who, as
Grotius
observes, has very much in him of
Homer's
Spirit in the Poetical Parts of his Prophecy.
The following Lines in that glorious Commission which is given the
Messiah
to extirpate the Host of Rebel Angels, is drawn from a Sublime Passage in the
Psalms
.
Go then thou Mightiest in thy Father's Might!
Ascend my Chariot, guide the rapid Wheels
That shake Heav'n's Basis; bring forth all my War,
My Bow, my Thunder, my Almighty Arms,
Gird on thy Sword on thy puissant Thigh.
The Reader will easily discover many other Strokes of the same nature.
There is no question but
Milton
had heated his Imagination with the Fight of the Gods in
Homer
, before he enter'd upon this Engagement of the Angels.
Homer
there gives us a Scene of Men, Heroes, and Gods, mix'd together in Battel.
Mars
animates the contending Armies, and lifts up his Voice in such a manner, that it is heard distinctly amidst all the Shouts and Confusion of the Fight.
Jupiter
at the same time Thunders over their Heads; while
Neptune
raises such a Tempest, that the whole Field of Battel and all the Tops of the Mountains shake about them. The Poet tells us, that
Pluto
himself, whose Habitation was in the very Center of the Earth, was so affrighted at the Shock, that he leapt from his Throne.
Homer
afterwards describes
Vulcan
as pouring down a Storm of Fire upon the River
Xanthus
, and
Minerva
as throwing a Rock at
Mars
; who, he tells us, cover'd seven Acres in his Fall.
As
Homer
has introduced into his Battel of the Gods every thing that is great and terrible in Nature,
Milton
has filled his Fight of good and bad Angels with all the like Circumstances of Horrour. The Shout of Armies, the Rattling of Brazen Chariots, the Hurling of Rocks and Mountains, the Earthquake, the Fire, the Thunder, are all of them employ'd to lift up the Reader's Imagination, and give him a suitable Idea of so great an Action. With what Art has the Poet represented the whole Body of the Earth trembling, even before it was created.
All Heaven resounded, and had Earth been then,
All Earth had to its Center shook—
In how sublime and just a manner does he afterwards describe the whole Heaven shaking under the Wheels of the
Messiah's
Chariot, with that Exception to the
Throne of God
?
—Under his burning Wheels
The stedfast Empyrean shook throughout,
All but the Throne it self of God—
Notwithstanding the
Messiah
appears clothed with so much Terrour and Majesty, the Poet has still found means to make his Readers conceive an Idea of him, beyond what he himself was able to describe.
Yet half his Strength he put not forth, but checkt
His Thunder in mid Volley; for he meant
Not to destroy, but root them out of Heaven.
In a Word,
Milton's
Genius, which was so great in it self, and so strengthened by all the helps of Learning, appears in this Book every way equal to his Subject, which was the most Sublime that could enter into the Thoughts of a Poet.
he knew all the Arts of affecting the Mind,
he knew it was necessary to give
it certain Resting-places and Opportunities of recovering it self from time to time: He has
therefore
with great Address interspersed several Speeches, Reflections, Similitudes, and the like Reliefs to diversify his Narration, and ease the Attention of
the
Reader, that he might come fresh to his great Action, and by such a Contrast of Ideas, have a more lively taste of the nobler Parts of his Description.
L.
is
an
had he not given
his
| [No. 334] | Monday, March 24, 1712 | Steele |
Voluisti in suo Genere, unumquemque nostrum quasi quendam esse Roscium, dixistique non tam ea quæ recta essent probari, quam quæ prava sunt fastidiis adhærescere.
Cicero de Gestu.
It is very natural to take for our whole Lives a light Impression of a thing which at first fell into Contempt with us for want of Consideration. The real Use of a certain Qualification (which the wiser Part of Mankind look upon as at best an indifferent thing, and generally a frivolous Circumstance) shews the ill Consequence of such Prepossessions. What I mean, is the Art, Skill, Accomplishment, or whatever you will call it, of Dancing. I knew a Gentleman of great Abilities, who bewail'd the Want of this Part of his Education to the End of a very honourable Life. He observ'd that there was not occasion for the common Use of great Talents; that they are but seldom in Demand; and that these very great Talents were often render'd useless to a Man for want of small Attainments. A good Mein (a becoming Motion, Gesture and Aspect) is natural to some Men; but even these would be highly more graceful in their Carriage, if what they do from the Force of Nature were confirm'd and heightned from the Force of Reason. To one who has not at all considered it, to mention the Force of Reason on such a Subject, will appear fantastical; but when you have a little attended to it, an Assembly of Men will have quite another View: and they will tell you, it is evident from plain and infallible Rules, why this Man with those beautiful Features, and well fashion'd Person, is not so agreeable as he who sits by him without any of those Advantages. When we read, we do it without any exerted Act of Memory that presents the Shape of the Letters; but Habit makes us do it mechanically, without staying, like Children, to recollect and join those Letters. A Man who has not had the Regard of his Gesture in any part of his Education, will find himself unable to act with Freedom before new Company, as a Child that is but now learning would be to read without Hesitation. It is for the Advancement of the Pleasure we receive in being agreeable to each other in ordinary Life, that one would wish Dancing were generally understood as conducive as it really is to a proper Deportment in Matters that appear the most remote from it. A Man of Learning and Sense is distinguished from others as he is such, tho' he never runs upon Points too difficult for the rest of the World; in like Manner the reaching out of the Arm, and the most ordinary Motion, discovers whether a Man ever learnt to know what is the true Harmony and Composure of his Limbs and Countenance. Whoever has seen
Booth
in the Character of
Pyrrhus
, march to his Throne to receive
Orestes
, is convinced that majestick and great Conceptions are expressed in the very Step; but perhaps, tho' no other Man could perform that Incident as well as he does, he himself would do it with a yet greater Elevation were he a Dancer.
is so dangerous a Subject to treat with Gravity, that I shall not at present enter into it any further; but the Author of the following Letter
has treated it in the Essay he speaks of in such a Manner, that I am beholden to him for a Resolution, that I will never hereafter think meanly of any thing, till I have heard what they who have another Opinion of it have to say in its Defence.
Mr. Spectator,
'Since there are scarce any of the Arts or Sciences that have not been recommended to the World by the Pens of some of the Professors, Masters, or Lovers of them, whereby the Usefulness, Excellence, and Benefit arising from them, both as to the Speculative and practical Part, have been made publick, to the great Advantage and Improvement of such Arts and Sciences; why should Dancing, an Art celebrated by the Ancients in so extraordinary a Manner, be totally neglected by the Moderns, and left destitute of any Pen to recommend its various Excellencies and substantial Merit to Mankind?
'The low Ebb to which Dancing is now fallen, is altogether owing to this Silence. The Art is esteem'd only as an amusing Trifle; it lies altogether uncultivated, and is unhappily fallen under the Imputation of Illiterate and Mechanick: And as Terence in one of his Prologues, complains of the Rope-dancers drawing all the Spectators from his Play, so may we well say, that Capering and Tumbling is now preferred to, and supplies the Place of just and regular Dancing on our Theatres. It is therefore, in my opinion, high time that some one should come in to its Assistance, and relieve it from the many gross and growing Errors that have crept into it, and over-cast its real Beauties; and to set Dancing in its true light, would shew the Usefulness and Elegancy of it, with the Pleasure and Instruction produc'd from it; and also lay down some fundamental Rules, that might so tend to the Improvement of its Professors, and Information of the Spectators, that the first might be the better enabled to perform, and the latter render'd more capable of judging, what is (if there be any thing) valuable in this Art.
'To encourage therefore some ingenious Pen capable of so generous an Undertaking, and in some measure to relieve Dancing from the Disadvantages it at present lies under, I, who teach to dance, have attempted a small Treatise as an Essay towards an History of Dancing; in which I have enquired into its Antiquity, Original, and Use, and shewn what Esteem the Ancients had for it: I have likewise considered the Nature and Perfection of all its several Parts, and how beneficial and delightful it is, both as a Qualification and an Exercise; and endeavoured to answer all Objections that have been maliciously rais'd against it. I have proceeded to give an Account of the particular Dances of the Greeks and Romans, whether religious, warlike, or civil; and taken particular notice of that Part of Dancing relating to the ancient Stage, and in which the Pantomimes had so great a share: Nor have I been wanting in giving an historical Account of some particular Masters excellent in that surprising Art. After which, I have advanced some Observations on the modern Dancing, both as to the Stage, and that Part of it so absolutely necessary for the Qualification of Gentlemen and Ladies; and have concluded with some short Remarks on the Origin and Progress of the Character by which Dances are writ down, and communicated to one Master from another. If some great Genius after this would arise, and advance this Art to that Perfection it seems capable of receiving, what might not be expected from it? For if we consider the Origin of Arts and Sciences, we shall find that some of them took rise from Beginnings so mean and unpromising, that it is very wonderful to think that ever such surprizing Structures should have been raised upon such ordinary Foundations. But what cannot a great Genius effect? Who would have thought that the clangorous Noise of a Smith's Hammers should have given the first rise to Musick? Yet Macrobius in his second Book relates, that Pythagoras, in passing by a Smith's Shop, found that the Sounds proceeding from the Hammers were either more grave or acute, according to the different Weights of the Hammers. The Philosopher, to improve this Hint, suspends different Weights by Strings of the same Bigness, and found in like manner that the Sounds answered to the Weights. This being discover'd, he finds out those Numbers which produc'd Sounds that were Consonants: As, that two Strings of the same Substance and Tension, the one being double the Length, of the other, give that Interval which is called Diapason, or an Eighth; the same was also effected from two Strings of the same Length and Size, the one having four times the Tension of the other. By these Steps, from so mean a Beginning, did this great Man reduce, what was only before Noise, to one of the most delightful Sciences, by marrying it to the Mathematicks; and by that means caused it to be one of the most abstract and demonstrative of Sciences. Who knows therefore but Motion, whether Decorous or Representative, may not (as it seems highly probable it may) be taken into consideration by some Person capable of reducing it into a regular Science, tho' not so demonstrative as that proceeding from Sounds, yet sufficient to entitle it to a Place among the magnify'd Arts.
'Now, Mr. Spectator, as you have declared your self Visitor of Dancing-Schools, and this being an Undertaking which more immediately respects them, I think my self indispensably obliged, before I proceed to the Publication of this my Essay, to ask your Advice, and hold it absolutely necessary to have your Approbation; and in order to recommend my Treatise to the Perusal of the Parents of such as learn to dance, as well as to the young Ladies, to whom, as Visitor, you ought to be Guardian.
I am, Sir,
Your most humble Servant.
Salop, March 19, 1711-12.
T.
John Weaver.
| [No. 335] | Tuesday, March 25, 1712 | Addison |
Respicere exemplar vitæ morumque jubebo Doctum imitatorem, et veras hinc ducere voces.
Hor.
Friend Sir
Roger De Coverley
, when we last met together at the Club, told me, that he had a great mind to see the new Tragedy
with me, assuring me at the same time, that he had not been at a Play these twenty Years. The
I saw, said Sir
Roger
, was the
Committee
, which I should not have gone to neither, had not I been told before-hand that it was a good Church-of-England Comedy
. He then proceeded to enquire of me who this
Distrest Mother
was; and upon hearing that she was
Hector's
Widow, he told me that her Husband was a brave Man, and that when he was a Schoolboy he had read his Life at the end of the Dictionary. My Friend asked me, in the next place, if there would not be some danger in coming home late, in case the Mohocks should be Abroad. I assure you, says he, I thought I had fallen into their Hands last Night; for I observed two or three lusty black Men that follow'd me half way up Fleet-street, and mended their pace behind me, in proportion as I put on to get away from them. You must know, continu'd the Knight with a Smile, I fancied they had a mind to hunt me; for I remember an honest Gentleman in my Neighbourhood, who was served such a trick in King Charles the Second's time; for which reason he has not ventured himself in Town ever since. I might have shown them very good Sport, had this been their Design; for as I am an old Fox-hunter, I should have turned and dodg'd, and have play'd them a thousand tricks they had never seen in their Lives before. Sir
Roger
added, that if these Gentlemen had any such Intention, they did not succeed very well in it: for I threw them out, says he, at the End of Norfolk street, where I doubled the Corner, and got shelter in my Lodgings before they could imagine what was become of me. However, says the Knight, if Captain
Sentry
will make one with us to-morrow night, and if you will both of you call upon me about four a-Clock, that we may be at the House before it is full, I will have my own Coach in readiness to attend you, for John tells me he has got the Fore-Wheels mended.
The Captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the appointed Hour, bid Sir
Roger
fear nothing, for that he had put on the same Sword which he made use of at the Battel of
Steenkirk
. Sir
Roger's
Servants, and among the rest my old Friend the Butler, had, I found, provided themselves with good Oaken Plants, to attend their Master upon this occasion. When he had placed him in his Coach, with my self at his Left-Hand, the Captain before him, and his Butler at the Head of his Footmen in the Rear, we convoy'd him in safety to the Play-house, where, after having marched up the Entry in good order, the Captain and I went in with him, and seated him betwixt us in the Pit. As soon as the House was full, and the Candles lighted, my old Friend stood up and looked about him with that Pleasure, which a Mind seasoned with Humanity naturally feels in its self, at the sight of a Multitude of People who seem pleased with one another, and partake of the same common Entertainment. I could not but fancy to myself, as the old Man stood up in the middle of the Pit, that he made a very proper Center to a Tragick Audience. Upon the entring of
Pyrrhus
, the Knight told me, that he did not believe the King of
France
himself had a better Strut. I was indeed very attentive to my old Friend's Remarks, because I looked upon them as a Piece of natural Criticism, and was well pleased to hear him at the Conclusion of almost every Scene, telling me that he could not imagine how the Play would end. One while he appeared much concerned for
Andromache
; and a little while after as much for
Hermione
: and was extremely puzzled to think what would become of
Pyrrhus
.
When Sir
Roger
saw
Andromache's
obstinate Refusal to her Lover's Importunities, he whisper'd me in the Ear, that he was sure she would never have him; to which he added, with a more than ordinary Vehemence, you can't imagine, Sir, what 'tis to have to do with a
Widow
. Upon
Pyrrhus
his threatning afterwards to leave her, the Knight shook his Head, and muttered to himself, Ay, do if you can. This Part dwelt so much upon my Friend's Imagination, that at the close of the Third Act, as I was thinking of something else, he whispered in my Ear, These Widows, Sir, are the most perverse Creatures in the World. But pray, says he, you that are a Critick, is this Play according to your Dramatick Rules, as you call them? Should your People in Tragedy always talk to be understood? Why, there is not a single Sentence in this Play that I do not know the Meaning of.
The Fourth Act very luckily begun before I had time to give the old Gentleman an Answer: Well, says the Knight, sitting down with great Satisfaction, I suppose we are now to see
Hector's
Ghost. He then renewed his Attention, and, from time to time, fell a praising the Widow. He made, indeed, a little Mistake as to one of her Pages, whom at his first entering, he took for
Astyanax
; but he quickly set himself right in that Particular, though, at the same time, he owned he should have been very glad to have seen the little Boy, who, says he, must needs be a very fine Child by the Account that is given of him. Upon
Hermione's
going off with a Menace to
Pyrrhus
, the Audience gave a loud Clap; to which Sir
Roger
added, On my Word, a notable young Baggage!
As there was a very remarkable Silence and Stillness in the Audience during the whole Action, it was natural for them to take the Opportunity of these Intervals between the Acts, to express their Opinion of the Players, and of their respective Parts. Sir
Roger
hearing a Cluster of them praise
Orestes
, struck in with them, and told them, that he thought his Friend
Pylades
was a very sensible Man; as they were afterwards applauding
Pyrrhus
, Sir
Roger
put in a second time; And let me tell you, says he, though he speaks but little, I like the old Fellow in Whiskers as well as any of them. Captain
Sentry
seeing two or three Waggs who sat near us, lean with an attentive Ear towards Sir
Roger
, and fearing lest they should Smoke the Knight, pluck'd him by the Elbow, and whisper'd something in his Ear. that lasted till the Opening of the Fifth Act. The Knight was wonderfully attentive to the Account which
Orestes
gives of
Pyrrhus
his Death, and at the Conclusion of it, told me it was such a bloody Piece of Work, that he was glad it was not done upon the Stage. Seeing afterwards
Orestes
in his raving Fit, he grew more than ordinary serious, and took occasion to moralize (in his way) upon an Evil Conscience, adding, that
Orestes
, in his Madness, looked as if he saw something.
As we were the first that came into the House, so we were the last that went out of it; being resolved to have a clear Passage for our old Friend, whom we did not care to venture among the justling of the Crowd. Sir
Roger
went out fully satisfied with his Entertainment, and we guarded him to his Lodgings in the same manner that we brought him to the Playhouse; being highly pleased, for my own part, not only with the Performance of the excellent Piece which had been presented, but with the Satisfaction which it had given to the good old Man.
L.
This is a fourth puff (see Nos.
,
,
) of Addison's friend Ambrose Philips. The art of '
packing a house
' to secure applause was also practised on the first night of the acting of this version of
Andromaque
.
The
Committee
, or the
Faithful Irishman,
was written by Sir Robert Howard soon after the Restoration, with for its heroes two Cavalier colonels, whose estates are sequestered, and their man Teg (Teague), an honest blundering Irishman. The Cavaliers defy the Roundhead Committee, and 'the day may come' says one of them, 'when those that suffer for their consciences and honour may be rewarded.' Nobody who heard this from the stage in the days of Charles II. could feel that the day had come. Its comic Irishman kept the
Committee
on the stage, and in Queen Anne's time the thorough Tory still relished the stage caricature of the maintainers of the Commonwealth in Mr. Day with his greed, hypocrisy, and private incontinence; his wife, who had been cookmaid to a gentleman, but takes all the State matters on herself; and their empty son Abel, who knows Parliament-men and Sequestrators, and whose 'profound contemplations are caused by the constervation of his spirits for the nation's good.'
| [No. 336] | Wednesday, March 26, 1712 | Steele |
—Clament periisse pudorem
Cuncti penè patres, ea cum reprehendere coner,
Quæ gravis Æsopus, quæ doctus Roscius egit:
Vel quia nil rectum, nisi quod placuit sibi, ducunt;
Vel quia turpe putant parere minoribus, et, quæ
Imberbes didicere, senes perdenda fateri.
Hor.
Mr. Spectator,
'As you are the daily Endeavourer to promote Learning and good Sense, I think myself obliged to suggest to your Consideration whatever may promote or prejudice them.. There is an Evil which has prevailed from Generation to Generation, which grey Hairs and tyrannical Custom continue to support; I hope your Spectatorial Authority will give a seasonable Check to the Spread of the Infection; I mean old Men's overbearing the strongest Sense of their Juniors by the mere Force of Seniority; so that for a young Man in the Bloom of Life and Vigour of Age to give a reasonable Contradiction to his Elders, is esteemed an unpardonable Insolence, and regarded as a reversing the Decrees of Nature. I am a young Man, I confess, yet I honour the grey Head as much as any one; however, when in Company with old Men, I hear them speak obscurely, or reason preposterously (into which Absurdities, Prejudice, Pride, or Interest, will sometimes throw the wisest) I count it no Crime to rectifie their Reasoning, unless Conscience must truckle to Ceremony, and Truth fall a Sacrifice to Complaisance. The strongest Arguments are enervated, and the brightest Evidence disappears, before those tremendous Reasonings and dazling Discoveries of venerable old Age: You are young giddy-headed Fellows, you have not yet had Experience of the World. Thus we young Folks find our Ambition cramp'd, and our Laziness indulged, since, while young, we have little room to display our selves; and, when old, the Weakness of Nature must pass for Strength of Sense, and we hope that hoary Heads will raise us above the Attacks of Contradiction. Now, Sir, as you would enliven our Activity in the pursuit of Learning, take our Case into Consideration; and, with a Gloss on brave Elihu's Sentiments, assert the Rights of Youth, and prevent the pernicious Incroachments of Age. The generous Reasonings of that gallant Youth would adorn your Paper; and I beg you would insert them, not doubting but that they will give good Entertainment to the most intelligent of your Readers.'So these three Men ceased to answer Job, because he was righteous in his own Eyes. Then was kindled the Wrath of Elihu the Son of Barachel the Buzite, of the Kindred of Ram: Against Job was his Wrath kindled, because he justified himself rather than God. Also against his three Friends was his Wrath kindled, because they had found no Answer, and yet had condemned Job. Now Elihu had waited till Job had spoken, because they were elder than he. When Elihu saw there was no Answer in the Mouth of these three Men, then his Wrath was kindled. And Elihu the Son of Barachel the Buzite answered and said, I am young, and ye are very old, wherefore I was afraid, and durst not shew you mine Opinion. I said, Days should speak, and Multitude of Years should teach Wisdom. But there is a Spirit in Man; and the Inspiration of the Almighty giveth them Understanding. Great Men are not always wise: Neither do the Aged understand Judgment. Therefore I said, hearken to me, I also will shew mine Opinion. Behold, I waited for your Words; I gave ear to your Reasons, whilst you searched out what to say. Yea, I attended unto you: And behold there was none of you that convinced Job, or that answered his Words; lest ye should say, we have found out Wisdom: God thrusteth him down, not Man. Now he hath not directed his Words against me: Neither will I answer him with your Speeches. They were amazed, they answered no more: They left off speaking. When I had waited (for they spake not, but stood still and answered no more) I said, I will answer also my Part, I also will shew mine Opinion. For I am full of Matter, the Spirit within me constraineth me. Behold my Belly is as Wine which hath no vent, it is ready to burst like new Bottles. I will speak that I may be refreshed: I will open my Lips, and answer. Let me not, I pray you, accept any Man's Person, neither let me give flattering Titles unto Man. [For] I know not to give flattering Titles; in so doing my Maker would soon take me away[1].
Mr. Spectator,
'I have formerly read with great Satisfaction your Papers about Idols, and the Behaviour of Gentlemen in those Coffee-houses where Women officiate, and impatiently waited to see you take India and China Shops into Consideration: But since you have pass'd us over in silence, either that you have not as yet thought us worth your Notice, or that the Grievances we lie under have escaped your discerning Eye, I must make my Complaints to you, and am encouraged to do it because you seem a little at leisure at this present Writing. I am, dear Sir, one of the top China-Women about Town; and though I say it, keep as good Things, and receive as fine Company as any o' this End of the Town, let the other be who she will: In short, I am in a fair Way to be easy, were it not for a Club of Female Rakes, who under pretence of taking their innocent Rambles, forsooth, and diverting the Spleen, seldom fail to plague me twice or thrice a-day to cheapen Tea, or buy a Skreen; What else should they mean? as they often repeat it. These Rakes are your idle Ladies of Fashion, who having nothing to do, employ themselves in tumbling over my Ware. One of these No-Customers (for by the way they seldom or never buy any thing) calls for a Set of Tea-Dishes, another for a Bason, a third for my best Green-Tea, and even to the Punch Bowl, there's scarce a piece in my Shop but must be displaced, and the whole agreeable Architecture disordered; so that I can compare 'em to nothing but to the Night-Goblins that take a Pleasure to over-turn the Disposition of Plates and Dishes in the Kitchens of your housewifely Maids. Well, after all this Racket and Clutter, this is too dear, that is their Aversion; another thing is charming, but not wanted: The Ladies are cured of the Spleen, but I am not a Shilling the better for it. Lord! what signifies one poor Pot of Tea, considering the Trouble they put me to? Vapours, Mr. Spectator, are terrible Things; for though I am not possess'd by them my self, I suffer more from 'em than if I were. Now I must beg you to admonish all such Day-Goblins to make fewer Visits, or to be less troublesome when they come to one's Shop; and to convince 'em, that we honest Shop-keepers have something better to do, than to cure Folks of the Vapours gratis. A young Son of mine, a School-Boy, is my Secretary, so I hope you'll make Allowances. I am, Sir,
Your constant Reader, and very humble Servant,
Rebecca the Distress'd.
March the 22nd.
'So these three Men ceased to answer Job, because he was righteous in his own Eyes. Then was kindled the Wrath of Elihu the Son of Barachel the Buzite, of the Kindred of Ram: Against Job was his Wrath kindled, because he justified himself rather than God. Also against his three Friends was his Wrath kindled, because they had found no Answer, and yet had condemned Job. Now Elihu had waited till Job had spoken, because they were elder than he. When Elihu saw there was no Answer in the Mouth of these three Men, then his Wrath was kindled. And Elihu the Son of Barachel the Buzite answered and said, I am young, and ye are very old, wherefore I was afraid, and durst not shew you mine Opinion. I said, Days should speak, and Multitude of Years should teach Wisdom. But there is a Spirit in Man; and the Inspiration of the Almighty giveth them Understanding. Great Men are not always wise: Neither do the Aged understand Judgment. Therefore I said, hearken to me, I also will shew mine Opinion. Behold, I waited for your Words; I gave ear to your Reasons, whilst you searched out what to say. Yea, I attended unto you: And behold there was none of you that convinced Job, or that answered his Words; lest ye should say, we have found out Wisdom: God thrusteth him down, not Man. Now he hath not directed his Words against me: Neither will I answer him with your Speeches. They were amazed, they answered no more: They left off speaking. When I had waited (for they spake not, but stood still and answered no more) I said, I will answer also my Part, I also will shew mine Opinion. For I am full of Matter, the Spirit within me constraineth me. Behold my Belly is as Wine which hath no vent, it is ready to burst like new Bottles. I will speak that I may be refreshed: I will open my Lips, and answer. Let me not, I pray you, accept any Man's Person, neither let me give flattering Titles unto Man. [For] I know not to give flattering Titles; in so doing my Maker would soon take me away[1].
T.
Job
, ch. xii.
| [No. 337] | Thursday, March 27, 1712 | Budgell |
Fingit equum tenerâ docilem cervice Magister,
Ire viam quam monstrat eques—
Hor.
I have lately received a third Letter from the Gentleman, who has already given the Publick two Essays upon Education. As his Thoughts seem to be very just and new upon this Subject, I shall communicate them to the Reader.
Sir,
If I had not been hindered by some extraordinary Business, I should have sent you sooner my further Thoughts upon Education. You may please to remember, that in my last Letter I endeavoured to give the best Reasons that could be urged in favour of a private or publick Education. Upon the whole it may perhaps be thought that I seemed rather enclined to the latter, though at the same time I confessed that Virtue, which ought to be our first and principal Care, was more usually acquired in the former.
I intend therefore, in this Letter, to offer at Methods, by which I conceive Boys might be made to improve in Virtue, as they advance in Letters.
I know that in most of our public Schools Vice is punished and discouraged whenever it is found out; but this is far from being sufficient, unless our Youth are at the same time taught to form a right Judgment of Things, and to know what is properly Virtue.
To this end, whenever they read the Lives and Actions of such Men as have been famous in their Generation, it should not be thought enough to make them barely understand so many Greek or Latin Sentences, but they should be asked their Opinion of such an Action or Saying, and obliged to give their Reasons why they take it to be good or bad. By this means they would insensibly arrive at proper Notions of Courage, Temperance, Honour and Justice.
There must be great Care taken how the Example of any particular Person is recommended to them in gross; instead of which, they ought to be taught wherein such a Man, though great in some respects, was weak and faulty in others. For want of this Caution, a Boy is often so dazzled with the Lustre of a great Character, that he confounds its Beauties with its Blemishes, and looks even upon the faulty Parts of it with an Eye of Admiration.
I have often wondered how Alexander, who was naturally of a generous and merciful Disposition, came to be guilty of so barbarous an Action as that of dragging the Governour of a Town after his Chariot. I know this is generally ascribed to his Passion for Homer; but I lately met with a Passage in Plutarch, which, if I am not very much mistaken, still gives us a clearer Light into the Motives of this Action. Plutarch tells us, that Alexander in his Youth had a Master named Lysimachus, who, tho' he was a Man destitute of all Politeness, ingratiated himself both with Philip and his Pupil, and became the second Man at Court, by calling the King Peleus, the Prince Achilles, and himself Phœnix. It is no wonder if Alexander having been thus used not only to admire, but to personate Achilles, should think it glorious to imitate him in this piece of Cruelty and Extravagance.
To carry this Thought yet further, I shall submit it to your Consideration, whether instead of a Theme or Copy of Verses, which are the usual Exercises, as they are called in the School-phrase, it would not be more proper that a Boy should be tasked once or twice a Week to write down his Opinion of such Persons and Things as occur to him in his Reading; that he should descant upon the Actions of Turnus and Æneas, shew wherein they excelled or were defective, censure or approve any particular Action, observe how it might have been carried to a greater Degree of Perfection, and how it exceeded or fell short of another. He might at the same time mark what was moral in any Speech, and how far it agreed with the Character of the Person speaking. This Exercise would soon strengthen his Judgment in what is blameable or praiseworthy, and give him an early Seasoning of Morality.
Next to those Examples which may be met with in Books, I very much approve Horace's Way of setting before Youth the infamous or honourable Characters of their Contemporaries: That Poet tells us, this was the Method his Father made use of to incline him to any particular Virtue, or give him an Aversion to any particular Vice. If, says Horace, my Father advised me to live within Bounds, and be contented with the Fortune he should leave me; Do not you see (says he) the miserable Condition of Burrus, and the Son of Albus? Let the Misfortunes of those two Wretches teach you to avoid Luxury and Extravagance. If he would inspire me with an Abhorrence to Debauchery, do not (says he) make your self like Sectanus, when you may be happy in the Enjoyment of lawful Pleasures. How scandalous (says he) is the Character of Trebonius, who was lately caught in Bed with another Man's Wife? To illustrate the Force of this Method, the Poet adds, That as a headstrong Patient, who will not at first follow his Physician's Prescriptions, grows orderly when he hears that his Neighbours die all about him; so Youth is often frighted from Vice, by hearing the ill Report it brings upon others.
'Xenophon's Schools of Equity, in his Life of Cyrus the Great, are sufficiently famous: He tells us, that the Persian Children went to School, and employed their Time as diligently in learning the Principles of Justice and Sobriety, as the Youth in other Countries did to acquire the most difficult Arts and Sciences: their Governors spent most part of the Day in hearing their mutual Accusations one against the other, whether for Violence, Cheating, Slander, or Ingratitude; and taught them how to give Judgment against those who were found to be any ways guilty of these Crimes. I omit the Story of the long and short Coat, for which Cyrus himself was punished, as a Case equally known with any in Littleton.
'The Method, which Apuleius tells us the Indian Gymnosophists took to educate their Disciples, is still more curious and remarkable. His Words are as follow: When their Dinner is ready, before it is served up, the Masters enquire of every particular Scholar how he has employed his Time since Sun-rising; some of them answer, that having been chosen as Arbiters between two Persons they have composed their Differences, and made them Friends; some, that they have been executing the Orders of their Parents; and others, that they have either found out something new by their own Application, or learnt it from the Instruction of their Fellows: But if there happens to be any one among them, who cannot make it appear that he has employed the Morning to advantage, he is immediately excluded from the Company, and obliged to work, while the rest are at Dinner.
'It is not impossible, that from these several Ways of producing Virtue in the Minds of Boys, some general Method might be invented. What I would endeavour to inculcate, is, that our Youth cannot be too soon taught the Principles of Virtue, seeing the first Impressions which are made on the Mind are always the strongest.
'The Archbishop of Cambray makes Telemachus say, that though he was young in Years, he was old in the Art of knowing how to keep both his own and his Friend's Secrets. When my Father, says the Prince, went to the Siege of Troy, he took me on his Knees, and after having embraced and blessed me, as he was surrounded by the Nobles of Ithaca, O my Friends, says he, into your Hands I commit the Education of my Son; if ever you lovd his Father, shew it in your Care towards him; but above all, do not omit to form him just, sincere, and faithful in keeping a Secret. These Words of my Father, says Telemachus, were continually repeated to me by his Friends in his Absence; who made no scruple of communicating to me in their Uneasiness to see my Mother surrounded with Lovers, and the Measures they designed to take on that Occasion. He adds, that he was so ravished at being thus treated like a Man, and at the Confidence reposed in him, that he never once abused it; nor could all the Insinuations of his Fathers Rivals ever get him to betray what was committed to him under the Seal of Secrecy.
There is hardly any Virtue which a Lad might not thus learn by Practice and Example.
I have heard of a good Man, who used at certain times to give his Scholars Six Pence apiece, that they might tell him the next day how they had employd it. The third part was always to be laid out in Charity, and every Boy was blamed or commended as he could make it appear that he had chosen a fit Object.
In short, nothing is more wanting to our publick Schools, than that the Masters of them should use the same care in fashioning the Manners of their Scholars, as in forming their Tongues to the learned Languages. Where-ever the former is omitted, I cannot help agreeing with Mr. Locke, That a Man must have a very strange Value for Words, when preferring the Languages of the Greeks and Romans to that which made them such brave Men, he can think it worth while to hazard the Innocence and Virtue of his Son for a little Greek and Latin.
As the Subject of this Essay is of the highest Importance, and what I do not remember to have yet seen treated by any Author, I have sent you what occurrd to me on it from my own Observation or Reading, and which you may either suppress or publish as you think fit.
I am, Sir, Yours, &c.
X.
| [No. 338] | Friday, March 28, 1712 |
—Nil fuit unquam
Tam dispar sibi.
Hor.[1]
I find the Tragedy of the
Distrest Mother
is publish'd today:
Author of the Prologue, I suppose, pleads an old Excuse I have read somewhere, of being dull with Design; and the Gentleman who writ the Epilogue
has, to my knowledge, so much of greater moment to value himself upon, that he will easily forgive me for publishing the Exceptions made against Gayety at the end of serious Entertainments, in the following Letter: I should be more unwilling to pardon him than any body, a Practice which cannot have any ill Consequence, but from the Abilities of the Person who is guilty of it.
Mr. Spectator,
I had the Happiness the other Night of sitting very near you, and your worthy Friend Sir Roger, at the acting of the new Tragedy, which you have in a late Paper or two so justly recommended. I was highly pleased with the advantageous Situation Fortune had given me in placing me so near two Gentlemen, from one of which I was sure to hear such Reflections on the several Incidents of the Play, as pure Nature suggested, and from the other such as flowed from the exactest Art and Judgment: Tho I must confess that my Curiosity led me so much to observe the Knight's Reflections, that I was not so well at leisure to improve my self by yours. Nature, I found, play'd her Part in the Knight pretty well, till at the last concluding Lines she entirely forsook him. You must know, Sir, that it is always my Custom, when I have been well entertained at a new Tragedy, to make my Retreat before the facetious Epilogue enters; not but that those Pieces are often very well writ, but having paid down my Half Crown, and made a fair Purchase of as much of the pleasing Melancholy as the Poet's Art can afford me, or my own Nature admit of, I am willing to carry some of it home with me; and can't endure to be at once trick'd out of all, tho' by the wittiest Dexterity in the World. However, I kept my Seat t'other Night, in hopes of finding my own Sentiments of this Matter favour'd by your Friend's; when, to my great Surprize, I found the Knight entering with equal Pleasure into both Parts, and as much satisfied with Mrs. Oldfield's Gaiety, as he had been before with Andromache's Greatness. Whether this were no other than an Effect of the Knight's peculiar Humanity, pleas'd to find at last, that after all the tragical Doings every thing was safe and well, I don't know. But for my own part, I must confess, I was so dissatisfied, that I was sorry the Poet had saved Andromache, and could heartily have wished that he had left her stone-dead upon the Stage. For you cannot imagine, Mr. Spectator, the Mischief she was reserv'd to do me. I found my Soul, during the Action, gradually work'd up to the highest Pitch; and felt the exalted Passion which all generous Minds conceive at the Sight of Virtue in Distress. The Impression, believe me, Sir, was so strong upon me, that I am persuaded, if I had been let alone in it, I could at an Extremity have ventured to defend your self and Sir ROGER against half a Score of the fiercest Mohocks: But the ludicrous Epilogue in the Close extinguish'd all my Ardour, and made me look upon all such noble Atchievements, as downright silly and romantick. What the rest of the Audience felt, I can't so well tell: For my self, I must declare, that at the end of the Play I found my Soul uniform, and all of a Piece; but at the End of the Epilogue it was so jumbled together, and divided between Jest and Earnest, that if you will forgive me an extravagant Fancy, I will here set it down. I could not but fancy, if my Soul had at that Moment quitted my Body, and descended to the poetical Shades in the Posture it was then in, what a strange Figure it would have made among them. They would not have known what to have made of my motley Spectre, half Comick and half Tragick, all over resembling a ridiculous Face, that at the same time laughs on one side and cries o' t'other. The only Defence, I think, I have ever heard made for this, as it seems to me, most unnatural Tack of the Comick Tail to the Tragick Head, is this, that the Minds of the Audience must be refreshed, and Gentlemen and Ladies not sent away to their own Homes with too dismal and melancholy Thoughts about them: For who knows the Consequence of this? We are much obliged indeed to the Poets for the great Tenderness they express for the Safety of our Persons, and heartily thank them for it. But if that be all, pray, good Sir, assure them, that we are none of us like to come to any great Harm; and that, let them do their best, we shall in all probability live out the Length of our Days, and frequent the Theatres more than ever. What makes me more desirous to have some Reformation of this matter, is because of an ill Consequence or two attending it: For a great many of our Church-Musicians being related to the Theatre, they have, in Imitation of these Epilogues, introduced in their farewell Voluntaries a sort of Musick quite foreign to the design of Church-Services, to the great Prejudice of well-disposed People. Those fingering Gentlemen should be informed, that they ought to suit their Airs to the Place and Business; and that the Musician is obliged to keep to the Text as much as the Preacher. For want of this, I have found by Experience a great deal of Mischief: For when the Preacher has often, with great Piety and Art enough, handled his Subject, and the judicious Clark has with utmost Diligence culled out two Staves proper to the Discourse, and I have found in my self and in the rest of the Pew good Thoughts and Dispositions, they have been all in a moment dissipated by a merry Jigg from the Organ-Loft. One knows not what further ill Effects the Epilogues I have been speaking of may in time produce: [But] this I am credibly informed of, that Paul Lorrain[3]—has resolv'd upon a very sudden Reformation in his tragical Dramas; and that at the next monthly Performance, he designs, instead of a Penitential Psalm, to dismiss his Audience with an excellent new Ballad of his own composing. Pray, Sir, do what you can to put a stop to those growing Evils, and you will very much oblige
Your Humble Servant,
Physibulus.
Servetur ad imum
Qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet.
Hor.
The Prologue was by Steele. Of the Epilogue Dr. Johnson said (in his Lives of the Poets, when telling of Ambrose Philips),
'It was known in Tonson's family and told to Garrick, that Addison was himself the author of it, and that when it had been at first printed with his name, he came early in the morning, before the copies were distributed, and ordered it to be given to Budgell, that it might add weight to the solicitation which he was then making for a place.'
Johnson calls it
'the most successful Epilogue that was ever yet spoken on the English theatre.'
The three first nights it was recited twice, and whenever afterwards the play was acted the Epilogue was still expected and was spoken. This is a fifth paper for the benefit of Ambrose Philips, inserted, perhaps, to make occasion for a sixth (
) in the form of a reply to Physibulus.
Paul Lorrain was the Ordinary of Newgate. He died in 1719. He always represented his convicts as dying Penitents, wherefore in No. 63 of the
Tatler
they had been called '
Paul Lorrain's Saints
.'
| [No. 339] | Saturday, March 29, 1712 | Addison |
—Ut his exordia primis
Omnia, et ipse tener Mundi concreverit orbis.
Tum durare solum et discludere Nerea ponto
Coeperit, et rerum pauliatim sumere formas.
Virg.[1]
Longinus
has observed
, that there may be a Loftiness in Sentiments, where there is no Passion, and brings Instances out of ancient Authors to support this his Opinion. The Pathetick, as that great Critick observes, may animate and inflame the Sublime, but is not essential to it. Accordingly, as he further remarks, we very often find that those who excel most in stirring up the Passions, very often want the Talent of writing in the great and sublime manner, and so on the contrary.
Milton
has shewn himself a Master in both these ways of Writing. The Seventh Book, which we are now entring upon, is an Instance of that Sublime which is not mixed and worked up with Passion. The Author appears in a kind of composed and sedate Majesty; and tho' the Sentiments do not give so great an Emotion as those in the former Book, they abound with as magnificent Ideas. The Sixth Book, like a troubled Ocean, represents Greatness in Confusion; the seventh Affects the Imagination like the Ocean in a Calm, and fills the Mind of the Reader, without producing in it any thing like Tumult or Agitation.
The
above mentioned, among the Rules which he lays down for succeeding in the sublime way of writing, proposes to his Reader, that he should imitate the most celebrated Authors who have gone before him, and been engaged in Works of the same nature
; as in particular, that if he writes on a poetical Subject, he should consider how
Homer
would have spoken on such an Occasion. By this means one great Genius often catches the Flame from another, and writes in his Spirit, without copying servilely after him. There are a thousand shining Passages in
Virgil
, which have been lighted up by
Homer
.
Milton
, tho' his own natural Strength of Genius was capable of furnishing out a perfect Work, has doubtless very much raised and ennobled his Conceptions, by such an Imitation as that which
Longinus
has recommended.
In this Book, which gives us an Account of the six Days Works, the Poet received but very few Assistances from Heathen Writers, who were Strangers to the Wonders of Creation. But as there are many glorious strokes of Poetry upon this Subject in Holy Writ, the Author has numberless Allusions to them through the whole course of this Book. The great Critick I
before mentioned, though an Heathen, has taken notice of the sublime Manner in which the Lawgiver of the
Jews
has describ'd the Creation in the first Chapter of
Genesis
; and there are many other Passages in Scripture, which rise up to the same Majesty, where this Subject is touched upon.
Milton
has shewn his Judgment very remarkably, in making use of such of these as were proper for his Poem, and in duly qualifying those high Strains of Eastern Poetry, which were suited to Readers whose Imaginations were set to an higher pitch than those of colder Climates.
Adam's
Speech to the Angel, wherein he desires an Account of what had passed within the Regions of Nature before the Creation, is very great and solemn. The following Lines, in which he tells him, that the Day is not too far spent for him to enter upon such a subject, are exquisite in their kind.
And the great Light of Day yet wants to run
Much of his Race, though steep, suspense in Heav'n
Held by thy Voice; thy potent Voice he hears,
And longer will delay, to hear thee tell
His Generation, &c.
The Angel's encouraging our first Parent
s
in a modest pursuit after Knowledge, with the Causes which he assigns for the Creation of the World, are very just and beautiful. The
Messiah
, by whom, as we are told in Scripture, the Worlds were made,
forth in the Power of his Father, surrounded with an Host of Angels, and cloathed with such a Majesty as becomes his entring upon a Work, which, according to our Conceptions,
appears
the utmost Exertion of Omnipotence. What a beautiful Description has our Author raised upon that Hint in one of the Prophets.
behold there came four Chariots out from between two Mountains, and the Mountains were Mountains of Brass
.
About his Chariot numberless were pour'd
Cherub and Seraph, Potentates and Thrones,
And Virtues, winged Spirits, and Chariots wing'd,
From th' Armoury of Gold, where stand of old
Myriads between two brazen Mountains lodg'd
Against a solemn Day, harness'd at hand;
Celestial Equipage! and now came forth
Spontaneous, for within them Spirit liv'd,
Attendant on their Lord: Heav'n open'd wide
Her ever-during Gates, Harmonious Sound!
On golden Hinges moving—
I have before taken notice of these Chariots of God, and of these Gates of Heaven; and shall here only add, that
Homer
gives us the same Idea of the latter, as opening of themselves; tho' he afterwards takes off from it, by telling us, that the Hours first of all removed those prodigious Heaps of Clouds which lay as a Barrier before them.
I do not know any thing in the whole Poem more sublime than the Description which follows, where the
Messiah
is represented at the head of his Angels, as looking down into the Chaos, calming its Confusion, riding into the midst of it, and drawing the first Out-Line of the Creation.
On Heavenly Ground they stood, and from the Shore
They view'd the vast immeasurable Abyss,
Outrageous as a Sea, dark, wasteful, wild;
Up from the bottom turned by furious Winds
And surging Waves, as Mountains to assault
Heaven's height, and with the Center mix the Pole.
Silence, ye troubled Waves, and thou Deep, Peace!
Said then th' Omnific Word, your Discord end:
Nor staid; but, on the Wings of Cherubim
Up-lifted, in Paternal Glory rode
Far into Chaos, and the World unborn;
For Chaos heard his Voice. Him all His Train
Follow'd in bright Procession, to behold
Creation, and the Wonders, of his Might.
Then staid the fervid Wheels, and in his Hand
He took the Golden Compasses, prepar'd
In God's eternal Store, to circumscribe
This Universe, and all created Things:
One Foot he center'd, and the other turn'd
Round, through the vast Profundity obscure;
And said, Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds,
This be thy just Circumference, O World!
The Thought of the Golden Compasses is conceived altogether in
Homer's
Spirit, and is a very noble Incident in this wonderful Description.
Homer
, when he speaks of the Gods, ascribes to them several Arms and Instruments with the same greatness of Imagination. Let the Reader only peruse the Description of
Minerva's
Ægis, or Buckler, in the Fifth Book, with her Spear, which would overturn whole Squadrons, and her Helmet, that was sufficient to cover an Army drawn out of an hundred Cities: The Golden Compasses in the above-mentioned Passage appear a very natural Instrument in the Hand of him, whom
Plato
somewhere calls the Divine Geometrician. As Poetry delights in cloathing abstracted Ideas in Allegories and sensible Images, we find a magnificent Description of the Creation form'd after the same manner in one of the Prophets, wherein he describes the Almighty Architect as measuring the Waters in the Hollow of his Hand, meting out the Heavens with his Span, comprehending the Dust of the Earth in a Measure, weighing the Mountains in Scales, and the Hills in a Balance. Another of them describing the Supreme Being in this great Work of Creation, represents him as laying the Foundations of the Earth, and stretching a Line upon it: And in another place as garnishing the Heavens, stretching out the North over the empty Place, and hanging the Earth upon nothing. This last noble Thought
Milton
has express'd in the following Verse:
And Earth self-ballanc'd on her Center hung.
The Beauties of Description in this Book lie so very thick, that it is impossible to enumerate them in this Paper. The Poet has employ'd on them the whole Energy of our Tongue. The several great Scenes of the Creation rise up to view one after another, in such a manner, that the Reader seems present at this wonderful Work, and to assist among the Choirs of Angels, who are the Spectators of it. How glorious is the Conclusion of the first Day.
—Thus was the first Day Ev'n and Morn
Nor past uncelebrated nor unsung
By the Celestial Quires, when Orient Light
Exhaling first from Darkness they beheld;
Birth-day of Heav'n and Earth! with Joy and Shout
The hollow universal Orb they fill'd.
We have the same elevation of Thought in the third Day, when the Mountains were brought forth, and the Deep was made.
Immediately the Mountains huge appear
Emergent, and their broad bare Backs up-heave
Into the Clouds, their Tops ascend the Sky:
So high as heav'd the tumid Hills, so low
Down sunk a hollow Bottom, broad and deep,
Capacious Bed of Waters—
We have also the rising of the whole vegetable World described in this Day's Work, which is filled with all the Graces that other Poets have lavish'd on their Descriptions of the Spring, and leads the Reader's Imagination into a Theatre equally surprising and beautiful.
The several Glories of the Heav'ns make their Appearance on the Fourth Day.
First in his East the glorious Lamp was seen,
Regent of Day; and all th' Horizon round
Invested with bright Rays, jocund to round
His Longitude through Heav'ns high Road: the gray
Dawn, and the Pleiades before him danced,
Shedding sweet Influence. Less bright the Moon,
But opposite in level'd West was set,
His Mirror, with full face borrowing her Light
From him, for other Lights she needed none
In that aspect, and still that distance keeps
Till Night; then in the East her turn she shines,
Revolv'd on Heav'n's great Axle, and her Reign
With thousand lesser Lights dividual holds,
With thousand thousand Stars! that then appear'd
Spangling the Hemisphere—
One would wonder how the Poet could be so concise in his Description of the six Days Works, as to comprehend them within the bounds of an Episode, and at the same time so particular, as to give us a lively Idea of them. This is still more remarkable in his Account of the Fifth and Sixth Days, in which he has drawn out to our View the whole Animal Creation, from the Reptil to the Behemoth.
the Lion and the Leviathan are two of the noblest Productions in
the
World of living Creatures, the Reader will find a most exquisite Spirit of Poetry in the Account which our Author gives us of them. The Sixth Day concludes with the Formation of Man, upon which the Angel takes occasion, as he did after the Battel in Heaven, to remind
Adam
of his Obedience, which was the principal Design of this his Visit.
The Poet afterwards represents the
Messiah
returning into Heaven, and taking a Survey of his great Work. There is something inexpressibly Sublime in this part of the Poem, where the Author describes that great Period of Time, filled with so many Glorious Circumstances; when the Heavens and Earth were finished; when the
Messiah
ascended up in triumph thro' the Everlasting Gates; when he looked down with pleasure upon his new Creation; when every Part of Nature seem'd to rejoice in its Existence; when the Morning-Stars sang together, and all the Sons of God shouted for joy.
So Ev'n and Morn accomplished the sixth Day:
Yet not 'till the Creator from his Work
Desisting, tho' unwearied, up return'd,
Up to the Heav'n of Heav'ns, his high Abode;
Thence to behold this new created World,
Th' Addition of his Empire, how it shewed
In prospect from his Throne, how good, how fair,
Answering his great Idea: Up he rode,
Follow'd with Acclamation, and the Sound
Symphonious of ten thousand Harps, that tuned
Angelick Harmonies; the Earth, the Air
Resounding (thou remember'st, for thou heard'sf)
The Heavens and all the Constellations rung;
The Planets in their Station listning stood,
While the bright Pomp ascended jubilant.
Open, ye everlasting Gates, they sung,
Open, ye Heavens, your living Doors; let in
The great Creator from his Work return'd
Magnificent, his six Days Work, a World!
I
conclude this Book upon the Creation, without mentioning a Poem which has lately appeared under that Title
. The Work was undertaken with so good an Intention, and is executed with so great a Mastery, that it deserves to be looked upon as one of the most useful and noble Productions in our English Verse. The Reader cannot but be pleased to find the Depths of Philosophy enlivened with all the Charms of Poetry, and to see so great a Strength of Reason, amidst so beautiful a Redundancy of the Imagination. The Author has shewn us that Design in all the Works of Nature, which necessarily leads us to the Knowledge of its first Cause. In short, he has illustrated, by numberless and incontestable Instances, that Divine Wisdom, which the Son of
Sirach
has so nobly ascribed to the Supreme Being in his Formation of the World, when he tells us, that He created her, and saw her, and numbered her, and poured her out upon all his Works.
L.
Ovid
On the Sublime
, § 8.
§14.
Longinus, § 9:
"So likewise the Jewish legislator, no ordinary person, having conceived a just idea of the power of God, has nobly expressed it in the beginning of his law. 'And God said,'—What? 'Let there be Light, and there was Light. Let the Earth be, and the Earth was.'"
looks like
Zechariah
vi. i.
this
Sir Richard Blackmore's
Creation
appeared in 1712. Besides this praise of it from Addison, its religious character caused Dr. Johnson to say that if Blackmore '
had written nothing else it would have transmitted him to posterity among the first favourites of the English muse.'
But even with the help of all his epics it has failed to secure him any such place in the estimation of posterity. This work is not an epic, but described on its title page as 'a Philosophical Poem, Demonstrating the Existence and Providence of a God.' It argues in blank verse, in the first two of its seven books, the existence of a Deity from evidences of design in the structure and qualities of earth and sea, in the celestial bodies and the air; in the next three books it argues against objections raised by Atheists, Atomists, and Fatalists; in the sixth book proceeds with evidences of design, taking the structure of man's body for its theme; and in the next, which is the last book, treats in the same way of the Instincts of Animals and of the Faculties and Operations of the Soul. This is the manner of the Poem:
The Sea does next demand our View; and there
No less the Marks of perfect skill appear.
When first the Atoms to the Congress came,
And by their Concourse form'd the mighty Frame,
What did the Liquid to th' Assembly call
To give their Aid to form the ponderous Ball?
First, tell us, why did any come? next, why
In such a disproportion to the Dry!
Why were the Moist in Number so outdone,
That to a Thousand Dry, they are but one,
It is hardly a 'mark of perfect skill' that there are five or six thousand of such dry lines in Blackmore's poem, and not even one that should lead a critic to speak in the same breath of Blackmore and Milton.
| [No. 340] | Monday, March 31, 1712 | Steele |
Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus Hospes?
Quem sese Ore ferens! quam forti Pectore et Armis!
Virg.
I take it to be the highest Instance of a noble Mind, to bear great Qualities without discovering in a Man's Behaviour any Consciousness that he is superior to the rest of the World. Or, to say it otherwise, it is the Duty of a great Person so to demean himself, as that whatever Endowments he may have, he may appear to value himself upon no Qualities but such as any Man may arrive at: He ought to think no Man valuable but for his publick Spirit, Justice and Integrity; and all other Endowments to be esteemed only as they contribute to the exerting those Virtues. Such a Man, if he is Wise or Valiant, knows it is of no Consideration to other Men that he is so, but as he employs those high Talents for their Use and Service. He who affects the Applauses and Addresses of a Multitude, or assumes to himself a Pre-eminence upon any other Consideration, must soon turn Admiration into Contempt. It is certain, that there can be no Merit in any Man who is not conscious of it; but the Sense that it is valuable only according to the Application of it, makes that Superiority amiable, which would otherwise be invidious. In this Light it is considered as a Thing in which every Man bears a Share: It annexes the Ideas of Dignity, Power, and Fame, in an agreeable and familiar manner, to him who is Possessor of it; and all Men who are Strangers to him are naturally incited to indulge a Curiosity in beholding the Person, Behaviour, Feature, and Shape of him, in whose Character, perhaps, each Man had formed something in common with himself.
such, or any other, are the Causes, all Men have
a yearning
Curiosity to behold a Man of heroick Worth; and I
had many Letters from all Parts of this Kingdom, that request I would give them an exact Account of the Stature, the Mein, the Aspect of the Prince
who lately visited England, and has done such Wonders for the Liberty of Europe. It would puzzle the most Curious to form to himself the sort of Man my several Correspondents expect to hear of, by the Action mentioned when they desire a Description of him: There is always something that concerns themselves, and growing out of their own Circumstances, in all their Enquiries. A Friend of mine in Wales beseeches me to be very exact in my Account of that wonderful Man, who had marched an Army and all its Baggage over the Alps; and, if possible, to learn whether the Peasant who shew'd him the Way, and is drawn in the Map, be yet living. A Gentleman from the University, who is deeply intent on the Study of Humanity, desires me to be as particular, if I had Opportunity, in observing the whole Interview between his Highness and our late General. Thus do Men's Fancies work according to their several Educations and Circumstances; but all pay a Respect, mixed with Admiration, to this illustrious Character. I have waited for his Arrival in Holland, before I would let my Correspondents know, that I have not been so uncurious a Spectator, as not to have seen Prince Eugene. It would be very difficult, as I said just now, to answer every Expectation of those who have writ to me on that Head; nor is it possible for me to find Words to let one know what an artful Glance there is in his Countenance who surprized
Cremona
; how daring he appears who forced the Trenches of
Turin
; But in general I can say, that he who beholds him, will easily expect from him any thing that is to be imagined or executed by the Wit or Force of Man. The Prince is of that Stature which makes a Man most easily become all Parts of Exercise, has Height to be graceful on Occasions of State and Ceremony, and no less adapted for Agility and Dispatch: his Aspect is erect and compos'd; his Eye lively and thoughtful, yet rather vigilant than sparkling; his Action and Address the most easy imaginable, and his Behaviour in an Assembly peculiarly graceful in a certain Art of mixing insensibly with the rest, and becoming one of the Company, instead of receiving the Courtship of it. The Shape of his Person, and Composure of his Limbs, are remarkably exact and beautiful. There is in his Look something sublime, which does not seem to arise from his Quality or Character, but the innate Disposition of his Mind. It is apparent that he suffers the Presence of much Company, instead of taking Delight in it; and he appeared in Publick while with us, rather to return Good-will, or satisfy Curiosity, than to gratify any Taste he himself had of being popular. As his Thoughts are never tumultuous in Danger, they are as little discomposed on Occasions of Pomp and Magnificence: A great Soul is affected in either Case, no further than in considering the properest Methods to extricate it self from them. If this Hero has the strong Incentives to uncommon Enterprizes that were remarkable in
Alexander
, he prosecutes and enjoys the Fame of them with the Justness, Propriety, and good Sense of
Cæsar
. It is easy to observe in him a Mind as capable of being entertained with Contemplation as Enterprize; a Mind ready for great Exploits, but not impatient for Occasions to exert itself. The Prince has Wisdom and Valour in as high Perfection as Man can enjoy it; which noble Faculties in conjunction, banish all Vain-Glory, Ostentation, Ambition, and all other Vices which might intrude upon his Mind to make it unequal. These Habits and Qualities of Soul and Body render this Personage so extraordinary, that he appears to have nothing in him but what every Man should have in him, the Exertion of his very self, abstracted from the Circumstances in which Fortune has placed him. Thus were you to see Prince
Eugene
, and were told he was a private Gentleman, you would say he is a Man of Modesty and Merit: Should you be told That was Prince
Eugene
, he would be diminished no otherwise, than that part of your distant Admiration would turn into familiar Good-will.
I thought fit to entertain my Reader with, concerning an Hero who never was equalled but by one Man
; over whom also he has this Advantage, that he has had an Opportunity to manifest an Esteem for him in his Adversity.
T.
an earning
Prince Eugene of Savoy, grandson of a duke of Savoy, and son of Eugene Maurice, general of the Swiss, and Olympia Mancini, a niece of Mazarin, was born at Paris in 1663, and intended for the church, but had so strong a bent towards a military life, that when refused a regiment in the French army he served the Emperor as volunteer against the Turks. He stopped the march of the French into Italy when Louis XIV. declared war with Austria, and refused afterwards from Louis a Marshal's staff, a pension, and the Government of Champagne. Afterwards in Italy, by the surprise of Cremona he made Marshal Villeroi his prisoner, and he was Marlborough's companion in arms at Blenheim and in other victories. It was he who saved Turin, and expelled the French from Italy. He was 49 years old in 1712, and had come in that year to England to induce the court to continue the war, but found Marlborough in disgrace and the war very unpopular. He had been feasted by the city, and received from Queen Anne a sword worth £5000, which he wore at her birthday reception. He had also stood as godfather to Steele's third son, who was named after him.
Marlborough.
| [No. 341] | Tuesday, April 1, 1712 | Budgell[1] |
—Revocate animos mœstumque timorem Mittite—
Virg.
Having, to oblige my Correspondent
Physibulus
, printed his Letter last Friday, in relation to the new Epilogue, he cannot take it amiss, if I now publish another, which I have just received from a Gentleman who does not agree with him in his Sentiments upon that Matter.
Sir,
I am amazed to find an Epilogue attacked in your last Friday's Paper, which has been so generally applauded by the Town, and receiv'd such Honours as were never before given to any in an English Theatre.
The Audience would not permit Mrs. Oldfield to go off the Stage the first Night, till she had repeated it twice; the second Night the Noise of Ancoras was as loud as before, and she was again obliged to speak it twice: the third Night it was still called for a second time; and, in short, contrary to all other Epilogues, which are dropt after the third Representation of the Play, this has already been repeated nine times.
I must own I am the more surprized to find this Censure in Opposition to the whole Town, in a Paper which has hitherto been famous for the Candour of its Criticisms.
I can by no means allow your melancholy Correspondent, that the new Epilogue is unnatural because it is gay. If I had a mind to be learned, I could tell him that the Prologue and Epilogue were real Parts of the ancient Tragedy; but every one knows that on the British Stage they are distinct Performances by themselves, Pieces entirely detached from the Play, and no way essential to it.
The moment the Play ends, Mrs. Oldfield is no more Andromache, but Mrs. Oldfield; and tho' the Poet had left Andromache stone-dead upon the Stage, as your ingenious Correspondent phrases it, Mrs. Oldfield might still have spoke a merry Epilogue. [We] have an Instance of this in a Tragedy[2] where there is not only a Death but a Martyrdom. St. Catherine was there personated by Nell Gwin; she lies stone dead upon the Stage, but upon those Gentlemen's offering to remove her Body, whose Business it is to carry off the Slain in our English Tragedies, she breaks out into that abrupt Beginning of what was a very ludicrous, but at the same time thought a very good Epilogue.This diverting Manner was always practised by Mr. Dryden, who if he was not the best Writer of Tragedies in his time, was allowed by every one to have the happiest Turn for a Prologue or an Epilogue. The Epilogues to Cleomenes, Don Sebastian, The Duke of Guise, Aurengzebe, and Love Triumphant, are all Precedents of this Nature.Hold, are you mad? you damn'd confounded Dog,
I am to rise and speak the Epilogue.
I might further justify this Practice by that excellent Epilogue which was spoken a few Years since, after the Tragedy of Phædra and Hippolitus; with a great many others, in which the Authors have endeavour'd to make the Audience merry. If they have not all succeeded so well as the Writer of this, they have however shewn that it was not for want of Good-will.
I must further observe, that the Gaiety of it may be still the more proper, as it is at the end of a French Play; since every one knows that Nation, who are generally esteem'd to have as polite a Taste as any in Europe, always close their Tragick Entertainments with what they call a Petite Piece, which is purposely design'd to raise Mirth, and send away the Audience well pleased. The same Person who has supported the chief Character in the Tragedy, very often plays the principal Part in the Petite Piece; so that I have my self seen at Paris, Orestes and Lubin acted the same Night by the same Man.
Tragi-Comedy, indeed, you have your self in a former Speculation found fault with very justly, because it breaks the Tide of the Passions while they are yet flowing; but this is nothing at all to the present Case, where they have already had their full Course.
As the new Epilogue is written conformable to the Practice of our best Poets, so it is not such an one which, as the Duke of Buckingham says in his Rehearsal, might serve for any other Play; but wholly rises out of the Occurrences of the Piece it was composed for.
The only Reason your mournful Correspondent gives against this Facetious Epilogue, as he calls it, is, that he has mind to go home melancholy. I wish the Gentleman may not be more Grave than Wise. For my own part, I must confess I think it very sufficient to have the Anguish of a fictitious Piece remain upon me while it is representing, but I love to be sent home to bed in a good humour. If Physibulus is however resolv'd to be inconsolable, and not to have his Tears dried up, he need only continue his old Custom, and when he has had his half Crown's worth of Sorrow, slink out before the Epilogue begins.
It is pleasant enough to hear this Tragical Genius complaining of the great Mischief Andromache had done him: What was that? Why, she made him laugh. The poor Gentleman's Sufferings put me in mind of Harlequin's Case, who was tickled to Death. He tells us soon after, thro' a small Mistake of Sorrow for Rage, that during the whole Action he was so very sorry, that he thinks he could have attack'd half a score of the fiercest Mohocks in the Excess of his Grief. I cannot but look upon it as an happy Accident, that a Man who is so bloody-minded in his Affliction, was diverted from this Fit of outragious Melancholy. The Valour of this Gentleman in his Distress, brings to one's memory the Knight of the sorrowful Countenance, who lays about him at such an unmerciful rate in an old Romance. I shall readily grant him that his Soul, as he himself says, would have made a very ridiculous Figure, had it quitted the Body, and descended to the Poetical Shades, in such an Encounter.
As to his Conceit of tacking a Tragic Head with a Comic Tail, in order to refresh the Audience, it is such a piece of Jargon, that I dont know what to make of it.
The elegant Writer makes a very sudden Transition from the Play-house to the Church, and from thence, to the Gallows.
As for what relates to the Church, he is of Opinion, that these Epilogues have given occasion to those merry Jiggs from the Organ-Loft which have dissipated those good Thoughts, and Dispositions he has found in himself, and the rest of the Pew, upon the singing of two Staves culld out by the judicious and diligent Clark.
He fetches his next Thought from Tyburn; and seems very apprehensive lest there should happen any Innovations in the Tragedies of his Friend Paul Lorrain.
In the mean time, Sir, this gloomy Writer, who is so mightily scandaliz'd at a gay Epilogue after a serious Play, speaking of the Fate of those unhappy Wretches who are condemned to suffer an ignominious Death by the Justice of our Laws, endeavours to make the Reader merry on so improper an occasion, by those poor Burlesque Expressions of Tragical Dramas, and Monthly Performances.
I am, Sir, with great Respect,
Your most obedient, most humble Servant,
Philomeides.
Hold, are you mad? you damn'd confounded Dog,
I am to rise and speak the Epilogue.
X.
Budgell here defends with bad temper the Epilogue which Addison ascribed to him. Probably it was of his writing, but transformed by Addison's corrections.
Dryden's
Maximin
.
| [No. 342] | Wednesday, April 2, 1712 | Steele |
Justitiæ partes sunt non violare homines: Verecundiæ non offendere.
Tull.
As Regard to Decency is a great Rule of Life in general, but more especially to be consulted by the Female World, I cannot overlook the following Letter which describes an egregious Offender.
'Mr. Spectator,
'I was this Day looking over your Papers, and reading in that of December the 6th with great delight, the amiable Grief of Asteria for the Absence of her Husband, it threw me into a great deal of Reflection. I cannot say but this arose very much from the Circumstances of my own Life, who am a Soldier, and expect every Day to receive Orders; which will oblige me to leave behind me a Wife that is very dear to me, and that very deservedly. She is, at present, I am sure, no way below your Asteria for Conjugal Affection: But I see the Behaviour of some Women so little suited to the Circumstances wherein my Wife and I shall soon be, that it is with a Reluctance I never knew before, I am going to my Duty. What puts me to present Pain, is the Example of a young Lady, whose Story you shall have as well as I can give it you. Hortensius, an Officer of good Rank in her Majesty's Service, happen'd in a certain Part of England to be brought to a Country-Gentleman's House, where he was receiv'd with that more than ordinary Welcome, with which Men of domestick Lives entertain such few Soldiers whom a military Life, from the variety of Adventures, has not render'd over-bearing, but humane, easy, and agreeable: Hortensius stay'd here some time, and had easy Access at all hours, as well as unavoidable Conversation at some parts of the Day with the beautiful Sylvana, the Gentleman's Daughter. People who live in Cities are wonderfully struck with every little Country Abode they see when they take the Air; and 'tis natural to fancy they could live in every neat Cottage (by which they pass) much happier than in their present Circumstances. The turbulent way of Life which Hortensius was used to, made him reflect with much Satisfaction on all the Advantages of a sweet Retreat one day; and among the rest, you'll think it not improbable, it might enter into his Thought, that such a Woman as Sylvana would consummate the Happiness. The World is so debauched with mean Considerations, that Hortensius knew it would be receiv'd as an Act of Generosity, if he asked for a Woman of the Highest Merit, without further Questions, of a Parent who had nothing to add to her personal Qualifications. The Wedding was celebrated at her Father's House: When that was over, the generous Husband did not proportion his Provision for her to the Circumstances of her Fortune, but considered his Wife as his Darling, his Pride, and his Vanity, or rather that it was in the Woman he had chosen that a Man of Sense could shew Pride or Vanity with an Excuse, and therefore adorned her with rich Habits and valuable Jewels. He did not however omit to admonish her that he did his very utmost in this; that it was an Ostentation he could not but be guilty of to a Woman he had so much Pleasure in, desiring her to consider it as such; and begged of her also to take these Matters rightly, and believe the Gems, the Gowns, the Laces would still become her better, if her Air and Behaviour was such, that it might appear she dressed thus rather in Compliance to his Humour that Way, than out of any Value she her self had for the Trifles. To this Lesson, too hard for Woman, Hortensius added, that she must be sure to stay with her Friends in the Country till his Return. As soon as Hortensius departed, Sylvana saw in her Looking-glass that the Love he conceiv'd for her was wholly owing to the Accident of seeing her: and she is convinced it was only her Misfortune the rest of Mankind had not beheld her, or Men of much greater Quality and Merit had contended for one so genteel, tho' bred in Obscurity; so very witty, tho' never acquainted with Court or Town. She therefore resolved not to hide so much Excellence from the World, but without any Regard to the Absence of the most generous Man alive, she is now the gayest Lady about this Town, and has shut out the Thoughts of her Husband by a constant Retinue of the vainest young Fellows this Age has produced: to entertain whom, she squanders away all Hortensius is able to supply her with, tho' that Supply is purchased with no less Difficulty than the Hazard of his Life.
'Now, Mr. Spectator, would it not be a Work becoming your Office to treat this Criminal as she deserves? You should give it the severest Reflections you can: You should tell Women, that they are more accountable for Behaviour in Absence than after Death. The Dead are not dishonour'd by their Levities; the Living may return, and be laugh'd at by empty Fops, who will not fail to turn into Ridicule the good Man who is so unseasonable as to be still alive, and come and spoil good Company.
I am, Sir,
your most Obedient Humble Servant.
All Strictness of Behaviour is so unmercifully laugh'd at in our Age, that the other much worse Extreme is the more common Folly. But let any Woman consider which of the two Offences an Husband would the more easily forgive, that of being less entertaining than she could to please Company, or raising the Desires of the whole Room to his disadvantage; and she will easily be able to form her Conduct. We have indeed carry'd Womens Characters too much into publick Life, and you shall see them now-a-days affect a sort of Fame: but I cannot help venturing to disoblige them for their Service, by telling them, that the utmost of a Woman's Character is contained in Domestick Life; she is blameable or praiseworthy according as her Carriage affects the House of her Father or her Husband. All she has to do in this World, is contain'd within the Duties of a Daughter, a Sister, a Wife, and a Mother: All these may be well performed, tho' a Lady should not be the very finest Woman at an Opera or an Assembly. They are likewise consistent with a moderate share of Wit, a plain Dress, and a modest Air. But when the very Brains of the Sex are turned, and they place their Ambition on Circumstances, wherein to excel is no addition to what is truly commendable, where can this end, but, as it frequently does, in their placing all their Industry, Pleasure and Ambition on things, which will naturally make the Gratifications of Life last, at best, no longer than Youth and good Fortune? And when we consider the least ill Consequence, it can be no less than looking on their own Condition as Years advance, with a disrelish of Life, and falling into Contempt of their own Persons, or being the Derision of others. But when they consider themselves as they ought, no other than an additional Part of the Species, (for their own Happiness and Comfort, as well as that of those for whom they were born) their Ambition to excell will be directed accordingly; and they will in no part of their Lives want Opportunities of being shining Ornaments to their Fathers, Husbands, Brothers, or Children.
T.
| [No. 343] | Thursday, April 3, 1712 | Addison |
—Errat et illinc
Huc venit, hinc illuc, et quoslibet occupat artus
Spiritus: éque feris humana in corpora transit,
Inque feras noster—
Pythag. ap. Ov
Will. Honeycomb
, who loves to shew upon occasion all the little Learning he has picked up, told us yesterday at the Club, that he thought there might be a great deal said for the Transmigration of Souls, and that the Eastern Parts of the World believed in that Doctrine to this day.
Paul Rycaut
, says he, gives us an Account of several well-disposed
Mahometans
that purchase the Freedom of any little Bird they see confined to a Cage, and think they merit as much by it, as we should do here by ransoming any of our Countrymen from their Captivity at
Algiers
. You must know, says
Will
., the Reason is, because they consider every Animal as a Brother or Sister in disguise, and therefore think themselves obliged to extend their Charity to them, tho' under such mean Circumstances. They'll tell you, says
Will
., that the Soul of a Man, when he dies, immediately passes into the Body of another Man, or of some Brute, which he resembled in his Humour, or his Fortune, when he was one of us.
As I was wondring what this profusion of Learning would end in,
Will
.
us that
Jack Freelove
, who was a Fellow of Whim, made Love to one of those Ladies who throw away all their Fondness
on
Parrots, Monkeys, and Lap-dogs. Upon going to pay her a Visit one Morning, he writ a very pretty Epistle upon this Hint. Jack, says he, was conducted into the Parlour, where he diverted himself for some time with her favourite Monkey, which was chained in one of the Windows; till at length observing a Pen and Ink lie by him, he writ the following Letter to his Mistress, in the Person of the Monkey; and upon her not coming down so soon as he expected, left it in the Window, and went about his Business.
The Lady soon after coming into the Parlour, and seeing her Monkey look upon a Paper with great Earnestness, took it up, and to this day is in some doubt, says
Will
., whether it was written by
Jack
or the Monkey.
Madam,
Not having the Gift of Speech, I have a long time waited in vain for an Opportunity of making myself known to you; and having at present the Conveniences of Pen, Ink, and Paper by me, I gladly take the occasion of giving you my History in Writing, which I could not do by word of Mouth. You must know, Madam, that about a thousand Years ago I was an Indian Brachman, and versed in all those mysterious Secrets which your European Philosopher, called Pythagoras, is said to have learned from our Fraternity. I had so ingratiated my self by my great Skill in the occult Sciences with a Daemon whom I used to converse with, that he promised to grant me whatever I should ask of him. I desired that my Soul might never pass into the Body of a brute Creature; but this he told me was not in his Power to grant me. I then begg'd that into whatever Creature I should chance to Transmigrate, I might still retain my Memory, and be conscious that I was the same Person who lived in different Animals. This he told me was within his Power, and accordingly promised on the word of a Daemon that he would grant me what I desired. From that time forth I lived so very unblameably, that I was made President of a College of Brachmans, an Office which I discharged with great Integrity till the day of my Death. I was then shuffled into another Human Body, and acted my Part so very well in it, that I became first Minister to a Prince who reigned upon the Banks of the Ganges. I here lived in great Honour for several Years, but by degrees lost all the Innocence of the Brachman, being obliged to rifle and oppress the People to enrich my Sovereign; till at length I became so odious that my Master, to recover his Credit with his Subjects, shot me thro' the Heart with an Arrow, as I was one day addressing my self to him at the Head of his Army.
Upon my next remove I found my self in the Woods, under the shape of a Jack-call, and soon listed my self in the Service of a Lion. I used to yelp near his Den about midnight, which was his time of rouzing and seeking after his Prey. He always followed me in the Rear, and when I had run down a fat Buck, a wild Goat, or an Hare, after he had feasted very plentifully upon it himself, would now and then throw me a Bone that was but half picked for my Encouragement; but upon my Being unsuccessful in two or three Chaces, he gave me such a confounded Gripe in his Anger, that I died of it.
In my next Transmigration I was again set upon two Legs, and became an Indian Tax-gatherer; but having been guilty of great Extravagances, and being marry'd to an expensive Jade of a Wife, I ran so cursedly in debt, that I durst not shew my Head. I could no sooner step out of my House, but I was arrested by some body or other that lay in wait for me. As I ventur'd abroad one Night in the Dusk of the Evening, I was taken up and hurry'd into a Dungeon, where I died a few Months after.
My Soul then enter'd into a Flying-Fish, and in that State led a most melancholy Life for the space of six Years. Several Fishes of Prey pursued me when I was in the Water, and if I betook my self to my Wings, it was ten to one but I had a flock of Birds aiming at me. As I was one day flying amidst a fleet of English Ships, I observed a huge Sea-Gull whetting his Bill and hovering just over my Head: Upon my dipping into the Water to avoid him, I fell into the Mouth of a monstrous Shark that swallow'd me down in an instant.
I was some Years afterwards, to my great surprize, an eminent Banker in Lombard-street; and remembring how I had formerly suffered for want of Money, became so very sordid and avaritious, that the whole Town cried shame of me. I was a miserable little old Fellow to look upon, for I had in a manner starved my self, and was nothing but Skin and Bone when I died.
I was afterwards very much troubled and amazed to find my self dwindled into an Emmet. I was heartily concerned to make so insignificant a Figure, and did not know but some time or other I might be reduced to a Mite if I did not mend my Manners. I therefore applied my self with great diligence to the Offices that were allotted me, and was generally look'd upon as the notablest Ant in the whole Molehill. I was at last picked up, as I was groaning under a Burden, by an unlucky Cock-Sparrow that lived in the Neighbourhood, and had before made great depredations upon our Commonwealth.
I then better'd my Condition a little, and lived a whole Summer in the Shape of a Bee; but being tired with the painful and penurious Life I had undergone in my two last Transmigrations, I fell into the other Extream, and turned Drone. As I one day headed a Party to plunder an Hive, we were received so warmly by the Swarm which defended it, that we were most of us left dead upon the Spot.
I might tell you of many other Transmigrations which I went thro': how I was a Town-Rake, and afterwards did Penance in a Bay Gelding for ten Years; as also how I was a Taylor, a Shrimp, and a Tom-tit. In the last of these my Shapes I was shot in the Christmas Holidays by a young Jack-a-napes, who would needs try his new Gun upon me.
But I shall pass over these and other several Stages of Life, to remind you of the young Beau who made love to you about Six Years since. You may remember, Madam, how he masked, and danced, and sung, and play'd a thousand Tricks to gain you; and how he was at last carry'd off by a Cold that he got under your Window one Night in a Serenade. I was that unfortunate young Fellow, whom you were then so cruel to. Not long after my shifting that unlucky Body, I found myself upon a Hill in Æthiopia, where I lived in my present Grotesque Shape, till I was caught by a Servant of the English Factory, and sent over into Great Britain: I need not inform you how I came into your Hands. You see, Madam, this is not the first time that you have had me in a Chain: I am, however, very happy in this my Captivity, as you often bestow on me those Kisses and Caresses which I would have given the World for, when I was a Man. I hope this Discovery of my Person will not tend to my Disadvantage, but that you will still continue your accustomed Favours to
Your most Devoted
Humble Servant,
Pugg.
P. S. I would advise your little Shock-dog to keep out of my way; for as I look upon him to be the most formidable of my Rivals, I may chance one time or other to give him such a Snap as he won't like.
L.
Sir Paul Rycaut, the son of a London merchant, after an education at Trinity College, Cambridge, went in 1661 to Constantinople as Secretary to the Embassy. He published in 1668 his
Present State of the Ottoman Empire
, in three Books, and in 1670 the work here quoted,
A Particular Description of the Mahometan Religion, the Seraglio, the Maritime and Land Forces of Turkey
, abridged in 1701 in Savage's
History of the Turks
, and translated into French by Bespier in 1707. Consul afterwards at Smyrna, he wrote by command of Charles II. a book on
The Present State of the Greek and American Churches
, published 1679. After his return from the East he was made Privy Councillor and Judge of the High Court of Admiralty. He was knighted by James II., and one of the first Fellows of the Royal Society. He published between 1687 and 1700, the year of his death, Knolles's
History of the Turks
, with a continuation of his own, and also translated Platina's
Lives of the Popes
and Garcilaso de la Vega's
History of Peru
.
upon
| [No. 344] | Friday, April 4, 1712 | Steele |
In solo vivendi causa palato est.
Juv.
Mr. Spectator,
I think it has not yet fallen into your Way to discourse on little Ambition, or the many whimsical Ways Men fall into, to distinguish themselves among their Acquaintance: Such Observations, well pursued, would make a pretty History of low Life. I my self am got into a great Reputation, which arose (as most extraordinary Occurrences in a Man's Life seem to do) from a mere Accident. I was some Days ago unfortunately engaged among a Set of Gentlemen, who esteem a Man according to the Quantity of Food he throws down at a Meal. Now I, who am ever for distinguishing my self according to the Notions of Superiority which the rest of the Company entertain, ate so immoderately for their Applause, as had like to have cost me my Life. What added to my Misfortune was, that having naturally a good Stomach, and having lived soberly for some time, my Body was as well prepared for this Contention as if it had been by Appointment. I had quickly vanquished every Glutton in Company but one, who was such a Prodigy in his Way, and withal so very merry during the whole Entertainment, that he insensibly betrayed me to continue his Competitor, which in a little time concluded in a compleat Victory over my Rival; after which, by Way of Insult, I ate a considerable Proportion beyond what the Spectators thought me obliged in Honour to do. The Effect however of this Engagement, has made me resolve never to eat more for Renown; and I have, pursuant to this Resolution, compounded three Wagers I had depending on the Strength of my Stomach; which happened very luckily, because it was stipulated in our Articles either to play or pay. How a Man of common Sense could be thus engaged, is hard to determine; but the Occasion of this, is to desire you to inform several Gluttons of my Acquaintance, who look on me with Envy, that they had best moderate their Ambition in time, lest Infamy or Death attend their Success. I forgot to tell you, Sir, with what unspeakable Pleasure I received the Acclamations and Applause of the whole Board, when I had almost eat my Antagonist into Convulsions: It was then that I returned his Mirth upon him with such success as he was hardly able to swallow, though prompted by a Desire of Fame, and a passionate Fondness for Distinction: I had not endeavoured to excel so far, had not the Company been so loud in their Approbation of my Victory. I don't question but the same Thirst after Glory has often caused a Man to drink Quarts without taking Breath, and prompted Men to many other difficult Enterprizes; which if otherwise pursued, might turn very much to a Man's Advantage. This Ambition of mine was indeed extravagantly pursued; however I can't help observing, that you hardly ever see a Man commended for a good Stomach, but he immediately falls to eating more (tho' he had before dined) as well to confirm the Person that commended him in his good Opinion of him, as to convince any other at the Table, who may have been unattentive enough not to have done Justice to his Character.
I am, Sir,
Your most humble Servant,
Epicure Mammon.
Mr. Spectator,
I [have] writ to you three or four times, to desire you would take notice of an impertinent Custom the Women, the fine Women, have lately fallen into, of taking Snuff[1]. This silly Trick is attended with such a Coquet Air in some Ladies, and such a sedate masculine one in others, that I cannot tell which most to complain of; but they are to me equally disagreeable. Mrs. Saunter is so impatient of being without it, that she takes it as often as she does Salt at Meals; and as she affects a wonderful Ease and Negligence in all her manner, an upper Lip mixed with Snuff and the Sauce, is what is presented to the Observation of all who have the honour to eat with her. The pretty Creature her Neice does all she can to be as disagreeable as her Aunt; and if she is not as offensive to the Eye, she is quite as much to the Ear, and makes up all she wants in a confident Air, by a nauseous Rattle of the Nose, when the Snuff is delivered, and the Fingers make the Stops and Closes on the Nostrils. This, perhaps, is not a very courtly Image in speaking of Ladies; that is very true: but where arises the Offence? Is it in those who commit, or those who observe it? As for my part, I have been so extremely disgusted with this filthy Physick hanging on the Lip, that the most agreeable Conversation, or Person, has not been able to make up for it. As to those who take it for no other end but to give themselves Occasion for pretty Action, or to fill up little Intervals of Discourse, I can bear with them; but then they must not use it when another is speaking, who ought to be heard with too much respect, to admit of offering at that time from Hand to Hand the Snuff-Box. But Flavilla is so far taken with her Behaviour in this kind, that she pulls out her Box (which is indeed full of good Brazile) in the middle of the Sermon; and to shew she has the Audacity of a well-bred Woman, she offers it the Men as well as the Women who sit near her: But since by this Time all the World knows she has a fine Hand, I am in hopes she may give her self no further Trouble in this matter. On Sunday was sennight, when they came about for the Offering, she gave her Charity with a very good Air, but at the same Time asked the Churchwarden if he would take a Pinch. Pray, Sir, think of these things in time, and you will oblige,
Sir,
Your most humble servant.
T.
Charles Lillie, the perfumer, from whose shop at the corner of Beaufort Buildings the original Spectators were distributed, left behind him a book of receipts and observations,
The British Perfumer, Snuff Manufacturer, and Colourman's Guide
, of which the MS. was sold with his business, but which remained unpublished until 1822. He opens his Part III. on
Snuffs
with an account of the Origin of Snuff-taking in England, the practice being one that had become fashionable in his day, and only about eight years before the appearance of the Spectator. It dates from Sir George Rooke's expedition against Cadiz in 1702. Before that time snuff-taking in England was confined to a few luxurious foreigners and English who had travelled abroad. They took their snuff with pipes of the size of quills out of small spring boxes. The pipes let out a very small quantity upon the back of the hand, and this was snuffed up the nostrils with the intention of producing a sneeze which, says Lillie, 'I need not say forms now no part of the design or rather fashion of snuff-taking;' least of all in the ladies who took part in this method of snuffing defiance at the public enemy. When the fleet, after the failure of its enterprize against Cadiz, proceeded to cut off the French ships in Vigobay, on the way it plundered Port St. Mary and adjacent places, where, among other merchandize, seizure was made of several thousand barrels and casks, each containing four tin canisters of snuffs of the best growth and finest Spanish manufacture. At Vigo, among the merchandize taken from the shipping there destroyed, were 'prodigious quantities of gross snuff, from the Havannah, in bales, bags, and scrows' (untanned buffalo hides, used with the hairy-side inwards, for making packages), 'which were designed for manufacture in different parts of Spain.' Altogether fifty tons of snuff were brought home as part of the prize of the officers and sailors of the fleet. Of the coarse snuff, called Vigo snuff, the sailors, among whom it was shared, sold waggon-loads at Portsmouth, Plymouth, and Chatham, for not more than three-pence or four-pence a pound. The greater part of it was bought up by Spanish Jews, to their own very considerable profit. The fine snuffs taken at Port St. Mary, and divided among the officers, were sold by some of them at once for a small price, while others held their stocks and, as the snuff so taken became popular and gave a patriotic impulse to the introduction of a fashion which had hitherto been almost confined to foreigners, they got very high prices for it. This accounts for the fact that the ladies too had added the use of the perfumed snuff-box to their other fashionable accomplishments.
| [No. 345] | Saturday, April 5, 1712 | Addison |
Sanctius his animal, mentisque capacius altæ
Deerat adhuc, et quod dominari in cœtera posset,
Natus homo est.
Ov. Met.
The Accounts which
Raphael
gives of the Battel of Angels, and the Creation of the World, have in them those Qualifications which the Criticks judge requisite to an Episode. They are nearly related to the principal Action, and have a just Connexion with the Fable.
The eighth Book opens with a beautiful Description of the Impression which this Discourse of the Archangel made on our first Parent
s
.
Adam
afterwards, by a very natural Curiosity, enquires concerning the Motions of those Celestial Bodies which make the most glorious Appearance among the six days Works. The Poet here, with a great deal of Art, represents
Eve
as withdrawing from this part of their Conversation, to Amusements more suitable to her Sex. He well knew, that the Episode in this Book, which is filled with
Adam's
Account of his Passion and Esteem for
Eve
, would have been improper for her hearing, and has therefore devised very just and beautiful Reasons for her Retiring.
So spake our Sire, and by his Countenance seem'd
Entring on studious Thoughts abstruse: which Eve
Perceiving, where she sat retired in sight,
With lowliness majestick, from her Seat,
And Grace, that won who saw to wish her Stay,
Rose; and went forth among her Fruits and Flowers
To visit how they prosper'd, Bud and Bloom,
Her Nursery: they at her coming sprung,
And touch'd by her fair Tendance gladlier grew.
Yet went she not, as not with such Discourse
Delighted, or not capable her Ear
Of what was high: Such Pleasure she reserved,
Adam relating, she sole Auditress;
Her Husband the Relater she preferr'd
Before the Angel, and of him to ask
Chose rather: he, she knew, would intermix
Grateful Digressions, and solve high Dispute
With conjugal Caresses; from his Lip
Not Words alone pleas'd her. O when meet now
Such Pairs, in Love and mutual Honour join'd!
The Angel's returning a doubtful Answer to
Adam's
Enquiries, was not only proper for the Moral Reason which the Poet assigns, but because it would have been highly absurd to have given the Sanction of an Archangel to any particular System of Philosophy. The chief Points in the
Ptolemaick
and
Copernican
Hypothesis are described with great Conciseness and Perspicuity, and at the same time dressed in very pleasing and poetical Images.
Adam
, to detain the Angel, enters afterwards upon his own History, and relates to him the Circumstances in which he found himself upon his Creation; as also his Conversation with his Maker, and his first meeting with
Eve
. There is no part of the Poem more apt to raise the Attention of the Reader, than this Discourse of our great Ancestor; as nothing can be more surprizing and delightful to us, than to hear the Sentiments that arose in the first Man while he was yet new and fresh from the Hands of his Creator. The Poet has interwoven every thing which is delivered upon this Subject in Holy Writ with so many beautiful Imaginations of his own, that nothing can be conceived more just and natural than this whole Episode. As our Author knew this Subject could not but be agreeable to his Reader, he would not throw it into the Relation of the six days Works, but reserved it for a distinct Episode, that he might have an opportunity of expatiating upon it more at large. Before I enter on this part of the Poem, I cannot but take notice of two shining Passages in the Dialogue between
Adam
and the Angel. The first is that wherein our Ancestor gives an Account of the pleasure he took in conversing with him, which contains a very noble Moral.
For while I sit with thee, I seem in Heav'n,
And sweeter thy Discourse is to my Ear
Than Fruits of Palm-tree (pleasantest to Thirst
And Hunger both from Labour) at the hour
Of sweet Repast: they satiate, and soon fill,
Tho' pleasant; but thy Words with Grace divine
Imbu'd, bring to their Sweetness no Satiety.
The other I shall mention, is that in which the Angel gives a Reason why he should be glad to hear the Story
Adam
was about to relate.
For I that day was absent, as befel,
Bound on a Voyage uncouth and obscure;
Far on Excursion towards the Gates of Hell,
Squar'd in full Legion such Command we had
To see that none thence issued forth a Spy,
Or Enemy; while God was in his Work,
Lest he, incens'd at such Eruption bold,
Destruction with Creation might have mix'd.
There is no question but our Poet drew the Image in what follows from that in
Virgil's
sixth Book, where
Æneas
and the
Sibyl
stand before the Adamantine Gates, which are there described as shut upon the Place of Torments, and listen to the Groans, the Clank of Chains, and the Noise of Iron Whips, that were heard in those Regions of Pain and Sorrow.
—Fast we found, fast shut
The dismal Gates, and barricado'd strong;
But long ere our Approaching heard within
Noise, other than the Sound of Dance or Song,
Torment, and loud Lament, and furious Rage.
Adam
then proceeds to give an account of his Condition and Sentiments immediately after his Creation. How agreeably does he represent the Posture in which he found himself, the beautiful Landskip that surrounded him, and the Gladness of Heart which grew up in him on that occasion?
—As new waked from soundest Sleep,
Soft on the flow'ry Herb I found me laid
In balmy Sweat, which with his Beams the Sun
Soon dried, and on the reaking Moisture fed.
Streight towards Heav'n my wond'ring Eyes I turn'd,
And gazed awhile the ample Sky, till rais'd
By quick instinctive Motion, up I sprung,
As thitherward endeavouring, and upright
Stood on my Feet: About me round I saw
Hill, Dale, and shady Woods, and sunny Plains,
And liquid lapse of murmuring Streams; by these
Creatures that liv'd, and mov'd, and walked, or flew,
Birds on the Branches warbling; all things smil'd:
With Fragrance, and with Joy my Heart o'erflow'd.
Adam
is afterwards describ'd as surprized at his own Existence, and taking a Survey of himself, and of all the Works of Nature. He likewise is represented as discovering by the Light of Reason, that he and every thing about him must have been the Effect of some Being infinitely good and powerful, and that this Being had a right to his Worship and Adoration. His first Address to the Sun, and to those Parts of the Creation which made the most distinguished Figure, is very natural and amusing to the Imagination.
—Thou Sun, said I, fair Light,
And thou enlighten'd Earth, so fresh and gay,
Ye Hills and Dales, ye Rivers, Woods and Plains,
And ye that live and move, fair Creatures tell,
Tell if you saw, how came I thus, how here?
His next Sentiment, when upon his first going to sleep he fancies himself losing his Existence, and falling away into nothing, can never be sufficiently admired. His Dream, in which he still preserves the Consciousness of his Existence, together with his removal into the Garden which was prepared for his Reception, are also Circumstances finely imagined, and grounded upon what is delivered in Sacred Story.
These and the like wonderful Incidents in this Part of the Work, have in them all the Beauties of Novelty, at the same time that they have all the Graces of Nature. They are such as none but a great Genius could have thought of, tho', upon the perusal of them, they seem to rise of themselves from the Subject of which he treats. In a word, tho' they are natural, they are not obvious, which is the true Character of all fine Writing.
The Impression which the Interdiction of the Tree of Life left in the Mind of our first Parent, is describ'd with great Strength and Judgment; as the Image of the several Beasts and Birds passing in review before him is very beautiful and lively.
—Each Bird and Beast behold
Approaching two and two, these cowring low
With Blandishment; each Bird stoop'd on his Wing:
I nam'd them as they pass'd—
Adam
, in the next place, describes a Conference which he held with his Maker upon the Subject of Solitude. The Poet here represents the supreme Being, as making an Essay of his own Work, and putting to the tryal that reasoning Faculty, with which he had endued his Creature.
Adam
urges, in this Divine Colloquy, the Impossibility of his being happy, tho' he was the Inhabitant of Paradise, and Lord of the whole Creation, without the Conversation and Society of some rational Creature, who should partake those Blessings with him. This Dialogue, which is supported chiefly by the Beauty of the Thoughts, without other poetical Ornaments, is as fine a Part as any in the whole Poem: The more the Reader examines the Justness and Delicacy of its Sentiments, the more he will find himself pleased with it. The Poet has wonderfully preserved the Character of Majesty and Condescension in the Creator, and at the same time that of Humility and Adoration in the Creature, as particularly in the following Lines:
Thus I presumptuous; and the Vision bright,
As with a Smile more bright-tied, thus reply'd, &c.
—I, with leave of Speech implor'd
And humble Deprecation, thus reply d:
Let not my Words offend thee, Heav'nly Power,
My Maker, be propitious while I speak, &c.
Adam
then proceeds to give an account of his second Sleep, and of the Dream in which he beheld the Formation of
Eve
. The new Passion that was awaken'd in him at the sight of her, is touch'd very finely.
Under his forming Hands a Creature grew,
Manlike, but different Sex: so lovely fair,
That what seem'd fair in all the World, seemed now
Mean, or in her summ'd up, in her contained,
And in her Looks; which from that time infused
Sweetness info my Heart, unfelt before:
And into all things from her Air inspired
The Spirit of Love and amorous Delight.
Adam's
Distress upon losing sight of this beautiful Phantom, with his Exclamations of Joy and Gratitude at the discovery of a real Creature, who resembled the Apparition which had been presented to him in his Dream; the Approaches he makes to her, and his Manner of Courtship; are all laid together in a most exquisite Propriety of Sentiments.
Tho' this Part of the Poem is work'd up with great Warmth and Spirit, the Love which is described in it is every way suitable to a State of Innocence. If the Reader compares the Description which
Adam
here gives of his leading
Eve
to the Nuptial Bower, with that which Mr.
Dryden
has made on the same occasion in a Scene of his Fall of Man, he will be sensible of the great care which
Milton
took to avoid all Thoughts on so delicate a Subject, that might be offensive to Religion or Good-Manners. The Sentiments are chaste, but not cold; and convey to the Mind Ideas of the most transporting Passion, and of the greatest Purity. What a noble Mixture of Rapture and Innocence has the Author join'd together, in the Reflection which
Adam
makes on the Pleasures of Love, compared to those of Sense.
Thus have I told thee all my State, and brought
My Story to the sum of earthly Bliss,
Which I enjoy; and must confess to find
In all things else Delight indeed, but such
As us'd or not, works in the Mind no Change
Nor vehement Desire; these Delicacies
I mean of Taste, Sight, Smell, Herbs, Fruits, and Flowers,
Walks, and the Melody of Birds: but here
Far otherwise, transported I behold,
Transported touch; here Passion first I felt,
Commotion strange! in all Enjoyments else
Superiour and unmov'd, here only weak
Against the Charms of Beauty's powerful Glance.
Or Nature fail'd in me, and left some Part
Not Proof enough such Object to sustain;
Or from my Side subducting, took perhaps
More than enough; at least on her bestowed
Too much of Ornament in outward shew
Elaborate, of inward less exact.
—When I approach
Her Loveliness, so absolute she seems
And in herself compleat, so well to know
Her own, that what she wills to do or say
Seems wisest, vertuousest, discreetest, best:
All higher Knowledge in her Presence falls
Degraded: Wisdom in discourse with her
Loses discountenanced, and like Folly shews;
Authority and Reason on her wait,
As one intended first, not after made
Occasionally: and to consummate all,
Greatness of Mind, and Nobleness their Seat
Build in her loveliest, and create an Awe
About her, as a Guard angelick plac'd.
These Sentiments of Love, in our first Parent, gave the Angel such an Insight into Humane Nature, that he seems apprehensive of the Evils which might befall the Species in general, as well as
Adam
in particular, from the Excess of this Passion. He therefore fortifies him against it by timely Admonitions; which very artfully prepare the Mind of the Reader for the Occurrences of the next Book, where the Weakness of which
Adam
here gives such distant Discoveries, brings about that fatal Event which is the Subject of the Poem. His Discourse, which follows the gentle Rebuke he received from the Angel, shews that his Love, however violent it might appear, was still founded in Reason, and consequently not improper for Paradise.
Neither her outside Form so fair, nor aught
In Procreation common to all kinds,
(Tho' higher of the genial Bed by far,
And with mysterious Reverence I deem)
So much delights me, as those graceful Acts,
Those thousand Decencies that daily flow
From all her Words and Actions, mixt with Love
And sweet Compliance, which declare unfeign'd
Union of Mind, or in us both one Soul;
Harmony to behold in—wedded Pair!
Adam's
Speech, at parting with the Angel, has in it a Deference and Gratitude agreeable to an inferior Nature, and at the same time a certain Dignity and Greatness suitable to the Father of Mankind in his State of Innocence.
L.
| [No. 346] | Monday, April 7, 1712 | Steele |
Consuetudinem benignitatis largitioni Munerum longe antepono. Hæc est Gravium hominum atque Magnorum; Illa quasi assentatorum populi, multitudinis levitatem voluptate quasi titillantium.
Tull.
When we consider the Offices of humane Life, there is, methinks, something in what we ordinarily call Generosity, which when carefully examined, seems to flow rather from a loose and unguarded Temper, than an honest and liberal Mind. For this reason it is absolutely necessary that all Liberality should have for its Basis and Support Frugality. By this means the beneficent Spirit works in a Man from the Convictions of Reason, not from the Impulses of Passion. The generous Man, in the ordinary acceptation, without respect to the Demands of his own Family, will soon find, upon the Foot of his Account, that he has sacrificed to Fools, Knaves, Flatterers, or the deservedly Unhappy, all the Opportunities of affording any future Assistance where it ought to be. Let him therefore reflect, that if to bestow be in it self laudable, should not a Man take care to secure Ability to do things praiseworthy as long as he lives? Or could there be a more cruel Piece of Raillery upon a Man who should have reduc'd his Fortune below the Capacity of acting according to his natural Temper, than to say of him, That Gentleman was generous? My beloved Author therefore has, in the Sentence on the Top of my Paper, turned his Eye with a certain Satiety from beholding the Addresses to the People by Largesses and publick Entertainments, which he asserts to be in general vicious, and are always to be regulated according to the Circumstances of Time and a Man's own Fortune. A constant Benignity in Commerce with the rest of the World, which ought to run through all a Man's Actions, has Effects more useful to those whom you oblige, and less ostentatious in your self. He turns his Recommendation of this Virtue in commercial Life: and according to him a Citizen who is frank in his Kindnesses, and abhors Severity in his Demands; he who in buying, selling, lending, doing acts of good Neighbourhood, is just and easy; he who appears naturally averse to Disputes, and above the Sense of little Sufferings; bears a nobler Character, and does much more good to Mankind, than any other Man's Fortune without Commerce can possibly support. For the Citizen above all other Men has Opportunities of arriving at that highest Fruit of Wealth, to be liberal without the least Expence of a Man's own Fortune. It is not to be denied but such a Practice is liable to hazard; but this therefore adds to the Obligation, that, among Traders, he who obliges is as much concerned to keep the Favour a Secret, as he who receives it. The unhappy Distinctions among us in England are so great, that to celebrate the Intercourse of commercial Friendship, (with which I am daily made acquainted) would be to raise the virtuous Man so many Enemies of the contrary Party. I am obliged to conceal all I know of
Tom
the Bounteous, who lends at the ordinary Interest, to give Men of less Fortune Opportunities of making greater Advantages. He conceals, under a rough Air and distant Behaviour, a bleeding Compassion and womanish Tenderness. This is governed by the most exact Circumspection, that there is no Industry wanting in the Person whom he is to serve, and that he is guilty of no improper Expences. This I know of
Tom
, but who dare say it of so known a
Tory
? The same Care I was forced to use some time ago in the Report of another's Virtue, and said fifty instead of a hundred, because the Man I pointed at was a
Whig
. Actions of this kind are popular without being invidious: for every Man of ordinary Circumstances looks upon a Man who has this known Benignity in his Nature, as a Person ready to be his Friend upon such Terms as he ought to expect it; and the Wealthy, who may envy such a Character, can do no Injury to its Interests but by the Imitation of it, in which the good Citizens will rejoice to be rivalled. I know not how to form to myself a greater Idea of Humane Life, than in what is the Practice of some wealthy Men whom I could name, that make no step to the Improvement of their own Fortunes, wherein they do not also advance those of other Men, who would languish in Poverty without that Munificence. In a Nation where there are so many publick Funds to be supported, I know not whether he can be called a good Subject, who does not imbark some part of his Fortune with the State, to whose Vigilance he owes the Security of the whole. This certainly is an immediate way of laying an Obligation upon many, and extending his Benignity the furthest a Man can possibly, who is not engaged in Commerce. But he who trades, besides giving the State some part of this sort of Credit he gives his Banker, may in all the Occurrences of his Life have his Eye upon removing Want from the Door of the Industrious, and defending the unhappy upright Man from Bankruptcy. Without this Benignity, Pride or Vengeance will precipitate a Man to chuse the Receipt of half his Demands from one whom he has undone, rather than the whole from one to whom he has shewn Mercy. This Benignity is essential to the Character of a fair Trader, and any Man who designs to enjoy his Wealth with Honour and Self-Satisfaction: Nay, it would not be hard to maintain, that the Practice of supporting good and industrious Men, would carry a Man further even to his Profit, than indulging the Propensity of serving and obliging the Fortunate. My Author argues on this Subject, in order to incline Men's Minds to those who want them most, after this manner; We must always consider the Nature of things, and govern our selves accordingly. The wealthy Man, when he has repaid you, is upon a Ballance with you; but the Person whom you favour'd with a Loan, if he be a good Man, will think himself in your Debt after he has paid you. The Wealthy and the Conspicuous are not obliged by the Benefit you do them, they think they conferred a Benefit when they receive one. Your good Offices are always suspected, and it is with them the same thing to expect their Favour as to receive it. But the Man below you, who knows in the Good you have done him, you respected himself more than his Circumstances, does not act like an obliged Man only to him from whom he has received a Benefit, but also to all who are capable of doing him one. And whatever little Offices he can do for you, he is so far from magnifying it, that he will labour to extenuate it in all his Actions and Expressions. Moreover, the Regard to what you do to a great Man, at best is taken notice of no further than by himself or his Family; but what you do to a Man of an humble Fortune, (provided always that he is a good and a modest Man) raises the Affections towards you of all Men of that Character (of which there are many) in the whole City.
There is nothing gains a Reputation to a Preacher so much as his own Practice; I am therefore casting about what Act of Benignity is in the Power of a
Spectator
. Alas, that lies but in a very narrow compass, and I think the most immediate under my Patronage, are either Players, or such whose Circumstances bear an Affinity with theirs: All therefore I am able to do at this time of this Kind, is to tell the Town that on Friday the 11th of this Instant April, there will be perform'd in York-Buildings a Consort of Vocal and Instrumental Musick, for the Benefit of Mr.
Edward Keen
, the Father of twenty Children; and that this Day the haughty
George Powell
hopes all the good-natur'd part of the Town will favour him, whom they Applauded in
Alexander, Timon, Lear
, and
Orestes
, with their Company this Night, when he hazards all his heroick Glory for their Approbation in the humbler Condition of honest
Jack Falstaffe.
T.
| [No. 347] | Tuesday, April 8, 1712 | Budgell |
Quis furor ô Cives! quæ tanta licentia ferri!
Lucan.
I do not question but my Country Readers have been very much surprized at the several Accounts they have met with in our publick Papers of that Species of Men among us, lately known by the Name of Mohocks. I find the Opinions of the Learned, as to their Origin and Designs, are altogether various, insomuch that very many begin to doubt whether indeed there were ever any such Society of Men. The Terror which spread it self over the whole Nation some Years since, on account of the Irish, is still fresh in most Peoples Memories, tho' it afterwards appeared there was not the least Ground for that general Consternation.
The late Panick Fear was, in the Opinion of many deep and penetrating Persons, of the same nature. These will have it, that the Mohocks are like those Spectres and Apparitions which frighten several Towns and Villages in her Majesty's Dominions, tho' they were never seen by any of the Inhabitants. Others are apt to think that these Mohocks are a kind of Bull-Beggars, first invented by prudent married Men, and Masters of Families, in order to deter their Wives and Daughters from taking the Air at unseasonable Hours; and that when they tell them the Mohocks will catch them, it is a Caution of the same nature with that of our Fore-fathers, when they bid their Children have a care of Raw-head and Bloody-bones.
For my own part, I am afraid there was too much Reason for that great Alarm the whole City has been in upon this Occasion; tho' at the same time I must own that I am in some doubt whether the following Pieces are Genuine and Authentick; and the more so, because I am not fully satisfied that the Name by which the Emperor subscribes himself, is altogether conformable to the Indian Orthography.
I shall only further inform my Readers, that it was some time since I receiv'd the following Letter and Manifesto, tho' for particular Reasons I did not think fit to publish them till now.
To the Spectator.
Sir,
"Finding that our earnest Endeavours for the Good of Mankind have been basely and maliciously represented to the World, we send you enclosed our Imperial Manifesto, which it is our Will and Pleasure that you forthwith communicate to the Publick, by inserting it in your next daily Paper. We do not doubt of your ready Compliance in this Particular, and therefore bid you heartily Farewell."
Sign'd,
Taw Waw Eben Zan Kaladar,
Emperor of the Mohocks.The Manifesto of Taw Waw Eben Zan Kaladar, Emperor of the Mohocks.
"Whereas we have received Information from sundry Quarters of this great and populous City, of several Outrages committed on the Legs, Arms, Noses, and other Parts of the good People of England, by such as have styled themselves our Subjects; in order to vindicate our Imperial Dignity from those false Aspersions which have been cast on it, as if we our selves might have encouraged or abetted any such Practices; we have, by these Presents, thought fit to signify our utmost Abhorrence and Detestation of all such tumultuous and irregular Proceedings: and do hereby further give notice, that if any Person or Persons has or have suffered any Wound, Hurt, Damage or Detriment in his or their Limb or Limbs, otherwise than shall be hereafter specified, the said Person or Persons, upon applying themselves to such as we shall appoint for the Inspection and Redress of the Grievances aforesaid, shall be forthwith committed to the Care of our principal Surgeon, and be cured at our own Expence, in some one or other of those Hospitals which we are now erecting for that purpose.
"And to the end that no one may, either through Ignorance or Inadvertency, incur those Penalties which we have thought fit to inflict on Persons of loose and dissolute Lives, we do hereby notifie to the Publick, that if any Man be knocked down or assaulted while he is employed in his lawful Business, at proper Hours, that it is not done by our Order; and we do hereby permit and allow any such person so knocked down or assaulted, to rise again, and defend himself in the best manner that he is able.
"We do also command all and every our good Subjects, that they do not presume, upon any Pretext whatsoever, to issue and sally forth from their respective Quarters till between the Hours of Eleven and Twelve. That they never Tip the Lion upon Man, Woman or Child, till the Clock at St. Dunstan's shall have struck One.
"That the Sweat be never given but between the Hours of One and Two; always provided, that our Hunters may begin to Hunt a little after the Close of the Evening, any thing to the contrary herein notwithstanding. Provided also, that if ever they are reduced to the Necessity of Pinking, it shall always be in the most fleshy Parts, and such as are least exposed to view.
"It is [also] our Imperial Will and Pleasure, that our good Subjects the Sweaters do establish their Hummums[1] in such close Places, Alleys, Nooks, and Corners, that the Patient or Patients may not be in danger of catching Cold.
"That the Tumblers, to whose Care we chiefly commit the Female Sex, confine themselves to Drury-Lane and the Purlieus of the Temple; and that every other Party and Division of our Subjects do each of them keep within the respective Quarters we have allotted to them. Provided nevertheless, that nothing herein contained shall in any wise be construed to extend to the Hunters, who have our full Licence and Permission to enter into any Part of the Town where-ever their Game shall lead them.
"And whereas we have nothing more at our Imperial Heart than the Reformation of the Cities of London and Westminster, which to our unspeakable Satisfaction we have in some measure already effected, we do hereby earnestly pray and exhort all Husbands, Fathers, Housekeepers and Masters of Families, in either of the aforesaid Cities, not only to repair themselves to their respective Habitations at early and seasonable Hours; but also to keep their Wives and Daughters, Sons, Servants, and Apprentices, from appearing in the Streets at those Times and Seasons which may expose them to a military Discipline, as it is practised by our good Subjects the Mohocks: and we do further promise, on our Imperial Word, that as soon as the Reformation aforesaid shall be brought about, we will forthwith cause all Hostilities to cease.
"Given from our Court at the Devil-Tavern,
March 15, 1712."
The Manifesto of Taw Waw Eben Zan Kaladar, Emperor of the Mohocks.
"Whereas we have received Information from sundry Quarters of this great and populous City, of several Outrages committed on the Legs, Arms, Noses, and other Parts of the good People of England, by such as have styled themselves our Subjects; in order to vindicate our Imperial Dignity from those false Aspersions which have been cast on it, as if we our selves might have encouraged or abetted any such Practices; we have, by these Presents, thought fit to signify our utmost Abhorrence and Detestation of all such tumultuous and irregular Proceedings: and do hereby further give notice, that if any Person or Persons has or have suffered any Wound, Hurt, Damage or Detriment in his or their Limb or Limbs, otherwise than shall be hereafter specified, the said Person or Persons, upon applying themselves to such as we shall appoint for the Inspection and Redress of the Grievances aforesaid, shall be forthwith committed to the Care of our principal Surgeon, and be cured at our own Expence, in some one or other of those Hospitals which we are now erecting for that purpose.
"And to the end that no one may, either through Ignorance or Inadvertency, incur those Penalties which we have thought fit to inflict on Persons of loose and dissolute Lives, we do hereby notifie to the Publick, that if any Man be knocked down or assaulted while he is employed in his lawful Business, at proper Hours, that it is not done by our Order; and we do hereby permit and allow any such person so knocked down or assaulted, to rise again, and defend himself in the best manner that he is able.
"We do also command all and every our good Subjects, that they do not presume, upon any Pretext whatsoever, to issue and sally forth from their respective Quarters till between the Hours of Eleven and Twelve. That they never Tip the Lion upon Man, Woman or Child, till the Clock at St. Dunstan's shall have struck One.
"That the Sweat be never given but between the Hours of One and Two; always provided, that our Hunters may begin to Hunt a little after the Close of the Evening, any thing to the contrary herein notwithstanding. Provided also, that if ever they are reduced to the Necessity of Pinking, it shall always be in the most fleshy Parts, and such as are least exposed to view.
"It is [also] our Imperial Will and Pleasure, that our good Subjects the Sweaters do establish their Hummums[1] in such close Places, Alleys, Nooks, and Corners, that the Patient or Patients may not be in danger of catching Cold.
"That the Tumblers, to whose Care we chiefly commit the Female Sex, confine themselves to Drury-Lane and the Purlieus of the Temple; and that every other Party and Division of our Subjects do each of them keep within the respective Quarters we have allotted to them. Provided nevertheless, that nothing herein contained shall in any wise be construed to extend to the Hunters, who have our full Licence and Permission to enter into any Part of the Town where-ever their Game shall lead them.
"And whereas we have nothing more at our Imperial Heart than the Reformation of the Cities of London and Westminster, which to our unspeakable Satisfaction we have in some measure already effected, we do hereby earnestly pray and exhort all Husbands, Fathers, Housekeepers and Masters of Families, in either of the aforesaid Cities, not only to repair themselves to their respective Habitations at early and seasonable Hours; but also to keep their Wives and Daughters, Sons, Servants, and Apprentices, from appearing in the Streets at those Times and Seasons which may expose them to a military Discipline, as it is practised by our good Subjects the Mohocks: and we do further promise, on our Imperial Word, that as soon as the Reformation aforesaid shall be brought about, we will forthwith cause all Hostilities to cease.
"Given from our Court at the Devil-Tavern,
March 15, 1712."
X.
Turkish Sweating Baths. The
Hummums
"in Covent Garden was one of the first of these baths (
bagnios
) set up in England."
| [No. 348] | Wednesday, April 9, 1712 | Steele |
Invidiam placare paras virtute relicta?
Hor.
Mr. Spectator,
'I have not seen you lately at any of the Places where I visit, so that I am afraid you are wholly unacquainted with what passes among my part of the World, who are, tho' I say it, without Controversy, the most accomplished and best bred of the Town. Give me leave to tell you, that I am extremely discomposed when I hear Scandal, and am an utter Enemy to all manner of Detraction, and think it the greatest Meanness that People of Distinction can be guilty of: However, it is hardly possible to come into Company, where you do not find them pulling one another to pieces, and that from no other Provocation but that of hearing any one commended. Merit, both as to Wit and Beauty, is become no other than the Possession of a few trifling People's Favour, which you cannot possibly arrive at, if you have really any thing in you that is deserving. What they would bring to pass, is, to make all Good and Evil consist in Report, and with Whispers, Calumnies and Impertinencies, to have the Conduct of those Reports. By this means Innocents are blasted upon their first Appearance in Town; and there is nothing more required to make a young Woman the object of Envy and Hatred, than to deserve Love and Admiration. This abominable Endeavour to suppress or lessen every thing that is praise-worthy, is as frequent among the Men as the Women. If I can remember what passed at a Visit last Night, it will serve as an Instance that the Sexes are equally inclined to Defamation, with equal Malice, with equal Impotence. Jack Triplett came into my Lady Airy's about Eight of the Clock. You know the manner we sit at a Visit, and I need not describe the Circle; but Mr. Triplett came in, introduced by two Tapers supported by a spruce Servant, whose Hair is under a Cap till my Lady's Candles are all lighted up, and the Hour of Ceremony begins: I say, Jack Triplett came in, and singing (for he is really good Company) 'Every Feature, Charming Creature,—he went on, It is a most unreasonable thing that People cannot go peaceably to see their Friends, but these Murderers are let loose. Such a Shape! such an Air! what a Glance was that as her Chariot pass'd by mine—My Lady herself interrupted him; Pray who is this fine Thing—I warrant, says another, 'tis the Creature I was telling your Ladyship of just now. You were telling of? says Jack; I wish I had been so happy as to have come in and heard you, for I have not Words to say what she is: But if an agreeable Height, a modest Air, a Virgin Shame, and Impatience of being beheld, amidst a Blaze of ten thousand Charms—The whole Room flew out—Oh Mr. Triplett!—When Mrs. Lofty, a known Prude, said she believed she knew whom the Gentleman meant; but she was indeed, as he civilly represented her, impatient of being beheld —- Then turning to the Lady next to her—The most unbred Creature you ever saw. Another pursued the Discourse: As unbred, Madam, as you may think her, she is extremely bely'd if she is the Novice she appears; she was last Week at a Ball till two in the Morning; Mr. Triplett knows whether he was the happy Man that took Care of her home; but—This was followed by some particular Exception that each Woman in the Room made to some peculiar Grace or Advantage so that Mr. Triplett was beaten from one Limb and Feature to another, till he was forced to resign the whole Woman. In the end I took notice Triplett recorded all this Malice in his Heart; and saw in his Countenance, and a certain waggish Shrug, that he design'd to repeat the Conversation: I therefore let the Discourse die, and soon after took an Occasion to commend a certain Gentleman of my Acquaintance for a Person of singular Modesty, Courage, Integrity, and withal as a Man of an entertaining Conversation, to which Advantages he had a Shape and Manner peculiarly graceful. Mr. Triplett, who is a Woman's Man, seem'd to hear me with Patience enough commend the Qualities of his Mind: He never heard indeed but that he was a very honest Man, and no Fool; but for a fine Gentleman, he must ask Pardon. Upon no other Foundation than this, Mr. Triplett took occasion to give the Gentleman's Pedigree, by what Methods some part of the Estate was acquired, how much it was beholden to a Marriage for the present Circumstances of it: After all, he could see nothing but a common Man in his Person, his Breeding or Understanding.
Thus, Mr. Spectator, this impertinent Humour of diminishing every one who is produced in Conversation to their Advantage, runs thro the World; and I am, I confess, so fearful of the Force of ill Tongues, that I have begged of all those who are my Well-wishers never to commend me, for it will but bring my Frailties into Examination, and I had rather be unobserved, than conspicuous for disputed Perfections. I am confident a thousand young People, who would have been Ornaments to Society, have, from Fear of Scandal, never dared to exert themselves in the polite Arts of Life. Their Lives have passed away in an odious Rusticity, in spite of great Advantages of Person, Genius and Fortune. There is a vicious Terror of being blamed in some well-inclin'd People, and a wicked Pleasure in suppressing them in others; both which I recommend to your Spectatorial Wisdom to animadvert upon; and if you can be successful in it, I need not say how much you will deserve of the Town; but new Toasts will owe to you their Beauty, and new Wits their Fame. I am,
Sir,
Your most Obedient
Humble Servant,
Mary."
T.
| [No. 349] | Thursday, April 10, 1712 | Addison |
Quos ille timorum
Maximus haud urget lethi metus: inde ruendi
In ferrum mens prona viris, animæque capaces
Mortis.
Lucan.
I am very much pleased with a Consolatory Letter of
Phalaris
, to one who had lost a Son that was a young Man of great Merit. The Thought with which he comforts the afflicted Father, is, to the best of my Memory, as follows; That he should consider Death had set a kind of Seal upon his Son's Character, and placed him out of the Reach of Vice and Infamy: That while he liv'd he was still within the Possibility of falling away from Virtue, and losing the Fame of which he was possessed. Death only closes a Man's Reputation, and determines it as good or bad.
This, among other Motives, may be one Reason why we are naturally averse to the launching out into a Man's Praise till his Head is laid in the Dust. Whilst he is capable of changing, we may be forced to retract our Opinions. He may forfeit the Esteem we have conceived of him, and some time or other appear to us under a different Light from what he does at present. In short, as the Life of any Man cannot be call'd happy or unhappy, so neither can it be pronounced vicious or virtuous, before the Conclusion of it.
It was
this consideration that
Epaminondas
, being asked whether
Chabrias
,
Iphicrates
, or he himself, deserved most to be esteemed? You must first see us die, said he, before that Question can be answered
.
As there is not a more melancholy Consideration to a good Man than his being obnoxious to such a Change, so there is nothing more glorious than to keep up an Uniformity in his Actions, and preserve the Beauty of his Character to the last.
The End of a Man's Life is often compared to the winding up of a well-written Play, where the principal Persons still act in Character, whatever the Fate is which they undergo. There is scarce a great Person in the
Grecian
or
Roman
History, whose Death has not been remarked upon by some Writer or other, and censured or applauded according to the Genius or Principles of the Person who has descanted on it.
Monsieur de St. Evremont
is very particular in setting forth the Constancy and Courage of
Petronius Arbiter
during his last Moments, and thinks he discovers in them a greater Firmness of Mind and Resolution than in the Death of
Seneca, Cato
, or
Socrates
. There is no question but this polite Author's Affectation of appearing singular in his Remarks, and making Discoveries which had escaped the Observation of others, threw him into this course of Reflection. It was
Petronius's
Merit, that he died in the same Gaiety of Temper in which he lived; but as his Life was altogether loose and dissolute, the Indifference which he showed at the Close of it is to be looked upon as a piece of natural Carelessness and Levity, rather than Fortitude. The Resolution of
Socrates
proceeded from very different Motives, the Consciousness of a well-spent Life, and the prospect of a happy Eternity. If the ingenious Author above mentioned was so pleased with Gaiety of Humour in a dying Man, he might have found a much nobler Instance of it in our Countryman
Sir Thomas More.
This great and learned Man was famous for enlivening his ordinary Discourses with Wit and Pleasantry; and, as
Erasmus
tells him in an
Epistle Dedicatory
, acted in all parts of Life like a second
Democritus
.
He died upon a Point of Religion, and is respected as a Martyr by that Side for which he suffer'd. The innocent Mirth which had been so conspicuous in his Life, did not forsake him to the last: He maintain'd the same Chearfulness of Heart upon the Scaffold, which he used to shew at his Table; and upon laying his Head on the Block, gave Instances of that Good-Humour with which he had always entertained his Friends in the most ordinary Occurrences. His Death was of a piece with his Life. There was nothing in it new, forced, or affected. He did not look upon the severing of his Head from his Body as a Circumstance that ought to produce any Change in the Disposition of his Mind; and as he died under a fixed and settled Hope of Immortality, he thought any unusual degree of Sorrow and Concern improper on such an Occasion, as had nothing in it which could deject or terrify him.
There is no great danger of Imitation from this Example. Men's natural Fears will be a sufficient Guard against it. I shall only observe, that what was Philosophy in this extraordinary Man, would be Frenzy in one who does not resemble him as well in the Chearfulness of his Temper, as in the Sanctity of his Life and Manners.
I shall conclude this Paper with the Instance of a Person who seems to me to have shewn more Intrepidity and Greatness of Soul in his dying Moments, than what we meet with among any of the most celebrated
Greeks
and
Romans
. I
with this Instance in the
History of the Revolutions in Portugal
, written by the
Abbot de Vertot
.
When
Don Sebastian
, King of Portugal, had invaded the Territories of
Muly Moluc
, Emperor of Morocco, in order to dethrone him, and set his Crown upon the Head of his Nephew,
Moluc
was wearing away with a Distemper which he himself knew was incurable. However, he prepared for the Reception of so formidable an Enemy. He was indeed so far spent with his Sickness, that he did not expect to live out the whole Day, when the last decisive Battel was given; but knowing the fatal Consequences that would happen to his Children and People, in case he should die before he put an end to that War, he commanded his principal Officers that if he died during the Engagement, they should conceal his Death from the Army, and that they should ride up to the Litter in which his Corpse was carried, under Pretence of receiving Orders from him as usual. Before the Battel begun, he was carried through all the Ranks of his Army in an open Litter, as they stood drawn up in Array, encouraging them to fight valiantly in defence of their Religion and Country. Finding afterwards the Battel to go against him, tho' he was very near his last Agonies, he threw himself out of his Litter, rallied his Army, and led them on to the Charge; which afterwards ended in a compleat Victory on the side of the Moors. He had no sooner brought his Men to the Engagement, but finding himself utterly spent, he was again replaced in his Litter, where laying his Finger on his Mouth, to enjoin Secrecy to his Officers, who stood about him, he died a few Moments after in that Posture.
L.
Plutarch's
Life of Epaminondas.
The Abbé Vertot—Renatus Aubert de Vertot d'Auboeuf—was born in 1655, and living in the
Spectator's
time. He died in 1735, aged 80. He had exchanged out of the severe order of the Capuchins into that of the Præmonstratenses when, at the age of 34, he produced, in 1689, his first work, the
History of the Revolutions of Portugal,
here quoted. Continuing to write history, in 1701 he was made a member, and in 1705 a paid member, of the Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres.
| [No. 350] | Friday, April 11, 1712 | Steele |
Ea animi elatio quæ cernitur in periculis, si Justitia vacat pugnatque pro suis commodis, in vitio est.
Tull.
Captain Sentrey
was last Night at the Club, and produced a Letter from
Ipswich
, which his Correspondent desired him to communicate to his Friend the
Spectator
. It contained an Account of an Engagement between a French Privateer, commanded by one
Dominick Pottiere
, and a little Vessel of that Place laden with Corn, the Master whereof, as I remember, was one
Goodwin
. The
Englishman
defended himself with incredible Bravery, and beat off the
French
, after having been boarded three or four times. The Enemy still came on with greater Fury, and hoped by his Number of Men to carry the Prize, till at last the
Englishman
finding himself sink apace, and ready to perish, struck: But the Effect which this singular Gallantry had upon the Captain of the Privateer, was no other than an unmanly Desire of Vengeance for the Loss he had sustained in his several Attacks. He told the
Ipswich
Man in a speaking-Trumpet, that he would not take him aboard, and that he stayed to see him sink. The
Englishman
at the same time observed a Disorder in the Vessel, which he rightly judged to proceed from the Disdain which the Ship's Crew had of their Captain's Inhumanity: With this Hope he went into his Boat, and approached the Enemy. He was taken in by the Sailors in spite of their Commander; but though they received him against his Command, they treated him when he was in the Ship in the manner he directed.
Pottiere
caused his Men to hold
Goodwin
, while he beat him with a Stick till he fainted with Loss of Blood, and Rage of Heart: after which he ordered him into Irons without allowing him any Food, but such as one or two of the Men stole to him under peril of the like Usage: After having kept him several Days overwhelmed with the Misery of Stench, Hunger, and Soreness, he brought him into
Calais
. The Governour of the Place was soon acquainted with all that had passed, dismissed
Pottiere
from his Charge with Ignominy, and gave
Goodwin
all the Relief which a Man of Honour would bestow upon an Enemy barbarously treated, to recover the Imputation of Cruelty upon his Prince and Country.
When Mr.
Sentrey
had read his Letter, full of many other circumstances which aggravate the Barbarity, he fell into a sort of Criticism upon Magnanimity and Courage, and argued that they were inseparable; and that Courage, without regard to Justice and Humanity, was no other than the Fierceness of a wild Beast. A good and truly bold Spirit, continued he, is ever actuated by Reason and a Sense of Honour and Duty: The Affectation of such a Spirit exerts it self in an Impudent Aspect, an over-bearing Confidence, and a certain Negligence of giving Offence. This is visible in all the cocking Youths you see about this Town, who are noisy in Assemblies, unawed by the Presence of wise and virtuous Men; in a word, insensible of all the Honours and Decencies of human Life. A shameless Fellow takes advantage of Merit clothed with Modesty and Magnanimity, and in the Eyes of little People appears sprightly and agreeable; while the Man of Resolution and true Gallantry is overlooked and disregarded, if not despised. There is a Propriety in all things; and I believe what you Scholars call just and sublime, in opposition to turgid and bombast Expression, may give you an Idea of what I mean, when I say Modesty is the certain Indication of a great Spirit, and Impudence the Affectation of it. He that writes with Judgment, and never rises into improper Warmths, manifests the true Force of Genius; in like manner, he who is quiet and equal in all his Behaviour, is supported in that Deportment by what we may call true Courage. Alas, it is not so easy a thing to be a brave Man as the unthinking part of Mankind imagine: To dare, is not all that there is in it. The Privateer we were just now talking of, had boldness enough to attack his Enemy, but not Greatness of Mind enough to admire the same Quality exerted by that Enemy in defending himself. Thus his base and little Mind was wholly taken up in the sordid regard to the Prize, of which he failed, and the damage done to his own Vessel; and therefore he used an honest Man, who defended his own from him, in the Manner as he would a Thief that should rob him.
He was equally disappointed, and had not Spirit enough to consider that one Case would be Laudable and the other Criminal. Malice, Rancour, Hatred, Vengeance, are what tear the Breasts of mean Men in Fight; but Fame, Glory, Conquests, Desires of Opportunities to pardon and oblige their Opposers, are what glow in the Minds of the Gallant. The Captain ended his Discourse with a Specimen of his Book-Learning; and gave us to understand that he had read a French Author on the Subject of Justness in point of Gallantry. I love, said Mr. SENTREY, a Critick who mixes the Rules of Life with Annotations upon Writers. My Author, added he, in his Discourse upon Epick Poem, takes occasion to speak of the same Quality of Courage drawn in the two different Characters of
Turnus
and
Æneas
: He makes Courage the chief and greatest Ornament of ; but in
Æneas
there are many others which out-shine it, amongst the rest that of Piety.
Turnus
is therefore all along painted by the Poet full of Ostentation, his Language haughty and vain glorious, as placing his Honour in the Manifestation of his Valour;
Æneas
speaks little, is slow to Action; and shows only a sort of defensive Courage. If Equipage and Address make appear more couragious than
Æneas
, Conduct and Success prove
Æneas
more valiant than
Turnus
.
T.
| [No. 351] | Saturday, April 12, 1712 | Addison |
In te omnis domus inclinata recumbit.
Virg.
If we look into the three great Heroick Poems which have appeared in the World, we may observe that they are built upon very slight Foundations.
Homer
lived near 300 Years after the
Trojan
War; and, as the writing of History was not then in use among the
Greeks
, we may very well suppose, that the Tradition of
Achilles
and
Ulysses
had brought down but very few particulars to his Knowledge; though there is no question but he has wrought into his two Poems such of their remarkable Adventures, as were still talked of among his Contemporaries.
The Story of
Æneas
, on which
Virgil
founded his Poem, was likewise very bare of Circumstances, and by that means afforded him an Opportunity of embellishing it with Fiction, and giving a full range to his own Invention. We find, however, that he has interwoven, in the course of his Fable, the principal Particulars, which were generally believed among the
Romans
, of
Æneas
his Voyage and Settlement in
Italy
.
Reader may find an Abridgment of the whole Story as collected out of the ancient Historians, and as it was received among the Romans, in
Dionysius Halicarnasseus
.
Since none of the Criticks have consider'd
Virgil's
Fable, with relation to this History of
Æneas
, it may not, perhaps, be amiss to examine it in this Light, so far as regards my present Purpose. Whoever looks into the Abridgment above mentioned, will find that the Character of
Æneas
is filled with Piety to the Gods, and a superstitious Observation of Prodigies, Oracles, and Predictions.
Virgil
has not only preserved this Character in the Person of
Æneas
, but has given a place in his Poem to those particular Prophecies which he found recorded of him in History and Tradition. The Poet took the matters of Fact as they came down to him, and circumstanced them after his own manner, to make them appear the more natural, agreeable, or surprizing. I believe very many Readers have been shocked at that ludicrous Prophecy, which one of the
Harpyes
pronounces to the
Trojans
in the third Book, namely, that before they had built their intended City, they should be reduced by Hunger to eat their very Tables. But, when they hear that this was one of the Circumstances that had been transmitted to the
Romans
in the History of
Æneas
, they will think the Poet did very well in taking notice of it. The Historian above mentioned acquaints us, a Prophetess had foretold
Æneas
, that he should take his Voyage
Westward
, till his Companions should eat their Tables; and that accordingly, upon his landing in
Italy
, as they were eating their Flesh upon Cakes of Bread, for want of other Conveniences, they afterwards fed on the Cakes themselves; upon which one of the Company said merrily,
We are eating our Tables
. They immediately took the Hint, says the Historian, and concluded the Prophecy to be fulfilled. As
Virgil
did not think it proper to omit so material a particular in the History of
Æneas
, it may be worth while to consider with how much Judgment he has qualified it, and taken off every thing that might have appeared improper for a Passage in an Heroick Poem. The
who foretells it, is an Hungry
Harpy
, as the Person who discovers it is young
Ascanius
.
Heus etiam mensas consumimus, inquit Inlus!
Such an observation, which is beautiful in the Mouth of a Boy, would have been ridiculous from any other of the Company. I am apt to think that the changing of the
Trojan
Fleet into Water-Nymphs which is the most violent Machine in the whole
Æneid
, and has given offence to several Criticks, may be accounted for the same way.
Virgil
himself, before he begins that Relation, premises, that what he was going to tell appeared incredible, but that it was justified by Tradition. What further confirms me that this Change of the Fleet was a celebrated Circumstance in the History of
Æneas
, is, that
Ovid
has given place to the same Metamorphosis in his Account of the heathen Mythology.
None of the Criticks I have met with having considered the Fable of the
Æneid
in this Light, and taken notice how the Tradition, on which it was founded, authorizes those Parts in it which appear the most exceptionable; I hope the length of this Reflection will not make it unacceptable to the curious Part of my Readers.
The History, which was the Basis of
Milton's
Poem, is still shorter than either that of the
Iliad
or
Æneid
. The Poet has likewise taken care to insert every Circumstance of it in the Body of his Fable. The ninth Book, which we are here to consider, is raised upon that brief Account in Scripture, wherein we are told that the Serpent was more subtle than any Beast of the Field, that he tempted the Woman to eat of the forbidden Fruit, that she was overcome by this Temptation, and that
Adam
followed her Example. From these few Particulars,
Milton
has formed one of the most Entertaining Fables that Invention ever produced. He has disposed of these several Circumstances among so many beautiful and natural Fictions of his own, that his whole Story looks only like a Comment upon sacred Writ, or rather seems to be a full and compleat Relation of what the other is only an Epitome. I have insisted the longer on this Consideration, as I look upon the Disposition and Contrivance of the Fable to be the principal Beauty of the ninth Book, which has more Story in it, and is fuller of Incidents, than any other in the whole Poem.
Satan's
traversing the Globe, and still keeping within the Shadow of the Night, as fearing to be discovered by the Angel of the Sun, who had before detected him, is one of those beautiful Imaginations with which he introduces this his second Series of Adventures. Having
the Nature of every Creature, and found out one which was the most proper for his Purpose, he again returns to Paradise; and, to avoid Discovery, sinks by Night with a River that ran under the Garden, and rises up again through a Fountain that
issued
from it by the Tree of Life. The Poet, who, as we have before taken notice, speaks as little as possible in his own Person, and, after the Example of
Homer
, fills every Part of his Work with Manners and Characters, introduces a Soliloquy of this infernal Agent, who was thus restless in the Destruction of Man. He is then describ'd as gliding through the Garden, under the resemblance of a Mist, in order to find out that Creature in which he design'd to tempt our first Parents. This Description has something in it very Poetical and Surprizing.
So saying, through each Thicket Dank or Dry,
Like a black Mist, low creeping, he held on
His Midnight Search, where soonest he might find
The Serpent: him fast sleeping soon he found
In Labyrinth of many a Round self-roll'd,
His Head the midst, well stor'd with subtle Wiles.
The Author afterwards gives us a Description of the Morning, which is wonderfully suitable to a Divine Poem, and peculiar to that first Season of Nature: He represents the Earth, before it was curst, as a great Altar, breathing out its Incense from all Parts, and sending up a pleasant Savour to the Nostrils of its Creator; to which he adds a noble Idea of
Adam
and
Eve
, as offering their Morning Worship, and filling up the Universal Consort of Praise and Adoration.
Now when as sacred Light began to dawn
In Eden on the humid Flowers, that breathed
Their Morning Incense, when all things that breathe
From th' Earth's great Altar send up silent Praise
To the Creator, and his Nostrils fill
With grateful Smell; forth came the human Pair,
And join'd their vocal Worship to the Choir
Of Creatures wanting Voice—
The
which follows between our two first Parents, is represented with great Art: It
proceeds
from a Difference of Judgment, not of Passion, and is managed with Reason, not with Heat: It is such a Dispute as we may suppose might have happened in Paradise, had Man continued Happy and Innocent. There is a great Delicacy in the Moralities which are interspersed in
Adam's
Discourse, and which the most ordinary Reader cannot but take notice of. That Force of Love which the Father of Mankind so finely describes in the eighth Book, and which is inserted in my last Saturday's Paper, shews it self here in many fine Instances: As in those fond Regards he cast towards
Eve
at her parting from him.
Her long with ardent Look his Eye pursued
Delighted, but desiring more her stay:
Oft he to her his Charge of quick return
Repeated; she to him as oft engaged
To be return'd by noon amid the Bower.
In his Impatience and Amusement during her Absence
—Adam the while,
Waiting desirous her return, had wove
Of choicest Flowers a Garland, to adorn
Her Tresses, and her rural Labours crown:
As Reapers oft are wont their Harvest Queen.
Great Joy he promised to his thoughts, and new
Solace in her return, so long delay'd.
But particularly in that passionate Speech, where seeing her irrecoverably lost, he resolves to perish with her rather than to live without her.
—Some cursed Fraud
Or Enemy hath beguil'd thee, yet unknown,
And me with thee hath ruin'd; for with thee
Certain my Resolution is to die!
How can I live without thee; how forego
Thy sweet Converse and Love so dearly join'd,
To live again in these wild Woods forlorn?
Should God create another Eve, and I
Another Rib afford, yet loss of thee
Would never from my Heart! no, no! I feel
The Link of Nature draw me: Flesh of Flesh,
Bone of my Bone thou art, and from thy State
Mine never shall be parted, Bliss or Woe!
The Beginning of this Speech, and the Preparation to it, are animated with the same Spirit as the Conclusion, which I have here quoted.
The several Wiles which are put in practice by the Tempter, when he found
Eve
separated from her Husband, the many pleasing Images of Nature which are intermix'd in this part of the Story, with its gradual and regular Progress to the fatal Catastrophe, are so very remarkable that it would be superfluous to point out their respective Beauties.
I have avoided mentioning any particular Similitudes in my Remarks on this great Work, because I have given a general Account of them in my Paper on the first Book. There is one, however, in this part of the Poem, which I shall here quote as it is not only very beautiful, but the closest of any in the whole Poem. I mean that where the Serpent is describ'd as rolling forward in all his Pride, animated by the evil Spirit, and conducting
Eve
to her Destruction, while
Adam
was at too great a distance from her to give her his Assistance. These several Particulars are all of them wrought into the following Similitude.
—Hope elevates, and Joy
Brightens his Crest; as when a wandering Fire,
Compact of unctuous Vapour, which the Night
Condenses, and the Cold invirons round,
Kindled through Agitation to a Flame,
(Which oft, they say, some evil Spirit attends)
Hovering and blazing with delusive Light,
Misleads th' amaz'd Night-wanderer from his Way
To Bogs and Mires, and oft through Pond or Pool,
There swallowed up and lost, from succour far.
That
Intoxication of Pleasure, with all those transient flushings of Guilt and Joy, which the Poet represents in our first Parents upon their eating the forbidden Fruit, to
those
flaggings of Spirits, damps of Sorrow, and mutual Accusations which succeed it, are conceiv'd with a wonderful Imagination, and described in very natural Sentiments.
When
Dido
in the fourth
Æneid
yielded to that fatal Temptation which ruined her,
Virgil
tells us the Earth trembled, the Heavens were filled with Flashes of Lightning, and the Nymphs howled upon the Mountain-Tops.
Milton
, in the same poetical Spirit, has described all Nature as disturbed upon
Eve's
eating the forbidden Fruit.
So saying, her rash Hand in evil hour
Forth reaching to the Fruit, she pluckt, she eat:
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her Seat
Sighing, through all her Works gave signs of Woe
That all was lost—
Upon Adam's falling into the same Guilt, the whole Creation appears a second time in Convulsions.
—He scrupled not to eat
Against his better knowledge; not deceiv'd,
But fondly overcome with female Charm.
Earth trembled from her Entrails, as again
In Pangs, and Nature gave a second Groan,
Sky lowred, and muttering Thunder, some sad Drops
Wept at compleating of the mortal Sin—
As all Nature suffer'd by the Guilt of our first Parents, these Symptoms of Trouble and Consternation are wonderfully imagined, not only as Prodigies, but as Marks of her Sympathizing in the Fall of Man.
Adam's
Converse with
Eve
, after having eaten the forbidden Fruit, is an exact Copy of that between
Jupiter
and
Juno
in the fourteenth
Iliad
.
Juno
approaches
Jupiter
with the Girdle which she had received from
Venus
; upon which he tells her, that she appeared more charming and desirable than she
done before, even when their Loves were at the highest. The Poet afterwards describes them as reposing on a Summet of Mount
Ida
, which produced under them a Bed of Flowers, the Lotos, the Crocus, and the Hyacinth; and concludes his Description with their falling asleep.
Let the Reader compare this with the following Passage in
Milton
, which begins with
Adam's
Speech to
Eve
.
For never did thy Beauty, since the Day
I saw thee first and wedded thee, adorn'd
With all Perfections, so enflame my Sense
With ardor to enjoy thee, fairer now
Than ever, Bounty of this virtuous Tree.
So said he, and forbore not Glance or Toy
Of amorous Intent, well understood
Of Eve, whose Eye darted contagious Fire.
Her hand he seiz'd, and to a shady Bank
Thick over-head with verdant Roof embower'd,
He led her nothing loth: Flow'rs were the Couch,
Pansies, and Violets, and Asphodel,
And Hyacinth, Earth's freshest softest Lap.
There they their fill of Love, and Love's disport,
Took largely, of their mutual Guilt the Seal,
The Solace of their Sin, till dewy Sleep
Oppress'd them—
As no Poet seems ever to have studied
Homer
more, or to have more resembled him in the Greatness of Genius than
Milton
, I think I should have given but a very imperfect Account of his Beauties, if I had not observed the most remarkable Passages which look like Parallels in these two great Authors. I might, in the course of these criticisms, have taken notice of many particular Lines and Expressions which are translated from the
Greek
Poet; but as I thought this would have appeared too minute and over-curious, I have purposely omitted them. The greater Incidents, however, are not only set off by being shewn in the same Light with several of the same nature in
Homer
, but by that means may be also guarded against the Cavils of the Tasteless or Ignorant.
In the first book of his Roman Antiquities.
Dionysius says that the prophecy was either, as some write, given at Dodous, or, as others say, by a Sybil, and the exclamation was by one of the sons of Æneas, as it is related; or he was some other of his comrades.
run
arises
that
ever had
| [No. 352] | Monday, April 14, 1712 | Steele |
Si ad honestatem nati sumus, ea aut sola expetenda est, aut certe omni pondere gravior est habenda quam reliqua omnia.
Tull.
Will. Honeycomb
was complaining to me yesterday, that the Conversation of the Town is so altered of late Years, that a fine Gentleman is at a loss for Matter to start Discourse, as well as unable to fall in with the Talk he generally meets with.
Will
. takes notice, that there is now an Evil under the Sun which he supposes to be entirely new, because not mentioned by any Satyrist or Moralist in any Age: 'Men, said he, grow Knaves sooner than they ever did since the Creation of the World before. If you read the Tragedies of the last Age, you find the artful Men and Persons of Intrigue, are advanced very far in Years, and beyond the Pleasures and Sallies of Youth; but now
Will
. observes, that the Young have taken in the Vices of the Aged, and you shall have a Man of Five and Twenty crafty, false, and intriguing, not ashamed to over-reach, cozen, and beguile. My Friend adds, that till about the latter end of King
Charles's
Reign, there was not a Rascal of any Eminence under Forty: In the Places of Resort for Conversation, you now hear nothing but what relates to the improving Men's Fortunes, without regard to the Methods toward it. This is so fashionable, that young Men form themselves upon a certain Neglect of every thing that is candid, simple, and worthy of true Esteem; and affect being yet worse than they are, by acknowledging in their general turn of Mind and Discourse, that they have not any remaining Value for true Honour and Honesty; preferring the Capacity of being Artful to gain their Ends, to the Merit of despising those Ends when they come in competition with their Honesty. All this is due to the very silly Pride that generally prevails, of being valued for the Ability of carrying their Point; in a word, from the Opinion that shallow and inexperienced People entertain of the short-liv'd Force of Cunning. But I
, before I enter upon the various Faces which Folly cover'd with Artifice puts on to impose upon the Unthinking, produce a great Authority
for asserting, that nothing but Truth and Ingenuity has any lasting good Effect, even upon a Man's Fortune and Interest.
'Truth and Reality have all the Advantages of Appearance, and many more. If the Shew of any thing be good for any thing, I am sure Sincerity is better: For why does any Man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is not, but because he thinks it good to have such a Quality as he pretends to? for to counterfeit and dissemble, is to put on the Appearance of some real Excellency. Now the best way in the World for a Man to seem to be any thing, is really to be what he would seem to be. Besides that it is many times as troublesome to make good the Pretence of a good Quality, as to have it; and if a Man have it not, it is ten to one but he is discover'd to want it, and then all his Pains and Labour to seem to have it is lost. There is something unnatural in Painting, which a skillful Eye will easily discern from native Beauty and Complexion.'
'It is hard to personate and act a Part long; for where Truth is not at the bottom, Nature will always be endeavouring to return, and will peep out and betray her self one time or other. Therefore if any Man think it convenient to seem good, let him be so indeed, and then his Goodness will appear to every body's Satisfaction; so that upon all accounts Sincerity is true Wisdom. Particularly as to the Affairs of this World, Integrity hath many Advantages over all the fine and artificial ways of Dissimulation and Deceit; it is much the plainer and easier, much the safer and more secure way of dealing in the World; it has less of Trouble and Difficulty, of Entanglement and Perplexity, of Danger and Hazard in it; it is the shortest and nearest way to our End, carrying us thither in a straight line, and will hold out and last longest. The Arts of Deceit and Cunning do continually grow weaker and less effectual and serviceable to them that use them; whereas Integrity gains Strength by use, and the more and longer any Man practiseth it, the greater Service it does him, by confirming his Reputation and encouraging those with whom he hath to do, to repose the greatest Trust and Confidence in him, which is an unspeakable Advantage in the Business and Affairs of Life.'
'Truth is always consistent with it self, and needs nothing to help it out; it is always near at hand, and sits upon our Lips, and is ready to drop out before we are aware: whereas a Lye is troublesome, and sets a Man's Invention upon the rack, and one Trick needs a great many more to make it good. It is like building upon a false Foundation, which continually stands in need of Props to shoar it up, and proves at last more chargeable, than to have raised a substantial Building at first upon a true and solid Foundation; for Sincerity is firm and substantial, and there is nothing hollow and unsound in it, and because it is plain and open, fears no Discovery; of which the Crafty Man is always in danger, and when he thinks he walks in the dark, all his Pretences are so transparent, that he that runs may read them; he is the last Man that finds himself to be found out, and whilst he takes it for granted that he makes Fools of others, he renders himself ridiculous.
'Add to all this, that Sincerity is the most compendious Wisdom, and an excellent Instrument for the speedy dispatch of Business; it creates Confidence in those we have to deal with, saves the Labour of many Enquiries, and brings things to an issue in few Words: It is like travelling in a plain beaten Road, which commonly brings a Man sooner to his Journeys End than By-ways, in which Men often lose themselves. In a word, whatsoever Convenience may be thought to be in Falshood and Dissimulation, it is soon over; but the Inconvenience of it is perpetual, because it brings a Man under an everlasting Jealousie and Suspicion, so that he is not believed when he speaks Truth, nor trusted when perhaps he means honestly. When a Man hath once forfeited the Reputation of his Integrity, he is set fast, and nothing will then serve his turn, neither Truth nor Falshood.
'And I have often thought, that God hath in his great Wisdom hid from Men of false and dishonest Minds the wonderful Advantages of Truth and Integrity to the Prosperity even of our worldly Affairs; these Men are so blinded by their Covetousness and Ambition, that they cannot look beyond a present Advantage, nor forbear to seize upon it, tho' by Ways never so indirect; they cannot see so far as to the remote Consequences of a steady Integrity, and the vast Benefit and Advantages which it will bring a Man at last. Were but this sort of Men wise and clear-sighted enough to discern this, they would be honest out of very Knavery, not out of any Love to Honesty and Virtue, but with a crafty Design to promote and advance more effectually their own Interests; and therefore the Justice of the Divine Providence hath hid this truest Point of Wisdom from their Eyes, that bad Men might not be upon equal Terms with the Just and Upright, and serve their own wicked Designs by honest and lawful Means.
'Indeed, if a Man were only to deal in the World for a Day, and should never have occasion to converse more with Mankind, never more need their good Opinion or good Word, it were then no great Matter (speaking as to the Concernments of this World) if a Man spent his Reputation all at once, and ventured it at one throw: But if he be to continue in the World, and would have the Advantage of Conversation whilst he is in it, let him make use of Truth and Sincerity in all his Words and Actions; for nothing but this will last and hold out to the end; all other Arts will fail, but Truth and Integrity will carry a Man through, and bear him out to the last.'
T.
Archbishop Tilotson's
Sermons
, Vol. II., Sermon I (folio edition). Italics in first issue.
| [No. 353] | Tuesday, April 15, 1712 | Budgell |
—In tenui labor—
Virg.
The Gentleman who obliges the World in general, and me in particular, with his Thoughts upon Education, has just sent me the following Letter.
Sir,
I take the Liberty to send you a fourth Letter upon the Education of Youth: In my last I gave you my Thoughts about some particular Tasks which I conceivd it might not be amiss to use with their usual Exercises, in order to give them an early Seasoning of Virtue; I shall in this propose some others, which I fancy might contribute to give them a right turn for the World, and enable them to make their way in it.
The Design of Learning is, as I take it, either to render a Man an agreeable Companion to himself, and teach him to support Solitude with Pleasure, or if he is not born to an Estate, to supply that Defect, and furnish him with the means of acquiring one. A Person who applies himself to Learning with the first of these Views may be said to study for Ornament, as he who proposes to himself the second, properly studies for Use. The one does it to raise himself a Fortune, the other to set off that which he is already possessed of. But as far the greater part of Mankind are included in the latter Class, I shall only propose some Methods at present for the Service of such who expect to advance themselves in the World by their Learning: In order to which, I shall premise, that many more Estates have been acquird by little Accomplishments than by extraordinary ones; those Qualities which make the greatest Figure in the Eye of the World, not being always the most useful in themselves, or the most advantageous to their Owners.
The Posts which require Men of shining and uncommon Parts to discharge them, are so very few, that many a great Genius goes out of the World without ever having had an opportunity to exert it self; whereas Persons of ordinary Endowments meet with Occasions fitted to their Parts and Capacities every day in the common Occurrences of Life.'
'I [am] acquainted with two Persons who were formerly School-fellows[1], and have been good Friends ever since. One of them was not only thought an impenetrable Block-head at School, but still maintain'd his Reputation at the University; the other was the Pride of his Master, and the most celebrated Person in the College of which he was a Member. The Man of Genius is at present buried in a Country Parsonage of eightscore Pounds a year; while the other, with the bare Abilities of a common Scrivener, has got an Estate of above an hundred thousand Pounds.'
'I fancy from what I have said it will almost appear a doubtful Case to many a wealthy Citizen, whether or no he ought to wish his Son should be a great Genius; but this I am sure of, that nothing is more absurd than to give a Lad the Education of one, whom Nature has not favour'd with any particular Marks of Distinction.'
'The fault therefore of our Grammar-Schools is, that every Boy is pushed on to Works of Genius; whereas it would be far more advantageous for the greatest part of them to be taught such little practical Arts and Sciences as do not require any great share of Parts to be Master of them, and yet may come often into play during the course of a Man's Life.'
'Such are all the Parts of Practical Geometry. I have known a Man contract a Friendship with a Minister of State, upon cutting a Dial in his Window; and remember a Clergyman who got one of the best Benefices in the West of England, by setting a Country Gentleman's Affairs in some Method, and giving him an exact Survey of his Estate.'
'While I am upon this Subject, I cannot forbear mentioning a Particular which is of use in every Station of Life, and which methinks every Master should teach his Scholars. I mean the writing of English Letters. To this End, instead of perplexing them with Latin Epistles, Themes and Verses, there might be a punctual Correspondence established between two Boys, who might act in any imaginary Parts of Business, or be allowd sometimes to give a range to their own Fancies, and communicate to each other whatever Trifles they thought fit, provided neither of them ever fail'd at the appointed time to answer his Correspondent's Letter.
I believe I may venture to affirm, that the generality of Boys would find themselves more advantaged by this Custom, when they come to be Men, than by all the Greek and Latin their Masters can teach them in seven or eight Years.
The want of it is very visible in many learned Persons, who, while they are admiring the Styles of Demosthenes or Cicero, want Phrases to express themselves on the most common Occasions. I have seen a Letter from one of these Latin Orators, which would have been deservedly laughd at by a common Attorney.
Under this Head of Writing I cannot omit Accounts and Short-hand, which are learned with little pains, and very properly come into the number of such Arts as I have been here recommending.
You must doubtless, Sir, observe that I have hitherto chiefly insisted upon these things for such Boys as do not appear to have any thing extraordinary in their natural Talents, and consequently are not qualified for the finer Parts of Learning; yet I believe I might carry this Matter still further, and venture to assert that a Lad of Genius has sometimes occasion for these little Acquirements, to be as it were [the] forerunners of his Parts, and to introduce him[2] into the World.
History is full of Examples of Persons, who tho they have had the largest Abilities, have been obliged to insinuate themselves into the Favour of great Men by these trivial Accomplishments; as the compleat Gentleman, in some of our modern Comedies, makes his first Advances to his Mistress under the disguise of a Painter or a Dancing-Master.
The Difference is, that in a Lad of Genius these are only so many Accomplishments, which in another are Essentials; the one diverts himself with them, the other works at them. In short, I look upon a great Genius, with these little Additions, in the same Light as I regard the Grand Signior, who is obliged, by an express Command in the Alcoran, to learn and practise some Handycraft Trade. Tho' I need not have gone for my Instance farther than Germany, where several Emperors have voluntarily done the same [thing]. Leopold the last[3], worked in Wood; and I have heard there are several handycraft Works of his making to be seen at Vienna so neatly turned, that the best Joiner in Europe might safely own them, without any disgrace to his Profession.
I would not be thought, by any thing I have said, to be against improving a Boy's Genius to the utmost pitch it can be carried. What I would endeavour to shew in this Essay is, that there may be Methods taken, to make Learning advantageous even to the meanest Capacities.
I am, Sir,
Yours, &c.
X.
Perhaps Swift and his old schoolfellow, Mr. Stratford, the Hamburgh merchant.
'Stratford is worth a plumb, and is now lending the Government £40,000; yet we were educated together at the same school and university.'
Journal
to Stella, Sept. 14, 1710.
them
Leopold the last was also Leopold the First. He died May 6, 1705, and was succeeded by his eldest son, Joseph, who died while the
Spectator
was being issued, and had now been followed by his brother, the Archduke Charles, whose claim to the crown of Spain England had been supporting, when his accession to the German throne had not seemed probable. His coronation as Charles VI. was, therefore, one cause of the peace. Leopold, born in 1640, and educated by the Jesuits, became Emperor in 1658, and reigned 49 years. He was an adept in metaphysics and theology, as well as in wood-turning, but a feeble and oppressive ruler, whose empire was twice saved for him; by Sobiesld from the Turks, and from the French by Marlborough.
| [No. 354] | Wednesday, April 16, 1712 | Steele |
—Cum magnis virtutibus affers
Grande supercilium—
Juv.
Mr. Spectator,
You have in some of your Discourses describ'd most sorts of Women in their distinct and proper Classes, as the Ape, the Coquet, and many others; but I think you have never yet said anything of a Devotée. A Devotée is one of those who disparage Religion by their indiscreet and unseasonable introduction of the Mention of Virtue on all Occasions: She professes she is what nobody ought to doubt she is; and betrays the Labour she is put to, to be what she ought to be with Chearfulness and Alacrity. She lives in the World, and denies her self none of the Diversions of it, with a constant Declaration how insipid all things in it are to her. She is never her self but at Church; there she displays her Virtue, and is so fervent in her Devotions, that I have frequently seen her Pray her self out of Breath. While other young Ladies in the House are dancing, or playing at Questions and Commands, she reads aloud in her Closet. She says all Love is ridiculous, except it be Celestial; but she speaks of the Passion of one Mortal to another with too much Bitterness, for one that had no Jealousy mixed with her Contempt of it. If at any time she sees a Man warm in his Addresses to his Mistress, she will lift up her Eyes to Heaven, and cry, What Nonsense is that Fool talking? Will the Bell never ring for Prayers? We have an eminent Lady of this Stamp in our Country, who pretends to Amusements very much above the rest of her Sex. She never carries a white Shock-dog with Bells under her Arm, nor a Squirrel or Dormouse in her Pocket, but always an abridg'd Piece of Morality to steal out when she is sure of being observ'd. When she went to the famous Ass-Race (which I must confess was but an odd Diversion to be encouraged by People of Rank and Figure) it was not, like other Ladies, to hear those poor Animals bray, nor to see Fellows run naked, or to hear Country Squires in bob Wigs and white Girdles make love at the side of a Coach, and cry, Madam, this is dainty Weather. Thus she described the Diversion; for she went only to pray heartily that no body might be hurt in the Crowd, and to see if the poor Fellow's Face, which was distorted with grinning, might any way be brought to it self again. She never chats over her Tea, but covers her Face, and is supposed in an Ejaculation before she tastes a Sup. This ostentatious Behaviour is such an Offence to true Sanctity, that it disparages it, and makes Virtue not only unamiable, but also ridiculous. The Sacred Writings are full of Reflections which abhor this kind of Conduct; and a Devotée is so far from promoting Goodness, that she deters others by her Example. Folly and Vanity in one of these Ladies, is like Vice in a Clergyman; it does not only debase him, but makes the inconsiderate Part of the World think the worse of Religion.
I am, Sir,
Your Humble Servant,
Hotspur.
Mr. Spectator,
'Xenophon, in [his] short Account of the Spartan Commonwealth[1], speaking of the Behavior of their young Men in the Streets, says, There was so much Modesty in their Looks, that you might as soon have turned the eyes of a Marble Statue upon you as theirs; and that in all their Behaviour they were more modest than a Bride when put to bed upon her Wedding-Night: This Virtue, which is always join'd to Magnanimity, had such an influence upon their Courage, that in Battel an Enemy could not look them in the Face, and they durst not but Die for their Country.
'Whenever I walk into the Streets of London and Westminster, the Countenances of all the young Fellows that pass by me, make me wish my self in Sparta; I meet with such blustering Airs, big Looks, and bold Fronts, that to a superficial Observer would bespeak a Courage above those Grecians. I am arrived to that Perfection in Speculation, that I understand the Language of the Eyes, which would be a great misfortune to me, had I not corrected the Testiness of old Age by Philosophy. There is scarce a Man in a red Coat who does not tell me, with a full Stare, he's a bold Man: I see several swear inwardly at me, without any Offence of mine, but the Oddness of my Person: I meet Contempt in every Street, express'd in different Manners, by the scornful Look, the elevated Eye-brow, and the swelling Nostrils of the Proud and Prosperous. The Prentice speaks his Disrespect by an extended Finger, and the Porter by stealing out his Tongue. If a Country Gentleman appears a little curious in observing the Edifices, Signs, Clocks, Coaches, and Dials, it is not to be imagined how the Polite Rabble of this Town, who are acquainted with these Objects, ridicule his Rusticity. I have known a Fellow with a Burden on his Head steal a Hand down from his Load, and slily twirle the Cock of a Squire's Hat behind him; while the Offended Person is swearing, or out of Countenance, all the Wagg-Wits in the High-way are grinning in applause of the ingenious Rogue that gave him the Tip, and the Folly of him who had not Eyes all round his Head to prevent receiving it. These things arise from a general Affectation of Smartness, Wit, and [Courage]. Wycherly somewhere[2] rallies the Pretensions this Way, by making a Fellow say, Red Breeches are a certain Sign of Valour; and Otway makes [a] Man, to boast his Agility, trip up a Beggar on Crutches[3]. From such Hints I beg a Speculation on this Subject; in the mean time I shall do all in the Power of a weak old Fellow in my own Defence: for as Diogenes, being in quest of an honest Man, sought for him when it was broad Day-light with a Lanthorn and Candle, so I intend for the future to walk the Streets with a dark Lanthorn, which has a convex Chrystal in it; and if any Man stares at me, I give fair Warning that I'll direct the Light full into his Eyes. Thus despairing to find Men Modest, I hope by this Means to evade their Impudence,
I am, Sir,
Your most humble Servant,
Sophrosunius.
T.
The Polity of Lacedæmon
and
the Polity of Athens
were two of Xenophon's short treatises. In
the Polity of Lacedæmon
the Spartan code of law and social discipline is, as Mr. Mure says in his
Critical History of the Language and Literature of Ancient Greece
,
'indiscriminately held up to admiration as superior in all respects to all others. Some of its more offensive features, such as the Cryptia, child murder, and more glaring atrocities of the Helot system, are suppressed; while the legalized thieving, adultery, and other unnatural practices, are placed in the most favourable or least odious light.'
In the
Plain Dealer
, Act II. sc. I.
| Novel (a pert railing coxcomb) | These sea captains make nothing of dressing. But let me tell you, sir, a man by his dress, as much as by anything, shows his wit and judgment; nay, and his courage too. |
| Freeman | How, his courage, Mr. Novel? |
| Novel | Why, for example, by red breeches, tucked-up hair, or peruke, a greasy broad belt, and now-a-days a short sword. |
In his
Friendship in Fashion
, Act III. sc. i
| Malagene | I tell you what I did t'other Day: Faith't is as good a Jest as ever you heard. |
| Valentine | Pray, sir, do. |
| Malagene | Why, walking alone, a lame Fellow follow'd me and ask'd my Charity (which by the way was a pretty Proposition to me). Being in one of my witty, merry Fits, I ask'd him how long he had been in that Condition? The poor Fellow shook his Head, and told me he was born so. But how d'ye think I served him? |
| Valentine | Nay, the Devil knows. |
| Malagene | I show'd my Parts, I think; for I tripp'd up both his Wooden Legs, and walk'd off gravely about my Business. |
| Valentine | And this you say is your way of Wit? |
| Malagene | Ay, altogether, this and Mimickry. I'm a very good Mimick; I can act Punchinello, Scaramoucho, Harlequin, Prince Prettyman, or anything. I can act the rumbling of a Wheel-barrow. |
| Valentine | The rumbling of a Wheelbarrow! |
| Malagene | Ay, the rumbling of a Wheelbarrow, so I say. Nay, more than that, I can act a Sow and Pigs, Sausages a broiling, a Shoulder of Mutton a roasting: I can act a Fly in a Honey-pot. |
| Valentine | That indeed must be the effect of very curious Observation. |
| Malagene | No, hang it, I never make it my Business to observe anything, that is Mechanick. |
| [No. 355] | Thursday, April 17, 1712 | Addison |
Non ego mordaci distrinxi carmine quenquam.
Ovid.[1]
I have been very often tempted to write Invectives upon those who have detracted from my Works, or spoken in derogation of my Person; but I look upon it as a particular Happiness, that I have always hindred my Resentments from proceeding to this extremity. I once had gone thro' half a Satyr, but found so many Motions of Humanity rising in me towards the Persons whom I had severely treated, that I threw it into the Fire without ever finishing it. I have been angry enough to make several little Epigrams and Lampoons; and after having admired them a Day or two, have likewise committed them to the Flames. These I look upon as so many Sacrifices to Humanity, and have receiv'd much greater Satisfaction from the suppressing such Performances, than I could have done from any Reputation they might have procur'd me, or from any Mortification they might have given my Enemies, in case I had made them publick. If a Man has any Talent in Writing, it shews a good Mind to forbear answering Calumnies and Reproaches in the same Spirit of Bitterness with which they are offered: But when a Man has been at some Pains in making suitable Returns to an Enemy, and has the Instruments of Revenge in his Hands, to let drop his Wrath, and stifle his Resentments, seems to have something in it Great and Heroical. There is a particular Merit in such a way of forgiving an Enemy; and the more violent and unprovok'd the Offence has been, the greater still is the Merit of him who thus forgives it.
I never
with a Consideration that is more finely spun, and what has better pleased me, than one in
Epictetus
, which places an Enemy in a new Light, and gives us a View of him altogether different from that in which we are used to regard him. The Sense of it is as follows: Does a Man reproach thee for being Proud or Ill-natured, Envious or Conceited, Ignorant or Detracting? Consider with thy self whether his Reproaches are true; if they are not, consider that thou art not the Person whom he reproaches, but that he reviles an Imaginary Being, and perhaps loves what thou really art, tho' he hates what thou appearest to be. If his Reproaches are true, if thou art the envious ill-natur'd Man he takes thee for, give thy self another Turn, become mild, affable and obliging, and his Reproaches of thee naturally cease: His Reproaches may indeed continue, but thou art no longer the Person whom he reproaches.
I often apply this Rule to my self; and when I hear of a Satyrical Speech or Writing that is aimed at me, I examine my own Heart, whether I deserve it or not. If I bring in a Verdict against my self, I endeavour to rectify my Conduct for the future in those particulars which have drawn the Censure upon me; but if the whole Invective be grounded upon a Falsehood, I trouble my self no further about it, and look upon my Name at the Head of it to signify no more than one of those fictitious Names made use of by an Author to introduce an imaginary Character. Why should a Man be sensible of the Sting of a Reproach, who is a Stranger to the Guilt that is implied in it? or subject himself to the Penalty, when he knows he has never committed the Crime? This is a Piece of Fortitude, which every one owes to his own Innocence, and without which it is impossible for a Man of any Merit or Figure to live at Peace with himself in a Country that abounds with Wit and Liberty.
famous Monsieur
Balzac
, in a Letter to the Chancellor of
France
, who had prevented the Publication of a Book against him, has the following Words, which are a likely Picture of the Greatness of Mind so visible in the Works of that Author. If it was a new thing, it may be I should not be displeased with the Suppression of the first Libel that should abuse me; but since there are enough of 'em to make a small Library, I am secretly pleased to see the number increased, and take delight in raising a heap of Stones that Envy has cast at me without doing me any harm.
The Author here alludes to those Monuments of the
Eastern
Nations, which were Mountains of Stones raised upon the dead Body by Travellers, that used to cast every one his Stone upon it as they passed by. It is certain that no Monument is so glorious as one which is thus raised by the Hands of Envy. For my Part, I admire an Author for such a Temper of Mind as enables him to bear an undeserved Reproach without Resentment, more than for all the Wit of any the finest Satirical Reply.
Thus far I thought necessary to explain my self in relation to those who have animadverted on this Paper, and to shew the Reasons why I have not thought fit to return them any formal Answer. I must further add, that the Work would have been of very little use to the Publick, had it been filled with personal Reflections and Debates; for which Reason I have never once turned out of my way to observe those little Cavils which have been made against it by Envy or Ignorance. The common Fry of Scriblers, who have no other way of being taken Notice of but by attacking what has gain'd some Reputation in the World, would have furnished me with Business enough, had they found me dispos'd to enter the Lists with them.
I shall conclude with the Fable of
Boccalini's
Traveller, who was so pester'd with the Noise of Grasshoppers in his Ears, that he alighted from his Horse in great Wrath to kill them all. This, says the Author, was troubling himself to no manner of purpose: Had he pursued his Journey without taking notice of them, the troublesome Insects would have died of themselves in a very few Weeks, and he would have suffered nothing from them.
L.
quenquam, Nulla venenata littera mista joco est.
Ovid.
Enchiridion
, Cap. 48 and 64.
Letters and Remains
. Trans. by Sir. R. Baker (1655-8).
| [No. 356] | Friday[1], April 18, 1712 | Steele |
Aptissima quæque dabunt Dii,
Charior est illis homo quam sibi.
Juv.
It is owing to Pride, and a secret Affectation of a certain Self-Existence, that the noblest Motive for Action that ever was proposed to Man, is not acknowledged the Glory and Happiness of their Being. The Heart is treacherous to it self, and we do not let our Reflections go deep enough to receive Religion as the most honourable Incentive to good and worthy Actions. It is our natural Weakness, to flatter our selves into a Belief, that if we search into our inmost thoughts, we find our selves wholly disinterested, and divested of any Views arising from Self-Love and Vain-Glory. But however Spirits of superficial Greatness may disdain at first sight to do any thing, but from a noble Impulse in themselves, without any future Regards in this or another Being; upon stricter Enquiry they will find, to act worthily and expect to be rewarded only in another World, is as heroick a Pitch of Virtue as human Nature can arrive at. If the Tenour of our Actions have any other Motive than the Desire to be pleasing in the Eye of the Deity, it will necessarily follow that we must be more than Men, if we are not too much exalted in Prosperity and depressed in Adversity: But the Christian World has a Leader, the Contemplation of whose Life and Sufferings must administer Comfort in Affliction, while the Sense of his Power and Omnipotence must give them Humiliation in Prosperity.
It is owing to the forbidding and unlovely Constraint with which Men of low Conceptions act when they think they conform themselves to Religion, as well as to the more odious Conduct of Hypocrites, that the Word Christian does not carry with it at first View all that is Great, Worthy, Friendly, Generous, and Heroick. The Man who suspends his Hopes of the Reward of worthy Actions till after Death, who can bestow unseen, who can overlook Hatred, do Good to his Slanderer, who can never be angry at his Friend, never revengeful to his Enemy, is certainly formed for the Benefit of Society: Yet these are so far from Heroick Virtues, that they are but the ordinary Duties of a Christian.
When a Man with a steddy Faith looks back on the great Catastrophe of this Day, with what bleeding Emotions of Heart must he contemplate the Life and Sufferings of his Deliverer? When his Agonies occur to him, how will he weep to reflect that he has often forgot them for the Glance of a Wanton, for the Applause of a vain World, for an Heap of fleeting past Pleasures, which are at present asking Sorrows?
How pleasing is the Contemplation of the lowly Steps our Almighty Leader
in conducting us to his heavenly Mansions! In plain and apt Parable
, Similitude, and Allegory, our great Master enforced the Doctrine of our Salvation; but
of his Acquaintance, instead of receiving what they could not oppose, were offended at the Presumption of being wiser than they
: They could not raise their little Ideas above the Consideration of him, in those Circumstances familiar to them, or conceive that he who appear'd not more Terrible or Pompous, should have any thing more Exalted than themselves; he in that Place therefore would not longer ineffectually exert a Power which was incapable of conquering the Prepossession of their narrow and mean Conceptions. Multitudes follow'd him, and brought him the Dumb, the Blind, the Sick, and Maim'd; whom when their Creator had Touch'd, with a second Life they Saw, Spoke, Leap'd, and Ran. In Affection to him, and admiration of his Actions, the Crowd could not leave him, but waited near him till they were almost as faint and helpless as others they brought for Succour.
had Compassion on them, and by a Miracle supplied their Necessities
.
Oh, the Ecstatic Entertainment, when they could behold their Food immediately increase to the Distributer's Hand, and see their God in Person Feeding and Refreshing his Creatures! Oh Envied Happiness!
why do I say Envied? as if our
God
did not still preside over our temperate Meals, chearful Hours, and innocent Conversations.
But tho' the sacred Story is every where full of Miracles not inferior to this, and tho' in the midst of those Acts of Divinity he never gave the least Hint of a Design to become a Secular Prince, yet had not hitherto the Apostles themselves any other than Hopes of worldly Power, Preferment, Riches and Pomp;
Peter, upon an Accident of Ambition among the Apostles, hearing his Master explain that his Kingdom was not of this World, was so scandaliz'd
that he whom he had so long follow'd should suffer the Ignominy, Shame, and Death which he foretold, that he took him aside and said, Be it far from thee, Lord, this shall not be unto thee: For which he suffered a severe Reprehension from his Master, as having in his View the Glory of Man rather than that of God.
The great Change of things began to draw near, when the Lord of Nature thought fit as a Saviour and Deliverer to make his publick Entry into
Jerusalem
with more than the Power and Joy, but none of the Ostentation and Pomp of a Triumph; he came Humble, Meek, and Lowly: with an unfelt new Ecstasy, Multitudes strewed his Way with Garments and Olive-Branches, Crying with loud Gladness and Acclamation,
Hosannah
to the Son of
David
, Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord! At this great King's Accession to his Throne, Men were not Ennobled, but Sav'd; Crimes were not Remitted, but Sins Forgiven; he did not bestow Medals, Honours, Favours, but Health, Joy, Sight, Speech. The first Object the Blind ever saw, was the Author of Sight; while the Lame Ran before, and the Dumb repeated the
Hosannah
. Thus attended, he Entered into his own House, the sacred Temple, and by his Divine Authority expell'd Traders and Worldlings that profaned it; and thus did he, for a time, use a great and despotic Power, to let Unbelievers understand, that 'twas not Want of, but Superiority to all Worldly Dominion, that made him not exert it. But is this then the Saviour? is this the Deliverer?
this Obscure
Nazarene
command
Israel
, and sit on the Throne of
David
?
proud and disdainful Hearts, which were petrified
with the Love and Pride of this World, were impregnable to the Reception of so mean a Benefactor, and were now enough exasperated with Benefits to conspire his Death. Our Lord was sensible of their Design, and prepared his Disciples for it, by recounting to 'em now more distinctly what should befal him; but
Peter
with an ungrounded Resolution, and in a Flush of Temper, made a sanguine Protestation, that tho' all Men were offended in him, yet would not he be offended. It was a great Article of our Saviour's Business in the World, to bring us to a Sense of our Inability, without God's Assistance, to do any thing great or good; he therefore told
Peter
, who thought so well of his Courage and Fidelity, that they would both fail him, and even he should deny him Thrice that very Night.
But what Heart can conceive, what Tongue utter the Sequel? Who is that yonder buffeted, mock'd, and spurn'd? Whom do they drag like a Felon? Whither do they carry my Lord, my King, my Saviour, and my God? And will he die to Expiate those very Injuries? See where they have nailed the Lord and Giver of Life! How his Wounds blacken, his Body writhes, and Heart heaves with Pity and with Agony! Oh Almighty Sufferer, look down, look down from thy triumphant Infamy: Lo he inclines his Head to his sacred Bosom! Hark, he Groans! see, he Expires! The Earth trembles, the Temple rends, the Rocks burst, the Dead Arise: Which are the Quick? Which are the Dead? Sure Nature, all Nature is departing with her Creator.
T.
Good Friday.
From the words 'In plain and apt parable' to the end, this paper is a reprint of the close of the second chapter of Steele's
Christian Hero
, with the variations cited in the next six notes. The
C. H.
is quoted from the text appended to the first reprint of the
Tatler
, in 1711.
'—wiser than they: Is not this the Carpenter's Son, is not his Mother called Mary, his Brethren, James, Joseph, Simon and Judas? They could not—'
Christian Hero.
'He had compassion on 'em, commanded 'em to be seated, and with Seven Loaves, and a few little Fishes, Fed four thousand Men, besides Women and Children: Oh, the Ecstatic—'
Christian Hero.
Good God
in first Issue and in
Christian Hero
.
In the
Christian Hero
this passage was:
'become a Secular Prince, or in a Forcible or Miraculous Manner to cast off the Roman Yoke they were under, and restore again those Disgraced Favourites of Heav'n, to its former Indulgence, yet had not hitherto the Apostles themselves (so deep set is our Natural Pride) any other than hopes of worldly Power, Preferment, Riches and Pomp: For Peter, who it seems ever since he left his Net and his Skiff, Dreamt of nothing but being a great Man, was utterly undone to hear our Saviour explain to 'em that his Kingdom was not of this World; and was so scandalized—'
'Throne of David? Such were the unpleasant Forms that ran in the Thoughts of the then Powerful in Jerusalem, upon the most Truly Glorious Entry that ever Prince made; for there was not one that followed him who was not in his Interest; their Proud—'
Christian Hero
.
'Putrified with the—'
Christian Hero.
| [No. 357] | Saturday, April 19, 1712 | Addison |
Quis talia fando
Temperet à lachrymis?
Virg.[1]
The Tenth Book of
Paradise Lost
has a greater variety of Persons in it than any other in the whole Poem. The Author upon the winding up of his Action introduces all those who had any Concern in it, and shews with great Beauty the Influence which it had upon each of them. It is like the last Act of a well-written Tragedy, in which all who had a part in it are generally drawn up before the Audience, and represented under those Circumstances in which the Determination of the Action places them.
I shall therefore consider this Book under four Heads, in relation to the Celestial, the Infernal, the Human, and the Imaginary Persons, who have their respective Parts allotted in it.
To begin with the Celestial Persons: The Guardian Angels of Paradise are described as returning to Heaven upon the Fall of Man, in order to approve their Vigilance; their Arrival, their Manner of Reception, with the Sorrow which appear'd in themselves, and in those Spirits who are said to Rejoice at the Conversion of a Sinner, are very finely laid together in the following Lines.
Up into Heaven from Paradise in haste
Th' Angelick Guards ascended, mute and sad
For Man; for of his State by this they knew:
Much wondering how the subtle Fiend had stol'n
Entrance unseen. Soon as th' unwelcome News
From Earth arriv'd at Heaven-Gate, displeased
All were who heard: dim Sadness did not spare
That time Celestial Visages; yet mixt
With Pity, violated not their Bliss.
About the new-arriv'd, in multitudes
Th' Ethereal People ran, to hear and know
How all befel: They tow'rds the Throne supreme
Accountable made haste to make appear
With righteous Plea, their utmost vigilance,
And easily approved; when the Most High
Eternal Father, from his secret cloud,
Amidst in thunder utter'd thus his voice.
The same Divine Person, who in the foregoing Parts of this Poem interceded for our first Parents before their Fall, overthrew the Rebel Angels, and created the World, is now represented as descending to Paradise, and pronouncing Sentence upon the three Offenders. The Cool of the Evening, being a Circumstance with which Holy Writ introduces this great Scene, it is poetically described by our Author, who has also kept religiously to the Form of Words, in which the three several Sentences were passed upon
Adam
,
Eve
, and the Serpent. He has rather chosen to neglect the Numerousness of his Verse, than to deviate from those Speeches which are recorded on this great occasion. The Guilt and Confusion of our first Parents standing naked before their Judge, is touched with great Beauty. Upon the Arrival of
Sin
and
Death
into the Works of the Creation, the Almighty is again introduced as speaking to his Angels that surrounded him.
See! with what heat these Dogs of Hell advance,
To waste and havock yonder World, which I
So fair and good created; &c.
The following Passage is formed upon that glorious Image in Holy Writ, which compares the Voice of an innumerable Host of Angels, uttering
Hallelujahs
, to the Voice of mighty Thunderings, or of many Waters.
He ended, and the Heavenly Audience loud
Sung Hallelujah, as the sound of Seas,
Through Multitude that sung: Just are thy Ways,
Righteous are thy Decrees in all thy Works,
Who can extenuate thee?—
Tho' the Author in the whole Course of his Poem, and particularly in the Book we are now examining, has infinite Allusions to Places of Scripture, I have only taken notice in my Remarks of such as are of a Poetical Nature, and which are woven with great Beauty into the Body of this Fable. Of this kind is that Passage in the present Book, where describing
Sin
and
Death
as marching thro' the Works of Nature he adds,
—Behind her Death
Close following pace for pace, not mounted yet
On his pale Horse—
Which alludes to that Passage in Scripture, so wonderfully poetical, and terrifying to the Imagination.
And I look'd, and behold a pale Horse, and his Name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him: and Power was given unto them over the fourth Part of the Earth, to kill with Sword, and with Hunger, and with Sickness, and with the Beasts of the Earth.
Under this first Head of Celestial Persons we must likewise take notice of the Command which the Angels receiv'd, to produce the several Changes in Nature, and sully the Beauty of the Creation. Accordingly they are represented as infecting the Stars and Planets with malignant Influences, weakning the Light of the Sun, bringing down the Winter into the milder Regions of Nature, planting Winds and Storms in several Quarters of the Sky, storing the Clouds with Thunder, and in short, perverting the Whole Frame of the Universe to the Condition of its criminal Inhabitants. As this is a noble Incident in the Poem, the following Lines, in which we see the Angels heaving up the Earth, and placing it in a different Posture to the Sun from what it had before the Fall of Man, is conceived with that sublime Imagination which was so peculiar to this great Author.
Some say he bid his Angels turn ascanse
The Poles of Earth twice ten Degrees and more
From the Sun's Axle; they with Labour push'd
Oblique the Centrick Globe—
We are in the second place to consider the Infernal Agents under the view which
Milton
has given us of them in this Book. It is observed by those who would set forth the Greatness of
Virgil's
Plan, that he conducts his Reader thro' all the Parts of the Earth which were discover'd in his time.
Asia, Africk
, and
Europe
are the several Scenes of his Fable. The Plan of
Milton's
Poem is of an infinitely greater Extent, and fills the Mind with many more astonishing Circumstances.
Satan
, having surrounded the Earth seven times, departs at length from Paradise. We then see him steering his Course among the Constellations, and after having traversed the whole Creation, pursuing his Voyage thro' the Chaos, and entring into his own Infernal Dominions.
His first appearance in the Assembly of fallen Angels, is work'd up with Circumstances which give a delightful Surprize to the Reader; but there is no Incident in the whole Poem which does this more than the Transformation of the whole Audience, that follows the Account their Leader gives them of his Expedition. The gradual Change of
Satan
himself is describ'd after
Ovid's
manner, and may vie with any of those celebrated Transformations which are look'd upon as the most beautiful Parts in that Poet's Works.
Milton
never fails of improving his own Hints, and bestowing the last finishing Touches to every Incident which is admitted into his Poem. The unexpected Hiss which rises in this Episode, the Dimensions and Bulk of
Satan
so much superior to those of the Infernal Spirits who lay under the same Transformation, with the annual Change which they are supposed to suffer, are Instances of this kind. The Beauty of the Diction is very remarkable in this whole Episode, as I have observed in the sixth Paper of these Remarks the great Judgment with which it was contrived.
The Parts of
Adam
and
Eve
, or the human Persons, come next under our Consideration.
Milton's
Art is no where more shewn than in his conducting the Parts of these our first Parents. The Representation he gives of them, without falsifying the Story, is wonderfully contriv'd to influence the Reader with Pity and Compassion towards them. Tho'
Adam
involves the whole Species in Misery, his Crime proceeds from a Weakness which every Man is inclined to pardon and commiserate, as it seems rather the Frailty of Human Nature, than of the Person who offended. Every one is apt to excuse a Fault which he himself might have fallen into. It was the Excess of Love for
Eve
, that ruin'd
Adam
, and his Posterity. I need not add, that the Author is justify'd in this Particular by many of the Fathers, and the most orthodox Writers.
Milton
has by this means filled a great part of his Poem with that kind of Writing which the French Criticks call the Tender, and which is in a particular manner engaging to all sorts of Readers.
Adam
and
Eve
, in the Book we are now considering, are likewise drawn with such Sentiments as do not only interest the Reader in their Afflictions, but raise in him the most melting Passions of Humanity and Commiseration. When
Adam
sees the several Changes in Nature produced about him, he appears in a Disorder of Mind suitable to one who had forfeited both his Innocence and his Happiness; he is filled with Horrour, Remorse, Despair; in the Anguish of his Heart he expostulates with his Creator for having given him an unasked Existence.
Did I request thee, Maker, from my Clay
To mould me Man? did I sollicite thee
From Darkness to promote me? or here place
In this delicious Garden? As my Will
Concurr'd not to my Being, 'twere but right
And equal to reduce me to my Dust,
Desirous to resign, and render back
All I received—
He immediately after recovers from his Presumption, owns his Doom to be just, and begs that the Death which is threatned him may be inflicted on him.
—Why delays
His Hand to execute, what his Decree
Fix'd on this day? Why do I overlive?
Why am I mock'd with Death, and lengthened out
To deathless Pain? how gladly would I meet
Mortality my Sentence, and be Earth
Insensible! how glad would lay me down,
As in my Mother's Lap? there should I rest
And sleep secure; his dreadful Voice no more
Would thunder in my Ears: no fear of worse
To me and to my Offspring, would torment me
With cruel Expectation—
This whole Speech is full of the like Emotion, and varied with all those Sentiments which we may suppose natural to a Mind so broken and disturb'd. I must not omit that generous Concern which our first Father shews in it for his Posterity, and which is so proper to affect the Reader.
—Hide me from the Face
Of God, whom to behold was then my heighth
Of Happiness! yet well, if here would end
The Misery, I deserved it, and would bear
My own Deservings: but this will not serve;
All that I eat, or drink, or shall beget
Is propagated Curse. O Voice once heard
Delightfully, Increase and Multiply;
Now Death to hear!—
—In me all
Posterity stands curst! Fair Patrimony,
That I must leave ye, Sons! O were I able
To waste it all my self, and leave you none!
So disinherited, how would you bless
Me, now your Curse! Ah, why should all Mankind,
For one Man's Fault, thus guiltless be condemn'd,
If guiltless? But from me what can proceed
But all corrupt—
Who can afterwards behold the Father of Mankind extended upon the Earth, uttering his midnight Complaints, bewailing his Existence, and wishing for Death, without sympathizing with him in his Distress?
Thus Adam to himself lamented loud,
Thro' the still Night; not now, (as ere Man fell)
Wholesome, and cool, and mild, but with black Air
Accompanied, with Damps and dreadful Gloom;
Which to his evil Conscience represented
All things with double Terror. On the Ground
Outstretched he lay; on the cold Ground! and oft
Curs'd his Creation; Death as oft accus'd
Of tardy Execution—
The Part of
Eve
in this Book is no less passionate, and apt to sway the Reader in her Favour. She is represented with great Tenderness as approaching
Adam
, but is spurn' d from him with a Spirit of Upbraiding and Indignation, conformable to the Nature of Man, whose Passions had now gained the Dominion over him. The following Passage, wherein she is described as renewing her Addresses to him, with the whole Speech that follows it, have something in them exquisitely moving and pathetick.
He added not, and from her turned: But Eve
Not so repulst, with Tears that ceas'd not flowing,
And Tresses all disorder'd, at his feet
Fell humble; and embracing them, besought
His Peace, and thus proceeding in her Plaint.
Forsake me not thus, Adam! Witness Heav'n
What Love sincere, and Reverence in my Heart
I bear thee, and unweeting have offended,
Unhappily deceived! Thy Suppliant
I beg, and clasp thy Knees; bereave me not
(Whereon I live!) thy gentle Looks, thy Aid,
Thy Counsel, in this uttermost Distress,
My only Strength, and Stay! Forlorn of thee,
Whither shall I betake me, where subsist?
While yet we live, (scarce one short Hour perhaps)
Between us two let there be Peace, &c.
Adam's
Reconcilement to her is work'd up in the same Spirit of Tenderness.
Eve
afterwards proposes to her Husband, in the Blindness of her Despair, that to prevent their Guilt from descending upon Posterity they should resolve to live Childless; or, if that could not be done, they should seek their own Deaths by violent Methods. As those Sentiments naturally engage the Reader to regard the Mother of Mankind with more than ordinary Commiseration, they likewise contain a very fine Moral. The Resolution of dying to end our Miseries, does not shew such a degree of Magnanimity as a Resolution to bear them, and submit to the Dispensations of Providence. Our Author has therefore, with great Delicacy, represented
Eve
as entertaining this Thought, and
Adam
as disapproving it.
We are,
the last place, to consider the Imaginary Persons, or
Death and Sin
who act a large Part in this Book. Such beautiful extended Allegories are certainly some of the finest Compositions of Genius: but, as, I have before observed, are not agreeable to the Nature of an Heroick Poem. This of
Sin
and
Death
is very exquisite in its Kind, if not considered as a Part of such a Work. The Truths contained in it are so clear and open, that I shall not lose time in explaining them; but shall only observe, that a Reader who knows the Strength of the
English
Tongue, will be amazed to think how the Poet could find such apt Words and Phrases to describe the Action
s
of those two imaginary Persons, and particularly in that Part where
Death
is exhibited as forming a Bridge over the Chaos; a Work suitable to the Genius of
Milton
.
Since the Subject I am upon, gives me an Opportunity of speaking more at large of such Shadowy and Imaginary Persons as may be introduced into Heroick Poems, I shall beg leave to explain my self in a Matter which is curious in its Kind, and which none of the Criticks have treated of. It is certain
Homer
and
Virgil
are full of imaginary Persons, who are very beautiful in Poetry when they are just shewn, without being engaged in any Series of Action.
Homer
represents
Sleep
as a Person, and ascribes a short Part to him in his
Iliad
, but we must consider that tho' we now regard such a Person as entirely shadowy and unsubstantial, the Heathens made Statues of him, placed him in their Temples, and looked upon him as a real Deity. When
Homer
makes use of other such Allegorical Persons, it is only in short Expressions, which convey an ordinary Thought to the Mind in the most pleasing manner, and may rather be looked upon as Poetical Phrases than Allegorical Descriptions. Instead of telling us, that Men naturally fly when they are terrified, he introduces the Persons of
Flight
and
Fear
, who, he tells us, are inseparable Companions. Instead of saying that the time was come when
Apollo
ought to have received his Recompence, he tells us, that the
Hours
brought him his Reward. Instead of describing the Effects which
Minerva's
Ægis produced in Battel, he tells us, that the Brims of it were encompassed by
Terror, Rout, Discord, Fury, Pursuit, Massacre
, and
Death
. In the same Figure of speaking, he represents
Victory
as following
Diomedes; Discord
as the Mother of
Funerals
and
Mourning
;
Venus
as dressed by the
Graces
;
Bellona
as wearing
Terror
and
Consternation
like a Garment. I might give several other Instances out of
Homer
, as well as a great many out of
Virgil
.
Milton
has likewise very often made use of the same way of Speaking, as where he tells us, that
Victory
sat on the right Hand of the
Messiah
when he marched forth against the Rebel Angels; that at the rising of the Sun the
Hours
unbarr'd the Gates of Light; that
Discord
was the Daughter of
Sin
. Of the same nature are those Expressions, where describing the singing of the Nightingale, he adds,
Silence
was pleased; and upon the
Messiah's
bidding
Peace
to the Chaos,
Confusion
heard his Voice. I might add innumerable Instances of our Poet's writing in this beautiful Figure. It is plain that these I have mentioned, in which Persons of an imaginary Nature are introduced, are such short Allegories as are not designed to be taken in the literal Sense, but only to convey particular Circumstances to the Reader after an unusual and entertaining Manner. But when such Persons are introduced as principal Actors, and engaged in a Series of Adventures, they take too much upon them, and are by no means proper for an Heroick Poem, which ought to appear credible in its principal Parts. I cannot forbear therefore thinking that
Sin
and
Death
are as improper Agents in a Work of this nature, as
Strength
and
Necessity
in
of the Tragedies of
Æschylus
, who represented those two Persons nailing down
Prometheus
to a Rock
, for which he has been justly censured by the greatest Criticks. I do not know any imaginary Person made use of in a more sublime manner of thinking than that in one of the Prophets, who
God as descending from Heaven, and visiting the Sins of Mankind, adds that dreadful Circumstance, Before him went the
Pestilence
. It is certain this imaginary Person might have been described in all her purple Spots. The
Fever
might have marched before her,
Pain
might have stood at her right Hand,
Phrenzy
on her Left, and
Death
in her Rear. She might have been introduced as gliding down from the Tail of a Comet, or darted upon the Earth in a Flash of Lightning: She might have tainted the Atmosphere with her Breath; the very glaring of her Eyes might have scattered
Infection
. But I believe every Reader will think, that in such sublime Writings the mentioning of her as it is done in Scripture, has something in it more just, as well as great, than all that the most fanciful Poet could have bestowed upon her in the Richness of his Imagination.
L.
'Reddere personæ scit convenientia cuique.'
Hor.
Revelation
vi. 8.
Sin and Death
In the fourteenth Book, where Heré visits the home of Sleep, the brother of Death, and offers him the bribe of a gold chain if he will shut the eyes of Zeus, Sleep does not think it can be done. Heré then doubles her bribe, and offers Sleep a wife, the youngest of the Graces. Sleep makes her swear by Styx that she will hold to her word, and when she has done so flies off in her company, sits in the shape of a night-hawk in a pine tree upon the peak of Ida, whence when Zeus was subdued by love and sleep, Sleep went down to the ships to tell Poseidon that now was his time to help the Greeks.
In the
Prometheus Bound
of Æschylus, the binding of Prometheus by pitiless Strength, who mocks at compassion in the god Hephaistos, charged to serve him in this office, opens the sublimest of the ancient dramas. Addison is wrong in saying that there is a personification here of Strength and Necessity; Hephaistos does indeed say that he obeys Necessity, but his personified companions are Strength and Force, and of these Force appears only as the dumb attendant of Strength. Addison's 'greatest critics' had something to learn when they were blind to the significance of the contrast between Visible Strength at the opening of this poem, and the close with sublime prophecy of an unseen Power of the Future that disturbs Zeus on his throne, and gathers his thunders about the undaunted Prometheus.
Now let the shrivelling flame at me be driven,
Let him, with flaky snowstorms and the crash
Of subterraneous thunders, into ruins
And wild confusion hurl and mingle all:
For nought of these will bend me that I speak
Who is foredoomed to cast him from his throne.
(Mrs. Webster's translation.)
Habakkuk
iii. 5.
| [No. 358] | Monday, April 21, 1712 | Steele |
Desipere in loco.
Hor.
Charles Lillie
me the other day, and made me a Present of a large Sheet of Paper, on which is delineated a Pavement of Mosaick Work, lately discovered at
Stunsfield
near
Woodstock
. A Person who has so much the Gift of Speech as Mr.
Lillie
, and can carry on a Discourse without Reply, had great Opportunity on that Occasion to expatiate upon so fine a Piece of Antiquity. Among other things, I remember, he gave me his Opinion, which he drew from the Ornaments of the Work, That this was the Floor of a Room dedicated to Mirth and Concord. Viewing this Work, made my Fancy run over the many gay Expressions I had read in ancient Authors, which contained Invitations to lay aside Care and Anxiety, and give a Loose to that pleasing Forgetfulness wherein Men put off their Characters of Business, and enjoy their very Selves. These Hours were usually passed in Rooms adorned for that purpose, and set out in such a manner, as the Objects all around the Company gladdened their Hearts; which, joined to the cheerful Looks of well-chosen and agreeable Friends, gave new Vigour to the Airy, produced the latent Fire of the Modest, and gave Grace to the slow Humour of the Reserved. A judicious Mixture of such Company, crowned with Chaplets of Flowers, and the whole Apartment glittering with gay Lights, cheared with a Profusion of Roses, artificial Falls of Water, and Intervals of soft Notes to Songs of Love and Wine, suspended the Cares of human Life, and made a Festival of mutual Kindness. Such Parties of Pleasure as these, and the Reports of the agreeable Passages in their Jollities, have in all Ages awakened the dull Part of Mankind to pretend to Mirth and Good-Humour, without Capacity for such Entertainments; for if I may be allowed to say so, there are an hundred Men fit for any Employment, to one who is capable of passing a Night in the Company of the first Taste, without shocking any Member of the Society, over-rating his own Part of the Conversation, but equally receiving and contributing to the Pleasure of the whole Company. When one considers such Collections of Companions in past Times, and such as one might name in the present Age, with how much Spleen must a Man needs reflect upon the aukward Gayety of those who affect the Frolick with an ill Grace? I have a Letter from a Correspondent of mine, who desires me to admonish all loud, mischievous, airy, dull Companions, that they are mistaken in what they call a Frolick. Irregularity in its self is not what creates Pleasure and Mirth; but to see a Man who knows what Rule and Decency are, descend from them agreeably in our Company, is what denominates him a pleasant Companion. Instead of that, you find many whose Mirth consists only in doing Things which do not become them, with a secret Consciousness that all the World know they know better: To this is always added something mischievous to themselves or others. I have heard of some very merry Fellows, among whom the Frolick was started, and passed by a great Majority, that every Man should immediately draw a Tooth; after which they have gone in a Body and smoaked a Cobler.
same Company, at another Night, has each Man burned his Cravat; and one perhaps, whose Estate would bear it, has thrown a long Wigg and laced Hat into the same Fire
. Thus they have jested themselves stark naked, and ran into the Streets, and frighted Women very successfully. There is no Inhabitant of any standing in
Covent-Garden
, but can tell you a hundred good Humours, where People have come off with little Blood-shed, and yet scowered all the witty Hours of the Night. I know a Gentleman that has several Wounds in the Head by Watch Poles, and has been thrice run through the Body to carry on a good Jest: He is very old for a Man of so much Good-Humour; but to this day he is seldom merry, but he has occasion to be valiant at the same time. But by the Favour of these Gentlemen, I am humbly of Opinion, that a Man may be a very witty Man, and never offend one Statute of this Kingdom, not excepting even that of Stabbing.
The Writers of Plays have what they call Unity of Time and Place to give a Justness to their Representation; and it would not be amiss if all who pretend to be Companions, would confine their Action to the Place of Meeting: For a Frolick carried farther may be better performed by other Animals than Men. It is not to rid much Ground, or do much Mischief, that should denominate a pleasant Fellow; but that is truly Frolick which is the Play of the Mind, and consists of various and unforced Sallies of Imagination. Festivity of Spirit is a very uncommon Talent, and must proceed from an Assemblage of agreeable Qualities in the same Person: There are some few whom I think peculiarly happy in it; but it is a Talent one cannot name in a Man, especially when one considers that it is never very graceful but where it is regarded by him who possesses it in the second Place. The
Man that I know of for heightening the Revel-Gayety of a Company, is
Estcourt
,—whose Jovial Humour diffuses itself from the highest Person at an Entertainment to the meanest Waiter. Merry Tales, accompanied with apt Gestures and lively Representations of Circumstances and Persons, beguile the gravest Mind into a Consent to be as humourous as himself. Add to this, that when a Man is in his good Grace, he has a Mimickry that does not debase the Person he represents; but which, taking from the Gravity of the Character, adds to the Agreeableness of it. This pleasant Fellow gives one some Idea of the ancient Pantomime, who is said to have given the Audience, in Dumb-show, an exact Idea of any Character or Passion, or an intelligible Relation of any publick Occurrence, with no other Expression than that of his Looks and Gestures. If all who have been obliged to these Talents in
Estcourt
, will be at
Love for Love
to-morrow Night, they will but pay him what they owe him, at so easy a Rate as being present at a Play which no body would omit seeing, that had, or had not ever seen it before.
In
and some following numbers of the
Spectator
appeared an advertisement of this plate, which was engraved by Vertue.
'Whereas about nine weeks since there was accidentally discovered by an Husbandman, at Stunsfield, near Woodstock, in Oxfordshire, (a large Pavement of rich Mosaick Work of the Ancient Romans, which is adorn'd with several Figures alluding to Mirth and Concord, in particular that of Bacchus seated on a Panther.) This is to give Notice the Exact Delineation of the same is Engraven and Imprinted on a large Elephant sheet of Paper, which are to be sold at Mr. Charles Lillie's, Perfumer, at the corner of Beauford Buildings, in the Strand, at 1s. N. B. There are to be had, at the same Place, at one Guinea each, on superfine Atlas Paper, some painted with the same variety of Colours that the said Pavement is beautified with; this piece of Antiquity is esteemed by the Learned to be the most considerable ever found in Britain.'
The fine pavement discovered at Stonesfield in 1711 measures 35 feet by 60, and although by this time groundworks of more than a hundred Roman villas have been laid open in this country, the Stonesfield mosaic is still one of the most considerable of its kind.
Said to have been one of the frolics of Sir Charles Sedley.
See note on p. 204, ante [
of
]. Congreve's
Love for Love
was to be acted at Drury Lane on Tuesday night 'At the desire of several Ladies of Quality. For the Benefit of Mr. Estcourt.'
| [No. 359] | Tuesday, April 22, 1712 | Budgell |
Torva leæna lupum sequitur, lupus ipse capellam;
Florentem cytisum sequitur lusciva capella.
Virg.
As we were at the Club last Night, I observ'd that my Friend Sir
Roger
, contrary to his usual Custom, sat very silent, and instead of minding what was said by the Company, was whistling to himself in a very thoughtful Mood, and playing with a Cork. I jogg'd Sir
Andrew Freeport
who sat between us; and as we were both observing him, we saw the Knight shake his Head, and heard him say to himself, A foolish Woman! I can't believe it. Sir
Andrew
gave him a gentle Pat upon the Shoulder, and offered to lay him a Bottle of Wine that he was thinking of the Widow. My old Friend started, and recovering out of his brown Study, told Sir
Andrew
that once in his Life he had been in the right. In short, after some little Hesitation, Sir
Roger
told us in the fulness of his Heart that he had just received a Letter from his Steward, which acquainted him that his old Rival and Antagonist in the County, Sir David Dundrum, had been making a Visit to the Widow. However, says Sir
Roger
, I can never think that she'll have a Man that's half a Year older than I am, and a noted Republican into the Bargain.
Will. Honeycomb
, who looks upon Love as his particular Province, interrupting our Friend with a janty Laugh; I thought, Knight, says he, thou hadst lived long enough in the World, not to pin thy Happiness upon one that is a Woman and a Widow. I think that without Vanity I may pretend to know as much of the Female World as any Man in Great-Britain, tho' the chief of my Knowledge consists in this, that they are not to be known.
Will
, immediately, with his usual Fluency, rambled into an Account of his own Amours. I am now, says he, upon the Verge of Fifty, (tho' by the way we all knew he was turned of Threescore.) You may easily guess, continued
Will
., that I have not lived so long in the World without having had some thoughts of settling in it, as the Phrase is. To tell you truly, I have several times tried my Fortune that way, though I can't much boast of my Success.
I made my first Addresses to a young Lady in the Country; but when I thought things were pretty well drawing to a Conclusion, her Father happening to hear that I had formerly boarded with a Surgeon, the old Put forbid me his House, and within a Fortnight after married his Daughter to a Fox-hunter in the Neighbourhood.
I made my next Applications to a Widow, and attacked her so briskly, that I thought myself within a Fortnight of her. As I waited upon her one Morning, she told me that she intended to keep her Ready-Money and Jointure in her own Hand, and desired me to call upon her Attorney in Lyons-Inn, who would adjust with me what it was proper for me to add to it. I was so rebuffed by this Overture, that I never enquired either for her or her Attorney afterwards.
A few Months after I addressed my self to a young Lady, who was an only Daughter, and of a good Family. I danced with her at several Balls, squeez'd her by the Hand, said soft things to her, and, in short, made no doubt of her Heart; and though my Fortune was not equal to hers, I was in hopes that her fond Father would not deny her the Man she had fixed her Affections upon. But as I went one day to the House in order to break the matter to him, I found the whole Family in Confusion, and heard to my unspeakable Surprize, that Miss Jenny was that very Morning run away with the Butler.
I then courted a second Widow, and am at a Loss to this day how I came to miss her, for she had often commended my Person and Behaviour. Her Maid indeed told me one Day, that her Mistress had said she never saw a Gentleman with such a Spindle Pair of Legs as Mr.
Honeycomb
.
After this I laid Siege to four Heiresses successively, and being a handsome young Dog in those Days, quickly made a Breach in their Hearts; but I don't know how it came to pass, tho' I seldom failed of getting the Daughters Consent, I could never in my Life get the old People on my side.
I could give you an Account of a thousand other unsuccessful Attempts, particularly of one which I made some Years since upon an old Woman, whom I had certainly borne away with flying Colours, if her Relations had not come pouring in to her Assistance from all Parts of England; nay, I believe I should have got her at last, had not she been carried off by an hard Frost.
As
Will's
Transitions are extremely quick, he turn'd from Sir
Roger
, and applying himself to me, told me there was a Passage in the Book I had considered last Saturday, which deserved to be writ in Letters of Gold;
taking out a
Pocket-Milton
read the following Lines, which are Part of one of
Adam's
Speeches to
Eve
after the Fall.
—O! why did our
Creator wise! that peopled highest Heav'n
With Spirits masculine, create at last
This Novelty on Earth, this fair Defect
Of Nature? and not fill the World at once
With Men, as Angels, without Feminine?
Or find some other way to generate
Mankind? This Mischief had not then befall'n,
And more that shall befall; innumerable
Disturbances on Earth through Female Snares,
And strait Conjunction with this Sex: for either
He never shall find out fit Mate, but such
As some misfortune brings him, or mistake;
Or, whom he wishes most, shall seldom gain
Through her perverseness; but shall see her gain'd
By a far worse; or if she love, with-held
By Parents; or his happiest Choice too late
Shall meet already link'd, and Wedlock bound
To a fell Adversary, his Hate or Shame;
Which infinite Calamity shall cause
To human Life, and Household Peace confound[1].
Sir
Roger
listened to this Passage with great Attention, and desiring Mr.
Honeycomb
to fold down a Leaf at the Place, and lend him his Book, the Knight put it up in his Pocket, and told us that he would read over those Verses again before he went to Bed.
X.
Paradise Lost,
Bk x., ll 898-908.
| [No. 360] | Wednesday, April 23, 1712 | Steele |
—De paupertate tacentes
Plus poscente ferent.
Hor.
I have nothing to do with the Business of this Day, any further than affixing the piece of
Latin
on the Head of my Paper; which I think a Motto not unsuitable, since if Silence of our Poverty is a Recommendation, still more commendable is his Modesty who conceals it by a decent Dress.
Mr. Spectator,
'There is an Evil under the Sun which has not yet come within your Speculation; and is, the Censure, Disesteem, and Contempt which some young Fellows meet with from particular Persons, for the reasonable Methods they take to avoid them in general. This is by appearing in a better Dress, than may seem to a Relation regularly consistent with a small Fortune; and therefore may occasion a Judgment of a suitable Extravagance in other Particulars: [But] the Disadvantage with which the Man of narrow Circumstances acts and speaks, is so feelingly set forth in a little Book called the Christian Hero[1], that the appearing to be otherwise is not only pardonable but necessary. Every one knows the hurry of Conclusions that are made in contempt of a Person that appears to be calamitous, which makes it very excusable to prepare one's self for the Company of those that are of a superior Quality and Fortune, by appearing to be in a better Condition than one is, so far as such Appearance shall not make us really of worse.
It is a Justice due to the Character of one who suffers hard Reflections from any particular Person upon this Account, that such Persons would enquire into his manner of spending his Time; of which, tho' no further Information can be had than that he remains so many Hours in his Chamber, yet if this is cleared, to imagine that a reasonable Creature wrung with a narrow Fortune does not make the best use of this Retirement, would be a Conclusion extremely uncharitable. From what has, or will be said, I hope no Consequence can be extorted, implying, that I would have any young Fellow spend more Time than the common Leisure which his Studies require, or more Money than his Fortune or Allowance may admit of, in the pursuit of an Acquaintance with his Betters: For as to his Time, the gross of that ought to be sacred to more substantial Acquisitions; for each irrevocable Moment of which he ought to believe he stands religiously Accountable. And as to his Dress, I shall engage myself no further than in the modest Defence of two plain Suits a Year: For being perfectly satisfied in Eutrapelus's Contrivance of making a Mohock of a Man, by presenting him with lac'd and embroider'd Suits, I would by no means be thought to controvert that Conceit, by insinuating the Advantages of Foppery. It is an Assertion which admits of much Proof, that a Stranger of tolerable Sense dress'd like a Gentleman, will be better received by those of Quality above him, than one of much better Parts, whose Dress is regulated by the rigid Notions of Frugality. A Man's Appearance falls within the Censure of every one that sees him; his Parts and Learning very few are Judges of; and even upon these few, they can't at first be well intruded; for Policy and good Breeding will counsel him to be reserv'd among Strangers, and to support himself only by the common Spirit of Conversation. Indeed among the Injudicious, the Words Delicacy, Idiom, fine Images, Structure of Periods, Genius, Fire, and the rest, made use of with a frugal and comely Gravity, will maintain the Figure of immense Reading, and Depth of Criticism.
'All Gentlemen of Fortune, at least the young and middle-aged, are apt to pride themselves a little too much upon their Dress, and consequently to value others in some measure upon the same Consideration. With what Confusion is a Man of Figure obliged to return the Civilities of the Hat to a Person whose Air and Attire hardly entitle him to it? For whom nevertheless the other has a particular Esteem, tho' he is ashamed to have it challenged in so publick a Manner. It must be allowed, that any young Fellow that affects to dress and appear genteelly, might with artificial Management save ten Pound a Year; as instead of fine Holland he might mourn in Sackcloth, and in other Particulars be proportionably shabby: But of what great Service would this Sum be to avert any Misfortune, whilst it would leave him deserted by the little good Acquaintance he has, and prevent his gaining any other? As the Appearance of an easy Fortune is necessary towards making one, I don't know but it might be of advantage sometimes to throw into ones Discourse certain Exclamations about Bank-Stock, and to shew a marvellous Surprize upon its Fall, as well as the most affected Triumph upon its Rise. The Veneration and Respect which the Practice of all Ages has preserved to Appearances, without doubt suggested to our Tradesmen that wise and Politick Custom, to apply and recommend themselves to the publick by all those Decorations upon their Sign-posts and Houses, which the most eminent Hands in the Neighbourhood can furnish them with. What can be more attractive to a Man of Letters, than that immense Erudition of all Ages and Languages which a skilful Bookseller, in conjunction with a Painter, shall image upon his Column and the Extremities of his Shop? The [same] Spirit of maintaining a handsome Appearance reigns among the grave and solid Apprentices of the Law (here I could be particularly dull in proving[2] the Word Apprentice to be significant of a Barrister) and you may easily distinguish who has most lately made his Pretensions to Business, by the whitest and most ornamental Frame of his Window: If indeed the Chamber is a Ground-Room, and has Rails before it, the Finery is of Necessity more extended, and the Pomp of Business better maintain'd. And what can be a greater Indication of the Dignity of Dress, than that burdensome Finery which is the regular Habit of our Judges, Nobles, and Bishops, with which upon certain Days we see them incumbered? And though it may be said this is awful, and necessary for the Dignity of the State, yet the wisest of them have been remarkable, before they arrived at their present Stations, for being very well dressed Persons. As to my own Part, I am near Thirty; and since I left School have not been idle, which is a modern Phrase for having studied hard. I brought off a clean System of Moral Philosophy, and a tolerable Jargon of Metaphysicks from the University; since that, I have been engaged in the clearing Part of the perplex'd Style and Matter of the Law, which so hereditarily descends to all its Professors: To all which severe Studies I have thrown in, at proper Interims, the pretty Learning of the Classicks. [Notwithstanding] which, I am what Shakespear calls A Fellow of no Mark or Likelihood[3]; which makes me understand the more fully, that since the regular Methods of making Friends and a Fortune by the mere Force of a Profession is so very slow and uncertain, a Man should take all reasonable Opportunities, by enlarging a good Acquaintance, to court that Time and Chance which is said to happen to every Man.
T.
The passage is nearly at the beginning of Steele's third chapter,
'It is in every body's observation with what disadvantage a Poor Man enters upon the most ordinary affairs,' &c.
clearing
Henry IV
. Pt. I. Act iii. sc. 2.
| [No. 361] | Thursday, April 24, 1712 | Addison |
Tartaream intendit vocem, quâ protinus omnis
Contremuit domus—
Virg.
I have lately received the following Letter from a Country Gentleman.
Mr. Spectator,
'The [Night] before I left London I went to see a Play, called The Humorous Lieutenant[1]. Upon the Rising of the Curtain I was very much surprized with the great Consort of Cat-calls which was exhibited that Evening, and began to think with myself that I had made a Mistake, and gone to a Musick-Meeting, instead of the Play-house. It appeared indeed a little odd to me to see so many Persons of Quality of both Sexes assembled together at a kind of Catterwawling; for I cannot look upon that Performance to have been any thing better, whatever the Musicians themselves might think of it. As I had no Acquaintance in the House to ask Questions of, and was forced to go out of Town early the next Morning, I could not learn the Secret of this Matter. What I would therefore desire of you, is, to give some account of this strange Instrument, which I found the Company called a Cat-call; and particularly to let me know whether it be a piece of Musick lately come from Italy. For my own part, to be free with you, I would rather hear an English Fiddle; though I durst not shew my Dislike whilst I was in the Play-House, it being my Chance to sit the very next Man to one of the Performers. I am, Sir,
Your most affectionate Friend
and Servant,
John Shallow, Esq.
In compliance with Esquire
Shallow's
Request, I design this Paper as a Dissertation upon the Cat-call. In order to make myself a Master of the Subject, I purchased one the Beginning of last Week, though not without great difficulty, being inform'd at two or three Toyshops that the Players had lately bought them all up. I have since consulted many learned Antiquaries in relation to its Original, and find them very much divided among themselves upon that Particular. A Fellow of the Royal Society, who is my good Friend, and a great Proficient in the Mathematical Part of Musick, concludes from the Simplicity of its Make, and the Uniformity of its Sound, that the Cat-call is older than any of the Inventions of
Jubal
. He observes very well, that Musical Instruments took their first Rise from the Notes of Birds, and other melodious Animals; and what, says he, was more natural than for the first Ages of Mankind to imitate the Voice of a Cat that lived under the same Roof with them? He added, that the Cat had contributed more to Harmony than any other Animal; as we are not only beholden to her for this Wind-Instrument, but for our String Musick in general.
Another Virtuoso of my Acquaintance will not allow the Cat-call to be older than
Thespis
, and is apt to think it appeared in the World soon after the antient Comedy; for which reason it has still a place in our Dramatick Entertainments: Nor must I here omit what a very curious Gentleman, who is lately returned from his Travels, has more than once assured me, namely that there was lately dug up at Rome the Statue of
Momus
, who holds an Instrument in his Right-Hand very much resembling our Modern Cat-call.
There are others who ascribe this Invention to
Orpheus
, and look upon the Cat-call to be one of those Instruments which that famous Musician made use of to draw the Beasts about him. It is certain, that the Roasting of a Cat does not call together a greater Audience of that Species than this Instrument, if dexterously played upon in proper Time and Place.
But notwithstanding these various and learned Conjectures, I cannot forbear thinking that the Cat-call is originally a Piece of
English
Musick. Its Resemblance to the Voice of some of our
British
Songsters, as well as the Use of it, which is peculiar to our Nation, confirms me in this Opinion. It has at least received great Improvements among us, whether we consider the Instrument it self, or those several Quavers and Graces which are thrown into the playing of it. Every one might be sensible of this, who
that remarkable overgrown Cat-call which was placed in the Center of the Pit, and presided over all the rest at
the
celebrated Performance lately exhibited in
Drury-Lane
.
Having said thus much concerning the Original of the Cat-call, we are in the next place to consider the Use of it. The Cat-call exerts it self to most advantage in the
British
Theatre: It very much Improves the Sound of Nonsense, and often goes along with the Voice of the Actor who pronounces it, as the Violin or Harpsichord accompanies the
Italian
Recitativo.
It has often supplied the Place of the antient Chorus, in the Works of Mr.—— In short, a bad Poet has as great an Antipathy to a Cat-call, as many People have to a real Cat.
Mr.
Collier
, in his ingenious
Essay upon Musick
has the following Passage:
I believe 'tis possible to invent an Instrument that shall have a quite contrary Effect to those Martial ones now in use: An Instrument that shall sink the Spirits, and shake the Nerves, and curdle the Blood, and inspire Despair, and Cowardice and Consternation, at a surprizing rate. 'Tis probable the Roaring of Lions, the Warbling of Cats and Scritch-Owls, together with a Mixture of the Howling of Dogs, judiciously imitated and compounded, might go a great way in this Invention. Whether such Anti-Musick as this might not be of Service in a Camp, I shall leave to the Military Men to consider.
What this learned Gentleman supposes in Speculation, I have known actually verified in Practice. The Cat-call has struck a Damp into Generals, and frighted Heroes off the Stage. At the first sound of it I have seen a Crowned Head tremble, and a Princess fall into Fits. The
Humorous Lieutenant
himself could not stand it; nay, I am told that even
Almanzor
looked like a Mouse, and trembled at the Voice of this terrifying Instrument.
As it is of a Dramatick Nature, and peculiarly appropriated to the Stage, I can by no means approve the Thought of that angry Lover, who, after an unsuccessful Pursuit of some Years, took leave of his Mistress in a Serenade of Cat-calls.
I must conclude this Paper with the Account I have lately received of an ingenious Artist, who has long studied this Instrument, and is very well versed in all the Rules of the Drama. He teaches to play on it by Book, and to express by it the whole Art of Criticism. He has his Base and his Treble Cat-call; the former for Tragedy, the latter for Comedy; only in Tragy-Comedies they may both play together in Consort. He has a particular Squeak to denote the Violation of each of the Unities, and has different Sounds to shew whether he aims at the Poet or the Player. In short he teaches the Smut-note, the Fustian-note, the Stupid-note, and has composed a kind of Air that may serve as an Act-tune to an incorrigible Play, and which takes in the whole Compass of the Cat-call.
L.
By Beaumont and Fletcher.
that
Essays upon several Moral Subjects
, by Jeremy Collier, Part II. p. 30 (ed. 1732). Jeremy Collier published the first volume of these
Essays
in 1697, after he was safe from the danger brought on himself by attending Sir John Friend and Sir William Perkins when they were executed for the "assassination plot." The other two volumes appeared successively in 1705 and 1709. It was in 1698 that Collier published his famous
Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage
.
Not being yet determined with whose Name to fill up the Gap in this Dissertation which is marked with ——, I shall defer it till this Paper appears with others in a Volume. L.
| [No. 362] | Friday, April 25, 1712 | Steele |
Laudibus arguitur Vini vinosus—
Hor.
Temple, Apr. 24.
Mr. Spectator,
Several of my Friends were this Morning got together over a Dish of Tea in very good Health, though we had celebrated Yesterday with more Glasses than we could have dispensed with, had we not been beholden to Brooke and Hillier. In Gratitude therefore to those good Citizens, I am, in the Name of the Company, to accuse you of great Negligence in overlooking their Merit, who have imported true and generous Wine, and taken care that it should not be adulterated by the Retailers before it comes to the Tables of private Families, or the Clubs of honest Fellows. I cannot imagine how a Spectator can be supposed to do his Duty, without frequent Resumption of such Subjects as concern our Health, the first thing to be regarded, if we have a mind to relish anything else. It would therefore very well become your Spectatorial Vigilance, to give it in Orders to your Officer for inspecting Signs, that in his March he would look into the Itinerants who deal in Provisions, and enquire where they buy their several Wares. [Ever] since the Decease of Cully[1]-Mully-Puff[2] of agreeable and noisy Memory, I cannot say I have observed any thing sold in Carts, or carried by Horse or Ass, or in fine, in any moving Market, which is not perished or putrified; witness the Wheel-barrows of rotten Raisins, Almonds, Figs, and Currants, which you see vended by a Merchant dressed in a second-hand Suit of a Foot Soldier. [You] should consider that a Child may be poisoned for the Worth of a Farthing; but except his poor Parents send to one certain Doctor in Town[3], they can have no advice for him under a Guinea. When Poisons are thus cheap, and Medicines thus dear, how can you be negligent in inspecting what we eat and drink, or take no Notice of such as the above-mentioned Citizens, who have been so serviceable to us of late in that particular? It was a Custom among the old Romans, to do him particular Honours who had saved the Life of a Citizen, how much more does the World owe to those who prevent the Death of Multitudes? As these Men deserve well of your Office, so such as act to the Detriment of our Health, you ought to represent to themselves and their Fellow-Subjects in the Colours which they deserve to wear. I think it would be for the publick Good, that all who vend Wines should be under oaths in that behalf. The Chairman at a Quarter Sessions should inform the Country, that the Vintner who mixes Wine to his Customers, shall (upon proof that the Drinker thereof died within a Year and a Day after taking it) be deemed guilty of Wilful Murder: and the Jury shall be instructed to enquire and present such Delinquents accordingly. It is no Mitigation of the Crime, nor will it be conceived that it can be brought in Chance-Medley or Man-Slaughter, upon Proof that it shall appear Wine joined to Wine, or right Herefordshire poured into Port O Port; but his selling it for one thing, knowing it to be another, must justly bear the foresaid Guilt of wilful Murder: For that he, the said Vintner, did an unlawful Act willingly in the false Mixture; and is therefore with Equity liable to all the Pains to which a Man would be, if it were proved he designed only to run a Man through the Arm, whom he whipped through the Lungs. This is my third Year at the Temple, and this is or should be Law. An [ill] Intention well proved should meet with no Alleviation, because it out-ran[4] it self. There cannot be too great Severity used against the Injustice as well as Cruelty of those who play with Mens Lives, by preparing Liquors, whose Nature, for ought they know, may be noxious when mixed, tho innocent when apart: [And] Brooke and Hillier[5], who have ensured our Safety at our Meals, and driven Jealousy from our Cups in Conversation, deserve the Custom and Thanks of the whole Town; and it is your Duty to remind them of the Obligation. I am, Sir,
Your Humble Servant,
Tom. Pottle.
Mr. Spectator,
I am a Person who was long immured in a College, read much, saw little; so that I knew no more of the World than what a Lecture or a View of the Map taught me. By this means I improved in my Study, but became unpleasant in Conversation. By conversing generally with the Dead, I grew almost unfit for the Society of the Living; so by a long Confinement I contracted an ungainly Aversion to Conversation, and ever discoursed with Pain to my self, and little Entertainment to others. At last I was in some measure made sensible of my failing, and the Mortification of never being spoke to, or speaking, unless the Discourse ran upon Books, put me upon forcing my self amongst Men. I immediately affected the politest Company, by the frequent use of which I hoped to wear off the Rust I had contracted; but by an uncouth Imitation of Men used to act in publick, I got no further than to discover I had a Mind to appear a finer thing than I really was.
Such I was, and such was my Condition, when I became an ardent Lover, and passionate Admirer of the beauteous Belinda: Then it was that I really began to improve. This Passion changed all my Fears and Diffidences in my general Behaviour, to the sole Concern of pleasing her. I had not now to study the Action of a Gentleman, but Love possessing all my Thoughts, made me truly be the thing I had a Mind to appear. My Thoughts grew free and generous, and the Ambition to be agreeable to her I admired, produced in my Carriage a faint Similitude of that disengaged Manner of my Belinda. The way we are in at present is, that she sees my Passion, and sees I at present forbear speaking of it through prudential Regards. This Respect to her she returns with much Civility, and makes my Value for her as little a Misfortune to me, as is consistent with Discretion. She sings very charmingly, and is readier to do so at my Request, because she knows I love her: She will dance with me rather than another, for the same Reason. My Fortune must alter from what it is, before I can speak my Heart to her; and her Circumstances are not considerable enough to make up for the Narrowness of mine. But I write to you now, only to give you the Character of Belinda, as a Woman that has Address enough to demonstrate a Gratitude to her Lover, without giving him Hopes of Success in his Passion. Belinda has from a great Wit, governed by as great Prudence, and both adorned with Innocence, the Happiness of always being ready to discover her real Thoughts. She has many of us, who now are her Admirers; but her Treatment of us is so just and proportioned to our Merit towards her, and what we are in our selves, that I protest to you I have neither Jealousy nor Hatred toward my Rivals. Such is her Goodness, and the Acknowledgment of every Man who admires her, that he thinks he ought to believe she will take him who best deserves her. I will not say that this Peace among us is not owing to Self-love, which prompts each to think himself the best Deserver: I think there is something uncommon and worthy of Imitation in this Lady's Character. If you will please to Print my Letter, you will oblige the little Fraternity of happy Rivals, and in a more particular Manner,
Sir,
Your most humble Servant,
Will. Cymon.
T.
Mully
See
. He was a little man just able to bear on his head his basket of pastry, and who was named from his cry. There is a half-sheet print of him in the set of London Cries in Granger's
Biographical History of England.
Who advertised that he attended patients at charges ranging from a shilling to half-a-crown, according to their distance from his house.
out-run
Estcourt, it may be remembered, connected the advertisement of his Bumper tavern with the recommendation of himself as one ignorant of the wine trade who relied on Brooke and Hellier, and so ensured his Customers good wine. Among the advertisers in the Spectator Brooke and Hellier often appeared. One of their advertisements is preceded by the following, evidently a contrivance of their own, which shows that the art of puffing was not then in its infancy:
'This is to give Notice, That Brooke and Hellier have not all the New Port Wines this Year, nor above one half, the Vintners having bought 130 Pipes of Mr. Thomas Barlow and others, which are all natural, and shall remain Genuine, on which all Gentlemen and others may depend. Note.—Altho' Brooke and Hellier have asserted in several Papers that they had 140 Pipes of New Oporto Wines coming from Bristol, it now appears, since their landing, that they have only 133 Pipes, I Hhd. of the said Wines, which shews plainly how little what they say is to be credited.'
Then follows their long advertisement, which ends with a note that Their New Ports, just landed, being the only New Ports in Merchants Hands, and above One Half of all that is in London, will begin to be sold at the old prices the I2th inst. (April) at all their Taverns and Cellars.
| [No. 363] | Saturday, April 26, 1712 | Addison |
—Crudelis ubique
Luctus, ubique pavor, et plurima Mortis
Imago.
Virg.
Milton
has shewn a wonderful Art in describing that variety of Passions which arise in our first Parents upon the Breach of the Commandment that had been given them. We see them gradually passing from the Triumph of their Guilt thro Remorse, Shame, Despair, Contrition, Prayer, and Hope, to a perfect and compleat Repentance. At the end of the tenth Book they are represented as prostrating themselves upon the Ground, and watering the Earth with their Tears: To which the Poet joins this beautiful Circumstance, that they offerd up their penitential Prayers, on the very Place where their Judge appeared to them when he pronounced their Sentence.
—They forthwith to the place
Repairing where he judg'd them, prostrate fell
Before him Reverent, and both confess'd
Humbly their Faults, and Pardon begg'd, with Tears
Watering the Ground—
There is a Beauty of the same kind in a Tragedy of Sophocles, where Œdipus, after having put out his own Eyes, instead of breaking his Neck from the Palace-Battlements (which furnishes so elegant an Entertainment for our English Audience) desires that he may be conducted to Mount Cithoeron, in order to end his Life in that very Place where he was exposed in his Infancy, and where he should then have died, had the Will of his Parents been executed.
As the Author never fails to give a poetical Turn to his Sentiments, he describes in the Beginning of this Book the Acceptance which these their Prayers met with, in a short Allegory, formd upon that beautiful Passage in holy Writ: And another Angel came and stood at the Altar, having a golden Censer; and there was given unto him much Incense, that he should offer it with the Prayers of all Saints upon the Golden Altar, which was before the Throne: And the Smoak of the Incense which came with the Prayers of the Saints, ascended up before God.
—To Heavn their Prayers
Flew up, nor miss'd the Way, by envious Winds
Blown vagabond or frustrate: in they pass'd
Dimensionless through heavnly Doors, then clad
With Incense, where the Golden Altar fumed,
By their great Intercessor, came in sight
Before the Father's Throne—
We have the same Thought expressed a second time in the Intercession of the
Messiah
, which is conceived in very Emphatick Sentiments and Expressions.
Among the Poetical Parts of Scripture, which
Milton
has so finely wrought into this Part of his Narration, I must not omit that wherein
Ezekiel
speaking of the Angels who appeared to him in a Vision, adds, that every one had four Faces, and that their whole Bodies, and their Backs, and their Hands, and their Wings, were full of Eyes round about.
—The Cohort bright
Of watchful Cherubims, four Faces each
Had like a double Janus, all their Shape
Spangled with Eyes—
The Assembling of all the Angels of Heaven to hear the solemn Decree passed upon Man, is represented in very lively Ideas. The Almighty is here describd as remembring Mercy in the midst of Judgment, and commanding
Michael
to deliver his Message in the mildest Terms, lest the Spirit of Man, which was already broken with the Sense of his Guilt and Misery, should fail before him.
—Yet lest they faint
At the sad Sentence rigorously urg'd,
For I behold them softned, and with Tears
Bewailing their Excess, all Terror hide,
The Conference of
Adam
and
Eve
is full of moving Sentiments. Upon their going abroad after the melancholy Night which they had passed together, they discover the Lion and the Eagle pursuing each of them their Prey towards the Eastern Gates of Paradise. There is a double Beauty in this Incident, not only as it presents great and just Omens, which are always agreeable in Poetry, but as it expresses that Enmity which was now produced in the Animal Creation. The Poet to shew the like Changes in Nature, as well as to grace his Fable with a noble Prodigy, represents the Sun in an Eclipse. This particular Incident has likewise a fine Effect upon the Imagination of the Reader, in regard to what follows; for at the same time that the Sun is under an Eclipse, a bright Cloud descends in the Western Quarter of the Heavens, filled with an Host of Angels, and more luminous than the Sun it self. The whole Theatre of Nature is darkned, that this glorious Machine may appear in all its Lustre and Magnificence.
—Why in the East
Darkness ere Days mid-course, and morning Light
More orient in that Western Cloud that draws
O'er the blue Firmament a radiant White,
And slow descends, with something Heavnly fraught?
He err'd not, for by this the heavenly Bands
Down from a Sky of Jasper lighted now
In Paradise, and on a Hill made halt;
A glorious Apparition—
I need not observe how properly this Author, who always suits his Parts to the Actors whom he introduces, has employed
Michael
in the Expulsion of our first Parents from Paradise. The Archangel on this Occasion neither appears in his proper Shape, nor in that familiar Manner with which
Raphael
the sociable Spirit entertained the Father of Mankind before the Fall. His Person, his Port, and Behaviour, are suitable to a Spirit of the highest Rank, and exquisitely describd in the following Passage.
—Th' Archangel soon drew nigh,
Not in his Shape Celestial; but as Man
Clad to meet Man: over his lucid Arms
A Military Vest of Purple flow'd,
Livelier than Meliboean, or the Grain
Of Sarra, worn by Kings and Heroes old,
In time of Truce: Iris had dipt the Wooff:
His starry Helm, unbuckled, shew'd him prime
In Manhood where Youth ended; by his side,
As in a glistring Zodiack, hung the Sword,
Satan's dire dread, and in his Hand the Spear.
Adam bow'd low, he Kingly from his State
Inclined not, but his coming thus declared.
Eve's
Complaint upon hearing that she was to be removed from the Garden of Paradise, is wonderfully beautiful: The Sentiments are not only proper to the Subject, but have something in them particularly soft and womanish.
Must I then leave thee, Paradise? Thus leave
Thee, native Soil, these happy Walks and Shades,
Fit haunt of Gods? Where I had hope to spend
Quiet, though sad, the respite of that Day
That must be mortal to us both. O Flowrs,
That never will in other Climate grow,
My early Visitation, and my last
At Even, which I bred up with tender Hand
From the first opening Bud, and gave you Names;
Who now shall rear you to the Sun, or rank
Your Tribes, and water from th' ambrosial Fount?
Thee, lastly, nuptial Bower, by me adorn'd
With what to Sight or Smell was sweet; from thee
How shall I part, and whither wander down
Into a lower World, to this obscure
And wild? how shall we breathe in other Air
Less pure, accustomd to immortal Fruits?
Adam's
Speech abounds with Thoughts which are equally moving, but of a more masculine and elevated Turn. Nothing can be conceived more Sublime and Poetical than the following Passage in it.
This most afflicts me, that departing hence
As from his Face I shall be hid, deprived
His blessed Countnance: here I could frequent,
With Worship, place by place where he vouchsaf'd
Presence Divine; and to my Sons relate,
On this Mount he appear'd, under this Tree
Stood visible, among these Pines his Voice
I heard, here with him at this Fountain talk'd;
So many grateful Altars I would rear
Of grassy Turf, and pile up every Stone
Of lustre from the Brook, in memory
Or monument to Ages, and thereon
Offer sweet-smelling Gums and Fruits and Flowers.
In yonder nether World—where shall I seek
His bright Appearances, or Footsteps trace?
For though I fled him angry, yet recalled
To Life prolonged and promised Race, I now
Gladly behold though but his utmost Skirts
Of Glory, and far off his Steps adore.
The Angel afterwards leads
Adam
to the highest Mount of Paradise, and lays before him a whole Hemisphere, as a proper Stage for those Visions which were to be represented on it. I have before observed how the Plan of
Milton's
Poem is in many Particulars greater than that of the
Iliad
or
Æneid
.
Virgil's
Hero, in the last of these Poems, is entertained with a Sight of all those who are to descend from him; but though that Episode is justly admired as one of the noblest Designs in the whole
Æneid
, every one-must allow that this of
Milton
is of a much higher Nature.
Adam's
Vision is not confined to any particular Tribe of Mankind, but extends to the whole Species.
In this great Review which
Adam
takes of all his Sons and Daughters, the first Objects he is presented with exhibit to him the Story of
Cain
and
Abel
, which is drawn together with much Closeness and Propriety of Expression. That Curiosity and natural Horror which arises in
Adam
at the Sight of the first dying Man, is touched with great Beauty.
But have I now seen Death? is this the way
I must return to native Dust? O Sight
Of Terror foul, and ugly to behold,
Horrid to think, how horrible to feel!
The second Vision sets before him the Image of Death in a great Variety of Appearances. The Angel, to give him a general Idea of those Effects which his Guilt had brought upon his Posterity, places before him a large Hospital or Lazar-House, filled with Persons lying under all kinds of mortal Diseases. How finely has the Poet told us that the sick Persons languished under lingering and incurable Distempers, by an apt and judicious use of such Imaginary Beings as those I mentioned in my last Saturday's Paper.
Dire was the tossing, deep the Groans. Despair
Tended the Sick, busy from Couch to Couch;
And over them triumphant Death his Dart
Shook, but delayed to strike, though oft invoked
With Vows, as their chief Good and final Hope.
The Passion which likewise rises in Adam on this Occasion, is very natural.
Sight so deform, what Heart of Rock could long
Dry-eyed behold? Adam could not, but wept,
Tho' not of Woman born; Compassion quell'd
His best of Man, and gave him up to Tears.
The Discourse between the Angel and
Adam
, which follows, abounds with noble Morals.
As there is nothing more delightful in Poetry than a Contrast and Opposition of Incidents, the Author, after this melancholy Prospect of Death and Sickness, raises up a Scene of Mirth, Love, and Jollity. The secret Pleasure that steals into
Adam's
Heart as he is intent upon this Vision, is imagined with great Delicacy. I must not omit the Description of the loose female Troop, who seduced the Sons of God, as they are called in Scripture.
For that fair female Troop thou sawst, that seemed
Of Goddesses, so Blithe, so Smooth, so Gay,
Yet empty of all Good wherein consists
Woman's domestick Honour and chief Praise;
Bred only and compleated to the taste
Of lustful Appetence, to sing, to dance,
To dress, and troule the Tongue, and roll the Eye:
To these that sober Race of Men, whose Lives
Religious titled them the Sons of God,
Shall yield up all their Virtue, all their Fame
Ignobly, to the Trains and to the Smiles
Of those fair Atheists—
The next Vision is of a quite contrary Nature, and filled with the Horrors of War.
Adam
at the Sight of it melts into Tears, and breaks out in that passionate Speech,
—O what are these!
Death's Ministers, not Men, who thus deal Death
Inhumanly to Men, and multiply
Ten Thousandfold the Sin of him who slew
His Brother: for of whom such Massacre
Make they but of their Brethren, Men of Men?
Milton
, to keep up an agreeable Variety in his Visions, after having raised in the Mind of his Reader the several Ideas of Terror which are conformable to the Description of War, passes on to those softer Images of Triumphs and Festivals, in that Vision of Lewdness and Luxury which ushers in the Flood.
As it is visible that the Poet had his Eye upon
Ovid's
Account of the universal Deluge, the Reader may observe with how much Judgment he has avoided every thing that is redundant or puerile in the
Latin
Poet.
do not here see the Wolf swimming among the Sheep, nor any of those wanton Imaginations, which
Seneca
found fault with
, as unbecoming
the
great Catastrophe of Nature. If our Poet has imitated that Verse in which
Ovid
tells us that there was nothing but Sea, and that this Sea had no Shore to it, he has not set the Thought in such a Light as to incur the Censure which Criticks have passed upon it. The latter part of that Verse in
Ovid
is idle and superfluous, but just and beautiful in
Milton
.
Jamque mare et tellus nullum discrimen habebant,
Nil nisi pontus erat, deerant quoque littora ponto.
(Ovid)
—Sea cover'd Sea,
Sea without Shore—
(Milton.)
In
Milton
the former Part of the Description does not forestall the latter. How much more great and solemn on this Occasion is that which follows in our
English
Poet,
—And in their Palaces
Where Luxury late reign'd, Sea-Monsters whelp'd
And stabled—
than that in
Ovid
, where we are told that the Sea-Calfs lay in those Places where the Goats were used to browze? The Reader may find several other parallel Passages in the
Latin
and
English
Description of the Deluge, wherein our Poet has visibly the Advantage. The Skys being overcharged with Clouds, the descending of the Rains, the rising of the Seas, and the Appearance of the Rainbow, are such Descriptions as every one must take notice of. The Circumstance relating to Paradise is so finely imagined, and suitable to the Opinions of many learned Authors, that I cannot forbear giving it a Place in this Paper.
—Then shall this Mount
Of Paradise by might of Waves be mov'd
Out of his Place, pushed by the horned Flood
With all his Verdure spoil'd, and Trees adrift
Down the great River to the opning Gulf,
And there take root, an Island salt and bare,
The haunt of Seals and Orcs and Sea-Mews clang.
The Transition which the Poet makes from the Vision of the Deluge, to the Concern it occasioned in
Adam
, is exquisitely graceful, and copied after
Virgil
, though the first Thought it introduces is rather in the Spirit of
Ovid
.
How didst thou grieve then, Adam, to behold
The End of all thy Offspring, End so sad,
Depopulation! thee another Flood
Of Tears and Sorrow, a Flood thee also drowned,
And sunk thee as thy Sons; till gently rear'd
By th' Angel, on thy Feet thou stoodst at last,
Tho' comfortless, as when a Father mourns
His Children, all in view destroyed at once.
I have been the more particular in my Quotations out of the eleventh Book of
Paradise Lost,
because it is not generally reckoned among the most shining Books of this Poem; for which Reason the Reader might be apt to overlook those many Passages in it which deserve our Admiration. The eleventh and twelfth are indeed built upon that single Circumstance of the Removal of our first Parents from Paradise; but tho' this is not in itself so great a Subject as that in most of the foregoing Books, it is extended and diversified with so many surprising Incidents and pleasing Episodes, that these two last Books can by no means be looked upon as unequal Parts of this Divine Poem. I must further add, that had not
Milton
represented our first Parents as driven out of Paradise, his Fall of Man would not have been compleat, and consequently his Action would have been imperfect.
L.
Nat. Quaest
. Bk. III. §27.
this
| [No. 364] | Monday, April 28, 1712 | Steele |
—Navibus[1] atque
Quadrigis petimus bene vivere.
Hor.
Mr. Spectator[2],
A Lady of my Acquaintance, for whom I have too much Respect to be easy while she is doing an indiscreet Action, has given occasion to this Trouble: She is a Widow, to whom the Indulgence of a tender Husband has entrusted the Management of a very great Fortune, and a Son about sixteen, both which she is extremely fond of. The Boy has Parts of the middle Size, neither shining nor despicable, and has passed the common Exercises of his Years with tolerable Advantage; but is withal what you would call a forward Youth: By the Help of this last Qualification, which serves as a Varnish to all the rest, he is enabled to make the best Use of his Learning, and display it at full length upon all Occasions. Last Summer he distinguished himself two or three times very remarkably, by puzzling the Vicar before an Assembly of most of the Ladies in the Neighbourhood; and from such weighty Considerations as these, as it too often unfortunately falls out, the Mother is become invincibly persuaded that her Son is a great Scholar; and that to chain him down to the ordinary Methods of Education with others of his Age, would be to cramp his Faculties, and do an irreparable Injury to his wonderful Capacity.
I happened to visit at the House last Week, and missing the young Gentleman at the Tea-Table, where he seldom fails to officiate, could not upon so extraordinary a Circumstance avoid inquiring after him. My Lady told me, he was gone out with her Woman, in order to make some Preparations for their Equipage; for that she intended very speedily to carry him to travel. The Oddness of the Expression shock'd me a little; however, I soon recovered my self enough to let her know, that all I was willing to understand by it was, that she designed this Summer to shew her Son his Estate in a distant County, in which he has never yet been: But she soon took care to rob me of that agreeable Mistake, and let me into the whole Affair. She enlarged upon young Master's prodigious Improvements, and his comprehensive Knowledge of all Book-Learning; concluding, that it was now high time he should be made acquainted with Men and Things; that she had resolved he should make the Tour of France and Italy, but could not bear to have him out of her Sight, and therefore intended to go along with him.
I was going to rally her for so extravagant a Resolution, but found my self not in fit Humour to meddle with a Subject that demanded the most soft and delicate Touch imaginable. I was afraid of dropping something that might seem to bear hard either upon the Son's Abilities, or the Mother's Discretion; being sensible that in both these Cases, tho' supported with all the Powers of Reason, I should, instead of gaining her Ladyship over to my Opinion, only expose my self to her Disesteem: I therefore immediately determined to refer the whole Matter to the Spectator.
When I came to reflect at Night, as my Custom is, upon the Occurrences of the Day, I could not but believe that this Humour of carrying a Boy to travel in his Mother's Lap, and that upon pretence of learning Men and Things, is a Case of an extraordinary Nature, and carries on it a particular Stamp of Folly. I did not remember to have met with its Parallel within the Compass of my Observation, tho' I could call to mind some not extremely unlike it. From hence my Thoughts took Occasion to ramble into the general Notion of Travelling, as it is now made a Part of Education. Nothing is more frequent than to take a Lad from Grammar and Taw, and under the Tuition of some poor Scholar, who is willing to be banished for thirty Pounds a Year, and a little Victuals, send him crying and snivelling into foreign Countries. Thus he spends his time as Children do at Puppet-Shows, and with much the same Advantage, in staring and gaping at an amazing Variety of strange things: strange indeed to one who is not prepared to comprehend the Reasons and Meaning of them; whilst he should be laying the solid Foundations of Knowledge in his Mind, and furnishing it with just Rules to direct his future Progress in Life under some skilful Master of the Art of Instruction.
Can there be a more astonishing Thought in Nature, than to consider how Men should fall into so palpable a Mistake? It is a large Field, and may very well exercise a sprightly Genius; but I don't remember you have yet taken a Turn in it. I wish, Sir, you would make People understand, that Travel is really the last Step to be taken in the Institution of Youth; and to set out with it, is to begin where they should end.
Certainly the true End of visiting Foreign Parts, is to look into their Customs and Policies, and observe in what Particulars they excel or come short of our own; to unlearn some odd Peculiarities in our Manners, and wear off such awkward Stiffnesses and Affectations in our Behaviour, as may possibly have been contracted from constantly associating with one Nation of Men, by a more free, general, and mixed Conversation. But how can any of these Advantages be attained by one who is a mere Stranger to the Custom sand Policies of his native Country, and has not yet fixed in his Mind the first Principles of Manners and Behaviour? To endeavour it, is to build a gawdy Structure without any Foundation; or, if I may be allow'd the Expression, to work a rich Embroidery upon a Cobweb.
Another End of travelling which deserves to be considerd, is the Improving our Taste of the best Authors of Antiquity, by seeing the Places where they lived, and of which they wrote; to compare the natural Face of the Country with the Descriptions they have given us, and observe how well the Picture agrees with the Original. This must certainly be a most charming Exercise to the Mind that is rightly turned for it; besides that it may in a good measure be made subservient to Morality, if the Person is capable of drawing just Conclusions concerning the Uncertainty of human things, from the ruinous Alterations Time and Barbarity have brought upon so many Palaces, Cities and whole Countries, which make the most illustrious Figures in History. And this Hint may be not a little improved by examining every Spot of Ground that we find celebrated as the Scene of some famous Action, or retaining any Footsteps of a Cato, Cicero or Brutus, or some such great virtuous Man. A nearer View of any such Particular, tho really little and trifling in it self, may serve the more powerfully to warm a generous Mind to an Emulation of their Virtues, and a greater Ardency of Ambition to imitate their bright Examples, if it comes duly temper'd and prepar'd for the Impression. But this I [believe] you'll hardly think those to be, who are so far from ent'ring into the Sense and Spirit of the Ancients, that they don't yet understand their Language with any Exactness[3].
But I have wander'd from my Purpose, which was only to desire you to save, if possible, a fond English Mother, and Mother's own Son, from being shewn a ridiculous Spectacle thro' the most polite Part of Europe, Pray tell them, that though to be Sea-sick, or jumbled in an outlandish Stage-Coach, may perhaps be healthful for the Constitution of the Body, yet it is apt to cause such a Dizziness in young empty Heads, as too often lasts their Life-time.
I am, Sir,
Your most Humble Servant,
Philip Homebred.
Birchan-Lane.
Sir,
I was marry'd on Sunday last, and went peaceably to bed; but, to my Surprize, was awakend the next Morning by the Thunder of a Set of Drums. These warlike Sounds (methinks) are very improper in a Marriage-Consort, and give great Offence; they seem to insinuate, that the Joys of this State are short, and that Jars and Discord soon ensue. I fear they have been ominous to many Matches, and sometimes proved a Prelude to a Battel in the Honey-Moon. A Nod from you may hush them; therefore pray, Sir, let them be silenced, that for the future none but soft Airs may usher in the Morning of a Bridal Night, which will be a Favour not only to those who come after, but to me, who can still subscribe my self,
Your most humble
and most obedient Servant,
Robin Bridegroom.
Mr. Spectator,
I am one of that sort of Women whom the gayer Part of our Sex are apt to call a Prude. But to shew them that I have very little Regard to their Raillery, I shall be glad to see them all at The Amorous Widow, or the Wanton Wife, which is to be acted, for the Benefit of Mrs. Porter, on Monday the 28th Instant. I assure you I can laugh at an Amorous Widow, or Wanton Wife, with as little Temptation to imitate them, as I could at any other vicious Character. Mrs. Porter obliged me so very much in the exquisite Sense she seemed to have of the honourable Sentiments and noble Passions in the Character of Hermione, that I shall appear in her behalf at a Comedy, tho I have not great Relish for any Entertainments where the Mirth is not seasond with a certain Severity, which ought to recommend it to People who pretend to keep Reason and Authority over all their Actions.
I am, Sir,
Your frequent Reader,
Altamira.
T.
Strenua nos exercet inertia: Navibus...
Dr. Thomas Birch, in a letter dated June 15, 1764, says that this letter was by Mr. Philip Yorke, afterwards Earl of Hardwicke, who was author also of another piece in the
Spectator
, but his son could not remember what that was.
Exactness.
I cant quit this head without paying my Acknowledgments to one of the most entertaining Pieces this Age has produc'd, for the Pleasure it gave me. You will easily guess, that the Book I have in my head is Mr. A——'s Remarks upon Italy. That Ingenious gentleman has with so much Art and Judgment applied his exact Knowledge of all the Parts of Classical Learning to illustrate the several occurrences of his Travels, that his Work alone is a pregnant Proof of what I have said. No Body that has a Taste this way, can read him going from Rome to Naples, and making Horace and Silius Italicus his Chart, but he must feel some Uneasiness in himself to Reflect that he was not in his Retinue. I am sure I wish'd it Ten Times in every Page, and that not without a secret Vanity to think in what State I should have Travelled the Appian Road with Horace for a Guide, and in company with a Countryman of my own, who of all Men living knows best how to follow his Steps.
| [No. 365] | Tuesday, April 29, 1712 | Budgell |
Vere magis, quia vere calor redit ossibus—
Virg.
The author of the
Menagiana
acquaints us, that discoursing one Day with several Ladies of Quality about the Effects of the Month of
May
, which infuses a kindly Warmth into the Earth, and all its Inhabitants; the Marchioness of S——, who was one of the Company, told him, That though she would promise to be chaste in every Month besides, she could not engage for her self in
May
. As the beginning therefore of this Month is now very near, I design this Paper for a Caveat to the Fair Sex, and publish it before
April
is quite out, that if any of them should be caught tripping, they may not pretend they had not timely Notice.
I am induced to this, being persuaded the above-mentioned Observation is as well calculated for our Climate as for that of
France
, and that some of our
British
Ladies are of the same Constitution with the
French
Marchioness.
I shall leave it among Physicians to determine what may be the Cause of such an Anniversary Inclination; whether or no it is that the Spirits after having been as it were frozen and congealed by
Winter
, are now turned loose, and set a rambling; or that the gay Prospects of Fields and Meadows, with the Courtship of the Birds in every Bush, naturally unbend the Mind, and soften it to Pleasure; or that, as some have imagined, a Woman is prompted by a kind of Instinct to throw herself on a Bed of Flowers, and not to let those beautiful Couches which Nature has provided lie useless.
it be, the Effects of this Month on the lower part of the Sex, who act without Disguise,
are
very visible. It is at this time that we see the young Wenches in a Country Parish dancing round a May-Pole, which one of our learned Antiquaries supposes to be a Relique of a certain Pagan Worship that I do not think fit to mention.
It is likewise on the first Day of this Month that we see the ruddy Milk-Maid exerting her self in a most sprightly manner under a Pyramid of Silver-Tankards, and, like the Virgin
Tarpeia
, oppress'd by the costly Ornaments which her Benefactors lay upon her.
I need not mention the Ceremony of the Green Gown, which is also peculiar to this gay Season.
The same periodical Love-Fit spreads through the whole Sex, as Mr.
Dryden
well observes in his Description of this merry
:
For thee, sweet Month, the Groves green Livries wear,
If not the first, the fairest of the Year;
For thee the Graces lead the dancing Hours,
And Nature's ready Pencil paints the Flow'rs.
The sprightly May commands our Youth to keep
The Vigils of her Night, and breaks their Sleep;
Each gentle Breast with kindly Warmth she moves,
Inspires new Flames, revives extinguish'd Loves[2].
Accordingly among the Works of the great Masters in Painting, who have drawn this genial Season of the Year, we often observe
Cupids
confused with
Zephirs
flying up and down promiscuously in several Parts of the Picture. I cannot but add from my own Experience, that about this Time of the Year Love-Letters come up to me in great Numbers from all Quarters of the Nation.
I receiv'd an Epistle in particular by the last Post from a
Yorkshire
Gentleman, who makes heavy Complaints of one
Zelinda
, whom it seems he has courted unsuccessfully these three Years past. He tells me that he designs to try her this
May
, and if he does not carry his Point, he will never think of her more.
Having thus fairly admonished the female Sex, and laid before them the Dangers they are exposed to in this critical Month, I shall in the next place lay down some Rules and Directions for their better avoiding those Calentures which are so very frequent in this Season.
In the first place, I would advise them never to venture abroad in the Fields, but in the Company of a Parent, a Guardian, or some other sober discreet Person. I have before shewn how apt they are to trip in a flowry Meadow, and shall further observe to them, that
Proserpine
was out
a Maying
, when she met with that fatal Adventure to which
Milton
alludes when he
—That fair Field
Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering Flowers,
Herself a fairer Flower, by gloomy Dis
Was gathered—[3]
Since I am got into Quotations, I shall conclude this Head with
Virgil's
Advice to young People, while they are gathering wild Strawberries and Nosegays, that they should have a care of the
Snake in the Grass
.
In the second place, I cannot but approve those Prescriptions, which our Astrological Physicians give in their Almanacks for this Month; such as are a spare and simple Diet, with the moderate Use of Phlebotomy.
Under this Head of Abstinence I shall also advise my fair Readers to be in a particular manner careful how they meddle with Romances, Chocolate, Novels, and the like Inflamers, which I look upon as very dangerous to be made use of during this great Carnival of Nature.
As I have often declared, that I have nothing more at heart than the Honour of my dear Country-Women, I would beg them to consider, whenever their Resolutions begin to fail them, that there are but one and thirty Days of this soft Season, and that if they can but weather out this one Month, the rest of the Year will be easy to them. As for that Part of the Fair-Sex who stay in Town, I would advise them to be particularly cautious how they give themselves up to their most innocent Entertainments. If they cannot forbear the Play-house, I would recommend Tragedy to them, rather than Comedy; and should think the Puppet-show much safer for them than the Opera, all the while the Sun is in
Gemini
.
The Reader will observe, that this Paper is written for the use of those Ladies who think it worth while to war against Nature in the Cause of Honour. As for that abandon'd Crew, who do not think Virtue worth contending for, but give up their Reputation at the first Summons, such Warnings and Premonitions are thrown away upon them. A Prostitute is the same easy Creature in all Months of the Year, and makes no difference between
May
and
December
.
X.
is
and in first Reprint.
This quotation is made up of two passages in Dryden's version of Chaucer's
Knights Tale
,
Palamon and Arcite
. The first four lines are from Bk. ii. 11. 663-666, the other four lines are from Bk. i. 11. 176-179.
Paradise Lost
, Bk. iv. 11. 268-271.
| [No. 366] | Wednesday, April 30, 1712 | Steele |
Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis
Arbor æstiva recreatur aura,
Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
Dulce loquentem.
Hor.
There are such wild Inconsistencies in the Thoughts of a Man in love, that I have often reflected there can be no reason for allowing him more Liberty than others possessed with Frenzy, but that his Distemper has no Malevolence in it to any Mortal. That Devotion to his Mistress kindles in his Mind a general Tenderness, which exerts it self towards every Object as well as his Fair-one. When this Passion is represented by Writers, it is common with them to endeavour at certain Quaintnesses and Turns of Imagination, which are apparently the Work of a Mind at ease; but the Men of true Taste can easily distinguish the Exertion of a Mind which overflows with tender Sentiments, and the Labour of one which is only describing Distress. In Performances of this kind, the most absurd of all things is to be witty; every Sentiment must grow out of the Occasion, and be suitable to the Circumstances of the Character. Where this Rule is transgressed, the humble Servant, in all the fine things he says, is but shewing his Mistress how well he can dress, instead of saying how well he loves. Lace and Drapery is as much a Man, as Wit and Turn is Passion.
Mr. Spectator,
The [following] Verses are a Translation of a Lapland Love-Song, which I met with in Scheffer's History of that Country[1]. I was agreeably surprized to find a Spirit of Tenderness and Poetry in a Region which I never suspected for Delicacy. In hotter Climates, tho' altogether uncivilized, I had not wonder'd if I had found some sweet wild Notes among the Natives, where they live in Groves of Oranges, and hear the Melody of Birds about them: But a Lapland Lyric, breathing Sentiments of Love and Poetry, not unworthy old Greece or Rome; a regular Ode from a Climate pinched with Frost, and cursed with Darkness so great a Part of the Year; where 'tis amazing that the poor Natives should get Food, or be tempted to propagate their Species: this, I confess, seemed a greater Miracle to me, than the famous Stories of their Drums, their Winds and Inchantments.
I am the bolder in commending this Northern Song, because I have faithfully kept to the Sentiments, without adding or diminishing; and pretend to no greater Praise from my Translation, than they who smooth and clean the Furs of that Country which have suffered by Carriage. The Numbers in the Original are as loose and unequal, as those in which the British Ladies sport their Pindaricks; and perhaps the fairest of them might not think it a disagreeable Present from a Lover: But I have ventured to bind it in stricter Measures, as being more proper for our Tongue, tho perhaps wilder Graces may better suit the Genius of the Laponian Language.
It will be necessary to imagine, that the Author of this Song, not having the Liberty of visiting his Mistress at her Father's House, was in hopes of spying her at a Distance in the Fields.
I Thou rising Sun, whose gladsome Ray
Invites my Fair to Rural Play,
Dispel the Mist, and clear the Skies,
And bring my Orra to my Eyes.II Oh! were I sure my Dear to view,
I'd climb that Pine-Trees topmost Bough,
Aloft in Air that quivering plays,
And round and round for ever gaze.III My Orra Moor, where art thou laid?
What Wood conceals my sleeping Maid?
Fast by the Roots enrag'd I'll tear
The Trees that hide my promised Fair.IV Oh! I cou'd ride the Clouds and Skies,
Or on the Raven's Pinions rise:
Ye Storks, ye Swans, a moment stay,
And waft a Lover on his Way.V My Bliss too long my Bride denies,
Apace the wasting Summer flies:
Nor yet the wintry Blasts I fear,
Not Storms or Night shall keep me here.VI What may for Strength with Steel compare?
Oh! Love has Fetters stronger far:
By Bolts of Steel are Limbs confin'd,
But cruel Love enchains the Mind.VII No longer then perplex thy Breast,
When Thoughts torment, the first are best;
'Tis mad to go, 'tis Death to stay,
Away to Orra, haste away.
April the 10th.
Mr. Spectator,
I am one of those despicable Creatures called a Chamber-Maid, and have lived with a Mistress for some time, whom I love as my Life, which has made my Duty and Pleasure inseparable. My greatest Delight has been in being imploy'd about her Person; and indeed she is very seldom out of Humour for a Woman of her Quality: But here lies my Complaint, Sir; To bear with me is all the Encouragement she is pleased to bestow upon me; for she gives her cast-off Cloaths from me to others: some she is pleased to bestow in the House to those that neither wants nor wears them, and some to Hangers-on, that frequents the House daily, who comes dressed out in them. This, Sir, is a very mortifying Sight to me, who am a little necessitous for Cloaths, and loves to appear what I am, and causes an Uneasiness, so that I can't serve with that Chearfulness as formerly; which my Mistress takes notice of, and calls Envy and Ill-Temper at seeing others preferred before me. My Mistress has a younger Sister lives in the House with her, that is some Thousands below her in Estate, who is continually heaping her Favours on her Maid; so that she can appear every Sunday, for the first Quarter, in a fresh Suit of Cloaths of her Mistress's giving, with all other things suitable: All this I see without envying, but not without wishing my Mistress would a little consider what a Discouragement it is to me to have my Perquisites divided between Fawners and Jobbers, which others enjoy intire to themselves. I have spoke to my Mistress, but to little Purpose; I have desired to be discharged (for indeed I fret my self to nothing) but that she answers with Silence. I beg, Sir, your Direction what to do, for I am fully resolved to follow your Counsel; who am
Your Admirer and humble Servant,
Constantia Comb-brush.
I beg that you would put it in a better Dress, and let it come abroad; that my Mistress, who is an Admirer of your Speculations, may see it.
| I | Thou rising Sun, whose gladsome Ray Invites my Fair to Rural Play, Dispel the Mist, and clear the Skies, And bring my Orra to my Eyes. |
| II | Oh! were I sure my Dear to view, I'd climb that Pine-Trees topmost Bough, Aloft in Air that quivering plays, And round and round for ever gaze. |
| III | My Orra Moor, where art thou laid? What Wood conceals my sleeping Maid? Fast by the Roots enrag'd I'll tear The Trees that hide my promised Fair. |
| IV | Oh! I cou'd ride the Clouds and Skies, Or on the Raven's Pinions rise: Ye Storks, ye Swans, a moment stay, And waft a Lover on his Way. |
| V | My Bliss too long my Bride denies, Apace the wasting Summer flies: Nor yet the wintry Blasts I fear, Not Storms or Night shall keep me here. |
| VI | What may for Strength with Steel compare? Oh! Love has Fetters stronger far: By Bolts of Steel are Limbs confin'd, But cruel Love enchains the Mind. |
| VII | No longer then perplex thy Breast, When Thoughts torment, the first are best; 'Tis mad to go, 'tis Death to stay, Away to Orra, haste away. |
T.
John Scheffer, born in 1621, at Strasburg, was at the age of 27 so well-known for his learning, that he was invited to Sweden, where he received a liberal pension from Queen Christina as her librarian, and was also a Professor of Law and Rhetoric in the University of Upsala. He died in 1679. He was the author of 27 works, among which is his
Lapponia
, a Latin description of Lapland, published in 1673, of which an English version appeared at Oxford in folio, in 1674. The song is there given in the original Lapp, and in a rendering of Scheffer's Latin less conventionally polished than that published by the
Spectator
, which is Ambrose Philips's translation of a translation. In the Oxford translation there were six stanzas of this kind:
With brightest beams let the Sun shine
On Orra Moor.
Could I be sure
That from the top o' th' lofty Pine
I Orra Moor might see,
I to his highest Bough would climb,
And with industrious Labour try
Thence to descry
My Mistress if that there she be.
Could I but know amidst what Flowers
Or in what Shade she stays,
The gaudy Bowers,
With all their verdant Pride,
Their Blossoms and their Sprays,
Which make my Mistress disappear;
And her in envious Darkness hide,
I from the Roots and Beds of Earth would tear.
In the same chapter another song is given of which there is a version in
of the
Spectator
.
| [No. 367] | Thursday, May 1, 1712 | Addison |
—Perituræ parcite chartæ.
Juv.
I have often pleased my self with considering the two kinds of Benefits which accrue to the Publick from these my Speculations, and which, were I to speak after the manner of Logicians, I would distinguish into the Material and the Formal. By the latter I understand those Advantages which my Readers receive, as their Minds are either improv'd or delighted by these my daily Labours; but having already several times descanted on my Endeavours in this Light, I shall at present wholly confine my self to the Consideration of the former. By the Word Material I mean those Benefits which arise to the Publick from these my Speculations, as they consume a considerable quantity of our Paper Manufacture, employ our Artisans in Printing, and find Business for great Numbers of Indigent Persons.
Our Paper-Manufacture takes into it several mean Materials which could be put to no other use, and affords Work for several Hands in the collecting of them, which are incapable of any other Employment. Those poor Retailers, whom we see so busy in every Street, deliver in their respective Gleanings to the Merchant. The Merchant carries them in Loads to the Paper-Mill, where they pass thro' a fresh Set of Hands, and give life to another Trade. Those who have Mills on their Estates, by this means considerably raise their Rents, and the whole Nation is in a great measure supply'd with a Manufacture, for which formerly she was obliged to her Neighbours.
The Materials are no sooner wrought into Paper, but they are distributed among the Presses, where they again set innumerable Artists at Work, and furnish Business to another Mystery. From hence, accordingly as they are stain'd with News or Politicks, they fly thro' the Town in
Post-Men, Post-Boys, Daily-Courants, Reviews, Medleys
, and
Examiners
. Men, Women, and Children contend who shall be the first Bearers of them, and get their daily Sustenance by spreading them. In short, when I trace in my Mind a Bundle of Rags to a Quire of
Spectators
, I find so many Hands employ'd in every Step they take thro their whole Progress, that while I am writing a
Spectator
, I fancy my self providing Bread for a Multitude.
If I do not take care to obviate some of my witty Readers, they will be apt to tell me, that my Paper, after it is thus printed and published, is still beneficial to the Publick on several Occasions. I must confess I have lighted my Pipe with my own Works for this Twelve-month past: My Landlady often sends up her little Daughter to desire some of my old
Spectators
, and has frequently told me, that the Paper they are printed on is the best in the World to wrap Spice in. They likewise make a good Foundation for a Mutton pye, as I have more than once experienced, and were very much sought for, last Christmas, by the whole Neighbourhood.
It is pleasant enough to consider the Changes that a Linnen Fragment undergoes, by passing thro' the several Hands above mentioned. The finest pieces of Holland, when worn to Tatters, assume a new Whiteness more beautiful than their first, and often return in the shape of Letters to their Native Country. A Lady's Shift may be metamorphosed into Billet
s-
doux, and come into her Possession a second time. A Beau may peruse his Cravat after it is worn out, with greater Pleasure and Advantage than ever he did in a Glass. In a word, a Piece of Cloth, after having officiated for some Years as a Towel or a Napkin, may by this means be raised from a Dung-hill, and become the most valuable Piece of Furniture in a Prince's Cabinet.
The politest Nations of Europe have endeavoured to vie with one another for the Reputation of the finest Printing: Absolute Governments, as well as Republicks, have encouraged an Art which seems to be the noblest and most beneficial that was ever invented among the Sons of Men. The present King of
France
, in his Pursuits after Glory, has particularly distinguished himself by the promoting of this useful Art, insomuch that several Books have been printed in the
Louvre
at his own Expence, upon which he sets so great a value, that he considers them as the noblest Presents he can make to foreign Princes and Ambassadors. If we look into the Commonwealths of
Holland
and
Venice
, we shall find that in this Particular they have made themselves the Envy of the greatest Monarchies.
Elziver
and
Aldus
are more frequently mentioned than any Pensioner of the one or Doge of the other.
The several Presses which are now in
England
, and the great Encouragement which has been given to Learning for some Years last past, has made our own Nation as glorious upon this Account, as for its late Triumphs and Conquests. The new
which is given us of
Cæsar's
Commentaries, has already been taken notice of in foreign Gazettes, and is a Work that does honour to the
English
Press
. It is no wonder that an Edition should be very correct, which has passed thro' the Hands of one of the most accurate, learned and judicious Writers this Age has produced. The Beauty of the Paper, of the Character, and of the several Cuts with which this noble Work is illustrated, makes it the finest Book that I have ever seen; and is a true Instance of the English Genius, which, tho' it does not come the first into any Art, generally carries it to greater Heights than any other Country in the World. I am particularly glad that this Author comes from a
British
Printing-house in so great a Magnificence, as he is the first who has given us any tolerable Account of our Country.
My Illiterate Readers, if any such there are, will be surprized to hear me talk of Learning as the Glory of a Nation, and of Printing as an Art that gains a Reputation to a People among whom it flourishes. When Men's Thoughts are taken up with Avarice and Ambition, they cannot look upon any thing as great or valuable, which does not bring with it an extraordinary Power or Interest to the Person who is concerned in it. But as I shall never sink this Paper so far as to engage with Goths and Vandals, I shall only regard such kind of Reasoners with that Pity which is due to so Deplorable a Degree of Stupidity and Ignorance.
L.
Just published, 1712, by Dr. Samuel Clarke, then 37 years old. He had been for 12 years chaplain to the Bishop of Norwich, and Boyle Lecturer in 1704-5, when he took for his subject the
Being and Attributes of God and the Evidences of Natural and Revealed Religion
. He had also translated Newton's
Optics
, and was become chaplain to the Queen, Rector of St. Jamess, Westminster, and D. D. of Cambridge. The accusations of heterodoxy that followed him through his after life date from this year, 1712, in which, besides the edition of
Cæsar
, he published a book on the
Scripture Doctrine of the Trinity
.
| [No. 368] | Friday, May 2, 1712 | Steele |
Nos decebat
Lugere ubi esset aliquis in lucem editus
Humanæ vitæ varia reputantes mala;
At qui labores morte finisset graves
Omnes amices laude et lætitia exequi.
Eurip. apud Tull.
As the Spectator is in a Kind a Paper of News from the natural World, as others are from the busy and politick Part of Mankind, I shall translate the following Letter written to an eminent French Gentleman in this Town from Paris, which gives us the Exit of an Heroine who is a Pattern of Patience and Generosity.
Paris, April 18, 1712.
Sir,
It is so many Years since you left your native Country, that I am to tell you the Characters of your nearest Relations as much as if you were an utter Stranger to them. The Occasion of this is to give you an account of the Death of Madam de Villacerfe, whose Departure out of this Life I know not whether a Man of your Philosophy will call unfortunate or not, since it was attended with some Circumstances as much to be desired as to be lamented. She was her whole Life happy in an uninterrupted Health, and was always honoured for an Evenness of Temper and Greatness of Mind. On the 10th instant that Lady was taken with an Indisposition which confined her to her Chamber, but was such as was too slight to make her take a sick Bed, and yet too grievous to admit of any Satisfaction in being out of it. It is notoriously known, that some Years ago Monsieur Festeau, one of the most considerable Surgeons in Paris, was desperately in love with this Lady: Her Quality placed her above any Application to her on the account of his Passion; but as a Woman always has some regard to the Person whom she believes to be her real Admirer, she now took it in her head (upon Advice of her Physicians to lose some of her Blood) to send for Monsieur Festeau on that occasion. I happened to be there at that time, and my near Relation gave me the Privilege to be present. As soon as her Arm was stripped bare, and he began to press it in order to raise the Vein, his Colour changed, and I observed him seized with a sudden Tremor, which made me take the liberty to speak of it to my Cousin with some Apprehension: She smiled, and said she knew Mr. Festeau had no Inclination to do her Injury. He seemed to recover himself, and smiling also proceeded in his Work. Immediately after the Operation he cried out, that he was the most unfortunate of all Men, for that he had open'd an Artery instead of a Vein. It is as impossible to express the Artist's Distraction as the Patient's Composure. I will not dwell on little Circumstances, but go on to inform you, that within three days time it was thought necessary to take off her Arm. She was so far from using Festeau as it would be natural to one of a lower Spirit to treat him, that she would not let him be absent from any Consultation about her present Condition, and on every occasion asked whether he was satisfy'd in the Measures that were taken about her. Before this last Operation she ordered her Will to be drawn, and after having been about a quarter of an hour alone, she bid the Surgeons, of whom poor Festeau was one, go on in their Work. I know not how to give you the Terms of Art, but there appeared such Symptoms after the Amputation of her Arm, that it was visible she could not live four and twenty hours. Her Behaviour was so magnanimous throughout this whole Affair, that I was particularly curious in taking Notice of what passed as her Fate approached nearer and nearer, and took Notes of what she said to all about her, particularly Word for Word what she spoke to Mr. Festeau, which was as follows.While this excellent Woman spoke these Words, Festeau looked as if he received a Condemnation to die, instead of a Pension for his Life. Madam de Villacerfe lived till Eight of the Clock the next Night; and tho she must have laboured under the most exquisite Torments, she possessed her Mind with so wonderful a Patience, that one may rather say she ceased to breathe than she died at that hour. You who had not the happiness to be personally known to this Lady, have nothing but to rejoyce in the Honour you had of being related to so great Merit; but we who have lost her Conversation, cannot so easily resign our own Happiness by Reflection upon hers."Sir, you give me inexpressible Sorrow for the Anguish with which I see you overwhelmed. I am removed to all Intents and Purposes from the Interests of human Life, therefore I am to begin to think like one wholly unconcerned in it. I do not consider you as one by whose Error I have lost my Life; no, you are my Benefactor, as you have hasten'd my Entrance into a happy Immortality. This is my Sense of this Accident; but the World in which you live may have Thoughts of it to your Disadvantage, I have therefore taken Care to provide for you in my Will, and have placed you above what you have to fear from their Ill-Nature."
I am, Sir,
Your affectionate Kinsman,
and most obedient humble Servant,
Paul Regnaud.
"Sir, you give me inexpressible Sorrow for the Anguish with which I see you overwhelmed. I am removed to all Intents and Purposes from the Interests of human Life, therefore I am to begin to think like one wholly unconcerned in it. I do not consider you as one by whose Error I have lost my Life; no, you are my Benefactor, as you have hasten'd my Entrance into a happy Immortality. This is my Sense of this Accident; but the World in which you live may have Thoughts of it to your Disadvantage, I have therefore taken Care to provide for you in my Will, and have placed you above what you have to fear from their Ill-Nature."
There hardly can be a greater Instance of an Heroick Mind, than the unprejudiced Manner in which this Lady weighed this Misfortune. The regard of Life itself could not make her overlook the Contrition of the unhappy Man, whose more than Ordinary Concern for her was all his Guilt. It would certainly be of singular Use to human Society to have an exact Account of this Lady's ordinary Conduct, which was Crowned by so uncommon Magnanimity. Such Greatness was not to be acquired in her last Article, nor is it to be doubted but it was a constant Practice of all that is praise-worthy, which made her capable of beholding Death, not as the Dissolution, but Consummation of her Life.
T.
| [No. 369] | Saturday, May 3, 1712 | Addison |
Segnius irritant animos demissa per aures
Quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus—
Hor.
Milton
, after having represented in Vision the History of Mankind to the first great Period of Nature, dispatches the remaining part of it in Narration. He has devised a very handsome Reason for the Angels proceeding with
Adam
after this manner; though doubtless the true Reason was the Difficulty which the Poet would have found to have shadowed out so mixed and complicated a Story in visible Objects. I could wish, however, that the Author had done it, whatever Pains it might have cost him. To give my Opinion freely, I think that the exhibiting part of the History of Mankind in Vision, and part in Narrative, is as if an History-Painter should put in Colours one half of his Subject, and write down the remaining part of it. If
Milton's
Poem flags any where, it is in this Narration, where in some places the Author has been so attentive to his Divinity, that he has neglected his Poetry. The Narration, however, rises very happily on several Occasions, where the Subject is capable of Poetical Ornaments, as particularly in the Confusion which he describes among the Builders of
Babel
, and in his short Sketch of the Plagues of
Egypt
. The Storm of Hail and Fire, with the Darkness that overspread the Land for three Days, are described with great Strength. The beautiful Passage which follows, is raised upon noble Hints in Scripture:
—Thus with ten Wounds
The River-Dragon tamed at length submits
To let his Sojourners depart, and oft
Humbles his stubborn Heart; but still as Ice
More harden'd after Thaw, till in his Rage
Pursuing whom he late dismissed, the Sea
Swallows him with his Host, but them lets pass
As on dry Land between two Chrystal Walls,
Aw'd by the Rod of Moses so to stand
Divided—
The River-Dragon is an Allusion to the Crocodile, which inhabits the
Nile
, from whence
Egypt
derives her Plenty. This Allusion is taken from that Sublime Passage in
Ezekiel
,
Thus saith the Lord God, behold I am against thee, Pharaoh King of Egypt, the great Dragon that lieth in the midst of his Rivers, which hath said, my River is mine own, and I have made it for my self.
Milton
has given us another very noble and poetical Image in the same Description, which is copied almost Word for Word out of the History of
Moses
.
All Night he will pursue, but his Approach
Darkness defends between till morning Watch;
Then through the fiery Pillar and the Cloud
God looking forth, will trouble all his Host,
And craze their Chariot Wheels: when by command
Moses once more his potent Rod extends
Over the Sea: the Sea his Rod obeys:
On their embattell'd Ranks the Waves return
And overwhelm their War—
As the principal Design of this Episode was to give
Adam
an Idea of the Holy Person, who was to reinstate human Nature in that Happiness and Perfection from which it had fallen, the Poet confines himself to the Line of
Abraham
, from whence the
Messiah
was to Descend. The Angel is described as seeing the
Patriarch
actually travelling towards the Land of Promise, which gives a particular Liveliness to this part of the Narration.
I see him, but thou canst not, with what Faith
He leaves his Gods, his Friends, his Native Soil,
Ur of Chaldæa, passing now the Ford
To Haran, after him a cumbrous Train
Of Herds and Flocks, and numerous Servitude,
Not wand'ring poor, but trusting all his Wealth
With God, who call'd him, in a Land unknown.
Canaan he now attains, I see his Tents
Pitch'd about Sechem, and the neighbouring Plain
Of Moreh, there by Promise he receives
Gifts to his Progeny of all that Land,
From Hamath Northward to the Desart South.
(Things by their Names I call, though yet unnamed.)
As
Virgil's
Vision in the sixth
Æneid
probably gave
Milton
the Hint of this whole Episode, the last Line is a Translation of that Verse, where
Anchises
mentions the Names of Places, which they were to bear hereafter.
Hæc tum nomina erunt, nunc sunt sine nomine terræ.
The Poet has very finely represented the Joy and Gladness of Heart which rises in
Adam
upon his discovery of the
Messiah
. As he sees his Day at a distance through Types and Shadows, he rejoices in it: but when he finds the Redemption of Man compleated, and Paradise again renewed, he breaks forth in Rapture and Transport;
O Goodness infinite, Goodness immense!
That all this Good of Evil shall produce, &c.
I have hinted in my sixth Paper on
Milton
, that an Heroick Poem, according to the Opinion of the best Criticks, ought to end happily, and leave the Mind of the Reader, after having conducted it through many Doubts and Fears, Sorrows and Disquietudes, in a State of Tranquility and Satisfaction.
Milton's
Fable, which had so many other Qualifications to recommend it, was deficient in this Particular. It is here therefore, that the Poet has shewn a most exquisite Judgment, as well as the finest Invention, by finding out a Method to supply this natural Defect in his Subject. Accordingly he leaves the Adversary of Mankind, in the last View which he gives us of him, under the lowest State of Mortification and Disappointment. We see him chewing Ashes, grovelling in the Dust, and loaden with supernumerary Pains and Torments. On the contrary, our two first Parents are comforted by Dreams and Visions, cheared with Promises of Salvation, and, in a manner, raised to a greater Happiness than that which they had forfeited: In short,
Satan
is represented miserable in the height of his Triumphs, and
Adam
triumphant in the height of Misery.
Milton's
Poem ends very nobly. The last Speeches of
Adam
and the Arch-Angel are full of Moral and Instructive Sentiments. The Sleep that fell upon
Eve
, and the Effects it had in quieting the Disorders of her Mind, produces the same kind of Consolation in the Reader, who cannot peruse the last beautiful Speech which is ascribed to the Mother of Mankind, without a secret Pleasure and Satisfaction.
Whence thou return'st, and whither went'st, I know;
For God is also in Sleep, and Dreams advise,
Which he hath sent propitious, some great Good
Presaging, since with Sorrow and Heart's Distress
Wearied I fell asleep: but now lead on;
In me is no delay: with thee to go,
Is to stay here; without thee here to stay,
Is to go hence unwilling: thou to me
Art all things under Heav'n, all Places thou,
Who for my wilful Crime art banish'd hence.
This farther Consolation yet secure
I carry hence; though all by me is lost,
Such Favour, I unworthy, am vouchsafed,
By me the promised Seed shall all restore.
The following Lines, which conclude the Poem, rise in a most glorious Blaze of Poetical Images and Expressions.
Heliodorus
in his
Æthiopicks
acquaints us, that the Motion of the Gods differs from that of Mortals, as the former do not stir their Feet, nor proceed Step by Step, but slide o'er the Surface of the Earth by an uniform Swimming of the whole Body. The Reader may observe with how Poetical a Description
Milton
has attributed the same kind of Motion to the Angels who were to take Possession of Paradise.
So spake our Mother Eve, and Adam heard
Well pleas'd, but answered not; for now too nigh
Th' Archangel stood, and from the other Hill
To their fix'd Station, all in bright Array
The Cherubim descended; on the Ground
Gliding meteorous, as evening Mist
Ris'n from a River, o'er the Marish glides,
And gathers ground fast at the Lab'rer's Heel
Homeward returning. High in Front advanced,
The brandishd Sword of God before them blaz'd
Fierce as a Comet—
The Author helped his Invention in the following Passage, by reflecting on the Behaviour of the Angel, who, in Holy Writ, has the Conduct of
Lot
and his Family. The Circumstances drawn from that Relation are very gracefully made use of on this Occasion.
In either Hand the hast'ning Angel caught
Our ling'ring Parents, and to th' Eastern Gate
Led them direct; and down the Cliff as fast
To the subjected Plain; then disappear'd.
They looking back, &c.
Scene
which our first Parents are surprized with, upon their looking back on Paradise, wonderfully strikes the Reader's Imagination, as nothing can be more natural than the Tears they shed on that Occasion.
They looking back, all th' Eastern side beheld
Of Paradise, so late their happy Seat,
Wav'd over by that flaming Brand, the Gate
With dreadful Faces throng'd and fiery Arms:
Some natural Tears they dropped, but wiped them soon;
The World was all before them, where to chuse
Their Place of Rest, and Providence their Guide.
If I might presume to offer at the smallest Alteration in this divine Work, I should think the Poem would end better with the Passage here quoted, than with the two Verses which follow:
They hand in hand, with wandering Steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary Way.
These two Verses, though they have their Beauty, fall very much below the foregoing Passage, and renew in the Mind of the Reader that Anguish which was pretty well laid by that Consideration.
The world was all before them, where to chuse
Their Place of Rest, and Providence their Guide.
The Number of Books in
Paradise Lost
is equal to those of the
Æneid
. Our Author in his first Edition had divided his Poem into ten Books, but afterwards broke the seventh and the eleventh each of them into two different Books, by the help of some small Additions. This second Division was made with great Judgment, as any one may see who will be at the pains of examining it. It was not done for the sake of such a Chimerical Beauty as that of resembling
Virgil
in this particular, but for the more just and regular Disposition of this great Work.
Those who have read
Bossu
, and many of the Criticks who have written since his Time, will not pardon me if I do not find out the particular Moral which is inculcated in
Paradise Lost
. Though I can by no means think, with the last mentioned French Author, that an Epick Writer first of all pitches upon a certain Moral, as the Ground-Work and Foundation of his Poem, and afterwards finds out a Story to it: I am, however, of opinion, that no just Heroick Poem ever was or can be made, from whence one great Moral may not be deduced. That which reigns in
Milton
, is the most universal and most useful that can be imagined; it is in short this, That Obedience to the Will of God makes Men happy, and that Disobedience makes them miserable. This is visibly the Moral of the principal Fable, which turns upon
Adam
and
Eve
, who continued in Paradise, while they kept the command that was given them, and were driven out of it as soon as they had transgressed. This is likewise the Moral of the principal Episode, which shews us how an innumerable Multitude of Angels fell from their State of Bliss, and were cast into Hell upon their Disobedience. Besides this great Moral, which may be looked upon as the Soul of the Fable, there are an Infinity of Under-Morals which are to be drawn from the several parts of the Poem, and which makes this Work more useful and Instructive than any other Poem in any Language.
Those who have criticized on the
Odyssey
, the
Iliad
, and
Æneid
, have taken a great deal of Pains to fix the Number of Months and Days contained in the Action of each of those Poems. If any one thinks it worth his while to examine this Particular in
Milton
, he will find that from
Adam's
first Appearance in the fourth Book, to his Expulsion from Paradise in the twelfth, the Author reckons ten Days. As for that part of the Action which is described in the three first Books, as it does not pass within the Regions of Nature, I have before observed that it is not subject to any Calculations of Time.
I have now finished my Observations on a Work which does an Honour to the
English
Nation. I have taken a general View of it under these four Heads,
the Fable, the Characters, the Sentiments, and the Language
, and made each of them the Subject of a particular Paper. I have in the next Place spoken of the Censures which our Author may incur under each of these Heads, which I have confined to two Papers, though I might have enlarged the Number, if I had been disposed to dwell on so ungrateful a Subject. I believe, however, that the severest Reader will not find any little Fault in Heroick Poetry, which this Author has fallen into, that does not come under one of those Heads among which I have distributed his several Blemishes. After having thus treated at large of
Paradise Lost,
I could not think it sufficient to have celebrated this Poem in the whole, without descending to Particulars. I have therefore bestowed a
upon each Book, and endeavoured not only to
prove
that the Poem is beautiful in general, but to point out its Particular Beauties, and to determine wherein they consist. I have endeavoured to shew how some Passages are beautiful by being Sublime, others by being Soft, others by being Natural; which of them are recommended by the Passion, which by the Moral, which by the Sentiment, and which by the Expression. I have likewise endeavoured to shew how the Genius of the Poet shines by a happy Invention, a distant Allusion, or a judicious Imitation; how he has copied or improved
Homer
or
Virgil
, and raised his own Imaginations by the Use which he has made of several Poetical Passages in Scripture. I might have
also several Passages of
Tasso
, which our Author
has
imitated; but as I do not look upon
Tasso
to be a sufficient Voucher, I would not perplex my Reader with such Quotations, as might do more Honour to the
Italian
than the
English
Poet. In short, I have endeavoured to particularize those innumerable kinds of Beauty, which it would be tedious to recapitulate, but which are essential to Poetry, and which may be met with in the Works of this great Author. Had I thought, at my first engaging in this design, that it would have led me to so great a length, I believe I should never have entered upon it; but the kind Reception which it has met with among those whose Judgments I have a value for, as well as the uncommon Demands which my Bookseller tells me have been made for these particular Discourses, give me no reason to repent of the Pains I have been at in composing them.
L.
Prospect
shew
has likewise
| [No. 370] | Monday, May 5, 1712 | Steele |
Totus Mundus agit Histrionem.
Many of my fair Readers, as well as very gay and well-received Persons of the other Sex, are extremely perplexed at the
Latin
Sentences at the Head of my Speculations; I do not know whether I ought not to indulge them with Translations of each of them: However, I have to-day taken down from the Top of the Stage in
Drury-Lane
a bit of Latin which often stands in their View, and signifies that the whole World acts the Player. It is certain that if we look all round us, and behold the different Employments of Mankind, you hardly see one who is not, as the Player is, in an assumed Character. The Lawyer, who is vehement and loud in a Cause wherein he knows he has not the Truth of the Question on his Side, is a Player as to the personated Part, but incomparably meaner than he as to the Prostitution of himself for Hire; because the Pleader's Falshood introduces Injustice, the Player feigns for no other end but to divert or instruct you. The Divine, whose Passions transport him to say any thing with any View but promoting the Interests of true Piety and Religion, is a Player with a still greater Imputation of Guilt, in proportion to his depreciating a Character more sacred. Consider all the different Pursuits and Employments of Men, and you will find half their Actions tend to nothing else but Disguise and Imposture; and all that is done which proceeds not from a Man's very self, is the Action of a Player. For this Reason it is that I make so frequent mention of the Stage: It is, with me, a Matter of the highest Consideration what Parts are well or ill performed, what Passions or Sentiments are indulged or cultivated, and consequently what Manners and Customs are transfused from the Stage to the World, which reciprocally imitate each other. As the Writers of Epick Poems introduce shadowy Persons, and represent Vices and Virtues under the Characters of Men and Women; so I, who am a
Spectator
in the World, may perhaps sometimes make use of the Names of the Actors on the Stage, to represent or admonish those who transact Affairs in the World. When I am commending Wilks for representing the Tenderness of a Husband and a Father in
Mackbeth
, the Contrition of a reformed Prodigal in
Harry the Fourth
, the winning Emptiness
a young Man of Good-nature and Wealth in the
Trip to the Jubilee,
—the Officiousness of an artful Servant in the
Fox
: when thus I celebrate
Wilks
, I talk to all the World who are engaged in any of those Circumstances. If I were to speak of Merit neglected, mis-applied, or misunderstood, might not I say
Estcourt
has a great Capacity? But it is not the Interest of others who bear a Figure on the Stage that his Talents were understood; it is their Business to impose upon him what cannot become him, or keep out of his hands any thing in which he would Shine. Were
to raise a Suspicion of himself in a Man who passes upon the World for a fine Thing, in order to alarm him, one might say, if
Lord Foppington
were not on the Stage, (
Cibber
acts the false Pretensions to a genteel Behaviour so very justly), he would have in the generality of Mankind more that would admire than deride him. When we come to Characters directly Comical, it is not to be imagin'd what Effect a well-regulated Stage would have upon Men's Manners. The Craft of an Usurer, the Absurdity of a rich Fool, the awkward Roughness of a Fellow of half Courage,
ungraceful Mirth of a Creature of half Wit, might be for ever put out of Countenance by proper Parts for
Dogget
.
Johnson
by acting
Corbacchio
the other Night, must have given all who saw him a thorough Detestation of aged Avarice.
Petulancy of a peevish old Fellow, who loves and hates he knows not why, is very excellently performed by the Ingenious
Mr. William Penkethman
in the
Fop's Fortune
; where, in the Character of
Don Cholerick Snap Shorto de Testy
, he answers no Questions but to those whom he likes, and wants no account of any thing from those he approves. Mr.
Penkethman
is also Master of as many Faces in the Dumb-Scene as can be expected from a Man in the Circumstances of being ready to perish out of Fear and Hunger: He wonders throughout the whole Scene very masterly, without neglecting his Victuals. If it be, as I
heard it sometimes mentioned, a great Qualification for the World to follow Business and Pleasure too, what is it in the Ingenious Mr.
Penkethman
to represent a Sense of Pleasure and Pain at the same time; as you may see him do this Evening
?
As it is certain that a Stage ought to be wholly suppressed, or judiciously encouraged, while there is one in the Nation, Men turned for regular Pleasure cannot employ their Thoughts more usefully, for the Diversion of Mankind, than by convincing them that it is in themselves to raise this Entertainment to the greatest Height. It would be a great Improvement, as well as Embellishment to the Theatre, if Dancing were more regarded, and taught to all the Actors. One who has the Advantage of such an agreeable girlish Person as
Mrs. Bicknell
, joined with her Capacity of Imitation, could in proper Gesture and Motion represent all the decent Characters of Female Life. An amiable Modesty in one Aspect of a Dancer, an assumed Confidence in another, a sudden Joy in another, a falling off with an Impatience of being beheld, a Return towards the Audience with an unsteady Resolution to approach them, and a well-acted Sollicitude to please, would revive in the Company all the fine Touches of Mind raised in observing all the Objects of Affection or Passion they had before beheld. Such elegant Entertainments as these, would polish the Town into Judgment in their Gratifications; and Delicacy in Pleasure is the first step People of Condition take in Reformation from Vice. Mrs.
Bicknell
has the only Capacity for this sort of Dancing of any on the Stage; and I dare say all who see her Performance tomorrow Night, when sure the Romp will do her best for her own Benefit, will be of my Mind.
T.
Farquhar's Constant Couple, or A Trip to the Jubilee
.
Ben Jonson's
Volpone
.
In Colley Cibber's
Careless Husband.
In Ben Jonson's
Volpone
.
Cibber's
Love makes a Man, or The Fop's Fortune
.
For the Benefit of Mr. Penkethman. At the Desire of Several Ladies of Quality. By Her Majesty's Company of Comedians. At the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, this present Monday, being the 5th of May, will be presented a Comedy called Love makes a Man, or The Fop's Fortune. The Part of Don Lewis, alias Don Choleric Snap Shorto de Testy, by Mr. Penkethman; Carlos, Mr. Wilks; Clodio, alias Don Dismallo Thick-Scullo de Half Witto, Mr. Cibber; and all the other Parts to the best Advantage. With a new Epilogue, spoken by Mr. Penkethman, riding on an Ass. By her Majesty's Command no Persons are to be admitted behind the Scenes. And To-Morrow, being Tuesday, will be presented, A Comedy call'd The Constant Couple, or A Trip to the Jubilee. For the Benefit of Mrs. Bicknell.
To do as kind a service to Mrs. Bicknell as to Mr. Penkethman on the occasion of their benefits is the purpose of the next paragraph of Steele's
Essay
.
| [No. 371] | Tuesday, May 6, 1712 | Addison |
Jamne igitur laudas quod se sapientibus unus
Ridebat?
Juv.
I shall communicate to my Reader the following Letter for the Entertainment of this Day.
Sir,
You know very well that our Nation is more famous for that sort of Men who are called Whims and Humourists, than any other Country in the World; for which reason it is observed that our English Comedy excells that of all other Nations in the Novelty and Variety of its Characters.
Among those innumerable Setts of Whims which our Country produces, there are none whom I have regarded with more Curiosity than those who have invented any particular kind of Diversion for the Entertainment of themselves or their Friends. My Letter shall single out those who take delight in sorting a Company that has something of Burlesque and Ridicule in its Appearance. I shall make my self understood by the following Example. [One] of the Wits of the last Age, who was a Man of a good Estate[1], thought he never laid out his Money better than in a Jest. As he was one Year at the Bath, observing that in the great Confluence of fine People, there were several among them with long Chins, a part of the Visage by which he himself was very much distinguished, he invited to dinner half a Score of these remarkable Persons who had their Mouths in the Middle of their Faces. They had no sooner placed themselves about the Table, but they began to stare upon one another, not being able to imagine what had brought them together. Our English Proverb says,It proved so in the Assembly I am now speaking of, who seeing so many Peaks of Faces agitated with Eating, Drinking, and Discourse, and observing all the Chins that were present meeting together very often over the Center of the Table, every one grew sensible of the Jest, and came into it with so much Good-Humour, that they lived in strict Friendship and Alliance from that Day forward.Tis merry in the Hall,
When Beards wag all.
The same Gentleman some time after packed together a Set of Oglers, as he called them, consisting of such as had an unlucky Cast in their Eyes. His Diversion on this Occasion was to see the cross Bows, mistaken Signs, and wrong Connivances that passed amidst so many broken and refracted Rays of Sight.
The third Feast which this merry Gentleman exhibited was to the Stammerers, whom he got together in a sufficient Body to fill his Table. He had ordered one of his Servants, who was placed behind a Skreen, to write down their Table-Talk, which was very easie to be done without the help of Short-hand. It appears by the Notes which were taken, that tho' their Conversation never fell, there were not above twenty Words spoken during the first Course; [that] upon serving up the second, one of the Company was a quarter of an Hour in telling them, that the Ducklins and Asparagus[2] were very good; and that another took up the same time in declaring himself of the same Opinion. This Jest did not, however, go off so well as the former; for one of the Guests being a brave Man, and fuller of Resentment than he knew how to express, went out of the Room, and sent the facetious Inviter a Challenge in Writing, which though it was afterwards dropp'd by the Interposition of Friends, put a Stop to these ludicrous Entertainments.
Now, Sir, I dare say you will agree with me, that as there is no Moral in these Jests, they ought to be discouraged, and looked upon rather as pieces of Unluckiness than Wit. However, as it is natural for one Man to refine upon the Thought of another, and impossible for any single Person, how great soever his Parts may be, to invent an Art, and bring it to its utmost Perfection; I shall here give you an account of an honest Gentleman of my Acquaintance who upon hearing the Character of the Wit above mentioned, has himself assumed it, and endeavoured to convert it to the Benefit of Mankind. He invited half a dozen of his Friends one day to Dinner, who were each of them famous for inserting several redundant Phrases in their Discourse, as d'y hear me, d'ye see, that is, and so Sir. Each of the Guests making frequent use of his particular Elegance, appeared so ridiculous to his Neighbour, that he could not but reflect upon himself as appearing equally ridiculous to the rest of the Company: By this means, before they had sat long together, every one talking with the greatest Circumspection, and carefully avoiding his favourite Expletive, the Conversation was cleared of its Redundancies, and had a greater Quantity of Sense, tho' less of Sound in it.
The same well-meaning Gentleman took occasion, at another time, to bring together such of his Friends as were addicted to a foolish habitual Custom of Swearing. In order to shew the Absurdity of the Practice, he had recourse to the Invention above mentioned, having placed an Amanuensis in a private part of the Room. After the second Bottle, when Men open their Minds without Reserve, my honest Friend began to take notice of the many sonorous but unnecessary Words that had passed in his House since their sitting down at Table, and how much good Conversation they had lost by giving way to such superfluous Phrases. What a Tax, says he, would they have raised for the Poor, had we put the Laws in Execution upon one another? Every one of them took this gentle Reproof in good part: Upon which he told them, that knowing their Conversation would have no Secrets in it, he had ordered it to be taken down in Writing, and for the humour sake would read it to them, if they pleased. There were ten Sheets of it, which might have been reduced to two, had there not been those abominable Interpolations I have before mentioned. Upon the reading of it in cold Blood, it looked rather like a Conference of Fiends than of Men. In short, every one trembled at himself upon hearing calmly what he had pronounced amidst the Heat and Inadvertency of Discourse.
I shall only mention another Occasion wherein he made use of the same Invention to cure a different kind of Men, who are the Pests of all polite Conversation, and murder Time as much as either of the two former, though they do it more innocently; I mean that dull Generation of Story-tellers. My Friend got together about half a dozen of his Acquaintance, who were infected with this strange Malady. The first Day one of them sitting down, entered upon the Siege of Namur, which lasted till four a-clock, their time of parting. The second Day a North-Britain took possession of the Discourse, which it was impossible to get out of his Hands so long as the Company staid together. The third Day was engrossed after the same manner by a Story of the same length. They at last began to reflect upon this barbarous way of treating one another, and by this means awakened out of that Lethargy with which each of them had been seized for several Years.
As you have somewhere declared, that extraordinary and uncommon Characters of Mankind are the Game which you delight in, and as I look upon you to be the greatest Sportsman, or, if you please, the Nimrod among this Species of Writers, I thought this Discovery would not be unacceptable to you.
I am,
Sir, &c.
Tis merry in the Hall,
When Beards wag all.
I.
George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, Dryden's
Zimri
, and the author of the
Rehearsal
.
Sparrow-grass
and in first Reprint.
| [No. 372] | Wednesday, May 7, 1712 | Steele |
Pudet hæc opprobria nobis
Et dici potuisse et non potuisse refelli.
Ovid.
May 6, 1712.
Mr. Spectator,
I am Sexton of the Parish of Covent-Garden, and complained to you some time ago, that as I was tolling in to Prayers at Eleven in the Morning, Crowds of People of Quality hastened to assemble at a Puppet-Show on the other Side of the Garden. I had at the same time a very great Disesteem for Mr. Powell and his little thoughtless Commonwealth, as if they had enticed the Gentry into those Wandrings: But let that be as it will, I now am convinced of the honest Intentions of the said Mr. Powell and Company; and send this to acquaint you, that he has given all the Profits which shall arise to-morrow Night by his Play to the use of the poor Charity-Children of this Parish. I have been informed, Sir, that in Holland all Persons who set up any Show, or act any Stage-Play, be the Actors either of Wood and Wire, or Flesh and Blood, are obliged to pay out of their Gain such a Proportion to the honest and industrious Poor in the Neighbourhood: By this means they make Diversion and Pleasure pay a Tax to Labour and Industry. I have been told also, that all the time of Lent, in Roman Catholick Countries, the Persons of Condition administred to the Necessities of the Poor, and attended the Beds of Lazars and diseased Persons. Our Protestant Ladies and Gentlemen are so much to seek for proper ways of passing Time, that they are obliged to Punchinello for knowing what to do with themselves. Since the Case is so, I desire only you would intreat our People of Quality, who are not to be interrupted in their Pleasure to think of the Practice of any moral Duty, that they would at least fine for their Sins, and give something to these poor Children; a little out of their Luxury and Superfluity, would attone, in some measure, for the wanton Use of the rest of their Fortunes. It would not, methinks, be amiss, if the Ladies who haunt the Cloysters and Passages of the Play-house, were upon every Offence obliged to pay to this excellent Institution of Schools of Charity: This Method would make Offenders themselves do Service to the Publick. But in the mean time I desire you would publish this voluntary Reparation which Mr. Powell does our Parish, for the Noise he has made in it by the constant rattling of Coaches, Drums, Trumpets, Triumphs, and Battels. The Destruction of Troy adorned with Highland Dances, are to make up the Entertainment of all who are so well disposed as not to forbear a light Entertainment, for no other Reason but that it is to do a good Action.
I am, Sir,
Your most humble Servant,
Ralph Bellfry.
I am credibly informed, that all the Insinuations which a certain Writer made against Mr. Powell at the Bath, are false and groundless.
Mr. Spectator,
My Employment, which is that of a Broker, leading me often into Taverns about the Exchange, has given me occasion to observe a certain Enormity, which I shall here submit to your Animadversion. In three or four of these Taverns, I have, at different times, taken notice of a precise Set of People with grave Countenances, short Wiggs, black Cloaths, or dark Camlet trimmd with Black, and mourning Gloves and Hatbands, who meet on certain Days at each Tavern successively, and keep a sort of moving Club. Having often met with their Faces, and observed a certain slinking Way in their dropping in one after another, I had the Curiosity to enquire into their Characters, being the rather moved to it by their agreeing in the Singularity of their Dress; and I find upon due Examination they are a Knot of Parish-Clarks, who have taken a fancy to one another, and perhaps settle the Bills of Mortality over their Half-pints. I have so great a Value and Veneration for any who have but even an assenting Amen in the Service of Religion, that I am afraid lest these Persons should incur some Scandal by this Practice; and would therefore have them, without Raillery, advised to send the Florence and Pullets home to their own Houses, and not pretend to live as well as the Overseers of the Poor.
I am, Sir,
Your most humble Servant,
Humphry Transfer.
May 6.
Mr. Spectator,
I was last Wednesday Night at a Tavern in the City, among a Set of Men who call themselves the Lawyer's Club. You must know, Sir, this Club consists only of Attorneys; and at this Meeting every one proposes the Cause he has then in hand to the Board, upon which each Member gives his Judgment according to the Experience he has met with. If it happens that any one puts a Case of which they have had no Precedent, it is noted down by their Clerk Will. Goosequill, (who registers all their Proceedings) that one of them may go the next Day with it to a Counsel. This indeed is commendable, and ought to be the principal End of their Meeting; but had you been there to have heard them relate their Methods of managing a Cause, their Manner of drawing out their Bills, and, in short, their Arguments upon the several ways of abusing their Clients, with the Applause that is given to him who has done it most artfully, you would before now have given your Remarks on them. They are so conscious that their Discourses ought to be kept secret, that they are very cautious of admitting any Person who is not of their Profession. When any who are not of the Law are let in, the Person who introduces him, says, he is a very honest Gentleman, and he is taken in, as their Cant is, to pay Costs. I am admitted upon the Recommendation of one of their Principals, as a very honest good-natured Fellow that will never be in a Plot, and only desires to drink his Bottle and smoke his Pipe. You have formerly remarked upon several Sorts of Clubs; and as the Tendency of this is only to increase Fraud and Deceit, I hope you will please to take Notice of it.
I am (with Respect)
Your humble Servant,
H. R.
T.
| [No. 373] | Thursday, May 8, 1712 | Budgell |
Fallit enim Vitium specie virtutis et umbra.
Juv.[1]
Mr.
Locke
, in his
Treatise of Human Understanding
, has spent two Chapters upon the Abuse of Words
.
The first and most palpable Abuse of Words
, he says,
is, when they are used without clear and distinct Ideas: The second, when we are so inconstant and unsteady in the Application of them, that we sometimes use them to signify one Idea, sometimes another.
He adds, that the Result of our Contemplations and Reasonings, while we have no precise Ideas fixed to our Words, must needs be very confused and absurd. To avoid this Inconvenience, more especially in moral Discourses, where the same Word should constantly be used in the same Sense, he earnestly recommends the use of Definitions.
A Definition
, says he,
is the only way whereby the precise Meaning of Moral Words can be known.
He therefore accuses those of great Negligence, who Discourse of Moral things with the least Obscurity in the Terms they make use of, since upon the forementioned ground he does not scruple to say, that he thinks Morality is capable of Demonstration as well as the Mathematicks.
I know no two Words that have been more abused by the different and wrong Interpretations which are put upon them, than those two,
Modesty
and
Assurance
. To say such an one is a modest Man, sometimes indeed passes for a good Character; but at present is very often used to signify a sheepish awkard Fellow, who has neither Good-breeding, Politeness, nor any Knowledge of the World.
Again, A Man of Assurance, tho at first it only denoted a Person of a free and open Carriage, is now very usually applied to a profligate Wretch, who can break through all the Rules of Decency and Morality without a Blush.
I shall endeavour therefore in this Essay to restore these Words to their true Meaning, to prevent the Idea of
Modesty
from being confounded with that of
Sheepishness
, and to hinder
Impudence
from passing for
Assurance
.
If I was put to define
Modesty
, I would call it
The Reflection of an Ingenuous Mind
, either when a Man has committed an Action for which he censures himself, or fancies that he is exposed to the Censure of others.
For this Reason a Man truly Modest is as much so when he is alone as in Company, and as subject to a Blush in his Closet, as when the Eyes of Multitudes are upon him.
I do not remember to have met with any Instance of Modesty with which I am so well pleased, as that celebrated one of the young Prince, whose Father being a tributary King to the
Romans
, had several Complaints laid against him before the
Senate
, as a Tyrant and Oppressor of his Subjects. The Prince went to
Rome
to defend his Father; but coming into the
Senate
, and hearing a Multitude of Crimes proved upon him, was so oppressed when it came to his turn to speak, that he was unable to utter a Word. The Story tells us, that the Fathers were more moved at this Instance of Modesty and Ingenuity, than they could have been by the most Pathetick Oration; and, in short, pardoned the guilty Father for this early Promise of Virtue in the Son.
I take
Assurance
to be the
Faculty of possessing a Man's self
, or
of saying and doing indifferent things without any Uneasiness or Emotion in the Mind.
That which generally gives a Man Assurance is a moderate Knowledge of the World, but above all a Mind fixed and determined in it self to do nothing against the Rules of Honour and Decency. An open and assured Behaviour is the natural Consequence of such a Resolution. A Man thus armed, if his Words or Actions are at any time misinterpreted, retires within himself, and from the Consciousness of his own Integrity, assumes Force enough to despise the little Censures of Ignorance or Malice.
Every one ought to cherish and encourage in himself the
Modesty
and
Assurance
I have here mentioned.
A Man without
Assurance
is liable to be made uneasy by the Folly or Ill-nature of every one he converses with. A Man without
Modesty
is lost to all Sense of
Honour
and
Virtue
.
It is more than probable, that the Prince above-mentioned possessed both these Qualifications in a very eminent degree. Without
Assurance
he would never have undertaken to speak before the most august Assembly in the World; without
Modesty
he would have pleaded the Cause he had taken upon him, tho it had appeared ever so Scandalous.
From what has been said, it is plain, that
Modesty
and
Assurance
are both amiable, and may very well meet in the same Person. When they are thus mixed and blended together, they compose what we endeavour to express when we say a
modest Assurance
; by which we understand the just Mean between
Bashfulness
and
Impudence
.
I shall conclude with observing, that as the same Man may be both
Modest
and
Assured
, so it is also possible for the same Person to be both
Impudent
and
Bashful
.
We have frequent Instances of this odd kind of Mixture in People of depraved Minds and mean Education; who tho' they are not able to meet a Man's Eyes, or pronounce a Sentence without Confusion, can Voluntarily commit the greatest Villanies, or most indecent Actions.
Such a Person seems to have made a Resolution to do Ill even in spite of himself, and in defiance of all those Checks and Restraints his Temper and Complection seem to have laid in his way.
Upon the whole, I would endeavour to establish this Maxim,
That the Practice of Virtue is the most proper Method to give a Man a becoming Assurance in his Words and Actions.
Guilt always seeks to shelter it self in one of the Extreams, and is sometimes attended with both.
X.
—Strabonem
Appellat pætumm pater; et pullum, male parvus
Si cui filius est; ut abortivus fuit olim
Sisyphus: hunc varum, distortis cruribus; illum
Balbutit scaurum, pravis fullum malè talis.
Hor.
Book III., Chapters 10, 11. Words are the subject of this book; ch. 10 is on the Abuse of Words; ch. 11 of the Remedies of the foregoing imperfections and abuses.
| [No. 374] | Friday, May 9, 1712 | Steele |
Nil actum reputans si quid superesset agendum.
Luc.
There is a Fault, which, tho' common, wants a Name. It is the very contrary to Procrastination: As we lose the present Hour by delaying from Day to Day to execute what we ought to do immediately; so most of us take Occasion to sit still and throw away the Time in our Possession, by Retrospect on what is past, imagining we have already acquitted our selves, and established our Characters in the sight of Mankind. But when we thus put a Value upon our selves for what we have already done, any further than to explain our selves in order to assist our future Conduct, that will give us an over-weening opinion of our Merit to the prejudice of our present Industry. The great Rule, methinks, should be to manage the Instant in which we stand, with Fortitude, Equanimity, and Moderation, according to Men's respective Circumstances. If our past Actions reproach us, they cannot be attoned for by our own severe Reflections so effectually as by a contrary Behaviour. If they are praiseworthy, the Memory of them is of no use but to act suitably to them. Thus a good present Behaviour is an implicit Repentance for any Miscarriage in what is past; but present Slackness will not make up for past Activity. Time has swallowed up all that we Contemporaries did Yesterday, as irrevocably as it has the Actions of the Antediluvians: But we are again awake, and what shall we do to-Day, to-Day which passes while we are yet speaking? Shall we remember the Folly of last Night, or resolve upon the Exercise of Virtue tomorrow? Last Night is certainly gone, and To-morrow may never arrive: This Instant make use of. Can you oblige any Man of Honour and Virtue? Do it immediately. Can you visit a sick Friend? Will it revive him to see you enter, and suspend your own Ease and Pleasure to comfort his Weakness, and hear the Impertinencies of a Wretch in Pain? Don't stay to take Coach, but be gone. Your Mistress will bring Sorrow, and your Bottle Madness: Go to neither.—Such Virtues and Diversions as these are mentioned because they occur to all Men. But every Man is sufficiently convinced, that to suspend the use of the present Moment, and resolve better for the future only, is an unpardonable Folly: What I attempted to consider, was the Mischief of setting such a Value upon what is past, as to think we have done enough. Let a Man have filled all the Offices of Life with the highest Dignity till Yesterday, and begin to live only to himself to-Day, he must expect he will in the Effects upon his Reputation be considered as the Man who died Yesterday. The Man who distinguishes himself from the rest, stands in a Press of People; those before him intercept his Progress, and those behind him, if he does not urge on, will tread him down.
Cæsar
, of whom it was said, that he thought nothing done while there was anything left for him to do, went on in performing the greatest Exploits, without assuming to himself a Privilege of taking Rest upon the Foundation of the Merit of his former Actions. It was the manner of that glorious Captain to write down what Scenes he passed through, but it was rather to keep his Affairs in Method, and capable of a clear Review in case they should be examined by others, than that he built a Renown upon any thing which was past. I shall produce two Fragments of his to demonstrate, that it was his Rule of Life to support himself rather by what he should perform than what he had done already. In the Tablet which he wore about him the same Year, in which he obtained the Battel of
Pharsalia
, there were found these loose Notes for his own Conduct: It is supposed, by the Circumstances they alluded to, that they might be set down the Evening of the same Night.
My Part is now but begun, and my Glory must be sustained by the Use I make of this Victory; otherwise my Loss will be greater than that of Pompey. Our personal Reputation will rise or fall as we bear our respective Fortunes. All my private Enemies among the Prisoners shall be spared. I will forget this, in order to obtain such another Day. Trebutius is ashamed to see me: I will go to his Tent, and be reconciled in private. Give all the Men of Honour, who take part with me, the Terms I offered before the Battel. Let them owe this to their Friends who have been long in my Interests. Power is weakened by the full Use of it, but extended by Moderation. Galbinius is proud, and will be servile in his present Fortune; let him wait. Send for Stertinius: He is modest, and his Virtue is worth gaining. I have cooled my Heart with Reflection; and am fit to rejoice with the Army to-morrow. He is a popular General who can expose himself like a private Man during a Battel; but he is more popular who can rejoice but like a private Man after a Victory.
What is particularly proper for the Example of all who pretend to Industry in the Pursuit of Honour and Virtue, is, That this Hero was more than ordinarily sollicitous about his Reputation, when a common Mind would have thought it self in Security, and given it self a Loose to Joy and Triumph. But though this is a very great Instance of his Temper, I must confess I am more taken with his Reflections when he retired to his Closet in some Disturbance upon the repeated ill Omens of
Calphurnia's
Dream the Night before his Death. The literal Translation of that Fragment shall conclude this Paper.
[Be] it so then[1]. If I am to die to-Morrow, that is what I am to do to-Morrow: It will not be then, because I am willing it should be then; nor shall I escape it, because I am unwilling. It is in the Gods when, but in my self how I shall die. If Calphurnia's Dreams are Fumes of Indigestion, how shall I behold the Day after to-morrow? If they are from the Gods, their Admonition is not to prepare me to escape from their Decree, but to meet it. I have lived to a Fulness of Days and of Glory; what is there that Cæsar has not done with as much Honour as antient Heroes? Cæsar has not yet died; Cæsar is prepared to die.
T.
than
| [No. 375] | Saturday, May 10, 1712 | Hughes |
Non possidentem multa vocaveris
Rectè beatum: rectiùs occupat
Nomen beati, qui Deorum
Muneribus sapienter uti,
Duramque callet Pauperiem pati,
Pejusque Letho flagitium timet.
Hor.
I have more than once had occasion to mention a noble Saying of
Seneca
the Philosopher,
That a virtuous Person struggling with Misfortunes, and rising above them, is an Object on which the Gods themselves may look down with Delight
. I shall therefore set before my Reader a Scene of this kind of Distress in private Life, for the Speculation of this Day.
An eminent Citizen, who had lived in good Fashion and Credit, was by a Train of Accidents, and by an unavoidable Perplexity in his Affairs, reduced to a low Condition. There is a Modesty usually attending faultless Poverty, which made him rather chuse to reduce his Manner of Living to his present Circumstances, than sollicit his Friends in order to support the Shew of an Estate when the Substance was gone. His Wife, who was a Woman of Sense and Virtue, behaved her self on this Occasion with uncommon Decency, and never appear'd so amiable in his Eyes as now. Instead of upbraiding him with the ample Fortune she had brought, or the many great Offers she had refused for his sake, she redoubled all the Instances of her Affection, while her Husband was continually pouring out his Heart to her in Complaints that he had ruined the best Woman in the World. He sometimes came home at a time when she did not expect him, and surpriz'd her in Tears, which she endeavour'd to conceal, and always put on an Air of Chearfulness to receive him. To lessen their Expence, their eldest Daughter (whom I shall call
Amanda
) was sent into the Country, to the House of an honest Farmer, who had married a Servant of the Family. This young Woman was apprehensive of the Ruin which was approaching, and had privately engaged a Friend in the Neighbourhood to give her an account of what passed from time to time in her Father's Affairs.
Amanda
was in the Bloom of her Youth and Beauty, when the Lord of the Manor, who often called in at the Farmer's House as he followd his Country Sports, fell passionately in love with her. He was a Man of great Generosity, but from a loose Education had contracted a hearty Aversion to Marriage. He therefore entertained a Design upon
Amanda's
Virtue, which at present he thought fit to keep private. The innocent Creature, who never suspected his Intentions, was pleased with his Person; and having observed his growing Passion for her, hoped by so advantageous a Match she might quickly be in a capacity of supporting her impoverish'd Relations. One day as he called to see her, he found her in Tears over a Letter she had just receiv'd from her Friend, which gave an Account that her Father had lately been stripped of every thing by an Execution. The Lover, who with some Difficulty found out the Cause of her Grief, took this occasion to make her a Proposal. It is impossible to express
Amanda's
Confusion when she found his Pretensions were not honourable. She was now deserted of all her Hopes, and had no Power to speak; but rushing from him in the utmost Disturbance, locked her self up in her Chamber. He immediately dispatched a Messenger to her Father with the following Letter.
Sir,
I have heard of your Misfortune, and have offer'd your Daughter, if she will live with me, to settle on her Four hundred Pounds a year, and to lay down the Sum for which you are now distressed. I will be so ingenuous as to tell you that I do not intend Marriage: But if you are wise, you will use your Authority with her not to be too nice, when she has an opportunity of saving you and your Family, and of making her self happy.
I am, &c.
This Letter came to the Hands of Amanda's Mother; she opend and read it with great Surprize and Concern. She did not think it proper to explain her self to the Messenger, but desiring him to call again the next Morning, she wrote to her Daughter as follows.
Dearest Child,
Your Father and I have just now receiv'd a Letter from a Gentleman who pretends Love to you, with a Proposal that insults our Misfortunes, and would throw us to a lower Degree of Misery than any thing which is come upon us. How could this barbarous Man think, that the tenderest of Parents would be tempted to supply their Wants by giving up the best of Children to Infamy and Ruin? It is a mean and cruel Artifice to make this Proposal at a time when he thinks our Necessities must compel us to any thing; but we will not eat the Bread of Shame; and therefore we charge thee not to think of us, but to avoid the Snare which is laid for thy Virtue. Beware of pitying us: It is not so bad as you have perhaps been told. All things will yet be well, and I shall write my Child better News.
I have been interrupted. I know not how I was moved to say things would mend. As I was going on I was startled by a Noise of one that knocked at the Door, and hath brought us an unexpected Supply of a Debt which had long been owing. Oh! I will now tell thee all. It is some days I have lived almost without Support, having conveyd what little Money I could raise to your poor Father—Thou wilt weep to think where he is, yet be assured he will be soon at Liberty. That cruel Letter would have broke his Heart, but I have concealed it from him. I have no Companion at present besides little Fanny, who stands watching my Looks as I write, and is crying for her Sister. She says she is sure you are not well, having discover'd that my present Trouble is about you. But do not think I would thus repeat my Sorrows, to grieve thee: No, it is to intreat thee not to make them insupportable, by adding what would be worse than all. Let us bear chearfully an Affliction, which we have not brought on our selves, and remember there is a Power who can better deliver us out of it than by the Loss of thy Innocence. Heaven preserve my dear Child.
Your Affectionate Mother ——
The Messenger, notwithstanding he promised to deliver this Letter to
Amanda
, carry'd it first to his Master, who he imagined would be glad to have an Opportunity of giving it into her Hands himself. His Master was impatient to know the Success of his Proposal, and therefore broke open the Letter privately to see the Contents. He was not a little moved at so true a Picture of Virtue in Distress: But at the same time was infinitely surprized to find his Offers rejected. However, he resolved not to suppress the Letter, but carefully sealed it up again, and carried it to
Amanda
. All his Endeavours to see her were in vain, till she was assured he brought a Letter from her Mother. He would not part with it, but upon Condition that she should read it without leaving the Room. While she was perusing it, he fixed his Eyes on her Face with the deepest Attention: Her Concern gave a new Softness to her Beauty, and when she burst into Tears, he could no longer refrain from bearing a Part of her Sorrow, and telling her, that he too had read the Letter and was resolvd to make Reparation for having been the Occasion of it. My Reader will not be displeased to see this Second Epistle which he now wrote to
Amanda's
Mother.
Madam,
I am full of Shame, and will never forgive my self, if I have not your Pardon for what I lately wrote. It was far from my Intention to add Trouble to the Afflicted; nor could any thing, but my being a Stranger to you, have betray'd me into a Fault, for which, if I live, I shall endeavour to make you amends, as a Son. You cannot be unhappy while Amanda is your Daughter: nor shall be, if any thing can prevent it, which is in the power of, Madam,
Your most obedient
Humble Servant ——
This Letter he sent by his Steward, and soon after went up to Town himself, to compleat the generous Act he had now resolved on. By his Friendship and Assistance
Amanda's
Father was quickly in a condition of retrieving his perplex'd Affairs. To conclude, he Marry'd
Amanda
, and enjoyd the double Satisfaction of having restored a worthy Family to their former Prosperity, and of making himself happy by an Alliance to their Virtues.
See note on p. 148 [Volume 1 links:
of
], vol. i.
| [No. 376] | Monday, May 12, 1712 | Steele |
—Pavone ex Pythagoreo—
Persius.
Mr. Spectator,
I have observed that the Officer you some time ago appointed as Inspector of Signs, has not done his Duty so well as to give you an Account of very many strange Occurrences in the publick Streets, which are worthy of, but have escaped your Notice. Among all the Oddnesses which I have ever met with, that which I am now telling you of gave me most Delight. You must have observed that all the Criers in the Street attract the Attention of the Passengers, and of the Inhabitants in the several Parts, by something very particular in their Tone it self, in the dwelling upon a Note, or else making themselves wholly unintelligible by a Scream. The Person I am so delighted with has nothing to sell, but very gravely receives the Bounty of the People, for no other Merit but the Homage they pay to his Manner of signifying to them that he wants a Subsidy. You must, sure, have heard speak of an old Man, who walks about the City, and that part of the Suburbs which lies beyond the Tower, performing the Office of a Day-Watchman, followed by a Goose, which bears the Bob of his Ditty, and confirms what he says with a Quack, Quack. I gave little heed to the mention of this known Circumstance, till, being the other day in those Quarters, I passed by a decrepit old Fellow with a Pole in his Hand, who just then was bawling out, Half an Hour after one a-Clock, and immediately a dirty Goose behind him made her Response, Quack, Quack. I could not forbear attending this grave Procession for the length of half a Street, with no small amazement to find the whole Place so familiarly acquainted with a melancholy Mid-night Voice at Noon-day, giving them the Hour, and exhorting them of the Departure of Time, with a Bounce at their Doors. While I was full of this Novelty, I went into a Friend's House, and told him how I was diverted with their whimsical Monitor and his Equipage. My Friend gave me the History; and interrupted my Commendation of the Man, by telling me the Livelihood of these two Animals is purchased rather by the good Parts of the Goose, than of the Leader: For it seems the Peripatetick who walked before her was a Watchman in that Neighbourhood; and the Goose of her self by frequent hearing his Tone, out of her natural Vigilance, not only observed, but answer'd it very regularly from Time to Time. The Watchman was so affected with it, that he bought her, and has taken her in Partner, only altering their Hours of Duty from Night to Day. The Town has come into it, and they live very comfortably. This is the Matter of Fact: Now I desire you, who are a profound Philosopher, to consider this Alliance of Instinct and Reason; your Speculation may turn very naturally upon the Force the superior Part of Mankind may have upon the Spirits of such as, like this Watchman, may be very near the Standard of Geese. And you may add to this practical Observation, how in all Ages and Times the World has been carry'd away by odd unaccountable things, which one would think would pass upon no Creature which had Reason; and, under the Symbol of this Goose, you may enter into the Manner and Method of leading Creatures, with their Eyes open, thro' thick and thin, for they know not what, they know not why.
All which is humbly submitted to your Spectatorial Wisdom by,
Sir,
Your most humble Servant,
Michael Gander.
Mr. Spectator,
I have for several Years had under my Care the Government and Education of young Ladies, which Trust I have endeavour'd to discharge with due regard to their several Capacities and Fortunes: I have left nothing undone to imprint in every one of them an humble courteous Mind, accompanied with a graceful becoming Mein, and have made them pretty much acquainted with the Houshold Part of Family-Affairs; but still I find there is something very much wanting in the Air of my Ladies, different from what I observe in those that are esteemed your fine bred Women. Now, Sir, I must own to you, I never suffered my Girls to learn to Dance; but since I have read your Discourse of Dancing, where you have described the Beauty and Spirit there is in regular Motion, I own my self your Convert, and resolve for the future to give my young Ladies that Accomplishment. But upon imparting my Design to their Parents, I have been made very uneasy, for some Time, because several of them have declared, that if I did not make use of the Master they recommended, they would take away their Children. There was Colonel Jumper's Lady, a Colonel of the Train-Bands, that has a great Interest in her Parish; she recommends Mr. Trott for the prettiest Master in Town, that no Man teaches a Jigg like him, that she has seen him rise six or seven Capers together with the greatest Ease imaginable, and that his Scholars twist themselves more ways than the Scholars of any Master in Town: besides there is Madam Prim, an Alderman's Lady, recommends a Master of her own Name, but she declares he is not of their Family, yet a very extraordinary Man in his way; for besides a very soft Air he has in Dancing, he gives them a particular Behaviour at a Tea-Table, and in presenting their Snuff-Box, to twirl, flip, or flirt a Fan, and how to place Patches to the best advantage, either for Fat or Lean, Long or Oval Faces: for my Lady says there is more in these Things than the World Imagines. But I must confess the major Part of those I am concern'd with leave it to me. I desire therefore, according to the inclosed Direction, you would send your Correspondent who has writ to you on that Subject to my House. If proper Application this way can give Innocence new Charms, and make Virtue legible in the Countenance, I shall spare no Charge to make my Scholars in their very Features and Limbs bear witness how careful I have been in the other Parts of their Education.
I am, Sir,
Your most humble Servant,
Rachael Watchful
T.
| [No. 377] | Tuesday, May 13, 1712 | Addison |
Quid quisque vitet, nunquam homini satis
Cautum est in horas—
Hor.
Love
was the Mother of
Poetry
, and still produces, among the most ignorant and barbarous, a thousand imaginary Distresses and Poetical Complaints. It makes a Footman talk like
Oroondates
, and converts a brutal Rustick into a gentle Swain. The most ordinary Plebeian or Mechanick in Love, bleeds and pines away with a certain Elegance and Tenderness of Sentiments which this Passion naturally inspires.
These inward Languishings of a Mind infected with this Softness, have given birth to a Phrase which is made use of by all the melting Tribe, from the highest to the lowest, I mean that of
dying for Love
.
Romances, which owe their very Being to this Passion, are full of these metaphorical Deaths. Heroes and Heroines, Knights, Squires, and Damsels, are all of them in a dying Condition. There is the same kind of Mortality in our Modern Tragedies, where every one gasps, faints, bleeds and dies. Many of the Poets, to describe the Execution which is done by this Passion, represent the Fair Sex as Basilisks that destroy with their Eyes;
I think Mr.
Cowley
has with greater Justness of Thought compared a beautiful Woman to
a Porcupine, that sends an Arrow from every Part
.
I have often thought, that there is no way so effectual for the Cure of this general Infirmity, as a Man's reflecting upon the Motives that produce it. When the Passion proceeds from the Sense of any Virtue or Perfection in the Person beloved, I would by no means discourage it; but if a Man considers that all his heavy Complaints of Wounds and Deaths rise from some little Affectations of Coquetry, which are improved into Charms by his own fond Imagination, the very laying before himself the Cause of his Distemper, may be sufficient to effect the Cure of it.
It is in this view that I have looked over the several Bundles of Letters which I have received from Dying People, and composed out of them the following Bill of Mortality, which I shall lay before my Reader without any further Preface, as hoping that it may be useful to him in discovering those several Places where there is most Danger, and those fatal Arts which are made use of to destroy the Heedless and Unwary.
| Lysander | slain at a Puppet-show on the third of September. |
| Thirsis | shot from a Casement in Pickadilly. |
| T. S. | wounded by Zehinda's Scarlet Stocking, as she was stepping out of a Coach. |
| Will. Simple | smitten at the Opera by the Glance of an Eye that was aimed at one who stood by him. |
| Tho. Vainlove | lost his Life at a Ball. |
| Tim. Tattle | kill'd by the Tap of a Fan on his left Shoulder by Coquetilla, as he was talking carelessly with her in a Bow-window. |
| Sir Simon Softly | murder'd at the Play-house in Drury-lane by a Frown. |
| Philander | mortally wounded by Cleora, as she was adjusting her Tucker. |
| Ralph Gapely, Esq. | hit by a random Shot at the Ring. |
| F. R. | caught his Death upon the Water, April the 31st. |
| W. W. | killed by an unknown Hand, that was playing with the Glove off upon the Side of the Front-Box in Drury-Lane. |
| Sir Christopher Crazy, Bart. | hurt by the Brush of a Whalebone Petticoat. |
| Sylvius | shot through the Sticks of a Fan at St. James's Church. |
| Damon | struck thro' the Heart by a Diamond Necklace. |
| Thomas Trusty Francis Goosequill William Meanwell Edward Callow, Esqrs. | standing in a Row, fell all four at the same time, by an Ogle of the Widow Trapland. |
| Tom. Rattle | chancing to tread upon a Lady's Tail as he came out of the Play-house, she turned full upon him, and laid him dead upon the Spot. |
| Dick Tastewell | slain by a Blush from the Queen's Box in the third Act of the Trip to the Jubilee. |
| Samuel Felt, Haberdasher | wounded in his Walk to Islington by Mrs. Susannah Crossstich, as she was clambering over a Stile. |
| R. F., T. W., S. I., M. P., &c. | put to Death in the last Birth-Day Massacre. |
| Roger Blinko | cut off in the Twenty-first Year of his Age by a White-wash. |
| Musidorus | slain by an Arrow that flew out of a Dimple in Belinda's Left Cheek. |
| Ned Courtly | presenting Flavia with her Glove (which she had dropped on purpose) she receivd it, and took away his Life with a Curtsie. |
| John Gosselin | having received a slight Hurt from a Pair of blue Eyes, as he was making his Escape was dispatch'd by a Smile. |
| Strephon | killed by Clarinda as she looked down into the Pit. |
| Charles Careless | shot flying by a Girl of Fifteen, who unexpectedly popped her Head upon him out of a Coach. |
| Josiah Wither | aged threescore and three, sent to his long home by Elizabeth Jet-well, Spinster. |
| Jack Freelove | murderd by Melissa in her Hair. |
| William Wiseaker, Gent. | drown'd in a Flood of Tears by Moll Common. |
| John Pleadwell, Esq. | of the Middle Temple, Barrister at Law, assassinated in his Chambers the sixth Instant by Kitty Sly, who pretended to come to him for his Advice. |
I.
They are all weapon, and they dart
Like Porcupines from every Part.
Anacreontics
, iii.
| [No. 378] | Wednesday, May 14, 1712 | Pope |
Aggredere, O magnos, aderit jam tempus, honores.
Virg.
I will
no Apology for entertaining the Reader with the following Poem, which is written by a great Genius, a Friend of mine, in the Country, who is not ashamd to employ his Wit in the Praise of his Maker
.
Messiah
.
A sacred Eclogue, compos'd of several Passages of
Isaiah the Prophet.
Written in Imitation of
Virgil's
Pollio
.
| Ye Nymphs of Solyma! begin the Song: To heav'nly Themes sublimer Strains belong. The Mossy Fountains, and the Sylvan Shades, The Dreams of Pindus and th' Aonian Maids, Delight no more—O Thou my Voice inspire, Who touch'd Isaiah's hallow'd[2] Lips with Fire! Rapt into future Times, the Bard begun; A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son! | |
| Isaiah, Cap. II. v. 1. | From Jesse's Root behold a Branch arise, Whose sacred Flow'r with Fragrance fills the Skies. Th' Æthereal Spirit o'er its Leaves shall move, And on its Top descends the Mystick Dove. |
| Cap. 45. v. 8. | Ye Heav'ns! from high the dewy Nectar pour, And in soft Silence shed the kindly Show'r! |
| Cap. 25. v. 4. | The Sick and Weak, the healing Plant shall aid, From Storms a Shelter, and from Heat a Shade. All Crimes shall cease, and ancient Fraud shall fail; |
| Cap. 9. v. 7. | Returning Justice lift aloft her Scale; Peace o'er the World her Olive Wand extend, And white-rob'd Innocence from Heav'n descend. Swift fly the Years, and rise th' expected Morn! Oh spring to Light, Auspicious Babe, be born! See Nature hastes her earliest Wreaths to bring, With all the Incense of the breathing Spring: |
| Cap. 35. v. 2. | See lofty Lebanon his Head advance, See nodding Forests on the Mountains dance, See spicy Clouds from lowly Sharon rise, And Carmels flow'ry Top perfumes the Skies! |
| Cap. 40. v. 3, 4. | Hark! a glad Voice the lonely Desart chears; Prepare the Way! a God, a God appears: A God! a God! the vocal Hills reply, The Rocks proclaim th' approaching Deity. Lo Earth receives him from the bending Skies! Sink down ye Mountains, and ye Vallies rise! With Heads declin'd, ye Cedars, Homage pay! Be smooth ye Rocks, ye rapid Floods give way! The Saviour comes! by ancient Bards foretold; |
| Cap. 42. v. 18. | Hear him, ye Deaf, and all ye Blind behold! |
| Cap. 35. v. 5, 6. | He from thick Films shall purge the visual Ray, And on the sightless Eye-ball pour the Day. 'Tis he th' obstructed Paths of Sound shall clear, And bid new Musick charm th' unfolding Ear, The Dumb shall sing, the Lame his Crutch forego, [And] leap exulting like the bounding Roe; No Sigh, no Murmur the wide World shall hear, From ev'ry Face he wipes off ev'ry Tear. |
| Cap. 25. v. 8. | In Adamantine Chains shall Death be bound, And Hell's grim Tyrant feel th' eternal Wound. [3] |
| Cap. 30. v. xx. | As the good Shepherd tends his fleecy Care, Seeks freshest Pastures and the purest Air, Explores the lost, the wand'ring Sheep directs, By day o'ersees them, and by night protects; The tender Lambs he raises in his Arms, Feeds from his Hand, and in his Bosom warms: Mankind shall thus his Guardian Care engage, [The] promis'd Father of the future Age[4]. [No] more shall Nation against Nation rise[5], No ardent Warriors meet with hateful Eyes, Nor Fields with gleaming Steel be coverd o'er, The Brazen Trumpets kindle Rage no more; But useless Lances into Scythes shall bend, And the broad Falchion in a Plow-share end. [Then] Palaces shall rise; the joyful Son[6] Shall finish what his short-liv'd Sire begun; Their Vines a Shadow to their Race shall yield, And the same Hand that sow'd shall reap the Field. [The] Swain in barren Desarts with Surprize[7] Sees Lillies spring, and sudden Verdure rise; And Starts, amidst the thirsty Wilds, to hear, New Falls of Water murmuring in his Ear: On rifted Rocks, the Dragon's late Abodes, The green Reed trembles, and the Bulrush nods. [Waste] sandy Vallies, once perplexd with Thorn[8], The spiry Fir and shapely Box adorn: To leafless Shrubs the flow'ring Palms succeed, And od'rous Myrtle to the noisome Weed. [The] Lambs with Wolves shall graze the verdant Mead[9] And Boys in flow'ry Bands the Tyger lead; The Steer and Lion at one Crib shall meet, And harmless Serpents Lick the Pilgrim's Feet. The smiling Infant in his Hand shall take The crested Basilisk and speckled Snake; Pleas'd, the green Lustre of the Scales survey, And with their forky Tongue and pointless Sting shall play. [Rise], crown'd with Light, imperial Salem rise![10] Exalt thy tow'ry Head, and lift thy Eyes! [See], a long Race thy spacious Courts adorn;[11] See future Sons and Daughters yet unborn In crowding Ranks on ev'ry side arise, Demanding Life, impatient for the Skies! [See] barb'rous Nations at thy Gates attend,[12] Walk in thy Light, and in thy Temple bend. See thy bright Altars throng'd with prostrate Kings, [And] heap'd with Products of Sabæan Springs![13] For thee Idume's spicy Forests blow; And seeds of Gold in Ophir's Mountains glow. See Heav'n its sparkling Portals wide display, And break upon thee in a Flood of Day! [No] more the rising Sun shall gild the Morn,[14] Nor Evening Cynthia fill her silver Horn, But lost, dissolv'd in thy superior Rays; One Tide of Glory, one unclouded Blaze O'erflow thy Courts: The Light Himself shall shine Reveal'd; and God's eternal Day be thine! [The] Seas shall waste, the Skies in Smoke decay;[15] Rocks fall to Dust, and Mountains melt away; But fix'd His Word, His saving Pow'r remains: Thy Realm for ever lasts! thy own Messiah reigns. |
T.
Thus far Steele.
hollow'd
Before him Death, the grisly Tyrant, flies;
He wipes the Tears for ever from our Eyes.
This was an alteration which Steele had suggested, and in which young Pope had acquiesced. Steele wrote:
I have turned to every verse and chapter, and think you have preserved the sublime, heavenly spirit throughout the whole, especially at "Hark a glad voice," and "The lamb with wolves shall graze." There is but one line which I think is below the original:
You have expressed it with a good and pious but not so exalted and poetical a spirit as the prophet: The Lord God shall wipe away tears from off all faces. If you agree with me in this, alter it by way of paraphrase or otherwise, that when it comes into a volume it may be amended.He wipes the tears for ever from our eyes.
He wipes the tears for ever from our eyes.
Cap. 9. v. 6.
Cap. 2. v. 4.
Cap. 65. v. 21, 22.
Cap 35. v. 1, 7.
Cap. 41. v. 19. and Cap. 55. v. 13.
Cap. 11. v. 6, 7, 8.
Cap. 60. v. 1.
Cap. 60. v. 4.
Cap. 60. v. 3.
Cap. 60. v. 6.
Cap. 60. v. 19, 20.
Cap. 51. v. 6. and Cap. 64. v. 10.
| [No. 379] | Thursday, May 15, 1712 | Budgell |
Scire tuum nihil est nisi te scire hoc sciat alter.
Pers.
I have often wondered at that ill-natur'd Position which has been sometimes maintained in the Schools,
is comprizd in an old
Latin
Verse, namely, that
A Man's Knowledge is worth nothing, if he communicates what he knows to any one besides.
There is certainly no more sensible Pleasure to a good-natur'd Man, than if he can by any means gratify or inform the Mind of another. I might add, that this Virtue naturally carries its own reward along with it, since it is almost impossible it should be exercised without the Improvement of the Person who practices it. The reading of Books, and the daily Occurrences of Life, are continually furnishing us with Matter for Thought and Reflection. It is extremely natural for us to desire to see such our Thoughts put into the Dress of Words, without which indeed we can scarce have a clear and distinct Idea of them our selves: When they are thus clothed in Expressions, nothing so truly shews us whether they are just or false, as those Effects which they produce in the Minds of others.
I am apt to flatter my self, that in the Course of these my Speculations, I have treated of several Subjects, and laid down many such Rules for the Conduct of a Man's Life, which my Readers were either wholly ignorant of before, or which at least those few who were acquainted with them, looked upon as so many Secrets they have found out for the Conduct of themselves, but were resolved never to have made publick.
I am the more confirmed in this Opinion from my having received several Letters, wherein I am censur'd for having prostituted Learning to the Embraces of the Vulgar, and made her, as one of my Correspondents phrases it, a common Strumpet: I am charged by another with laying open the Arcana, or Secrets of Prudence, to the Eyes of every Reader. The narrow Spirit which appears in the Letters of these my Correspondents is the less surprizing, as it has shewn itself in all Ages: There is
extant an Epistle written by
Alexander the Great
to his Tutor
Aristotle
, upon that Philosopher's publishing some part of his Writings; in which the Prince complains of his having made known to all the World, those Secrets in Learning which he had before communicated to him in private Lectures; concluding, That he had rather excel the rest of Mankind in Knowledge than in Power
.
Luisa de Padilla
, a
of great Learning, and Countess of
Aranda
, was in like manner angry with the famous
Gratian
, upon his publishing his
Treatise of the Discrete
; wherein she fancied that he had laid open those Maxims to common Readers, which ought only to have been reserved for the Knowledge of the Great.
These Objections are thought by many of so much weight, that they often defend the above-mentiond Authors, by affirming they have affected such an Obscurity in their Style and Manner of Writing, that tho every one may read their Works, there will be but very few who can comprehend their Meaning.
Persius
, the
Latin
Satirist, affected Obscurity for another Reason; with which however Mr.
Cowley
is so offended, that writing to one of his Friends,
You
, says he,
tell me, that you do not know whether
Persius
be a good Poet or no, because you cannot understand him; for which very Reason I affirm that he is not so.
However, this Art of writing unintelligibly has been very much improved, and follow'd by several of the Moderns, who observing the general Inclination of Mankind to dive into a Secret, and the Reputation many have acquired by concealing their Meaning under obscure Terms and Phrases, resolve, that they may be still more abstruse, to write without any Meaning at all. This Art, as it is at present practised by many eminent Authors, consists in throwing so many Words at a venture into different Periods, and leaving the curious Reader to find out the Meaning of them.
The
Egyptians
, who made use of
Hieroglyphicks
to signify several things, expressed a Man who confined his Knowledge and Discoveries altogether within himself, by the Figure of a Dark-Lanthorn closed on all sides, which, tho' it was illuminated within, afforded no manner of Light or Advantage to such as stood by it. For my own part, as I shall from time to time communicate to the Publick whatever Discoveries I happen to make, I should much rather be compared to an ordinary Lamp, which consumes and wastes it self for the benefit of every Passenger.
I shall conclude this Paper with the Story of
Rosicrucius's Sepulchre.
I suppose I
not inform my Readers that this Man was the Founder of the
Rosicrusian
Sect, and that his Disciples still pretend to new Discoveries, which they are never to communicate to the rest of Mankind
.
A certain Person having occasion to dig somewhat deep in the Ground where this Philosopher lay inter'd, met with a small Door having a Wall on each side of it. His Curiosity, and the Hopes of finding some hidden Treasure, soon prompted him to force open the Door. He was immediately surpriz'd by a sudden Blaze of Light, and discover'd a very fair Vault: At the upper end of it was a Statue of a Man in Armour sitting by a Table, and leaning on his Left Arm. He held a Truncheon in his right Hand, and had a Lamp burning before him. The Man had no sooner set one Foot within the Vault, than the Statue erecting it self from its leaning Posture, stood bolt upright; and upon the Fellow's advancing another Step, lifted up the Truncheon in his Right Hand. The Man still ventur'd a third Step, when the Statue with a furious Blow broke the Lamp into a thousand Pieces, and left his Guest in a sudden Darkness.
Upon the Report of this Adventure, the Country People soon came with Lights to the Sepulchre, and discovered that the Statue, which was made of Brass, was nothing more than a Piece of Clock-work; that the Floor of the Vault was all loose, and underlaid with several Springs, which, upon any Man's entering, naturally produced that which had happend.
Rosicrucius
, says his Disciples, made use of this Method, to shew the World that he had re-invented the ever-burning Lamps of the Ancients, tho' he was resolvd no one should reap any Advantage from the Discovery.
X.
Nil proprium ducas quod mutarier potest.
Aulus Gellius.
Noct. Att.
, Bk xx., ch. 5.
Baltazar Grecian's
Discreto
has been mentioned before in the
Spectator
, being well-known in England through a French translation. See note on p. 303, ante [
of
]. Gracian, in Spain, became especially popular as a foremost representative of his time in transferring the humour for conceits—
cultismo
, as it was called—from verse to prose. He began in 1630 with a prose tract, the Hero, laboured in short ingenious sentences, which went through six editions. He wrote also an
Art of Poetry
after the new style. His chief work was the
Criticon
, an allegory of the Spring, Autumn, and Winter of life. The
Discreto
was one of his minor works. All that he wrote was published, not by himself, but by a friend, and in the name of his brother Lorenzo, who was not an ecclesiastic.
[cross-reference: return to Footnote 1 of No. 409]
Rosicrucius had been made fashionable by the Abbé de Villars who was assassinated in 1675. His
Comte de Gabalis
was a popular little book in the
Spectators
time. I suppose I need not inform my readers that there never was a Rosicrucius or a Rosicrucian sect. The Rosicrucian pamphlets which appeared in Germany at the beginning of the 17th century, dating from the Discovery of the
Brotherhood of the Honourable Order of the Rosy Cross
, a pamphlet published in 1610, by a Lutheran clergyman, Valentine Andreä, were part of a hoax designed perhaps originally as means of establishing a sort of charitable masonic society of social reformers. Missing that aim, the Rosicrucian story lived to be adorned by superstitious fancy, with ideas of mystery and magic, which in the
Comte de Gabalis
were methodized into a consistent romance. It was from this romance that Pope got what he called the Rosicrucian machinery of his
Rape of the Lock
. The Abbé de Villars, professing to give very full particulars, had told how the Rosicrucians assigned sylphs to the air, gnomes to the earth, nymphs to the water, salamanders to the fire.
| [No. 380] | Friday, May 16, 1712 | Steele |
Rivalem patienter habe—
Ovid.
Thursday, May 8, 1712.
Sir,
The Character you have in the World of being the Lady's Philosopher, and the pretty Advice I have seen you give to others in your Papers, make me address my self to you in this abrupt Manner, and to desire your Opinion what in this Age a Woman may call a Lover. I have lately had a Gentleman that I thought made Pretensions to me, insomuch that most of my Friends took Notice of it and thought we were really married; which I did not take much Pains to undeceive them, and especially a young Gentlewoman of my particular Acquaintance which was then in the Country. She coming to Town, and seeing our Intimacy so great, she gave her self the Liberty of taking me to task concerning it: I ingenuously told her we were not married, but I did not know what might the Event. She soon got acquainted with the Gentleman, and was pleased to take upon her to examine him about it. Now whether a new Face had made a greater Conquest than the old, I'll leave you to judge: But I am informd that he utterly deny'd all Pretensions to Courtship, but withal profess'd a sincere Friendship for me; but whether Marriages are propos'd by way of Friendship or not, is what I desire to know, and what I may really call a Lover. There are so many who talk in a Language fit only for that Character, and yet guard themselves against speaking in direct Terms to the Point, that it is impossible to distinguish between Courtship and Conversation. I hope you will do me Justice both upon my Lover and my Friend, if they provoke me further: In the mean time I carry it with so equal a Behaviour, that the Nymph and the Swain too are mighty at a loss; each believes I, who know them both well, think my self revenged in their Love to one another, which creates an irreconcileable Jealousy. If all comes right again, you shall hear further from,
Sir,
Your most obedient Servant,
Mirtilla.
April 28, 1712.
Mr. Spectator,
Your Observations on Persons that have behaved themselves irreverently at Church, I doubt not have had a good Effect on some that have read them: But there is another Fault which has hitherto escaped your Notice, I mean of such Persons as are very zealous and punctual to perform an Ejaculation that is only preparatory to the Service of the Church, and yet neglect to join in the Service it self. There is an Instance of this in a Friend of Will. Honeycomb's, who sits opposite to me: He seldom comes in till the Prayers are about half over, and when he has enter'd his Seat (instead of joining with the Congregation) he devoutly holds his Hat before his Face for three or four Moments, then bows to all his Acquaintance, sits down, takes a Pinch of Snuff, (if it be Evening Service perhaps a Nap) and spends the remaining Time in surveying the Congregation. Now, Sir, what I would desire, is, that you will animadvert a little on this Gentleman's Practice. In my Opinion, this Gentleman's Devotion, Cap-in-Hand, is only a Compliance to the Custom of the Place, and goes no further than a little ecclesiastical Good-Breeding. If you will not pretend to tell us the Motives that bring such Triflers to solemn Assemblies, yet let me desire that you will give this Letter a Place in your Paper, and I shall remain,
Sir,
Your obliged humble Servant,
J. S.
May the 5th.
Mr. Spectator,
The Conversation at a Club, of which I am a Member, last Night falling upon Vanity and the Desire of being admired, put me in mind of relating how agreeably I was entertained at my own Door last Thursday by a clean fresh-colour'd Girl, under the most elegant and the best furnished Milk-Pail I had ever observed. I was glad of such an Opportunity of seeing the Behaviour of a Coquet in low Life, and how she received the extraordinary Notice that was taken of her; which I found had affected every Muscle of her Face in the same manner as it does the Feature of a first-rate Toast at a Play, or in an Assembly. This Hint of mine made the Discourse turn upon the Sense of Pleasure; which ended in a general Resolution, that the Milk-Maid enjoys her Vanity as exquisitely as the Woman of Quality. I think it would not be an improper Subject for you to examine this Frailty, and trace it to all Conditions of Life; which is recommended to you as an Occasion of obliging many of your Readers, among the rest,
Your most humble Servant,
T. B.
Sir,
Coming last Week into a Coffee-house not far from the Exchange with my Basket under my Arm, a Jew of considerable Note, as I am informed, takes half a Dozen Oranges of me, and at the same time slides a Guinea into my Hand; I made him a Curtsy, and went my Way: He follow'd me, and finding I was going about my Business, he came up with me, and told me plainly, that he gave me the Guinea with no other Intent but to purchase my Person for an Hour. Did you so, Sir? says I: You gave it me then to make me be wicked, I'll keep it to make me honest. However, not to be in the least ungrateful, I promise you Ill lay it out in a couple of Rings, and wear them for your Sake. I am so just, Sir, besides, as to give every Body that asks how I came by my Rings this Account of my Benefactor; but to save me the Trouble of telling my Tale over and over again, I humbly beg the favour of you so to tell it once for all, and you will extremely oblige,
Your humble Servant,
Betty Lemon.
May 12, 1712.
St. Bride's, May 15, 1712.
Sir,
'Tis a great deal of Pleasure to me, and I dare say will be no less Satisfaction to you, that I have an Opportunity of informing you, that the Gentlemen and others of the Parish of St. Bride's, have raised a Charity-School of fifty Girls, as before of fifty Boys. You were so kind to recommend the Boys to the charitable World, and the other Sex hope you will do them the same Favour in Friday's Spectator for Sunday next, when they are to appear with their humble Airs at the Parish Church of St. Bride's. Sir, the Mention of this may possibly be serviceable to the Children; and sure no one will omit a good Action attended with no Expence.
I am, Sir, Your very humble Servant,
The Sexton.
T.
| [No. 381] | Saturday, May 17, 1712 | Addison |
Æquam memento rebus in arduis,
Servare mentem, non secùs in bonis
Ab insolenti temperatam
Lætitiâ, moriture Deli.
Hor.
I have always preferred
Chearfulness
to
Mirth
. The latter, I consider as an Act, the former as an Habit of the Mind. Mirth is short and transient. Chearfulness fixed and permanent. Those are often raised into the greatest Transports of Mirth, who are subject to the greatest Depressions of Melancholy: On the contrary, Chearfulness, tho' it does not give the Mind such an exquisite Gladness, prevents us from falling into any Depths of Sorrow. Mirth is like a Flash of Lightning, that breaks thro a Gloom of Clouds, and glitters for a Moment; Chearfulness keeps up a kind of Day-light in the Mind, and fills it with a steady and perpetual Serenity.
Men of austere Principles look upon Mirth as too wanton and dissolute for a State of Probation, and as filled with a certain Triumph and Insolence of Heart, that is inconsistent with a Life which is every Moment obnoxious to the greatest Dangers. Writers of this Complexion have observed, that the sacred Person who was the great Pattern of Perfection was never seen to Laugh.
Chearfulness of Mind is not liable to any of these Exceptions; it is of a serious and composed Nature, it does not throw the Mind into a Condition improper for the present State of Humanity, and is very conspicuous in the Characters of those who are looked upon as the greatest Philosophers among the Heathens, as well as among those who have been deservedly esteemed as Saints and Holy Men among
Christians
.
If we consider Chearfulness in three Lights, with regard to our selves, to those we converse with, and to the great Author of our Being, it will not a little recommend it self on each of these Accounts. The Man who is possessed of this excellent Frame of Mind, is not only easy in his Thoughts, but a perfect Master of all the Powers and Faculties of his Soul: His Imagination is always clear, and his Judgment undisturbed: His Temper is even and unruffled, whether in Action or in Solitude. He comes with a Relish to all those Goods which Nature has provided for him, tastes all the Pleasures of the Creation which are poured about him, and does not feel the full Weight of those accidental Evils which may befal him.
If we consider him in relation to the Persons whom he converses with, it naturally produces Love and Good-will towards him. A chearful Mind is not only disposed to be affable and obliging, but raises the same good Humour in those who come within its Influence. A Man finds himself pleased, he does not know why, with the Chearfulness of his Companion: It is like a sudden Sun-shine that awakens a secret Delight in the Mind, without her attending to it. The Heart rejoices of its own accord, and naturally flows out into Friendship and Benevolence towards the Person who has so kindly an Effect upon it.
When I consider this chearful State of Mind in its third Relation, I cannot but look upon it as a constant habitual Gratitude to the great Author of Nature. An inward Chearfulness is an implicit Praise and Thanksgiving to Providence under all its Dispensations. It is a kind of Acquiescence in the State wherein we are placed, and a secret Approbation of the Divine Will in his Conduct towards Man.
There are but two things which, in my Opinion, can reasonably deprive us of this Chearfulness of Heart. The first of these is the Sense of Guilt. A Man who lives in a State of Vice and Impenitence, can have no Title to that Evenness and Tranquillity of Mind which is the Health of the Soul, and the natural Effect of Virtue and Innocence. Chearfulness in an ill Man deserves a harder Name than Language can furnish us with, and is many degrees beyond what we commonly call Folly or Madness.
Atheism, by which I mean a Disbelief of a Supreme Being, and consequently of a future State, under whatsoever Titles it shelters it self, may likewise very reasonably deprive a Man of this Chearfulness of Temper. There is something so particularly gloomy and offensive to human Nature in the Prospect of Non-Existence, that I cannot but wonder, with many excellent Writers, how it is possible for a Man to out-live the Expectation of it. For my own Part, I think the Being of a God is so little to be doubted, that it is almost the only Truth we are sure of, and such a Truth as we meet with in every Object, in every Occurrence, and in every Thought. If we look into the Characters of this Tribe of Infidels, we generally find they are made up of Pride, Spleen, and Cavil: It is indeed no wonder, that Men, who are uneasy to themselves, should be so to the rest of the World; and how is it possible for a Man to be otherwise than uneasy in himself, who is in danger every Moment of losing his entire Existence, and dropping into Nothing?
The vicious Man and Atheist have therefore no Pretence to Chearfulness, and would act very unreasonably, should they endeavour after it. It is impossible for any one to live in Good-Humour, and enjoy his present Existence, who is apprehensive either of Torment or of Annihilation; of being miserable, or of not being at all.
After having mention'd these two great Principles, which are destructive of Chearfulness in their own Nature, as well as in right Reason, I cannot think of any other that ought to banish this happy Temper from a Virtuous Mind. Pain and Sickness, Shame and Reproach, Poverty and old Age, nay Death it self, considering the Shortness of their Duration, and the Advantage we may reap from them, do not deserve the Name of Evils. A good Mind may bear up under them with Fortitude, with Indolence and with Chearfulness of Heart. The tossing of a Tempest does not discompose him, which he is sure will bring him to a Joyful Harbour.
A Man, who uses his best endeavours to live according to the Dictates of Virtue and right Reason, has two perpetual Sources of Chearfulness; in the Consideration of his own Nature, and of that Being on whom he has a Dependance. If he looks into himself, he cannot but rejoice in that Existence, which is so lately bestowed upon him, and which, after Millions of Ages, will be still new, and still in its Beginning. How many Self-Congratulations naturally arise in the Mind, when it reflects on this its Entrance into Eternity, when it takes a View of those improveable Faculties, which in a few Years, and even at its first setting out, have made so considerable a Progress, and which will be still receiving an Increase of Perfection, and consequently an Increase of Happiness? The Consciousness of such a Being spreads a perpetual Diffusion of Joy through the Soul of a virtuous Man, and makes him look upon himself every Moment as more happy than he knows how to conceive.
The second Source of Chearfulness to a good Mind, is its Consideration of that Being on whom we have our Dependance, and in whom, though we behold him as yet but in the first faint Discoveries of his Perfections, we see every thing that we can imagine as great, glorious, or amiable. We find our selves every where upheld by his Goodness, and surrounded with an Immensity of Love and Mercy. In short, we depend upon a Being, whose Power qualifies him to make us happy by an Infinity of Means, whose Goodness and Truth engage him to make those happy who desire it of him, and whose Unchangeableness will secure us in this Happiness to all Eternity.
Such Considerations, which every one should perpetually cherish in his Thoughts, will banish, from us all that secret Heaviness of Heart which unthinking Men are subject to when they lie under no real Affliction, all that Anguish which we may feel from any Evil that actually oppresses us, to which I may likewise add those little Cracklings of Mirth and Folly that are apter to betray Virtue than support it; and establish in us such an even and chearful Temper, as makes us pleasing to our selves, to those with whom we converse, and to him whom we were made to please.
I.
| [No. 382] | Monday, May 19, 1712 | Steele |
Habes confitentem reum.
Tull.
I ought not to have neglected a Request of one of my Correspondents so long as I have; but I dare say I have given him time to add Practice to Profession. He sent me some time ago a Bottle or two of excellent Wine to drink the Health of a Gentleman, who had by the Penny-Post advertised him of an egregious Error in his Conduct. My Correspondent received the Obligation from an unknown Hand with the Candour which is natural to an ingenuous Mind; and promises a contrary Behaviour in that Point for the future: He will offend his Monitor with no more Errors of that kind, but thanks him for his Benevolence. This frank Carriage makes me reflect upon the amiable Atonement a Man makes in an ingenuous Acknowledgment of a Fault: All such Miscarriages as flow from Inadvertency are more than repaid by it; for Reason, though not concerned in the Injury, employs all its Force in the Atonement. He that says, he did not design to disoblige you in such an Action, does as much as if he should tell you, that tho' the Circumstance which displeased was never in his Thoughts, he has that Respect for you, that he is unsatisfied till it is wholly out of yours. It must be confessed, that when an Acknowledgment of Offence is made out of Poorness of Spirit, and not Conviction of Heart, the Circumstance is quite different: But in the Case of my Correspondent, where both the Notice is taken and the Return made in private, the Affair begins and ends with the highest Grace on each Side. To make the Acknowledgment of a Fault in the highest manner graceful, it is lucky when the Circumstances of the Offender place him above any ill Consequences from the Resentment of the Person offended. A
Dauphin
of
France
, upon a Review of the Army, and a Command of the
King
to alter the Posture of it by a March of one of the Wings, gave an improper Order to an Officer at the Head of a Brigade, who told his Highness, he presumed he had not received the last Orders, which were to move a contrary Way. The Prince, instead of taking the Admonition which was delivered in a manner that accounted for his Error with Safety to his Understanding, shaked a Cane at the Officer; and with the return of opprobrious Language, persisted in his own Orders. The whole Matter came necessarily before the King, who commanded his Son, on foot, to lay his right Hand on the Gentleman's Stirrup as he sat on Horseback in sight of the whole Army, and ask his Pardon. When the Prince touched his Stirrup, and was going to speak, the Officer with an incredible Agility, threw himself on the Earth, and kissed his Feet.
The Body is very little concerned in the Pleasures or Sufferings of Souls truly great; and the Reparation, when an Honour was designed this Soldier, appeared as much too great to be borne by his Gratitude, as the Injury was intolerable to his Resentment.
When we turn our Thoughts from these extraordinary Occurrences in common Life, we see an ingenuous kind of Behaviour not only make up for Faults committed, but in a manner expiate them in the very Commission. Thus many things wherein a Man has pressed too far, he implicitly excuses, by owning, This is a Trespass; youll pardon my Confidence; I am sensible I have no Pretension to this Favour, and the like. But commend me to those gay Fellows about Town who are directly impudent, and make up for it no otherwise than by calling themselves such, and exulting in it. But this sort of Carriage, which prompts a Man against Rules to urge what he has a Mind to, is pardonable only when you sue for another. When you are confident in preference of your self to others of equal Merit, every Man that loves Virtue and Modesty ought, in Defence of those Qualities, to oppose you: But, without considering the Morality of the thing, let us at this time behold only the natural Consequence of Candour when we speak of ourselves.
The
Spectator
writes often in an Elegant, often in an Argumentative, and often in a Sublime Style, with equal Success; but how would it hurt the reputed Author of that Paper to own, that of the most beautiful Pieces under his Title, he is barely the Publisher? There is nothing but what a Man really performs, can be an Honour to him; what he takes more than he ought in the Eye of the World, he loses in the Conviction of his own Heart; and a Man must lose his Consciousness, that is, his very Self, before he can rejoice in any Falshood without inward Mortification.
Who has not seen a very Criminal at the Bar, when his Counsel and Friends have done all that they could for him in vain, prevail upon the whole Assembly to pity him, and his Judge to recommend his Case to the Mercy of the Throne, without offering any thing new in his Defence, but that he, whom before we wished convicted, became so out of his own Mouth, and took upon himself all the Shame and Sorrow we were just before preparing for him? The great Opposition to this kind of Candour, arises from the unjust Idea People ordinarily have of what we call an high Spirit. It is far from Greatness of Spirit to persist in the Wrong in any thing, nor is it a Diminution of Greatness of Spirit to have been in the Wrong: Perfection is not the Attribute of Man, therefore he is not degraded by the Acknowledgment of an Imperfection: But it is the Work of little Minds to imitate the Fortitude of great Spirits on worthy Occasions, by Obstinacy in the Wrong. This Obstinacy prevails so far upon them, that they make it extend to the Defence of Faults in their very Servants. It would swell this Paper to too great a length, should I insert all the Quarrels and Debates which are now on foot in this Town; where one Party, and in some Cases both, is sensible of being on the faulty Side, and have not Spirit enough to Acknowledge it. Among the Ladies the Case is very common, for there are very few of them who know that it is to maintain a true and high Spirit, to throw away from it all which it self disapproves, and to scorn so pitiful a Shame, as that which disables the Heart from acquiring a Liberality of Affections and Sentiments. The candid Mind, by acknowledging and discarding its Faults, has Reason and Truth for the Foundation of all its Passions and Desires, and consequently is happy and simple; the disingenuous Spirit, by Indulgence of one unacknowledged Error, is intangled with an After-Life of Guilt, Sorrow, and Perplexity.
T.
| [No. 383] | Tuesday, May 20, 1712 | Addison |
Criminibus debent Hortos—
Hor.
As I was sitting in my Chamber, and thinking on a Subject for my next Spectator, I heard two or three irregular Bounces at my Landlady's Door, and upon the opening of it, a loud chearful Voice enquiring whether the Philosopher was at Home. The Child who went to the Door answered very Innocently, that he did not Lodge there. I immediately recollected that it was my good Friend Sir
Roger's
Voice; and that I had promised to go with him on the Water to Spring-Garden, in case it proved a good Evening. The Knight put me in mind of my Promise from the Bottom of the Stair-Case, but told me that if I was Speculating he would stay below till I had done. Upon my coming down, I found all the Children of the Family got about my old Friend, and my Landlady herself, who is a notable prating Gossip, engaged in a Conference with him; being mightily pleased with his stroaking her little Boy upon the Head, and bidding him
be a good Child and mind his Book
.
We were no sooner come to the Temple Stairs, but we were surrounded with a Crowd of Watermen, offering us their respective Services. Sir
Roger
, after having looked about him very attentively, spied one with a Wooden-Leg, and immediately gave him Orders to get his Boat ready. As we were walking towards it,
You must know
, says Sir
Roger
,
I never make use of any body to row me, that has not either lost a Leg or an Arm. I would rather bate him a few Strokes of his Oar, than not employ an honest Man that has been wounded in the Queen's Service. If I was a Lord or a Bishop, and kept a Barge, I would not put a Fellow in my Livery that had not a Wooden-Leg.
My old Friend, after having seated himself, and trimmed the Boat with his Coachman, who, being a very sober Man, always serves for Ballast on these Occasions, we made the best of our way for Fox-Hall. Sir
Roger
the Waterman to give us the History of his Right Leg, and hearing that he had left it
at La Hogue
with many Particulars which passed in that glorious Action, the Knight in the Triumph of his Heart made several Reflections on the Greatness of the
British
Nation; as, that one
Englishman
could beat three
Frenchmen
; that we could never be in danger of Popery so long as we took care of our Fleet; that the
Thames
was the noblest River in
Europe
; that
London Bridge
was a greater piece of Work, than any of the seven Wonders of the World; with many other honest Prejudices which naturally cleave to the Heart of a true
Englishman
.
After some short Pause, the old Knight turning about his Head twice or thrice, to take a Survey of this great Metropolis, bid me observe how thick the City was set with Churches, and that there was scarce a single Steeple on this side Temple-Bar.
A most Heathenish Sight!
says Sir
Roger
:
There is no Religion at this End of the Town. The fifty new Churches will very much mend the Prospect; but Church-work is slow, Church-work is slow!
I do not remember I have any where mentioned, in Sir
Roger's
Character, his Custom of saluting every Body that passes by him with a Good-morrow or a Good-night. This the old Man does out of the overflowings of his Humanity, though at the same time it renders him so popular among all his Country Neighbours, that it is thought to have gone a good way in making him once or twice
Knight of the Shire
. He cannot forbear this Exercise of Benevolence even in Town, when he meets with any one in his Morning or Evening Walk. It broke from him to several Boats that passed by us upon the Water; but to the Knight's great Surprize, as he gave the Good-night to two or three young Fellows a little before our Landing, one of them, instead of returning the Civility, asked us
what queer old Put we had in the Boat, and whether he was not ashamed to go a Wenching at his Years?
with a great deal of the like
Thames-Ribaldry
. Sir ROGER seemd a little shocked at first, but at length assuming a Face of Magistracy, told us,
That if he were a Middlesex Justice, he would make such Vagrants know that Her Majesty's Subjects were no more to be abused by Water than by Land.
We were now arrived at
Spring-Garden
, which is exquisitely pleasant at this time of Year. When I considered the Fragrancy of the Walks and Bowers, with the Choirs of Birds that sung upon the Trees, and the loose Tribe of People that walked under their Shades, I could not but look upon the Place as a kind of
Mahometan
Paradise. Sir
Roger
told me it put him in mind of a little Coppice by his House in the Country, which his Chaplain used to call
an Aviary of Nightingales
.
You must understand,
says the Knight,
there is nothing in the World that pleases a Man in Love so much as your Nightingale. Ah, Mr. Spectator! the many Moon-light Nights that I have walked by my self, and thought on the Widow by the Musek of the Nightingales!
He here fetched a deep Sigh, and was falling into a Fit of musing, when a
Masque
, who came behind him, gave him a gentle Tap upon the Shoulder, and asked him
if he would drink a Bottle of Mead with her?
But the Knight, being startled at so unexpected a Familiarity, and displeased to be interrupted in his Thoughts of the Widow, told her,
She was a wanton Baggage, and bid her go about her Business.
We concluded our Walk with a Glass of
Burton-Ale
, and a Slice of
Hung-Beef
. When we had done eating our selves, the Knight called a Waiter to him, and bid him
carry the remainder to the Waterman that had but one Leg.
I perceived the Fellow stared upon him at the oddness of the Message, and was going to be saucy; upon which I ratified the Knight's Commands with a Peremptory Look.
As we were going out of the Garden, my old Friend, thinking himself obliged, as a Member of the Quorum, to animadvert upon the Morals of the Place, told the Mistress of the House, who sat at the Bar,
That he should be a better Customer to her Garden, if there were more Nightingales, and fewer Strumpets.
in Bantry Bay
. In Bantry Bay, on May-day, 1689, a French Fleet, bringing succour to the adherents of James II., attacked the English, under Admiral Herbert, and obliged them to retire. The change of name in the text was for one with a more flattering association. In the Battle of La Hogue, May 19, 1692, the English burnt 13 of the enemy's ships, destroyed 8, dispersed the rest, and prevented a threatened descent of the French upon England.
| [No. 384] | Wednesday, May 21, 1712 | Steele |
Hague, May 24. N. S.
The same Republican Hands, who have so often since the Chevalier de St. George's Recovery killed him in our publick Prints, have now reduced the young Dauphin of France to that desperate Condition of Weakness, and Death it self, that it is hard to conjecture what Method they will take to bring him to Life again. Mean time we are assured by a very good Hand from Paris, That on the 20th Instant, this young Prince was as well as ever he was known to be since the Day of his Birth. As for the other, they are now sending his Ghost, we suppose, (for they never had the Modesty to contradict their Assertions of his Death) to Commerci in Lorrain, attended only by four Gentlemen, and a few Domesticks of little Consideration. The Baron de Bothmar having delivered in his Credentials to qualify him as an Ambassador to this State, (an Office to which his greatest Enemies will acknowledge him to be equal) is gone to Utrecht, whence he will proceed to Hanover, but not stay long at that Court, for fear the Peace should be made during his lamented Absence.
Post-Boy, May 20.
I should be thought not able to read, should I overlook some excellent Pieces lately come out.
My Lord Bishop of St. Asaph
has just now published some
Sermons
, the
Preface
to which seems to me to determine a great Point
.—He has, like a good Man and a good
Christian
, in opposition to all the Flattery and base Submission of false Friends to Princes, asserted, That
Christianity
left us where it found us as to our Civil Rights. The present Entertainment shall consist only of a Sentence out of the
Post-Boy
, and the said
Preface
of the
Lord of St. Asaph
. I should think it a little odd if the Author of the
Post-Boy
should with Impunity call Men
Republicans
for a Gladness on Report of the Death of the Pretender; and treat Baron
Bothmar
, the Minister of
Hanover
, in such a manner as you see in my Motto. I must own, I think every Man in
England
concerned to support the Succession of that Family.
The publishing a few Sermons, whilst I live, the latest of which was preached about eight Years since, and the first above seventeen, will make it very natural for People to enquire into the Occasion of doing so; And to such I do very willingly assign these following Reasons.
First, From the Observations I have been able to make, for these many Years last past, upon our publick Affairs, and from the natural Tendency of several Principles and Practices, that have of late been studiously revived, and from what has followed thereupon, I could not help both fearing and presaging, that these Nations would some time or other, if ever we should have an enterprising Prince upon the Throne, of more Ambition than Virtue, Justice, and true Honour, fall into the way of all other Nations, and lose their Liberty.
Nor could I help foreseeing to whose Charge a great deal of this dreadful Mischief, whenever it should happen, would be laid, whether justly or unjustly, was not my Business to determine; but I resolved for my own particular part, to deliver my self, as well as I could, from the Reproaches and the Curses of Posterity, by publickly declaring to all the World, That although in the constant Course of my Ministry, I have never failed, on proper Occasions, to recommend, urge, and insist upon the loving, honouring, and the reverencing the Prince's Person, and holding it, according to the Laws, inviolable and sacred; and paying all Obedience and Submission to the Laws, though never so hard and inconvenient to private People: Yet did I never think my self at liberty, or authorized to tell the People, that either Christ, St. Peter, or St. Paul, or any other Holy Writer, had by any Doctrine delivered by them, subverted the Laws and Constitutions of the Country in which they lived, or put them in a worse Condition, with respect to their Civil Liberties, than they would have been had they not been Christians. I ever thought it a most impious Blasphemy against that holy Religion, to father any thing upon it that might encourage Tyranny, Oppression, or Injustice in a Prince, or that easily tended to make a free and happy People Slaves and Miserable. No: People may make themselves as wretched as they will, but let not God be called into that wicked Party. When Force and Violence, and hard Necessity have brought the Yoak of Servitude upon a People's Neck, Religion will supply them with a patient and submissive Spirit under it till they can innocently shake it off; but certainly Religion never puts it on. This always was, and this at present is, my Judgment of these Matters: And I would be transmitted to Posterity (for the little Share of Time such Names as mine can live) under the Character of one who lov'd his Country, and would be thought a good Englishman, as well as a good Clergyman.
This Character I thought would be transmitted by the following Sermons, which were made for, and preached in a private Audience, when I could think of nothing else but doing my Duty on the Occasions that were then offered by God's Providence, without any manner of design of making them publick: And for that reason I give them now as they were then delivered; by which I hope to satisfie those People who have objected a Change of Principles to me, as if I were not now the same Man I formerly was. I never had but one Opinion of these Matters; and that I think is so reasonable and well-grounded, that I believe I never can have any other. Another Reason of my publishing these Sermons at this time, is, that I have a mind to do my self some Honour, by doing what Honour I could to the Memory of two most excellent Princes, and who have very highly deserved at the hands of all the People of these Dominions, who have any true Value for the Protestant Religion, and the Constitution of the English Government, of which they were the great Deliverers and Defenders. I have lived to see their illustrious Names very rudely handled, and the great Benefits they did this Nation treated slightly and contemptuously. I have lived to see our Deliverance from Arbitrary Power and Popery, traduced and vilified by some who formerly thought it was their greatest Merit, and made it part of their Boast and Glory, to have had a little hand and share in bringing it about; and others who, without it, must have liv'd in Exile, Poverty, and Misery, meanly disclaiming it, and using ill the glorious Instruments thereof. Who could expect such a Requital of such Merit? I have, I own it, an Ambition of exempting my self from the Number of unthankful People: And as I loved and honoured those great Princes living, and lamented over them when dead, so I would gladly raise them up a Monument of Praise as lasting as any thing of mine can be; and I chuse to do it at this time, when it is so unfashionable a thing to speak honourably of them.
The Sermon that was preached upon the Duke of Gloucester's Death was printed quickly after, and is now, because the Subject was so suitable, join'd to the others. The Loss of that most promising and hopeful Prince was, at that time, I saw, unspeakably great; and many Accidents since have convinced us, that it could not have been over-valued. That precious Life, had it pleased God to have prolonged it the usual Space, had saved us many Fears and Jealousies, and dark Distrusts, and prevented many Alarms, that have long kept us, and will keep us still, waking and uneasy. Nothing remained to comfort and support us under this heavy Stroke, but the Necessity it brought the King and Nation under, of settling the Succession in the House of Hannover, and giving it an Hereditary Right, by Act of Parliament, as long as it continues Protestant. So much good did God, in his merciful Providence, produce from a Misfortune, which we could never otherwise have sufficiently deplored.
The fourth Sermon was preached upon the Queen's Accession to the Throne, and the first Year in which that Day was solemnly observed, (for, by some Accident or other, it had been overlook'd the Year before;) and every one will see, without the date of it, that it was preached very early in this Reign, since I was able only to promise and presage its future Glories and Successes, from the good Appearances of things, and the happy Turn our Affairs began to take; and could not then count up the Victories and Triumphs that, for seven Years after, made it, in the Prophet's Language, a Name and a Praise among all the People of the Earth. Never did seven such Years together pass over the head of any English Monarch, nor cover it with so much Honour: The Crown and Sceptre seemed to be the Queen's least Ornaments; those, other Princes wore in common with her, and her great personal Virtues were the same before and since; but such was the Fame of her Administration of Affairs at home, such was the Reputation of her Wisdom and Felicity in chusing Ministers, and such was then esteemed their Faithfulness and Zeal, their Diligence and great Abilities in executing her Commands; to such a height of military Glory did her great General and her Armies carry the British Name abroad; such was the Harmony and Concord betwixt her and her Allies, and such was the Blessing of God upon all her Counsels and Undertakings, that I am as sure as History can make me, no Prince of ours was ever yet so prosperous and successful, so beloved, esteemed, and honoured by their Subjects and their Friends, nor near so formidable to their Enemies. We were, as all the World imagined then, just ent'ring on the ways that promised to lead to such a Peace, as would have answered all the Prayers of our religious Queen, the Care and Vigilance of a most able Ministry, the Payments of a willing and obedient People, as well as all the glorious Toils and Hazards of the Soldiery; when God, for our Sins, permitted the Spirit of Discord to go forth, and, by troubling sore the Camp, the City, and the Country, (and oh that it had altogether spared the Places sacred to his Worship!) to spoil, for a time, this beautiful and pleasing Prospect, and give us, in its stead, I know not what — Our Enemies will tell the rest with Pleasure. It will become me better to pray to God to restore us to the Power of obtaining such a Peace, as will be to his Glory, the Safety, Honour, and the Welfare of the Queen and her Dominions, and the general Satisfaction of all her High and Mighty Allies.
May 2, 1712.
T.
Dr. William Fleetwood, Bishop of St. Asaph, had published Four Sermons.
- On the death of Queen Mary, 1694.
- On the death of the Duke of Gloucester, 1700.
- On the death of King William, 1701.
- On the Queen's Accession to the Throne, in 1702,
with a Preface. 8vo. London, 1712.
The Preface which, says Dr. Johnson, overflowed with Whiggish principles, was ordered to be burnt by the House of Commons. This moved Steele to diffuse it by inserting it in the
Spectator
, which, as its author said in a letter to Burnet, conveyed about fourteen thousand copies of the condemned preface into people's hands that would otherwise have never seen or heard of it. Moreover, to ensure its delivery into the Queen's hands the publication of this number is said to have been deferred till twelve oclock, her Majesty's breakfast hour, that no time might be allowed for a decision that it should not be laid, as usual, upon her breakfast table.
Fleetwood was born in 1656; had been chaplain to King William, and in 1706 had been appointed to the Bishopric of St. Asaph without any solicitation. He was translated to Ely in 1714, and died in 1723.
| [No. 385] | Thursday, May 22, 1712 | Budgell |
Theseâ pectora juncta fide.
Ovid.
I intend the Paper for this Day as a loose Essay upon Friendship, in which I shall throw my Observations together without any set Form, that I may avoid repeating what has been often said on this Subject.
Friendship is a strong and habitual Inclination in two Persons to promote the Good and Happiness of one another.
Tho' the Pleasures and Advantages of Friendship have been largely celebrated by the best moral Writers, and are considered by all as great Ingredients of human Happiness, we very rarely meet with the Practice of this Virtue in the World.
Every Man is ready to give in a long Catalogue of those Virtues and good Qualities he expects to find in the Person of a Friend, but very few of us are careful to cultivate them in our selves.
Love
and
Esteem
are the first Principles of Friendship, which always is imperfect where either of these two is wanting.
As, on the one hand, we are soon ashamed of loving a Man whom we cannot esteem: so, on the other, tho we are truly sensible of a Man's Abilities, we can never raise ourselves to the Warmths of Friendship, without an affectionate Good-will towards his Person.
Friendship immediately banishes
Envy
under all its Disguises. A Man who can once doubt whether he should rejoice in his Friends being happier than himself, may depend upon it that he is an utter Stranger to this Virtue.
There is something in Friendship so very great and noble, that in those fictitious Stories which are invented to the Honour of any particular Person, the Authors have thought it as necessary to make their Hero a Friend as a Lover.
Achilles
has his
Patroclus
, and
Æneas
his
Achates
. In the first of these Instances we may observe, for the Reputation of the Subject I am treating of, that
Greece
was almost ruin'd by the Hero's Love, but was preserved by his Friendship.
The Character of
Achates
suggests to us an Observation we may often make on the Intimacies of great Men, who frequently chuse their Companions rather for the Qualities of the Heart than those of the Head, and prefer Fidelity in an easy inoffensive complying Temper to those Endowments which make a much greater Figure among Mankind. I do not remember that
Achates
, who is represented as the first Favourite, either gives his Advice, or strikes a Blow, thro' the whole
Æneid
.
A Friendship which makes the least noise, is very often most useful: for which reason I should prefer a prudent Friend to a zealous one.
Atticus
, one of the best Men of ancient
Rome
, was a very remarkable Instance of what I am here speaking. This extraordinary Person, amidst the Civil Wars of his Country, when he saw the Designs of all Parties equally tended to the Subversion of Liberty, by constantly preserving the Esteem and Affection of both the Competitors, found means to serve his Friends on either side: and while he sent Money to young
Marius
, whose Father was declared an Enemy of the Commonwealth, he was himself one of
Sylla's
chief Favourites, and always near that General.
During the War between
Cæsar
and
Pompey
, he still maintained the same Conduct. After the Death of
Cæsar
he sent Money to
Brutus
in his Troubles, and did a thousand good Offices to
Antony's
Wife and Friends when that Party seemed ruined. Lastly, even in that bloody War between
Antony
and
Augustus
,
Atticus
still kept his place in both their Friendships; insomuch that the first, says
Cornelius Nepos
, whenever he was absent from
Rome
in any part of the Empire, writ punctually to him what he was doing, what he read, and whither he intended to go; and the latter gave him constantly an exact Account of all his Affairs.
A Likeness of Inclinations in every Particular is so far from being requisite to form a Benevolence in two Minds towards each other, as it is generally imagined, that I believe we shall find some of the firmest Friendships to have been contracted between Persons of different Humours; the Mind being often pleased with those Perfections which are new to it, and which it does not find among its own Accomplishments. Besides that a Man in some measure supplies his own Defects, and fancies himself at second hand possessed of those good Qualities and Endowments, which are in the possession of him who in the Eye of the World is looked on as his other self.
The most difficult Province in Friendship is the letting a Man see his Faults and Errors, which should, if possible, be so contrived, that he may perceive our Advice is given him not so much to please ourselves as for his own Advantage. The Reproaches therefore of a Friend should always be strictly just, and not too frequent.
The violent Desire of pleasing in the Person reproved, may otherwise change into a Despair of doing it, while he finds himself censur'd for Faults he is not Conscious of. A Mind that is softened and humanized by Friendship, cannot bear frequent Reproaches; either it must quite sink under the Oppression, or abate considerably of the Value and Esteem it had for him who bestows them.
The proper Business of Friendship is to inspire Life and Courage; and a Soul thus supported, outdoes itself: whereas if it be unexpectedly deprived of these Succours, it droops and languishes.
We are in some measure more inexcusable if we violate our Duties to a Friend, than to a Relation: since the former arise from a voluntary Choice, the latter from a Necessity to which we could not give our own Consent.
As it has been said on one side, that a Man ought not to break with a faulty Friend, that he may not expose the Weakness of his Choice; it will doubtless hold much stronger with respect to a worthy one, that he may never be upbraided for having lost so valuable a Treasure which was once in his Possession.
X.
| [No. 386] | Friday, May 23, 1712 | Steele |
Cum Tristibus severe, cum Remissis jucunde, cum Senibus graviter, cum Juventute comiter vivere.
Tull.
The piece of
Latin
on the Head of this Paper is part of a Character extremely vicious, but I have set down no more than may fall in with the Rules of Justice and Honour.
Cicero
spoke it of
Catiline
, who, he said,
lived with the Sad severely, with the Chearful agreeably, with the Old gravely, with the Young pleasantly; he added, with the Wicked boldly, with the Wanton lasciviously.
The two last Instances of his Complaisance I forbear to consider, having it in my thoughts at present only to speak of obsequious Behaviour as it sits upon a Companion in Pleasure, not a Man of Design and Intrigue. To vary with every Humour in this Manner, cannot be agreeable, except it comes from a Man's own Temper and natural Complection; to do it out of an Ambition to excel that Way, is the most fruitless and unbecoming Prostitution imaginable. To put on an artful Part to obtain no other End but an unjust Praise from the Undiscerning, is of all Endeavours the most despicable. A Man must be sincerely pleased to become Pleasure, or not to interrupt that of others: For this Reason it is a most calamitous Circumstance, that many People who want to be alone or should be so, will come into Conversation. It is certain, that all Men who are the least given to Reflection, are seized with an Inclination that Way; when, perhaps, they had rather be inclined to Company: but indeed they had better go home, and be tired with themselves, than force themselves upon others to recover their good Humour. In
this the Cases of communicating to a Friend a sad Thought or Difficulty, in order to relieve
a
heavy Heart, stands excepted; but what is here meant, is, that a Man should always go with Inclination to the Turn of the Company he is going into, or not pretend to be of the Party. It is certainly a very happy Temper to be able to live with all kinds of Dispositions, because it argues a Mind that lies open to receive what is pleasing to others, and not obstinately bent on any Particularity of its own.
This is that which makes me pleased with the Character of my good Acquaintance
Acasto
. You meet him at the Tables and Conversations of the Wise, the Impertinent, the Grave, the Frolick, and the Witty; and yet his own Character has nothing in it that can make him particularly agreeable to any one Sect of Men; but
Acasto
has natural good Sense, good Nature and Discretion, so that every Man enjoys himself in his company; and tho'
Acasto
contributes nothing to the Entertainment, he never was at a Place where he was not welcome a second time. Without these subordinate good Qualities of
Acasto
, a Man of Wit and Learning would be painful to the Generality of Mankind, instead of being pleasing. Witty Men are apt to imagine they are agreeable as such, and by that means grow the worst Companions imaginable; they deride the Absent or rally the Present in a wrong manner, not knowing that if you pinch or tickle a Man till he is uneasy in his Seat, or ungracefully distinguished from the rest of the Company, you equally hurt him.
I was going to say, the true Art of being agreeable in Company, (but there can be no such thing as Art in it) is to appear well pleased with those you are engaged with, and rather to seem well entertained, than to bring Entertainment to others. A Man thus disposed is not indeed what we ordinarily call a good Companion, but essentially is such, and in all the Parts of his Conversation has something friendly in his Behaviour, which conciliates Men's Minds more than the highest Sallies of Wit or Starts of Humour can possibly do. The Feebleness of Age in a Man of this Turn, has something which should be treated with respect even in a Man no otherwise venerable. The Forwardness of Youth, when it proceeds from Alacrity and not Insolence, has also its Allowances. The Companion who is formed for such by Nature, gives to every Character of Life its due Regards, and is ready to account for their Imperfections, and receive their Accomplishments as if they were his own. It must appear that you receive Law from, and not give it to your Company, to make you agreeable.
I remember
Tully
, speaking, I think, of
Anthony
, says, That
in eo facetiæ erant, quæ nulla arte tradi possunt: He had a witty Mirth, which could be acquired by no Art.
This Quality must be of the Kind of which I am now speaking; for all sorts of Behaviour which depend upon Observation and Knowledge of Life, is to be acquired: but that which no one can describe, and is apparently the Act of Nature, must be every where prevalent, because every thing it meets is a fit Occasion to exert it; for he who follows Nature, can never be improper or unseasonable.
How unaccountable then must their Behaviour be, who, without any manner of Consideration of what the Company they have just now entered are upon, give themselves the Air of a Messenger, and make as distinct Relations of the Occurrences they last met with, as if they had been dispatched from those they talk to, to be punctually exact in a Report of those Circumstances: It is unpardonable to those who are met to enjoy one another, that a fresh Man shall pop in, and give us only the last part of his own Life, and put a stop to ours during the History. If such a Man comes from Change, whether you will or not, you must hear how the Stocks go; and tho' you are ever so intently employed on a graver Subject, a young Fellow of the other end of the Town will take his place, and tell you, Mrs. Such-a-one is charmingly handsome, because he just now saw her. But I think I need not dwell on this Subject, since I have acknowledged there can be no Rules made for excelling this Way; and Precepts of this kind fare like Rules for writing Poetry, which, 'tis said, may have prevented ill Poets, but never made good ones.
T.
an
| No. 387[1] | Saturday, May 24, 1712 | Addison |
Quid purè tranquillet—
Hor.
In my last
Saturday's
Paper I spoke of
Chearfulness
as it is
a Moral Habit of the Mind
, and accordingly mentioned such moral Motives as are apt to cherish and keep alive this happy Temper in the Soul of Man: I shall now consider Chearfulness in its natural State, and reflect on those Motives to it, which are indifferent either as to Virtue or Vice.
Chearfulness is, in the first place, the best Promoter of Health. Repinings and secret Murmurs of Heart, give imperceptible Strokes to those delicate Fibres of which the vital parts are composed, and wear out the Machine insensibly; not to mention those violent Ferments which they stir up in the Blood, and those irregular disturbed Motions, which they raise in the animal Spirits. I scarce remember, in my own Observation, to have met with many old Men, or with such, who (to use our
English
Phrase) wear well, that had not at least a certain Indolence in their Humour, if not a more than ordinary Gaiety and Chearfulness of Heart. The truth of it is, Health and Chearfulness mutually beget each other; with this difference, that we seldom meet with a great degree of Health which is not attended with a certain Chearfulness, but very often see Chearfulness where there is no great degree of Health.
Chearfulness bears the same friendly regard to the Mind as to the Body: It banishes all anxious Care and Discontent, sooths and composes the Passions, and keeps the Soul in a Perpetual Calm. But having already touched on this last Consideration, I shall here take notice, that the World, in which we are placed, is filled with innumerable Objects that are proper to raise and keep alive this happy Temper of Mind.
If we consider the World in its Subserviency to Man, one would think it was made for our Use; but if we consider it in its natural Beauty and Harmony, one would be apt to conclude it was made for our Pleasure. The Sun, which is as the great Soul of the Universe, and produces all the Necessaries of Life, has a particular Influence in chearing the Mind of Man, and making the Heart glad.
Those several living Creatures which are made for our Service or Sustenance, at the same time either fill the Woods with their Musick, furnish us with Game, or raise pleasing Ideas in us by the delightfulness of their Appearance, Fountains, Lakes, and Rivers, are as refreshing to the Imagination, as to the Soil through which they pass.
There are Writers of great Distinction, who have made it an Argument for Providence, that the whole Earth is covered with Green, rather than with any other Colour, as being such a right Mixture of Light and Shade, that it comforts and strengthens the Eye instead of weakning or grieving it. For this reason several Painters have a green Cloth hanging near them, to ease the Eye upon, after too great an Application to their Colouring. A
modern Philosopher
accounts for it in the following manner:
All Colours that are more luminous, overpower and dissipate the animal Spirits which are employd in Sight; on the contrary, those that are more obscure do not give the animal Spirits a sufficient Exercise; whereas the Rays that produce in us the Idea of Green, fall upon the Eye in such a due proportion, that they give the animal Spirits their proper Play, and by keeping up the struggle in a just Ballance, excite a very pleasing and agreeable Sensation
. Let the Cause be what it will, the Effect is certain, for which reason the Poets ascribe to this particular Colour the Epithet of Chearful.
To consider further this double End in the Works of Nature, and how they are at the same time both useful and entertaining, we find that the most important Parts in the vegetable World are those which are the most beautiful. These are the Seeds by which the several Races of Plants are propagated and continued, and which are always lodged in Flowers or Blossoms. Nature seems to hide her principal Design, and to be industrious in making the Earth gay and delightful, while she is carrying on her great Work, and intent upon her own Preservation. The Husbandman after the same manner is employed in laying out the whole Country into a kind of Garden or Landskip, and making every thing smile about him, whilst in reality he thinks of nothing but of the Harvest, and Encrease which is to arise from it.
We may further observe how Providence has taken care to keep up this Chearfulness in the Mind of Man, by having formed it after such a manner, as to make it capable of conceiving Delight from several Objects which seem to have very little use in them; as from the Wildness of Rocks and Desarts, and the like grotesque Parts of Nature. Those who are versed in Philosophy may still carry this Consideration higher, by observing that if Matter had appeared to us endowed only with those real Qualities which it actually possesses, it would have made but a very joyless and uncomfortable Figure; and why has Providence given it a Power of producing in us such imaginary Qualities, as Tastes and Colours, Sounds and Smells, Heat and Cold, but that Man, while he is conversant in the lower Stations of Nature, might have his Mind cheared and delighted with agreeable Sensations? In short, the whole Universe is a kind of Theatre filled with Objects that either raise in us Pleasure, Amusement, or Admiration.
The Reader's own Thoughts will suggest to him the Vicissitude of Day and Night, the Change of Seasons, with all that Variety of Scenes which diversify the Face of Nature, and fill the Mind with a perpetual Succession of beautiful and pleasing Images.
I shall not here mention the several Entertainments of Art, with the Pleasures of Friendship, Books, Conversation, and other accidental Diversions of Life, because I would only take notice of such Incitements to a Chearful Temper, as offer themselves to Persons of all Ranks and Conditions, and which may sufficiently shew us that Providence did not design this World should be filled with Murmurs and Repinings, or that the Heart of Man should be involved in Gloom and Melancholy.
I the more inculcate this Chearfulness of Temper, as it is a Virtue in which our Countrymen are observed to be more deficient than any other Nation. Melancholy is a kind of Demon that haunts our Island, and often conveys her self to us in an Easterly Wind. A celebrated
French
Novelist, in opposition to those who begin their Romances with the flow'ry Season of the Year, enters on his Story thus:
In the gloomy Month of November, when the People of England hang and drown themselves, a disconsolate Lover walked out into the Fields, &c.
Every one ought to fence against the Temper of his Climate or Constitution, and frequently to indulge in himself those Considerations which may give him a Serenity of Mind, and enable him to bear up chearfully against those little Evils and Misfortunes which are common to humane Nature, and which by a right Improvement of them will produce a Satiety of Joy, and an uninterrupted Happiness. At the same time that I would engage my Reader to consider the World in its most agreeable Lights, I must own there are many Evils which naturally spring up amidst the Entertainments that are provided for us; but these, if rightly consider'd, should be far from overcasting the Mind with Sorrow, or destroying that Chearfulness of Temper which I have been recommending. This Interspersion of Evil with Good, and Pain with Pleasure, in the Works of Nature, is very truly ascribed by Mr.
Locke
, in his
Essay on Human Understanding
, to a moral Reason, in the following Words:
Beyond all this, we may find another Reason why God hath scattered up and down several Degrees of Pleasure and Pain, in all the things that environ and affect us, and blended them together, in almost all that our Thoughts and Senses have to do with; that we finding Imperfection, Dissatisfaction, and Want of compleat Happiness in all the Enjoyments which the Creatures can afford us, might be led to seek it in the Enjoyment of him, with whom there is Fulness of Joy, and at whose Right Hand are Pleasures for evermore.
L.
Numbered by mistake, in the daily issue 388, No. 388 is then numbered 390; 389 is right, 390 is called 392, the next 391, which is right, another 392 follows, and thus the error is corrected.
Sir Isaac Newton.
| [No. 388] | Monday, May 26, 1712 | Barr?[1] |
—Tibi res antiquæ Laudis et Artis
Ingredior; sanctos ausus recludere Fontes.
Virg.
Mr. Spectator,
It is my Custom, when I read your Papers, to read over the Quotations in the Authors from whence you take them: As you mentiond a Passage lately out of the second Chapter of Solomon's Song, it occasion'd my looking into it; and upon reading it I thought the Ideas so exquisitely soft and tender, that I could not help making this Paraphrase of it; which, now it is done, I can as little forbear sending to you. Some Marks of your Approbation, which I have already receiv'd, have given me so sensible a Taste of them, that I cannot forbear endeavouring after them as often as I can with any Appearance of Success.
I am, Sir,
[Your] most obedient[2] humble Servant.
I As when in Sharon's Field the blushing Rose
Does its chaste Bosom to the Morn disclose,
Whilst all around the Zephyrs bear
The fragrant Odours thro' the Air:
Or as the Lilly in the shady Vale,
Does o'er each Flower with beauteous Pride prevail,
And stands with Dews and kindest Sun-shine blest,
In fair Pre-eminence, superior to the rest:
So if my Love, with happy Influence, shed
His Eyes bright Sun-shine on his Lover's Head,
Then shall the Rose of Sharon's Field,
And whitest Lillies to my Beauties yield.
Then fairest Flowers with studious Art combine,
The Roses with the Lillies join,
[And] their united Charms are[3] less than mine.II As much as fairest Lillies can surpass
A Thorn in Beauty, or in Height the Grass;
So does my Love among the Virgins shine,
Adorn'd with Graces more than half Divine;
Or as a Tree, that, glorious to behold,
Is hung with Apples all of ruddy Gold,
Hesperian Fruit! and beautifully high,
Extends its Branches to the Sky;
So does my Love the Virgin's Eyes invite:
'[Tis] he alone can fix their wand'ring Sight,
Among[4] ten thousand eminently bright.III Beneath this pleasing Shade
My weaned Limbs at Ease I laid,
And on his fragrant Boughs reclined my Head.
I pull'd the Golden Fruit with eager haste;
Sweet was the Fruit, and pleasing to the Taste:
With sparkling Wine he crown'd the Bowl,
With gentle Ecstacies he fill'd my Soul;
Joyous we sate beneath the shady Grove,
And o'er my Head he hung the Banners of his Love.IV I faint; I die! my labouring Breast
Is with the mighty Weight of Love opprest:
I feel the Fire possess my Heart,
And pain conveyed to every Part.
Thro' all my Veins the Passion flies,
My feeble Soul forsakes its Place,
A trembling Faintness seals my Eyes,
And Paleness dwells upon my Face;
Oh! let my Love with pow'rful Odours stay
My fainting lovesick Soul that dies away;
One Hand beneath me let him place,
With t'other press me in a chaste Embrace.V I charge you, Nymphs of Sion, as you go
Arm'd with the sounding Quiver and the Bow,
Whilst thro' the lonesome Woods you rove,
You ne'er disturb my sleeping Love,
Be only gentle Zephyrs there,
With downy Wings to fan the Air;
Let sacred Silence dwell around,
To keep off each intruding Sound:
And when the balmy Slumber leaves his Eyes,
May he to Joys, unknown till then, arise.VI But see! he comes! with what majestick Gate
He onward bears his lovely State!
Now thro' the Lattice he appears,
With softest Words dispels my Fears,
Arise, my Fair-One, and receive
All the Pleasures Love can give.
For now the sullen Winters past,
No more we fear the Northern Blast:
No Storms nor threatning Clouds appear,
No falling Rains deform the Year.
My Love admits of no delay,
Arise, my Fair, and come away.VII Already, see! the teeming Earth
Brings forth the Flow'rs, her beauteous Birth.
The Dews, and soft-descending Showers,
Nurse the new-born tender Flow'rs.
Hark! the Birds melodious sing,
And sweetly usher in the Spring.
Close by his Fellow sits the Dove,
And billing whispers her his Love.
The spreading Vines with Blossoms swell,
Diffusing round a grateful Smell,
Arise, my Fair-One, and receive
All the Blessings Love can give:
For Love admits of no delay,
Arise, my Fair, and come away.VIII As to its Mate the constant Dove
Flies thro' the Covert of the spicy Grove,
So let us hasten to some lonely Shade,
There let me safe in thy lov'd Arms be laid,
Where no intruding hateful Noise
Shall damp the Sound of thy melodious Voice;
Where I may gaze, and mark each beauteous Grace;
For sweet thy Voice, and lovely is thy Face.IX As all of me, my Love, is thine,
Let all of thee be ever mine.
Among the Lillies we will play,
Fairer, my Love, thou art than they,
Till the purple Morn arise,
And balmy Sleep forsake thine Eyes;
Till the gladsome Beams of Day
Remove the Shades of Night away;
Then when soft Sleep shall from thy Eyes depart,
Rise like the bounding Roe, or lusty Hart,
Glad to behold the Light again
From Bether's Mountains darting o'er the Plain.
| I | As when in Sharon's Field the blushing Rose Does its chaste Bosom to the Morn disclose, Whilst all around the Zephyrs bear The fragrant Odours thro' the Air: Or as the Lilly in the shady Vale, Does o'er each Flower with beauteous Pride prevail, And stands with Dews and kindest Sun-shine blest, In fair Pre-eminence, superior to the rest: So if my Love, with happy Influence, shed His Eyes bright Sun-shine on his Lover's Head, Then shall the Rose of Sharon's Field, And whitest Lillies to my Beauties yield. Then fairest Flowers with studious Art combine, The Roses with the Lillies join, [And] their united Charms are[3] less than mine. |
| II | As much as fairest Lillies can surpass A Thorn in Beauty, or in Height the Grass; So does my Love among the Virgins shine, Adorn'd with Graces more than half Divine; Or as a Tree, that, glorious to behold, Is hung with Apples all of ruddy Gold, Hesperian Fruit! and beautifully high, Extends its Branches to the Sky; So does my Love the Virgin's Eyes invite: '[Tis] he alone can fix their wand'ring Sight, Among[4] ten thousand eminently bright. |
| III | Beneath this pleasing Shade My weaned Limbs at Ease I laid, And on his fragrant Boughs reclined my Head. I pull'd the Golden Fruit with eager haste; Sweet was the Fruit, and pleasing to the Taste: With sparkling Wine he crown'd the Bowl, With gentle Ecstacies he fill'd my Soul; Joyous we sate beneath the shady Grove, And o'er my Head he hung the Banners of his Love. |
| IV | I faint; I die! my labouring Breast Is with the mighty Weight of Love opprest: I feel the Fire possess my Heart, And pain conveyed to every Part. Thro' all my Veins the Passion flies, My feeble Soul forsakes its Place, A trembling Faintness seals my Eyes, And Paleness dwells upon my Face; Oh! let my Love with pow'rful Odours stay My fainting lovesick Soul that dies away; One Hand beneath me let him place, With t'other press me in a chaste Embrace. |
| V | I charge you, Nymphs of Sion, as you go Arm'd with the sounding Quiver and the Bow, Whilst thro' the lonesome Woods you rove, You ne'er disturb my sleeping Love, Be only gentle Zephyrs there, With downy Wings to fan the Air; Let sacred Silence dwell around, To keep off each intruding Sound: And when the balmy Slumber leaves his Eyes, May he to Joys, unknown till then, arise. |
| VI | But see! he comes! with what majestick Gate He onward bears his lovely State! Now thro' the Lattice he appears, With softest Words dispels my Fears, Arise, my Fair-One, and receive All the Pleasures Love can give. For now the sullen Winters past, No more we fear the Northern Blast: No Storms nor threatning Clouds appear, No falling Rains deform the Year. My Love admits of no delay, Arise, my Fair, and come away. |
| VII | Already, see! the teeming Earth Brings forth the Flow'rs, her beauteous Birth. The Dews, and soft-descending Showers, Nurse the new-born tender Flow'rs. Hark! the Birds melodious sing, And sweetly usher in the Spring. Close by his Fellow sits the Dove, And billing whispers her his Love. The spreading Vines with Blossoms swell, Diffusing round a grateful Smell, Arise, my Fair-One, and receive All the Blessings Love can give: For Love admits of no delay, Arise, my Fair, and come away. |
| VIII | As to its Mate the constant Dove Flies thro' the Covert of the spicy Grove, So let us hasten to some lonely Shade, There let me safe in thy lov'd Arms be laid, Where no intruding hateful Noise Shall damp the Sound of thy melodious Voice; Where I may gaze, and mark each beauteous Grace; For sweet thy Voice, and lovely is thy Face. |
| IX | As all of me, my Love, is thine, Let all of thee be ever mine. Among the Lillies we will play, Fairer, my Love, thou art than they, Till the purple Morn arise, And balmy Sleep forsake thine Eyes; Till the gladsome Beams of Day Remove the Shades of Night away; Then when soft Sleep shall from thy Eyes depart, Rise like the bounding Roe, or lusty Hart, Glad to behold the Light again From Bether's Mountains darting o'er the Plain. |
T.
Percy had heard that a poetical translation of a chapter in the Proverbs, and another poetical translation from the Old Testament, were by Mr. Barr, a dissenting minister at Morton Hampstead in Devonshire.
obliged
Beauties shall be
And stands among
| [No. 389] | Tuesday, May 27, 1712 | Budgell |
Meliora pii docuere parentes.
Hor.
has more surprized the Learned in
England
, than the Price which a small Book, intitled
Spaccio della Bestia triom fante
, bore in a late Auction.
Book was sold for
thirty
Pound. As it was written by one
Jordanus Brunus
, a professed Atheist, with a design to depreciate Religion, every one was apt to fancy, from the extravagant Price it bore, that there must be something in it very formidable.
I must confess that happening to get a sight of one of them my self, I could not forbear perusing it with this Apprehension; but found there was so very little Danger in it, that I shall venture to give my Readers a fair Account of the whole Plan upon which this wonderful Treatise is built.
The Author pretends that
Jupiter
once upon a Time resolved on a Reformation of the Constellations: for which purpose having summoned the Stars together, he complains to them of the great Decay of the Worship of the Gods, which he thought so much the harder, having called several of those Celestial Bodies by the Names of the Heathen Deities, and by that means made the Heavens as it were a Book of the Pagan Theology.
Momus
tells him, that this is not to be wondered at, since there were so many scandalous Stories of the Deities; upon which the Author takes occasion to cast Reflections upon all other Religions, concluding, that
Jupiter
, after a full Hearing, discarded the Deities out of Heaven, and called the Stars by the Names of the Moral Virtues.
This short Fable, which has no Pretence in it to Reason or Argument, and but a very small Share of Wit, has however recommended it self wholly by its Impiety to those weak Men, who would distinguish themselves by the Singularity of their Opinions.
There are two Considerations which have been often urged against Atheists, and which they never yet could get over. The first is, that the greatest and most eminent Persons of all Ages have been against them, and always complied with the publick Forms of Worship established in their respective Countries, when there was nothing in them either derogatory to the Honour of the Supreme Being, or prejudicial to the Good of Mankind.
The
Platos
and
Ciceros
among the Ancients; the
Bacons
, the
Boyles
, and the
Lockes
, among our own Countrymen, are all Instances of what I have been saying; not to mention any of the Divines, however celebrated, since our Adversaries challenge all those, as Men who have too much Interest in this Case to be impartial Evidences.
But what has been often urged as a Consideration of much more Weight, is, not only the Opinion of the Better Sort, but the general Consent of Mankind to this great Truth; which I think could not possibly have come to pass, but from one of the three following Reasons; either that the Idea of a God is innate and co-existent with the Mind it self; or that this Truth is so very obvious, that it is discoverd by the first Exertion of Reason in Persons of the most ordinary Capacities; or, lastly, that it has been delivered down to us thro' all Ages by a Tradition from the first Man.
The Atheists are equally confounded, to which ever of these three Causes we assign it; they have been so pressed by this last Argument from the general Consent of Mankind, that after great search and pains they pretend to have found out a Nation of Atheists, I mean that Polite People the
Hottentots
.
I dare not shock my Readers with a Description of the Customs and Manners of these Barbarians, who are in every respect scarce one degree above Brutes,
no Language among them but a confused
Gabble
which is neither well understood by themselves or others.
It is not however to be imagin'd how much the Atheists have gloried in these their good Friends and Allies.
If we boast of a
Socrates
, or a
Seneca
, they may now confront them with these great Philosophers the
Hottentots
.
Tho even this Point has, not without Reason, been several times controverted, I see no manner of harm it could do Religion, if we should entirely give them up this elegant Part of Mankind.
Methinks nothing more shews the Weakness of their Cause, than that no Division of their Fellow-Creatures join with them, but those among whom they themselves own Reason is almost defaced, and who have little else but their Shape, which can entitle them to any Place in the Species.
Besides these poor Creatures, there have now and then been Instances of a few crazed People in several Nations, who have denied the Existence of a Deity.
Catalogue of these is however very short; even Vanini
the most celebrated Champion for the Cause, professed before his Judges that he believed the Existence of a God, and taking up a Straw which lay before him on the Ground, assured them, that alone was sufficient to convince him of it; alledging several Arguments to prove that 'twas impossible Nature alone could create anything.
I
the other day reading an Account of
Casimir Liszynski
, a Gentleman of
Poland
, who was convicted and executed for this Crime
. The manner of his Punishment was very particular. As soon as his Body was burnt his Ashes were put into a Cannon, and shot into the Air towards
Tartary
.
I am apt to believe, that if something like this Method of Punishment should prevail in
England
, such is the natural good Sense of the
British
Nation, that whether we rammed an Atheist [whole] into a great Gun, or pulverized our Infidels, as they do in
Poland
, we should not have many Charges.
I should, however, propose, while our Ammunition lasted, that instead of
Tartary
, we should always keep two or three Cannons ready pointed towards the
Cape of Good Hope
, in order to shoot our Unbelievers into the Country of the
Hottentots
.
In my Opinion, a solemn judicial Death is too great an Honour for an Atheist, tho' I must allow the Method of exploding him, as it is practised in this ludicrous kind of Martyrdom, has something in it proper
enough
to the Nature of his Offence.
There is indeed a great Objection against this Manner of treating them. Zeal for Religion is of so active a Nature, that it seldom knows where to rest; for which reason I am afraid, after having discharged our Atheists, we might possibly think of shooting off our Sectaries; and, as one does not foresee the Vicissitude of human Affairs, it might one time or other come to a Man's own turn to fly out of the Mouth of a
Demi-culverin
.
If any of my Readers imagine that I have treated these Gentlemen in too Ludicrous a Manner, I must confess, for my own part, I think reasoning against such Unbelievers upon a Point that shocks the Common Sense of Mankind, is doing them too great an Honour, giving them a Figure in the Eye of the World, and making People fancy that they have more in them than they really have.
As for those Persons who have any Scheme of Religious Worship, I am for treating such with the utmost Tenderness, and should endeavour to shew them their Errors with the greatest Temper and Humanity: but as these Miscreants are for throwing down Religion in general, for stripping Mankind of what themselves own is of excellent use in all great Societies, without once offering to establish any thing in the Room of it; I think the best way of dealing with them, is to retort their own Weapons upon them, which are those of Scorn and Mockery.
X.
The book was bought in 1711 for £28 by Mr. Walter Clavel at the sale of the library of Mr. Charles Barnard. It had been bought in 1706 at the sale of Mr. Bigot's library with five others for two shillings and a penny. Although Giordano Bruno was burnt as a heretic, he was a noble thinker, no professed atheist, but a man of the reformed faith, who was in advance of Calvin, a friend of Sir Philip Sydney, and as good a man as Mr. Budgell.
Fifty
Gabling
Vanini, like Giordano Bruno, has his memory dishonoured through the carelessness with which men take for granted the assertions of his enemies. Whether burnt or not, every religious thinker of the sixteenth century who opposed himself to the narrowest views of those who claimed to be the guardians of orthodoxy was remorselessly maligned. If he was the leader of a party, there were hundreds to maintain his honour against calumny. If he was a solitary searcher after truth, there was nothing but his single life and work to set against the host of his defamers. Of Vanini's two books, one was written to prove the existence of a God, yet here is Mr. Budgell calling him the most celebrated champion for the cause of atheism.
Casimir Lyszynski was a Polish Knight, executed at Warsaw in 1689, in the barbarous manner which appears to tickle Mr. Budgell's fancy. It does not appear that he had written anything.
| [No. 390] | Wednesday, May 28, 1712 | Steele |
Non pudendo sed non faciendo id quod non decet impudentiæ nomen effugere debemus.
Tull.
Many are the Epistles I receive from Ladies extremely afflicted that they lie under the Observation of scandalous People, who love to defame their Neighbours, and make the unjustest Interpretation of innocent and indifferent Actions. They describe their own Behaviour so unhappily, that there indeed lies some Cause of Suspicion upon them. It is certain, that there is no Authority for Persons who have nothing else to do, to pass away Hours of Conversation upon the Miscarriages of other People; but since they will do so, they who value their Reputation should be cautious of Appearances to their Disadvantage. But very often our young Women, as well as the middle-aged and the gay Part of those growing old, without entering into a formal League for that purpose, to a Woman agree upon a short Way to preserve their Characters, and go on in a Way that at best is only not vicious. The Method is, when an ill-naturd or talkative Girl has said any thing that bears hard upon some part of another's Carriage, this Creature, if not in any of their little Cabals, is run down for the most censorious dangerous Body in the World. Thus they guard their Reputation rather than their Modesty; as if Guilt lay in being under the Imputation of a Fault, and not in a Commission of it.
Orbicilla
is the kindest poor thing in the Town, but the most blushing Creature living: It is true she has not lost the Sense of Shame, but she has lost the Sense of Innocence. If she had more Confidence, and never did anything which ought to stain her Cheeks, would she not be much more modest without that ambiguous Suffusion, which is the Livery both of Guilt and Innocence? Modesty consists in being conscious of no Ill, and not in being ashamed of having done it. When People go upon any other Foundation than the Truth of their own Hearts for the Conduct of their Actions, it lies in the power of scandalous Tongues to carry the World before them, and make the rest of Mankind fall in with the Ill, for fear of Reproach. On the other hand, to do what you ought, is the ready way to make Calumny either silent or ineffectually malicious.
Spencer
, in
Fairy Queen
, says admirably to young Ladies under the Distress of being defamed;
'The best, said he, that I can you advise,
Is to avoid th' Occasion of the Ill;
For when the Cause, whence Evil doth arise,
Removed is, th' Effect surceaseth still.
Abstain from Pleasure, and restrain your Will,
Subdue Desire, and bridle loose Delight:
Use scanted Diet, and forbear your Fill;
Shun Secrecy, and talk in open sight:
So shall you soon repair your present evil Plight[1].'
Instead of this Care over their Words and Actions, recommended by a Poet in old
Queen Bess's
Days, the modern Way is to do and say what you please, and yet be the prettiest sort of Woman in the World. If Fathers and Brothers will defend a Lady's Honour, she is quite as safe as in her own Innocence. Many of the Distressed, who suffer under the Malice of evil Tongues, are so harmless that they are every Day they live asleep till twelve at Noon; concern themselves with nothing but their own Persons till two; take their necessary Food between that time and four; visit, go to the Play, and sit up at Cards till towards the ensuing Morn; and the malicious World shall draw Conclusions from innocent Glances, short Whispers, or pretty familiar Railleries with fashionable Men, that these Fair ones are not as rigid as Vestals. It is certain, say these goodest Creatures very well, that Virtue does not consist in constrain'd Behaviour and wry Faces, that must be allow'd; but there is a Decency in the Aspect and Manner of Ladies contracted from an Habit of Virtue, and from general Reflections that regard a modest Conduct, all which may be understood, tho' they cannot be described. A young Woman of this sort claims an Esteem mixed with Affection and Honour, and meets with no Defamation; or if she does, the wild Malice is overcome with an undisturbed Perseverance in her Innocence. To speak freely, there are such Coveys of Coquets about this Town, that if the Peace were not kept by some impertinent Tongues of their own Sex, which keep them under some Restraint, we should have no manner of Engagement upon them to keep them in any tolerable Order.
As I am a
Spectator
, and behold how plainly one Part of Womankind ballance the Behaviour of the other, whatever I may think of Talebearers or Slanderers, I cannot wholly suppress them, no more than a General would discourage Spies. The Enemy would easily surprize him whom they knew had no Intelligence of their Motions. It is so far otherwise with me, that I acknowledge I permit a She-Slanderer or two in every Quarter of the Town, to live in the Characters of Coquets, and take all the innocent Freedoms of the rest, in order to send me Information of the Behaviour of their respective Sisterhoods.
But as the Matter of Respect to the World, which looks on, is carried on, methinks it is so very easie to be what is in the general called Virtuous, that it need not cost one Hour's Reflection in a Month to preserve that Appellation. It is pleasant to hear the pretty Rogues talk of Virtue and Vice among each other:
She is the laziest Creature in the World, but I must confess strictly Virtuous: The peevishest Hussy breathing, but as to her Virtue she is without Blemish: She has not the least Charity for any of her Acquaintance, but I must allow rigidly Virtuous.
As the unthinking Part of the Male World call every Man a Man of Honour, who is not a Coward; so the Crowd of the other Sex terms every Woman who will not be a Wench,
Virtuous
.
T.
F. Q.
Bk VI. canto vi. st. 14.
| [No. 391] | Thursday, May 29, 1712 | Addison |
—Non tu prece poscis emaci,
Qua nisi seductis nequeas committere Divis:
At bona pars procerum tacitâ libabit acerrâ.
Haud cuivis promptum est, murmurque humilesque susurros
Tollere de Templis; et aperto vivere voto.
Mens bona, fama, fides, hæc clarè, et ut audiat hospes.
Illa sibi introrsum, et sub lingua immurmurat: O si
Ebullit patrui præclarum funus! Et O si
Sub rastro crepet argenti mihi seria dextro
Hercule! pupillumve utinam, quem proximus hæres
Impello, expungam!—
Pers.
Homer
represents
Phœnix
, the Tutor of
Achilles
, as persuading his Pupil to lay aside his Resentments, and give himself up to the Entreaties of his Countrymen, the Poet, in order to make him speak in Character, ascribes to him a Speech full of those Fables and Allegories which old Men take Delight in relating, and which are very proper for Instruction.
The Gods
, says he,
suffer themselves to be prevailed upon by Entreaties. When Mortals have offended them by their Transgressions, they appease them by Vows and Sacrifices. You must know, Achilles, that
Prayers
are the Daughters of
Jupiter.
They are crippled by frequent Kneeling, have their Faces full of Cares and Wrinkles, and their Eyes always cast towards Heaven. They are constant Attendants on the Goddess
Ate
,
and march behind her. This Goddess walks forward with a bold and haughty Air, and being very light of foot, runs thro' the whole Earth, grieving and afflicting the Sons of Men. She gets the start of
Prayers
,
who always follow her, in, order to heal those Persons whom she wounds. He who honours these Daughters of
Jupiter,
when they draw near to him, receives great Benefit from them; but as for him who rejects them, they intreat their Father to give his Orders to the Goddess
Ate
to punish him for his Hardness of Heart.
This noble Allegory needs but little Explanation; for whether the Goddess
Ate
signifies
Injury
, as some have explained it; or
Guilt
in general, as others; or
divine Justice,
as I am the more apt to think; the Interpretation is obvious enough.
I shall produce another Heathen Fable relating to Prayers, which is of a more diverting kind. One would think by some Passages in it, that it was composed by
Lucian
, or at least by some Author who has endeavourd to imitate his Way of Writing; but as Dissertations of this Nature are more curious than useful, I shall give my Reader the Fable, without any further Enquiries after the Author.
Menippus
the Philosopher was a second time taken up into Heaven by
Jupiter
, when for his Entertainment he lifted up a Trap-Door that was placed by his Foot-stool. At its rising, there issued through it such a Din of Cries as astonished the Philosopher. Upon his asking what they meant,
Jupiter
told him they were the Prayers that were sent up to him from the Earth.
Menippus
, amidst the Confusion of Voices, which was so great, that nothing less than the Ear of
Jove
could distinguish them, heard the Words, Riches, Honour, and Long Life repeated in several different Tones and Languages. When the first Hubbub of Sounds was over, the Trap-Door being left open, the Voices came up more separate and distinct. The first Prayer was a very odd one, it came from
Athens
, and desired
Jupiter
to increase the Wisdom and the Beard of his humble Supplicant.
Menippus
knew it by the Voice to be the Prayer of his Friend
Licander
the Philosopher. This was succeeded by the Petition of one who had just laden a Ship, and promised
Jupiter
, if he took care of it, and returned it home again full of Riches, he would make him an Offering of a Silver Cup.
Jupiter
thanked him for nothing; and bending down his Ear more attentively than ordinary, heard a Voice complaining to him of the Cruelty of an
Ephesian
Widow, and begging him to breed Compassion in her Heart: This, says
Jupiter
, is a very honest Fellow. I have received a great deal of Incense from him; I will not be so cruel to him as to hear his Prayers. He was
then
interrupted with a whole Volly of Vows, which were made for the Health of a tyrannical Prince by his Subjects who pray'd for him in his Presence.
Menippus
was surprized, after having listned to Prayers offered up with so much Ardour and Devotion, to hear low Whispers from the same Assembly, expostulating with
Jove
for suffering such a Tyrant to live, and asking him how his Thunder could lie idle?
Jupiter
was so offended at these prevaricating Rascals, that he took down the first Vows, and puffed away the last. The Philosopher seeing a great Cloud mounting upwards, and making its way directly to the Trap-Door, enquired of
Jupiter
what it meant. This, says
Jupiter
, is the Smoke of a whole Hecatomb that is offered me by the General of an Army, who is very importunate with me to let him cut off an hundred thousand Men that are drawn up in Array against him: What does the impudent Wretch think I see in him, to believe that I will make a Sacrifice of so many Mortals as good as himself, and all this to his Glory, forsooth? But hark, says
Jupiter
, there is a Voice I never heard but in time of danger; tis a Rogue that is shipwreck'd in the
Ionian
Sea: I sav'd him on a Plank but three Days ago, upon his Promise to mend his Manners, the Scoundrel is not worth a Groat, and yet has the Impudence to offer me a Temple if I will keep him from sinking—But yonder, says he, is a special Youth for you, he desires me to take his Father, who keeps a great Estate from him, out of the Miseries of human Life. The old Fellow shall live till he makes his Heart ake, I can tell him that for his pains. This was followed by the soft Voice of a Pious Lady, desiring
Jupiter
that she might appear amiable and charming in the Sight of her Emperor. As the Philosopher was reflecting on this extraordinary Petition, there blew a gentle Wind thro the Trap-Door, which he at first mistook for a Gale of
Zephirs
, but afterwards found it to be a Breeze of Sighs: They smelt strong of Flowers and Incense, and were succeeded by most passionate Complaints of Wounds and Torments, Fires and Arrows, Cruelty, Despair and Death.
Menippus
fancied that such lamentable Cries arose from some general Execution, or from Wretches lying under the Torture; but
Jupiter
told him that they came up to him from the Isle of
Paphos
, and that he every day received Complaints of the same nature from that whimsical Tribe of Mortals who are called Lovers. I am so trifled with, says he, by this Generation of both Sexes, and find it so impossible to please them, whether I grant or refuse their Petitions, that I shall order a
Western
Wind for the future to intercept them in their Passage, and blow them at random upon the Earth. The last Petition I heard was from a very aged Man of near an hundred Years old, begging but for one Year more of Life, and then promising to die contented. This is the rarest old Fellow! says
Jupiter
. He has made this Prayer to me for above twenty Years together. When he was but fifty Years old, he desired only that he might live to see his Son settled in the World; I granted it. He then begged the same Favour for his Daughter, and afterwards that he might see the Education of a Grandson: When all this was brought about, he puts up a Petition that he might live to finish a House he was building. In short, he is an unreasonable old Cur, and never wants an Excuse; I will hear no more of him. Upon which, he flung down the Trap-Door in a Passion, and was resolved to give no more Audiences that day.
Notwithstanding the Levity of this Fable, the Moral of it very well deserves our Attention, and is the same with that which has been inculcated by
Socrates
and
Plato
, not to mention
Juvenal
and
Persius
, who have each of them made the finest Satire in their whole Works upon this Subject. The Vanity of Mens Wishes, which are the natural Prayers of the Mind, as well as many of those secret Devotions which they offer to the Supreme Being, are sufficiently exposed by it. Among other Reasons for set Forms of Prayer, I have often thought it a very good one, that by this means the Folly and Extravagance of Mens Desires may be kept within due Bounds, and not break out in absurd and ridiculous Petitions on so great and solemn an Occasion.
I.
Iliad
, Bk ix.
Menippus was a Cynic philosopher of Gadara, who made money in Thebes by usury, lost it, and hanged himself. He wrote satirical pieces, which are lost; some said that they were the joint work of two friends, Dionysius and Zopyrus of Colophon, in whom it was one jest the more to ascribe their jesting to Menippus. These pieces were imitated by Terentius Varro in
Satiræ Menippeæ.
| [No. 392] | Friday, May 30, 1712 | Steele |
Per Ambages et Ministeria Deorum
Præcipitandus est liber Spiritus.
Pet.
To the Spectator.
The Transformation of Fidelio into a Looking-Glass.
I was lately at a Tea-Table, where some young Ladies entertained the Company with a Relation of a Coquet in the Neighbourhood, who had been discovered practising before her Glass. To turn the Discourse, which from being witty grew to be malicious, the Matron of the Family took occasion, from the Subject, to wish that there were to be found amongst Men such faithful Monitors to dress the Mind by, as we consult to adorn the Body. She added, that if a sincere Friend were miraculously changed into a Looking-Glass, she should not be ashamed to ask its Advice very often. [This] whimsical Thought worked so much upon my Fancy the whole Evening, that it produced a very odd Dream[1].
Methought, that as I stood before my Glass, the Image of a Youth, of an open ingenuous Aspect, appeared in it; who with a small shrill Voice spoke in the following manner.The Looking-Glass, you see, was heretofore a Man, even I, the unfortunate Fidelio. I had two Brothers, whose Deformity in Shape was made out by the Clearness of their Understanding: It must be owned however, that (as it generally happens) they had each a Perverseness of Humour suitable to their Distortion of Body. The eldest, whose Belly sunk in monstrously, was a great Coward; and tho' his splenetick contracted Temper made him take fire immediately, he made Objects that beset him appear greater than they were. The second, whose Breast swelled into a bold Relievo, on the contrary, took great pleasure in lessening every thing, and was perfectly the Reverse of his Brother. These Oddnesses pleased Company once or twice, but disgusted when often seen; for which reason the young Gentlemen were sent from Court to study Mathematicks at the University.
I need not acquaint you, that I was very well made, and reckoned a bright polite Gentleman. I was the Confident and Darling of all the Fair; and if the Old and Ugly spoke ill of me, all the World knew it was because I scorned to flatter them. No Ball, no Assembly was attended till I had been consulted. Flavia colour'd her Hair before me, Celia shew'd me her Teeth, Panthea heaved her Bosom, Cleora brandished her Diamonds; I have seen Cloe's Foot, and tied artificially the Garters of Rhodope.
'Tis a general Maxim, that those who doat upon themselves, can have no violent Affection for another: But on the contrary, I found that the Women's Passion for me rose in proportion to the Love they bare to themselves. This was verify'd in my Amour with Narcissa, who was so constant to me, that it was pleasantly said, had I been little enough, she would have hung me at her Girdle. The most dangerous Rival I had, was a gay empty Fellow, who by the Strength of a long Intercourse with Narcissa, joined to his natural Endowments, had formed himself into a perfect Resemblance with her. I had been discarded, had she not observed that he frequently asked my Opinion about Matters of the last Consequence: This made me still more considerable in her Eye.
Tho' I was eternally caressed by the Ladies, such was their Opinion of my Honour, that I was never envy'd by the Men. A jealous Lover of Narcissa one day thought he had caught her in an Amorous Conversation; for tho' he was at such a Distance that he could hear nothing, he imagined strange things from her Airs and Gestures. Sometimes with a serene Look she stepped back in a listning Posture, and brightened into an innocent Smile. Quickly after she swelled into an Air of Majesty and Disdain, then kept her Eyes half shut after a languishing Manner, then covered her Blushes with her Hand, breathed a Sigh, and seemd ready to sink down. In rushed the furious Lover; but how great was his Surprize to see no one there but the innocent Fidelio, with his Back against the Wall betwixt two Windows?
It were endless to recount all my Adventures. Let me hasten to that which cost me my Life, and Narcissa her Happiness.
She had the misfortune to have the Small-Pox, upon which I was expressly forbid her Sight, it being apprehended that it would increase her Distemper, and that I should infallibly catch it at the first Look. As soon as she was suffered to leave her Bed, she stole out of her Chamber, and found me all alone in an adjoining Apartment. She ran with Transport to her Darling, and without Mixture of Fear, lest I should dislike her. But, oh me! what was her Fury when she heard me say, I was afraid and shock'd at so loathsome a Spectacle. She stepped back, swollen with Rage, to see if I had the Insolence to repeat it. I did, with this Addition, that her ill-timed Passion had increased her Ugliness. Enraged, inflamed, distracted, she snatched a Bodkin, and with all her Force stabbed me to the Heart. Dying, I preserv'd my Sincerity, and expressed the Truth, tho' in broken Words; and by reproachful Grimaces to the last I mimick'd the Deformity of my Murderess.
Cupid, who always attends the Fair, and pity'd the Fate of so useful a Servant as I was, obtained of the Destinies, that my Body should be made incorruptible, and retain the Qualities my Mind had possessed. I immediately lost the Figure of a Man, and became smooth, polished, and bright, and to this day am the first Favourite of the Ladies.
The Looking-Glass, you see, was heretofore a Man, even I, the unfortunate Fidelio. I had two Brothers, whose Deformity in Shape was made out by the Clearness of their Understanding: It must be owned however, that (as it generally happens) they had each a Perverseness of Humour suitable to their Distortion of Body. The eldest, whose Belly sunk in monstrously, was a great Coward; and tho' his splenetick contracted Temper made him take fire immediately, he made Objects that beset him appear greater than they were. The second, whose Breast swelled into a bold Relievo, on the contrary, took great pleasure in lessening every thing, and was perfectly the Reverse of his Brother. These Oddnesses pleased Company once or twice, but disgusted when often seen; for which reason the young Gentlemen were sent from Court to study Mathematicks at the University.
I need not acquaint you, that I was very well made, and reckoned a bright polite Gentleman. I was the Confident and Darling of all the Fair; and if the Old and Ugly spoke ill of me, all the World knew it was because I scorned to flatter them. No Ball, no Assembly was attended till I had been consulted. Flavia colour'd her Hair before me, Celia shew'd me her Teeth, Panthea heaved her Bosom, Cleora brandished her Diamonds; I have seen Cloe's Foot, and tied artificially the Garters of Rhodope.
'Tis a general Maxim, that those who doat upon themselves, can have no violent Affection for another: But on the contrary, I found that the Women's Passion for me rose in proportion to the Love they bare to themselves. This was verify'd in my Amour with Narcissa, who was so constant to me, that it was pleasantly said, had I been little enough, she would have hung me at her Girdle. The most dangerous Rival I had, was a gay empty Fellow, who by the Strength of a long Intercourse with Narcissa, joined to his natural Endowments, had formed himself into a perfect Resemblance with her. I had been discarded, had she not observed that he frequently asked my Opinion about Matters of the last Consequence: This made me still more considerable in her Eye.
Tho' I was eternally caressed by the Ladies, such was their Opinion of my Honour, that I was never envy'd by the Men. A jealous Lover of Narcissa one day thought he had caught her in an Amorous Conversation; for tho' he was at such a Distance that he could hear nothing, he imagined strange things from her Airs and Gestures. Sometimes with a serene Look she stepped back in a listning Posture, and brightened into an innocent Smile. Quickly after she swelled into an Air of Majesty and Disdain, then kept her Eyes half shut after a languishing Manner, then covered her Blushes with her Hand, breathed a Sigh, and seemd ready to sink down. In rushed the furious Lover; but how great was his Surprize to see no one there but the innocent Fidelio, with his Back against the Wall betwixt two Windows?
It were endless to recount all my Adventures. Let me hasten to that which cost me my Life, and Narcissa her Happiness.
She had the misfortune to have the Small-Pox, upon which I was expressly forbid her Sight, it being apprehended that it would increase her Distemper, and that I should infallibly catch it at the first Look. As soon as she was suffered to leave her Bed, she stole out of her Chamber, and found me all alone in an adjoining Apartment. She ran with Transport to her Darling, and without Mixture of Fear, lest I should dislike her. But, oh me! what was her Fury when she heard me say, I was afraid and shock'd at so loathsome a Spectacle. She stepped back, swollen with Rage, to see if I had the Insolence to repeat it. I did, with this Addition, that her ill-timed Passion had increased her Ugliness. Enraged, inflamed, distracted, she snatched a Bodkin, and with all her Force stabbed me to the Heart. Dying, I preserv'd my Sincerity, and expressed the Truth, tho' in broken Words; and by reproachful Grimaces to the last I mimick'd the Deformity of my Murderess.
Cupid, who always attends the Fair, and pity'd the Fate of so useful a Servant as I was, obtained of the Destinies, that my Body should be made incorruptible, and retain the Qualities my Mind had possessed. I immediately lost the Figure of a Man, and became smooth, polished, and bright, and to this day am the first Favourite of the Ladies.
T.
so odd a Dream, that no one but the Spectator could believe that the Brain, clogged in Sleep, could furnish out such a regular Wildness of Imagination.
| [No. 393] | Saturday, May 31, 1712 | Addison |
Nescio quâ præter solitum dulcedine læti.
Virg.
Looking over the Letters that have been sent me, I chanced to find the following one, which I received about two years ago from an ingenious Friend, who was then in
Denmark
.
Copenhagen, May 1, 1710.
Dear Sir,
The Spring with you has already taken Possession of the Fields and Woods: Now is the Season of Solitude, and of moving Complaints upon trivial Sufferings: Now the Griefs of Lovers begin to flow, and their Wounds to bleed afresh. I too, at this Distance from the softer Climates, am not without my Discontents at present. You perhaps may laugh at me for a most Romantick Wretch, when I have disclosed to you the Occasion of my Uneasiness; and yet I cannot help thinking my Unhappiness real, in being confined to a Region, which is the very Reverse of Paradise. The Seasons here are all of them unpleasant, and the Country quite Destitute of Rural Charms. I have not heard a Bird sing, nor a Brook murmur, nor a Breeze whisper, neither have I been blest with the Sight of a flow'ry Meadow these two years. Every Wind here is a Tempest, and every Water a turbulent Ocean. I hope, when you reflect a little, you will not think the Grounds of my Complaint in the least frivolous and unbecoming a Man of serious Thought; since the Love of Woods, of Fields and Flowers, of Rivers and Fountains, seems to be a Passion implanted in our Natures the most early of any, even before the Fair Sex had a Being.
I am, Sir, &c.
Could I transport my self with a Wish from one Country to another, I should chuse to pass my Winter in
Spain
, my Spring in
Italy
, my Summer in
England
, and my Autumn in
France
. Of all these Seasons there is none that can vie with the Spring for Beauty and Delightfulness. It bears the same Figure among the Seasons of the Year, that the Morning does among the Divisions of the Day, or Youth among the Stages of Life. The
English
Summer is pleasanter than that of any other Country in
Europe
on no other account but because it has a greater Mixture of Spring in it. The Mildness of our Climate, with those frequent Refreshments of Dews and Rains that fall among us, keep up a perpetual Chearfulness in our Fields, and fill the hottest Months of the Year with a lively Verdure.
In the opening of the Spring, when all Nature begins to recover her self, the same animal Pleasure which makes the Birds sing, and the whole brute Creation rejoice, rises very sensibly in the Heart of Man. I know none of the Poets who have observed so well as
Milton
those secret Overflowings of Gladness which diffuse themselves thro' the Mind of the Beholder, upon
the gay Scenes of Nature: he has touched upon it twice or thrice in his
Paradise Lost,
and describes it very beautifully under the Name of Vernal Delight, in that Passage where he represents the Devil himself as almost sensible of it.
Blossoms and Fruits at once of golden hue
Appear'd, with gay enamel'd Colours mixt:
On which the Sun more glad impress'd his Beams
Than in fair evening Cloud, or humid Bow,
When God hath shower'd the Earth; so lovely seem'd
That Landskip: And of pure now purer Air
Meets his approach, and to the Heart inspires
Vernal Delight, and Joy able to drive
All Sadness but Despair, &c.[1]
Many Authors have written on the Vanity of the Creature, and represented the Barrenness of every thing in this World, and its Incapacity of producing any solid or substantial Happiness. As Discourses of this Nature are very useful to the Sensual and Voluptuous; those Speculations which shew the bright Side of Things, and lay forth those innocent Entertainments which are to be met with among the several Objects that encompass us, are no less beneficial to Men of dark and melancholy Tempers. It was for this reason that I endeavoured to recommend a Chearfulness of Mind in my two last
Saturday's
Papers, and which I would still inculcate, not only from the Consideration of our selves, and of that Being on whom we depend, nor from the general Survey of that Universe in which we are placed at present, but from Reflections on the particular Season in which this Paper is written. The Creation is a perpetual Feast to the Mind of a good Man, every thing he sees chears and delights him; Providence has imprinted so many Smiles on Nature, that it is impossible for a Mind, which is not sunk in more gross and sensual Delights, to take a Survey of them without several secret Sensations of Pleasure. The
Psalmist
has in several of his Divine Poems celebrated those beautiful and agreeable Scenes which make the Heart glad, and produce in it that vernal Delight which I have before taken Notice of.
Natural Philosophy quickens this Taste of the Creation, and renders it not only pleasing to the Imagination, but to the Understanding. It does not rest in the Murmur of Brooks, and the Melody of Birds, in the Shade of Groves and Woods, or in the Embroidery of Fields and Meadows, but considers the several Ends of Providence which are served by them, and the Wonders of Divine Wisdom which appear in them. It heightens the Pleasures of the Eye, and raises such a rational Admiration in the Soul as is little inferior to Devotion.
It is not in the Power of every one to offer up this kind of Worship to the great Author of Nature, and to indulge these more refined Meditations of Heart, which are doubtless highly acceptable in his Sight: I shall therefore conclude this short Essay on that Pleasure which the Mind naturally conceives from the present Season of the Year, by the recommending of a Practice for which every one has sufficient Abilities.
I would have my Readers endeavour to moralize this natural Pleasure of the Soul, and to improve this vernal Delight, as
Milton
calls it, into a
Christian
Virtue. When we find our selves inspired with this pleasing Instinct, this secret Satisfaction and Complacency arising from the Beauties of the Creation, let us consider to whom we stand indebted for all these Entertainments of Sense, and who it is that thus opens his Hand and fills the World with Good. The
Apostle
instructs us to take advantage of our present Temper of Mind, to graft upon it such a religious Exercise as is particularly conformable to it, by that Precept which advises
those who are sad to pray, and those who are merry to sing Psalms
. The Chearfulness of Heart which springs up in us from the Survey of Nature's Works, is an admirable Preparation for Gratitude. The Mind has gone a great way towards Praise and Thanksgiving, that is filled with such a secret Gladness: A grateful Reflection on the supreme Cause who produces it, sanctifies it in the Soul, and gives it its proper Value. Such an habitual Disposition of Mind consecrates every Field and Wood, turns an ordinary Walk into a morning or evening Sacrifice, and will improve those transient Gleams of Joy, which naturally brighten up and refresh the Soul on such Occasions, into an inviolable and perpetual State of Bliss and Happiness.
I.
Paradise Lost,
Bk iv. ll. 148-156.
| [No. 394] | Monday, June 2, 1712 | Steele |
Bene colligitur hæc Pueris et Mulierculis et Servis et Servorum simillimis Liberis esse grata. Gravi vero homini et ea quæ fiunt Judicio certo ponderanti probari posse nullo modo.
Tull.
I have been considering the little and frivolous things which give Men Accesses to one another, and Power with each other, not only in the common and indifferent Accidents of Life, but also in Matters of greater importance. You see in Elections for Members to sit in Parliament, how far saluting Rows of old Women, drinking with Clowns, and being upon a level with the lowest Part of Mankind in that wherein they themselves are lowest, their Diversions, will carry a Candidate. A Capacity for prostituting a Man's Self in his Behaviour, and descending to the present Humour of the Vulgar, is perhaps as good an Ingredient as any other for making a considerable Figure in the World; and if a Man has nothing else, or better, to think of, he could not make his way to Wealth and Distinction by properer Methods, than studying the particular Bent or Inclination of People with whom he converses, and working from the Observation of such their Biass in all Matters wherein he has any Intercourse with them: For his Ease and Comfort he may assure himself, he need not be at the Expence of any great Talent or Virtue to please even those who are possessd of the highest Qualifications. Pride in some particular Disguise or other, (often a Secret to the proud Man himself) is the most ordinary Spring of Action among Men. You need no more than to discover what a Man values himself for; then of all things admire that Quality, but be sure to be failing in it your self in comparison of the Man whom you court. I have heard, or read, of a Secretary of State in
Spain
, who served a Prince who was happy in an elegant use of the
Latin
Tongue, and often writ Dispatches in it with his own Hand. The King shewed his Secretary a Letter he had written to a foreign Prince, and under the Colour of asking his Advice, laid a Trap for his Applause. The honest Man read it as a faithful Counsellor, and not only excepted against his tying himself down too much by some Expressions, but mended the Phrase in others. You may guess the Dispatches that Evening did not take much longer Time. Mr. Secretary, as soon as he came to his own House, sent for his eldest Son, and communicated to him that the Family must retire out of
Spain
as soon as possible; for, said he,
the King knows I understand Latin better than he does.
This egregious Fault in a Man of the World, should be a Lesson to all who would make their Fortunes: But a Regard must be carefully had to the Person with whom you have to do; for it is not to be doubted but a great Man of common Sense must look with secret Indignation or bridled Laughter, on all the Slaves who stand round him with ready Faces to approve and smile at all he says in the gross. It is good Comedy enough to observe a Superior talking half Sentences, and playing an humble Admirer's Countenance from one thing to another, with such Perplexity that he knows not what to sneer in Approbation of. But this kind of Complaisance is peculiarly the Manner of Courts; in all other Places you must constantly go farther in Compliance with the Persons you have to do with, than a mere Conformity of Looks and Gestures. If you are in a Country Life, and would be a leading Man, a good Stomach, a loud Voice, and a rustick Chearfulness will go a great way, provided you are able to drink, and drink any thing. But I was just now going to draw the Manner of Behaviour I would advise People to practise under some Maxim, and intimated, that every one almost was governed by his Pride. There was an old Fellow about forty Years ago so peevish and fretful, though a Man of Business, that no one could come at him: But he frequented a particular little Coffee-house, where he triumphed over every body at
Trick-track
and
Baggammon
. The way to pass his Office well, was first to be insulted by him at one of those Games in his leisure Hours; for his Vanity was to shew, that he was a Man of Pleasure as well as Business. Next to this sort of Insinuation, which is called in all Places (from its taking its Birth in the Housholds of Princes)
making one's Court
, the most prevailing way is, by what better-bred People call a
Present
, the Vulgar a
Bribe
. I humbly conceive that such a thing is conveyed with more Gallantry in a
Billet-doux
that should be understood at the Bank, than in gross Money; But as to stubborn People, who are so surly as to accept of neither Note or Cash, having formerly dabbled in Chymistry, I can only say
that one part of Matter asks one thing, and another another, to make it fluent; but there is nothing but may be dissolved by a proper Mean
: Thus the Virtue which is too obdurate for Gold or Paper, shall melt away very kindly in a Liquid. The Island of
Barbadoes
(a shrewd People) manage all their Appeals to
Great-Britain
, by a skilful Distribution of Citron-Water among the Whisperers about Men in Power. Generous Wines do every Day prevail, and that in great Points, where ten thousand times their Value would have been rejected with Indignation.
But to wave the Enumeration of the sundry Ways of applying by Presents, Bribes, Management of People, Passions and Affections, in such a Manner as it shall appear that the Virtue of the best Man is by one Method or other corruptible; let us look out for some Expedient to turn those Passions and Affections on the side of Truth and Honour. When a Man has laid it down for a Position, that parting with his Integrity, in the minutest Circumstance, is losing so much of his very Self, Self-love will become a Virtue. By this means Good and Evil will be the only Objects of Dislike and Approbation; and he that injures any Man, has effectually wounded the Man of this Turn as much as if the Harm had been to himself. This seems to be the only Expedient to arrive at an Impartiality; and a Man who follows the Dictates of Truth and right Reason, may by Artifice be led into Error, but never can into Guilt.
T.
Dedication of the Sixth Volume of The Spectator
[To] The Right Honorable Charles, Earl of Sunderland[1].
My
Lord
,
Very many Favours and Civilities (received from You in a private Capacity) which I have no other Way to acknowledge, will, I hope, excuse this Presumption; but the Justice I, as a
Spectator
, owe your Character, places me above the want of an Excuse. Candor and Openness of Heart, which shine in all your Words and Actions, exacts the highest Esteem from all who have the Honour to know You, and a winning Condescention to all subordinate to You, made Business a Pleasure to those who executed it under You, at the same time that it heightened Her Majesty's Favour to all who had the Happiness of having it convey'd through Your Hands: A Secretary of State, in the Interests of Mankind, joined with that of his Fellow-Subjects, accomplished with a great Facility and Elegance in all the Modern as well as Ancient Languages, was a happy and proper Member of a Ministry, by whose Services Your Sovereign and Country are in so high and flourishing a Condition, as makes all other Princes and Potentates powerful or inconsiderable in
Europe
, as they are Friends or Enemies to
Great-Britain
. The Importance of those great Events which happened during that Administration, in which Your Lordship bore so important a Charge, will be acknowledgd as long as Time shall endure; I shall not therefore attempt to rehearse those illustrious Passages, but give this Application a more private and particular Turn, in desiring Your Lordship would continue your Favour and Patronage to me, as You are a Gentleman of the most polite Literature, and perfectly accomplished in the Knowledge of Books and Men, which makes it necessary to beseech Your Indulgence to the following Leaves, and the Author of them: Who is, with the greatest Truth and Respect,
My Lord,
Your Lordships Obliged,
Obedient, and Humble Servant,
The
Spectator
.
Charles Spencer, to whom the Sixth Volume of the Spectator is here inscribed, represented Tiverton, in 1700, when he took the Lady Anne Churchill, Marlborough's second daughter, for his second wife. On the death of his father Robert, in 1702, he became Earl of Sunderland. He was an accomplished man and founder of the library at Althorpe. In 1705 he was employed diplomatically at the courts of Prussia, Austria, and Hanover. Early in 1706 he was one of the Commissioners for arranging the Union with Scotland, and in September of that year he was forced by the Whigs on Queen Anne, as successor to Sir Charles Hedges in the office of Secretary of State. Steele held under him the office of Gazetteer, to which he was appointed in the following May. In 1710 Sunderland shared in the political reverse suffered by Marlborough. In the summer of that year Sunderland was dismissed from office, but with an offer from the Queen of a pension of £3000 a year. He replied that he was glad her Majesty was satisfied that he had done his duty; but if he could not have the honour to serve his country, he would not plunder it. The accession of George I. restored him to favour and influence. He became Lord-lieutenant of Ireland; had, in 1715, a pension of £12,000 a year settled on him; in April, 1717, was again Secretary of State; and in the following March, Lord President of the Council. His political influence was broken in 1721, the year before his death.
| [No. 395] | Tuesday, June 3, 1712 | Budgell |
Quod nunc ratio est, Impetus ante fuit.
Ovid.
Beware of the Ides of March
, said the
Roman
Augur to
Julius Cæsar
:
Beware of the Month of May
, says the
British Spectator
to his fair Country-women. The Caution of the first was unhappily neglected, and
Cæsar's
Confidence cost him his Life. I am apt to flatter my self that my pretty Readers had much more regard to the Advice I gave them, since I have yet received very few Accounts of any notorious Trips made in the last Month.
But tho' I hope for the best, I shall not pronounce too positively on this point, till I have seen forty Weeks well over, at which Period of Time, as my good Friend Sir
Roger
has often told me, he has more Business as a Justice of Peace, among the dissolute young People in the Country, than at any other Season of the Year.
Neither must I forget a Letter which I received near a Fortnight since from a Lady, who, it seems, could hold out no longer, telling me she looked upon the Month as then out, for that she had all along reckoned by the New Style.
On the other hand, I have great reason to believe, from several angry Letters which have been sent to me by disappointed Lovers, that my Advice has been of very signal Service to the fair Sex, who, according to the old Proverb, were
Forewarned forearm'd
.
One of these Gentlemen tells me, that he would have given me an hundred Pounds, rather than I should have publishd that Paper; for that his Mistress, who had promised to explain herself to him about the Beginning of
May
, upon reading that Discourse told him that she would give him her Answer in
June
.
Thyrsis
acquaints me, that when he desired
Sylvia
to take a Walk in the Fields, she told him the
Spectator
had forbidden her.
Another of my Correspondents, who writes himself
Mat Meager,
complains, that whereas he constantly used to Breakfast with his Mistress upon Chocolate, going to wait upon her the first of
May
he found his usual Treat very much changed for the worse, and has been forced to feed ever since upon Green Tea.
As I begun this Critical Season with a
Caveat
to the Ladies, I shall conclude it with a
Congratulation
, and do most heartily wish them Joy of their happy Deliverance.
They may now reflect with Pleasure on the Dangers they have escaped, and look back with as much Satisfaction on their Perils that threat'ned them, as their Great-Grandmothers did formerly on the Burning Plough-shares, after having passed through the
Ordeal Tryal.
The Instigations of the Spring are now abated. The Nightingale gives over her Love-labourd Song, as
Milton
phrases it, the Blossoms are fallen, and the Beds of Flowers swept away by the Scythe of the Mower.
I shall now allow my Fair Readers to return to their Romances and Chocolate, provided they make use of them with Moderation, till about the middle of the Month, when the Sun shall have made some Progress in the Crab. Nothing is more dangerous, than too much Confidence and Security. The
Trojans
, who stood upon their Guard all the while the
Grecians
lay before their City, when they fancied the Siege was raised, and the Danger past, were the very next Night burnt in their Beds: I must also observe, that as in some Climates there is a perpetual Spring, so in some Female Constitutions there is a perpetual May: These are a kind of Valetudinarians in Chastity, whom I would continue in a constant Diet. I cannot think these wholly out of Danger, till they have looked upon the other Sex at least Five Years through a Pair of Spectacles.
Will. Honeycomb
has often assured me, that its much easier to steal one of this Species, when she has passed her grand Climacterick, than to carry off an icy Girl on this side Five and Twenty; and that a Rake of his Acquaintance, who had in vain endeavoured to gain the Affections of a young Lady of Fifteen, had at last made his Fortune by running away with her Grandmother.
But as I do not design this Speculation for the Evergreens of the Sex, I shall again apply my self to those who would willingly listen to the Dictates of Reason and Virtue, and can now hear me in cold Blood. If there are any who have forfeited their Innocence, they must now consider themselves under that Melancholy View, in which
Chamont
regards his
, in those beautiful Lines.
—Long she flourish'd,
Grew sweet to Sense, and lovely to the Eye;
Till at the last a cruel Spoiler came,
Cropt this fair Rose, and rifled all its Sweetness;
Then cast it like a loathsome Weed away.[1]
On the contrary, she who has observed the timely Cautions I gave her, and lived up to the Rules of Modesty, will now Flourish like a Rose in
June
, with all her Virgin Blushes and Sweetness about her: I must, however, desire these last to consider, how shameful it would be for a General, who has made a Successful Campaign, to be surprized in his Winter Quarters: It would be no less dishonourable for a Lady to lose in any other Month of the Year, what she has been at the pains to preserve in
May
.
There is no Charm in the Female Sex, that can supply the place of
Virtue
. Without Innocence, Beauty is unlovely, and Quality contemptible, Good-breeding degenerates into Wantonness, and Wit into Impudence. It is observed, that all the Virtues are represented by both Painters and Statuaries under Female Shapes, but if any one of them has a more particular Title to that Sex, it is
Modesty
. I shall leave it to the Divines to guard them against the opposite Vice, as they may be overpowerd by Temptations; It is sufficient for me to have warned them against it, as they may be led astray by Instinct.
I desire this Paper may be read with more than ordinary Attention, at all Tea-Tables within the Cities of
London
and
Westminster
.
X.
Otway's
Orphan
, Act IV.
| [No. 396] | Wednesday, June 4, 1712 | Henley |
Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferio, Baralipton.
Having a great deal of Business upon my Hands at present, I shall beg the Reader's Leave to present him with a Letter that I received about half a Year ago from a Gentleman of
Cambridge
, who styles himself
Peter de Quir
. I have kept it by me some Months, and though I did not know at first what to make of it, upon my reading it over very frequently I have at last discovered several Conceits in it: I would not therefore have my Reader discouraged if he does not take them at the first Perusal.
To Mr. Spectator[1].
From St. John's College Cambridge, Feb. 3, 1712.
Sir,
The Monopoly of Punns in this University has been an immemorial Privilege of the Johnians; and we can't help resenting the late Invasion of our ancient Right as to that Particular, by a little Pretender to Clenching in a neighbouring College, who in an Application to you by way of Letter, a while ago, styled himself Philobrune. Dear Sir, as you are by Character a profest Well-wisher to Speculation, you will excuse a Remark which this Gentleman's Passion for the Brunette has suggested to a Brother Theorist; 'tis an Offer towards a mechanical Account of his Lapse to Punning, for he belongs to a Set of Mortals who value themselves upon an uncommon Mastery in the more humane and polite Part of Letters. A Conquest by one of this Species of Females gives a very odd Turn to the Intellectuals of the captivated Person, and very different from that way of thinking which a Triumph from the Eyes of another more emphatically of the fair Sex, does generally occasion. It fills the Imagination with an Assemblage of such Ideas and Pictures as are hardly any thing but Shade, such as Night, the Devil, &c. These Portraitures very near over-power the Light of the Understanding, almost benight the Faculties, and give that melancholy Tincture to the most sanguine Complexion, which this Gentleman calls an Inclination to be in a Brown-study, and is usually attended with worse Consequences in case of a Repulse. During this Twilight of Intellects, the Patient is extremely apt, as Love is the most witty Passion in Nature, to offer at some pert Sallies now and then, by way of Flourish, upon the amiable Enchantress, and unfortunately stumbles upon that Mongrel miscreated (to speak in Miltonic) kind of Wit, vulgarly termed, the Punn. [It] would not be much amiss to consult Dr. T—W—[2] (who is certainly a very able Projector, and whose system of Divinity and spiritual Mechanicks obtains very much among the better Part of our Under-Graduates) whether a general Intermarriage, enjoyned by Parliament, between this Sisterhood of the Olive Beauties, and the Fraternity of the People call'd Quakers, would not be a very serviceable Expedient, and abate that Overflow of Light which shines within them so powerfully, that it dazzles their Eyes, and dances them into a thousand Vagaries of Error and Enthusiasm. These Reflections may impart some Light towards a Discovery of the Origin of Punning among us, and the Foundation of its prevailing so long in this famous Body. Tis notorious from the Instance under Consideration, that it must be owing chiefly to the use of brown Juggs, muddy Belch, and the Fumes of a certain memorable Place of Rendezvous with us at Meals, known by the Name of Staincoat Hole: For the Atmosphere of the Kitchen, like the Tail of a Comet, predominates least about the Fire, but resides behind and fills the fragrant Receptacle above-mentioned. Besides, 'tis farther observable that the delicate Spirits among us, who declare against these nauseous proceedings, sip Tea, and put up for Critic and Amour, profess likewise an equal Abhorrency for Punning, the ancient innocent Diversion of this Society. After all, Sir, tho' it may appear something absurd, that I seem to approach you with the Air of an Advocate for Punning, (you who have justified your Censures of the Practice in a set Dissertation upon that Subject;) yet, I'm confident, you'll think it abundantly atoned for by observing, that this humbler Exercise may be as instrumental in diverting us from any innovating Schemes and Hypothesis in Wit. as dwelling upon honest Orthodox Logic would be in securing us from Heresie in Religion. Had Mr. W—n's[3] Researches been confined within the Bounds of Ramus or Crackanthorp, that learned News-monger might have acquiesced in what the holy Oracles pronounce upon the Deluge, like other Christians; [and] had the surprising Mr. L—y[4] been content with the Employment of refining upon Shakespear's Points and Quibbles, (for which he must be allowed to have a superlative Genius) and now and then penning a Catch or a Ditty, instead of inditing Odes, and Sonnets, the Gentlemen of the Bon Goust in the Pit would never have been put to all that Grimace in damning the Frippery of State, the Poverty and Languor of Thought, the unnatural Wit, and inartificial Structure of his Dramas.
I am, Sir,
Your very humble Servant,
Peter de Quir.
This letter was by John Henley, commonly called Orator Henley. The paper is without signature in first issue or reprint, but the few introductory lines, doubtless, are by Steele. John Henley was at this time but 20 years old. He was born at Melton Mowbray in 1692, and entered St. John's College, Cambridge, in 1709. After obtaining his degree he was invited to take charge of the Grammar School in his native place, and raised it from decay. He published
Esther
, a poem; went to London; introduced action into pulpit oratory; missing preferment, gave lectures and orations, religious on Sundays, and political on Wednesdays; was described by Pope in the
Dunciad
as the Zany of his age, and represented by Hogarth upon a scaffold with a monkey by his side saying Amen. He edited a paper of nonsense called the
Hip Doctor,
and once attracted to his oratory an audience of shoemakers by announcing that he would teach a new and short way of making shoes; his way being to cut off the tops of boots. He died in 1756.
Percy suggests very doubtfully that this may mean Thomas Woolston, who was born in 1669, educated at Sidney College, Cambridge, published, in 1705,
The Old Apology for the Truth against the Jews and Gentiles Revived
, and afterwards was imprisoned and fined for levity in discussing sacred subjects. The text points to a medical theory of intermarriage. There was a Thomas Winston, of Clare Hall, Cambridge, who travelled over the continent, took degrees at Basle and Padua, returned to take his M.D. at Cambridge, and settled in London in 1607.
William Whiston, born 1667, educated at Tamworth School and Clare Hall, Cambridge, became a Fellow in 1693, and then Chaplain to Bishop Moore. In 1696 he published his
New Theory of the Earth,
which divided attention with Burnet's
Sacred Theory of the Earth
already mentioned. In 1700 Whiston was invited to Cambridge, to act as deputy to Sir Isaac Newton, whom he succeeded in 1703 as Lucasian Professor. For holding some unorthodox opinions as to the doctrines of the early Christians, he was, in 1710, deprived of his Professorship, and banished from the University. He was a pious and learned man, who, although he was denied the Sacrament, did not suffer himself to be driven out of the Church of England till 1747. At last he established a small congregation in his own house in accordance with his own notion of primitive Christianity. He lived till 1752.
No L—y of that time has written plays that are remembered. The John Lacy whom Charles II. admired so much that he had his picture painted in three of his characters, died in 1681, leaving four comedies and an alteration of Shakespeare's
Taming of the Shrew
. He was a handsome man: first dancing-master, then quarter-master, then an admired comedian. Henley would hardly have used a blank in referring to a well-known writer who died thirty years before. There was another John Lacy advertising in the Post Boy, Aug. 3, 1714, The Steeleids, or the Trial of Wits, a Poem in three cantos, with a motto:
Then will I say, swelled with poetic rage,
That I, John Lacy, have reformed the age.
| [No. 397] | Thursday, June 5, 1712 | Addison |
—Dolor ipse disertum
Fecerat—
Ovid.
the Stoick Philosophers discard all Passions in general, they will not allow a Wise Man so much as to pity the Afflictions of another.
If thou seest thy Friend in Trouble
, says
Epictetus
,
thou mayst put on a Look of Sorrow, and condole with him, but take care that thy Sorrow be not real
. The more rigid of this Sect would not comply so far as to shew even such an outward Appearance of Grief, but when one told them of any Calamity that had befallen even the nearest of their Acquaintance, would immediately reply,
What is that to me?
If you aggravated the Circumstances of the Affliction, and shewed how one Misfortune was followed by another, the Answer was still,
All this may be true, but what is it to me?
For my own part, I am of Opinion, Compassion does not only refine and civilize Humane Nature, but has something in it more pleasing and agreeable than what can be met with in such an indolent Happiness, such an Indifference to Mankind as that in which the Stoicks placed their Wisdom. As Love is the most delightful Passion, Pity is nothing else but Love softned by a degree of Sorrow: In short, it is a kind of pleasing Anguish, as well as generous Sympathy, that knits Mankind together, and blends them in the same common Lot.
Those who have laid down Rules for Rhetorick or Poetry, advise the Writer to work himself up, if possible, to the Pitch of Sorrow which he endeavours to produce in others. There are none therefore who stir up Pity so much as those who indite their own Sufferings. Grief has a natural Eloquence belonging to it, and breaks out in more moving Sentiments than be supplied by the finest Imagination. Nature on this Occasion dictates a thousand passionate things which cannot be supplied by Art.
It is for this Reason that the short Speeches, or Sentences which we often meet with in Histories, make a deeper Impression on the Mind of the Reader, than the most laboured Strokes in a well-written Tragedy. Truth and Matter of Fact sets the Person actually before us in the one, whom Fiction places at a greater Distance from us in the other. I do not remember to have seen any Ancient or Modern Story more affecting than a Letter of
Ann of Bologne
, Wife to
King Henry the Eighth
, and Mother to
Queen Elizabeth
, which is still extant in the
Cotton Library,
as written by her own Hand.
Shakespear
himself could not have made her talk in a Strain so suitable to her Condition and Character. One sees in it the Expostulations of a slighted Lover, the Resentments of an injured Woman, and the Sorrows of an imprisoned Queen. I need not acquaint my Reader that this Princess was then under Prosecution for Disloyalty to the King's Bed, and that she was afterwards publickly beheaded upon the same Account, though this Prosecution was believed by many to proceed, as she her self intimates, rather from the King's Love to
Jane Seymour
than from any actual Crime in
Ann of Bologne.
Queen Ann Boleyn's last Letter to King Henry.
[Cotton Libr. Otho C. 10.]
Sir,
Your Grace's Displeasure, and my Imprisonment, are Things so strange unto me, as what to write, or what to excuse, I am altogether ignorant. Whereas you send unto me (willing me to confess a Truth, and so obtain your Favour) by such an one, whom you know to be mine ancient professed Enemy, I no sooner received this Message by him, than I rightly conceived your Meaning; and if, as you say, confessing a Truth indeed may procure my Safety, I shall with all Willingness and Duty perform your Command.
But let not your Grace ever imagine, that your poor Wife will ever be brought to acknowledge a Fault, where not so much as a Thought thereof preceded. And to speak a Truth, never Prince had Wife more Loyal in all Duty, and in all true Affection, than you have ever found in Ann Boleyn: with which Name and Place I could willingly have contented my self, if God and your Grace's Pleasure had been so pleased. Neither did I at any time so far forget my self in my Exaltation, or received Queenship, but that I always looked for such an Alteration as now I find; for the Ground of my Preferment being on no surer Foundation than [your] Grace's Fancy, the least Alteration I knew was fit and sufficient to draw that Fancy to some other Object[2]. You have chosen me, from a low Estate, to be your Queen and Companion, far beyond my Desert or Desire. If then you found me worthy of such Honour, good your Grace let not any light Fancy, or bad Counsel of mine Enemies, withdraw your Princely Favour from me; neither let that Stain, that unworthy Stain, of a Disloyal Heart towards your good Grace, ever cast so foul a Blot on your most Dutiful Wife, and the Infant-Princess your Daughter. Try me, good King, but let me have a lawful Tryal, and let not my sworn Enemies sit as my Accusers and Judges; Yea let me receive an open Tryal, for my Truth shall fear no open Shame; then shall you see either mine Innocence cleared, your Suspicion and Conscience satisfied, the Ignominy and Slander of the World stopped, or my Guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or you may determine of me, your Grace may be freed from an open Censure, and mine Offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace is at liberty, both before God and Man, not only to Execute worthy Punishment on me as an unlawful Wife, but to follow your Affection, already settled on that Party, for whose sake I am now as I am, whose Name I could some good while since have pointed unto, your Grace being not ignorant of my Suspicion therein.
But if you have already determined of me, and that not only my Death, but an Infamous Slander must bring you the enjoying of your desired Happiness; then I desire of God, that he will pardon your great Sin therein, and likewise mine Enemies, the Instruments thereof; and that he will not call you to a strict Account for your unprincely and cruel Usage of me, at his general Judgment Seat, where both you and my self must shortly appear, and in whose Judgment I doubt not (whatsoever the World may think of me) mine Innocence shall be openly known, and sufficiently cleared.
My last and only Request shall be, that my self may only bear the Burthen of your Grace's Displeasure, and that it may not touch the innocent Souls of those poor Gentlemen, who (as I understand) are likewise in strait Imprisonment for my sake. If ever I have found Favour in your Sight, if ever the Name of Ann Boleyn hath been pleasing in your Ears, then let me obtain this Request, and I will so leave to trouble your Grace any further, with mine earnest Prayers to the Trinity to have your Grace in his good Keeping, and to direct you in all your Actions. From my doleful Prison in the Tower, this sixth of May;
Your most Loyal,
And ever Faithful Wife,
Ann Boleyn.
When you see a Neighbour in Tears, and hear him lament the Absence of his Son, the Hazards of his Voyage into some remote Part of the World, or the Loss of his Estate; keep upon your Guard, for fear lest some false Ideas that may rise upon these Occasions, surprise you into a Mistake, as if this Man were really miserable, upon the Account of these outward Accidents. But be sure to distinguish wisely, and tell your self immediately, that the Thing which really afflicts this Person is not really the Accident it self, (for other People, under his Circumstances, are not equally afflicted with it) but merely the Opinion which he hath formed to himself concerning this Accident. Notwithstanding all which, you may be allowed, as far as Expressions and outward Behaviour go, to comply with him; and if Occasion require, to bear a part in his Sighs, and Tears too; but then you must be sure to take care, that this Compliance does not infect your Mind, nor betray you to an inward and real Sorrow, upon any such Account.
Epictetus his Morals, with Simplicius his Comment.
Made English from the Greek by George Stanhope (1694) chapter xxii.
Subject
| [No. 398] | Friday, June 6, 1712 | Steele |
Insanire pares certa ratione modoque.
Hor.
Cynthio
and
Flavia
are Persons of Distinction in this Town, who have been Lovers these ten Months last past, and writ to each other for Gallantry Sake, under those feigned Names; Mr. Such a one and Mrs. Such a one not being capable of raising the Soul out of the ordinary Tracts and Passages of Life, up to that Elevation which makes the Life of the Enamoured so much superior to that of the rest of the World. But ever since the beauteous
Cecilia
has made such a Figure as she now does in the Circle of Charming Women,
Cynthio
has been secretly one of her Adorers.
Lætitia
has been the finest Woman in Town these three Months, and so long
Cynthio
has acted the Part of a Lover very awkwardly in the Presence of
Flavia
.
Flavia
has been too blind towards him, and has too sincere an Heart of her own to observe a thousand things which would have discovered this Change of Mind to any one less engaged than she was.
Cynthio
was musing Yesterday in the
Piazza
in
Covent-Garden
, and was saying to himself that he was a very ill Man to go on in visiting and professing Love to
Flavia
, when his Heart was enthralled to another.
It is an Infirmity that I am not constant to
Flavia;
but it would be still a greater Crime, since I cannot continue to love her, to profess that I do. To marry a Woman with the Coldness that usually indeed comes on after Marriage, is ruining one's self with one's Eyes open; besides it is really doing her an Injury.
This last Consideration, forsooth, of injuring her in persisting, made him resolve to break off upon the first favourable Opportunity of making her angry. When he was in this Thought, he saw
Robin the Porter
who waits at
Will's Coffee-House
, passing by.
Robin
, you must know, is the best Man in Town for carrying a Billet; the Fellow has a thin Body, swift Step, demure Looks, sufficient Sense, and knows the Town. This Man carried
Cynthio's
first Letter to
Flavia
, and by frequent Errands ever since, is well known to her. The Fellow covers his Knowledge of the Nature of his Messages with the most exquisite low Humour imaginable: The first he obliged
Flavia
to take, was, by complaining to her that he had a Wife and three Children, and if she did not take that Letter, which, he was sure, there was no Harm in, but rather Love, his Family must go supperless to Bed, for the Gentleman would pay him according as he did his Business.
Robin
therefore
Cynthio
now thought fit to make use of, and gave him Orders to wait before
Flavia's
Door, and if she called him to her, and asked whether it was
Cynthio
who passed by, he should at first be loth to own it was, but upon Importunity confess it. There needed not much Search into that Part of the Town to find a well-dressed Hussey fit for the Purpose
Cynthio
designed her. As soon as he believed
Robin
was posted, he drove by
Flavia's
Lodgings in an Hackney-Coach and a Woman in it.
Robin
was at the Door talking with
Flavia's
Maid, and
Cynthio
pulled up the Glass as surprized, and hid his Associate. The Report of this Circumstance soon flew up Stairs, and
Robin
could not deny but the Gentleman favoured his Master; yet if it was he, he was sure the Lady was but his Cousin whom he had seen ask for him; adding that he believed she was a poor Relation, because they made her wait one Morning till he was awake.
Flavia
immediately writ the following Epistle, which
Robin
brought to
Wills'
June 4, 1712.
Sir,
It is in vain to deny it, basest, falsest of Mankind; my Maid, as well as the Bearer, saw you.
The injur'd Flavia.
After
Cynthio
had read the Letter, he asked
Robin
how she looked, and what she said at the Delivery of it.
Robin
said she spoke short to him, and called him back again, and had nothing to say to him, and bid him and all the Men in the World go out of her Sight; but the Maid followed, and bid him bring an Answer.
Cynthio
returned as follows.
June 4, Three Afternoon, 1712.
Madam,
That your Maid and the Bearer has seen me very often is very certain; but I desire to know, being engaged at Picket, what your Letter means by 'tis in vain to deny it. I shall stay here all the Evening.
Your amazed Cynthio.
As soon as
Robin
arrived with this,
Flavia
answered:
Dear Cynthio,
I have walked a Turn or two in my Anti-Chamber since I writ to you, and have recovered my self from an impertinent Fit which you ought to forgive me, and desire you would come to me immediately to laugh off a Jealousy that you and a Creature of the Town went by in an Hackney-Coach an Hour ago. I am Your most humble Servant,
Flavia
I will not open the Letter which my Cynthio writ, upon the Misapprehension you must have been under when you writ, for want of hearing the whole Circumstance.
Robin
came back in an Instant, and
Cynthio
answered:
Half Hour, six Minutes after Three,
June 4. Will's Coffee-house.
Madam, It is certain I went by your Lodgings with a Gentlewoman to whom I have the Honour to be known, she is indeed my Relation, and a pretty sort of Woman. But your starting Manner of Writing, and owning you have not done me the Honour so much as to open my Letter, has in it something very unaccountable, and alarms one that has had Thoughts of passing his Days with you. But I am born to admire you with all your little Imperfections.
Cynthio.
Robin
run back, and brought for Answer;
Exact Sir, that are at Will's Coffee-house six Minutes after Three, June 4; one that has had Thoughts and all my little Imperfections. Sir, come to me immediately, or I shall determine what may perhaps not be very pleasing to you.
Flavia
Robin
gave an Account that she looked excessive angry when she gave him the Letter; and that he told her, for she asked, that
Cynthio
only looked at the Clock, taking Snuff, and writ two or three Words on the Top of the Letter when he gave him his.
Now the Plot thickened so well, as that
Cynthio
saw he had not much more to do to accomplish being irreconciliably banished, he writ,
Madam,
I have that Prejudice in Favour of all you do, that it is not possible for you to determine upon what will not be very pleasing to Your Obedient Servant,
Cynthio.
This was delivered, and the Answer returned, in a little more than two Seconds.
Sir,
Is it come to this? You never loved me; and the Creature you were with is the properest Person for your Associate. I despise you, and hope I shall soon hate you as a Villain to
The Credulous Flavia.
Robin ran back, with
Madam,
Your Credulity when you are to gain your Point, and Suspicion when you fear to lose it make it a very hard Part to behave as becomes Your humble Slave,
Cynthio.
Robin whipt away, and returned with,
Mr. Wellford,
Flavia and Cynthio are no more. I relieve you from the hard Part of which you complain, and banish you from my Sight for ever.
Ann Heart.
Robin
had a Crown for his Afternoon's Work; and this is published to admonish
Cecilia
to avenge the Injury done to
Flavia
.
T.
| [No. 399] | Saturday, June 7, 1712 | Addison |
Ut nemo in sese tentat descendere!
Pers.
Hypocrisie
, at the fashionable End of the Town, is very different from Hypocrisie in the City. The modish Hypocrite endeavours to appear more vicious than he really is, the other kind of Hypocrite more virtuous. The former is afraid of every thing that has the Shew of Religion in it, and would be thought engaged in many Criminal Gallantries and Amours, which he is not guilty of. The latter assumes a Face of Sanctity, and covers a Multitude of Vices under a seeming Religious Deportment.
But there is another kind of Hypocrisie, which differs from both these, and which I intend to make the Subject of this Paper: I mean that Hypocrisie, by which a Man does not only deceive the World, but very often imposes on himself; That Hypocrisie, which conceals his own Heart from him, and makes him believe he is more virtuous than he really is, and either not attend to his Vices, or mistake even his Vices for Virtues. It
this fatal Hypocrisie and Self-deceit, which is taken notice of in those Words,
Who can understand his Errors? cleanse thou me from secret Faults
.
If the open Professors of Impiety deserve the utmost Application and Endeavours of Moral Writers to recover them from Vice and Folly, how much more may those lay a Claim to their Care and Compassion, who are walking in the Paths of Death, while they fancy themselves engaged in a Course of Virtue! I shall endeavour, therefore, to lay down some Rules for the Discovery of those Vices that lurk in the secret Corners of the Soul, and to show my Reader those Methods by which he may arrive at a true and impartial Knowledge of himself. The usual Means prescribed for this Purpose, are to examine our selves by the Rules which are laid down for our Direction in Sacred Writ, and to compare our Lives with the Life of that Person who acted up to the Perfection of Human Nature, and is the standing Example, as well as the great Guide and Instructor, of those who receive his Doctrines. Though these two Heads cannot be too much insisted upon, I shall but just mention them, since they have been handled by many Great and Eminent Writers.
I would therefore propose the following Methods to the Consideration of such as would find out their secret Faults, and make a true Estimate of themselves.
In the first Place, let them consider well what are the Characters which they bear among their Enemies. Our Friends very often flatter us, as much as our own Hearts. They either do not see our Faults, or conceal them from us, or soften them by their Representations, after such a manner, that we think them too trivial to be taken notice of. An Adversary, on the contrary, makes a stricter Search into us, discovers every Flaw and Imperfection in our Tempers, and though his Malice may set them in too strong a Light, it has generally some Ground for what it advances. A Friend exaggerates a Man's Virtues, an Enemy inflames his Crimes. A Wise Man should give a just Attention to both of them, so far as they may tend to the Improvement of the one, and Diminution of the other.
Plutarch
has written an Essay on the Benefits which a Man may receive from his Enemies
, and, among the good Fruits of Enmity, mentions this in particular, that by the Reproaches which it casts upon us we see the worst side of our selves, and open our Eyes to several Blemishes and Defects in our Lives and Conversations, which we should not have observed, without the Help of such ill-natured Monitors.
In order likewise to come at a true Knowledge of our selves, we should consider on the other hand how far we may deserve the Praises and Approbations which the World bestow upon us: whether the Actions they celebrate proceed from laudable and worthy Motives; and how far we are really possessed of the Virtues which gain us Applause among those with whom we converse. Such a Reflection is absolutely necessary, if we consider how apt we are either to value or condemn ourselves by the Opinions of others, and to sacrifice the Report of our own Hearts to the Judgment of the World.
In the next Place, that we may not deceive our selves in a Point of so much Importance, we should not lay too great a Stress on any supposed Virtues we possess that are of a doubtful Nature: And such we may esteem all those in which Multitudes of Men dissent from us, who are as good and wise as our selves. We should always act with great Cautiousness and Circumspection in Points, where it is not impossible that we may be deceived. Intemperate Zeal, Bigotry and Persecution for any Party or Opinion, how praiseworthy soever they may appear to weak Men of our own Principles, produce infinite Calamities among Mankind, and are highly Criminal in their own Nature; and yet how many Persons eminent for Piety suffer such monstrous and absurd Principles of Action to take Root in their Minds under the Colour of Virtues? For my own Part, I must own I never yet knew any Party so just and reasonable, that a Man could follow it in its Height and Violence, and at the same time be innocent.
We should likewise be very apprehensive of those Actions which proceed from natural Constitution, favourite Passions, particular Education, or whatever promotes our worldly Interest or Advantage. In these and the like Cases, a Man's Judgment is easily perverted, and a wrong Bias hung upon his Mind. These are the Inlets of Prejudice, the unguarded Avenues of the Mind, by which a thousand Errors and secret Faults find Admission,
being observed or taken Notice of. A wise Man will suspect those Actions to which he is directed by something
besides
Reason, and always apprehend some concealed Evil in every Resolution that is of a disputable Nature, when it is conformable to his particular Temper, his Age, or Way of Life, or when it favours his Pleasure or his Profit.
There is nothing of greater Importance to us than thus diligently to sift our Thoughts, and examine all these dark Recesses of the Mind, if we would establish our Souls in such a solid and substantial Virtue as will turn to Account in that great Day, when it must stand the Test of infinite Wisdom and Justice.
I shall conclude this Essay with observing that the two kinds of Hypocrisie I have here spoken of, namely that of deceiving the World, and that of imposing on our selves, are touched with wonderful Beauty in
the hundred and thirty ninth Psalm
. The Folly of the first kind of Hypocrisie is there set forth by Reflections on God's Omniscience and Omnipresence, which are celebrated in as noble Strains of Poetry as any other I ever met with, either Sacred or Profane. The other kind of Hypocrisie, whereby a Man deceives himself, is intimated in the two last Verses, where the Psalmist addresses himself to the great Searcher of Hearts in that emphatical Petition;
Try me, O God, and seek the ground of my heart; prove me, and examine my Thoughts. Look well if there be any way of wickedness in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.
L.
Psalm
xix. 12.
See note on p. 441 [Volume 1 links:
of
], vol. i.
more than
| [No. 400] | Monday, June 9, 1712 | Steele |
—Latet Anguis in Herba.
Virg.
It should, methinks, preserve Modesty and its Interests in the World, that the Transgression of it always creates Offence; and the very Purposes of Wantonness are defeated by a Carriage which has in it so much Boldness, as to intimate that Fear and Reluctance are quite extinguishd in an Object which would be otherwise desirable. It was said
a Wit of the last Age,
{Sedley has that prevailing gentle Art,
{Which, can with a resistless Charm impart
{The loosest Wishes to the chastest Heart;
Raise such a Conflict, kindle such a Fire,
Between declining Virtue and Desire,
That the poor vanquished Maid dissolves away
In Dreams all Night, in Sighs and Tears all Day[1].
This prevailing gentle Art was made up of Complaisance, Courtship, and artful Conformity to the Modesty of a Woman's Manners. Rusticity, broad Expression, and forward Obtrusion, offend those of Education, and make the Transgressors odious to all who have Merit enough to attract Regard. It is in
Taste that the Scenery is so beautifully ordered in the Description which
Antony
makes, in the Dialogue between him and
Dolabella
, of
Cleopatra
in her Barge.
Her Galley down the Silver Cydnos row'd;
The Tackling Silk, the Streamers wav'd with Gold;
The gentle Winds were lodg'd in purple Sails:
Her Nymphs, like Nereids, round her Couch were placed,
Where she, another Sea-born Venus, lay;
She lay, and lean'd her Cheek upon her Hand,
And cast a Look so languishingly sweet,
As if, secure of all Beholders Hearts,
Neglecting she could take 'em. Boys like Cupids
Stood fanning with their painted Wings the Winds
That play'd about her Face; but if she smil'd,
A darting Glory seemed to blaze abroad,
That Men's desiring Eyes were never weary'd,
But hung upon the Object. To soft Flutes
The Silver Oars kept Time; and while they play'd,
The Hearing gave new Pleasure to the Sight,
And both to Thought[2]—
Here the Imagination is warmed with all the Objects presented, and yet there is nothing that is luscious, or what raises any Idea more loose than that of a beautiful Woman set off to Advantage. The
, or a more delicate and careful Spirit of Modesty, appears in the following Passage in one of Mr.
Philip's
Pastorals
.
Breathe soft ye Winds, ye Waters gently flow,
Shield her ye Trees, ye Flowers around her grow,
Ye Swains, I beg you, pass in Silence by,
My Love in yonder Vale asleep does lie.
Desire is corrected when there is a Tenderness or Admiration expressed which partakes the Passion. Licentious Language has something brutal in it, which disgraces Humanity, and leaves us in the Condition of the Savages in the Field. But it may be askd to what good Use can tend a Discourse of this Kind at all? It is to alarm chaste Ears against such as have what is above called the prevailing gentle Art. Masters of that Talent are capable of cloathing their Thoughts in so soft a Dress, and something so distant from the secret Purpose of their Heart, that the Imagination of the Unguarded is touched with a Fondness which grows too insensibly to be resisted. Much Care and Concern for the Lady's Welfare, to seem afraid lest she should be annoyed by the very Air which surrounds her, and this uttered rather with kind Looks, and expressed by an Interjection, an Ah, or an Oh, at some little Hazard in moving or making a Step, than in my direct Profession of Love, are the Methods of skilful Admirers: They are honest Arts when their Purpose is such, but infamous when misapplied. It is certain that many a young Woman in this Town has had her Heart irrecoverably won, by Men who have not made one Advance which ties their Admirers, tho' the Females languish with the utmost Anxiety. I have often, by way of Admonition to my female Readers, give them Warning against agreeable Company of the other Sex, except they are well acquainted with their Characters. Women may disguise it if they think fit, and the more to do it, they may be angry at me for saying it; but I say it is natural to them, that they have no Manner of Approbation of Men, without some Degree of Love: For this Reason he is dangerous to be entertaind as a Friend or Visitant who is capable of gaining any eminent Esteem or Observation, though it be never so remote from Pretensions as a Lover. If a Man's Heart has not the Abhorrence of any treacherous Design, he may easily improve Approbation into Kindness, and Kindness into Passion. There may possibly be no manner of Love between them in the Eyes of all their Acquaintance, no it is all Friendship; and yet they may be as fond as Shepherd and Shepherdess in a Pastoral, but still the Nymph and the Swain may be to each other no other I warrant
, than
Pylades
and
Orestes
.
When Lucy decks with Flowers her swelling Breast,
And on her Elbow leans, dissembling Rest,
Unable to refrain my madding Mind,
Nor Sleep nor Pasture worth my Care I find.
Once Delia slept, on easie Moss reclin'd,
Her lovely Limbs half bare, and rude the Wind;
I smoothed her Coats, and stole a silent Kiss:
Condemn me Shepherds if I did amiss[4].
Such good Offices as these, and such friendly Thoughts and Concerns for one another, are what make up the Amity, as they call it, between Man and Woman.
It is the Permission of such Intercourse, that makes a young Woman come to the Arms of her Husband, after the Disappointment of four or five Passions which she has successively had for different Men, before she is prudentially given to him for whom she has neither Love nor Friendship. For what should a poor Creature do that has lost all her Friends? There's Marinet the Agreeable, has, to my Knowledge, had a Friendship for Lord
Welford
, which had like to break her Heart; then she had so great a Friendship for Colonel
Hardy
, that she could not endure any Woman else should do any thing but rail at him. Many and fatal have been Disasters between Friends who have fallen out, and their Resentments are more keen than ever those of other Men can possibly be:
in this it happens unfortunately, that as there ought to be nothing concealed from one Friend to another, the Friends of different Sexes
very often
find fatal Effects from their Unanimity.
For my Part, who study to pass Life in as much Innocence and Tranquility as I can, I shun the Company of agreeable Women as much as possible; and must confess that I have, though a tolerable good Philosopher, but a low Opinion of
Platonick
Love: for which Reason I thought it necessary to give my fair Readers a Caution against it, having, to my great Concern, observed the Waste of a
Platonist
lately swell to a Roundness which is inconsistent with that Philosophy.
T.
Rochester's
Allusion to the 10th Satire of the 1st Book of Horace.
Dryden's
All for Love
, Act III. sc. i.
The Sixth.
Two stanzas from different parts of Ambrose Philips's sixth
Pastoral
. The first in the original follows the second, with three stanzas intervening.
(, for want of other Amusement, often study Anatomy together; and what is worse than happens in any other Friendship, they)
| [No. 401] | Tuesday, June 10, 1712 | Budgell |
In amore hæc omnia insunt vitia: Injuriæ,
Suspiciones, Inimicitiæ, Induciæ,
Bellum, pax rursum:
Ter.
I shall publish for the Entertainment of this Day, an odd sort of a Packet, which I have just received from one of my Female Correspondents.
Mr. Spectator,
Since you have often confess'd that you are not displeased your Paper should sometimes convey the Complaints of distressed Lovers to each other, I am in Hopes you will favour one who gives you an undoubted Instance of her Reformation, and at the same time a convincing Proof of the happy Influence your Labours have had over the most Incorrigible Part of the most Incorrigible Sex. You must know, Sir, I am one of that Species of Women, whom you have often Characteriz'd under the Name of Jilts, and that I send you these Lines, as well to do Publick Penance for having so long continued in a known Error, as to beg Pardon of the Party offended. I the rather chuse this way, because it in some measure answers the Terms on which he intimated the Breach between us might possibly be made up, as you will see by the Letter he sent me the next Day after I had discarded him; which I thought fit to send you a Copy of, that you might the better know the whole Case.
I must further acquaint you, that before I Jilted him, there had been the greatest Intimacy between us for an Year and half together, during all which time I cherished his Hopes, and indulged his Flame. I leave you to guess after this what must be his Surprize, when upon his pressing for my full Consent one Day, I told him I wondered what could make him fancy he had ever any Place in my Affections. His own Sex allow him Sense, and all ours Good-Breeding. His Person is such as might, without Vanity, make him believe himself not incapable to be beloved. Our Fortunes indeed, weighed in the nice Scale of Interest, are not exactly equal, which by the way was the true Case of my Jilting him, and I had the Assurance to acquaint him with the following Maxim, That I should always believe that Man's Passion to be the most Violent, who could offer me the largest Settlement. I have since changed my Opinion, and have endeavoured to let him know so much by several Letters, but the barbarous Man has refused them all; so that I have no way left of writing to him, but by your Assistance. If we can bring him about once more, I promise to send you all Gloves and Favours, and shall desire the Favour of Sir Roger and your self to stand as God-Fathers to my first Boy.
I am, Sir,
Your most Obedient
most Humble Servant,
Amoret.I must desire you, dear Mr. Spectator, to publish this my Letter to Philander as soon as possible, and to assure him that I know nothing at all of the Death of his rich Uncle in Gloucestershire.Philander to Amoret.
Madam,
I am so surprised at the Question you were pleased to ask me Yesterday, that I am still at a loss what to say to it. At least my Answer would be too long to trouble you with, as it would come from a Person, who, it seems, is so very indifferent to you. Instead of it, I shall only recommend to your Consideration the Opinion of one whose Sentiments on these matters I have often heard you say are extremely just. A generous and Constant Passion, says your favourite Author, in an agreeable Lover, where there is not too great a Disparity in their Circumstances, is the greatest Blessing that can befal a Person beloved; and if overlook'd in one, may perhaps never be found in another.
I do not, however, at all despair of being very shortly much better beloved by you than Antenor is at present; since whenever my Fortune shall exceed his, you were pleased to intimate your Passion would encrease accordingly.
The World has seen me shamefully lose that Time to please a fickle Woman, which might have been employed much more to my Credit and Advantage in other Pursuits. I shall therefore take the Liberty to acquaint you, however harsh it may sound in a Lady's Ears, that tho your Love-Fit should happen to return, unless you could contrive a way to make your Recantation as well known to the Publick, as they are already apprised of the manner with which you have treated me, you shall never more see Philander.
Amoret to Philander.
Sir,
Upon Reflection, I find the Injury I have done both to you and my self to be so great, that though the Part I now act may appear contrary to that Decorum usually observed by our Sex, yet I purposely break through all Rules, that my Repentance may in some measure equal my Crime. I assure you that in my present Hopes of recovering you, I look upon Antenor's Estate with Contempt. The Fop was here Yesterday in a gilt Chariot and new Liveries, but I refused to see him. Tho' I dread to meet your Eyes after what has pass'd, I flatter my self, that amidst all their Confusion you will discover such a Tenderness in mine, as none can imitate but those who Love. I shall be all this Month at Lady D—'s in the Country; but the Woods, the Fields and Gardens, without Philander, afford no Pleasures to the unhappy Amoret.
Philander to Amoret.
Madam,
I am so surprised at the Question you were pleased to ask me Yesterday, that I am still at a loss what to say to it. At least my Answer would be too long to trouble you with, as it would come from a Person, who, it seems, is so very indifferent to you. Instead of it, I shall only recommend to your Consideration the Opinion of one whose Sentiments on these matters I have often heard you say are extremely just. A generous and Constant Passion, says your favourite Author, in an agreeable Lover, where there is not too great a Disparity in their Circumstances, is the greatest Blessing that can befal a Person beloved; and if overlook'd in one, may perhaps never be found in another.
I do not, however, at all despair of being very shortly much better beloved by you than Antenor is at present; since whenever my Fortune shall exceed his, you were pleased to intimate your Passion would encrease accordingly.
The World has seen me shamefully lose that Time to please a fickle Woman, which might have been employed much more to my Credit and Advantage in other Pursuits. I shall therefore take the Liberty to acquaint you, however harsh it may sound in a Lady's Ears, that tho your Love-Fit should happen to return, unless you could contrive a way to make your Recantation as well known to the Publick, as they are already apprised of the manner with which you have treated me, you shall never more see Philander.
Amoret to Philander.
Sir,
Upon Reflection, I find the Injury I have done both to you and my self to be so great, that though the Part I now act may appear contrary to that Decorum usually observed by our Sex, yet I purposely break through all Rules, that my Repentance may in some measure equal my Crime. I assure you that in my present Hopes of recovering you, I look upon Antenor's Estate with Contempt. The Fop was here Yesterday in a gilt Chariot and new Liveries, but I refused to see him. Tho' I dread to meet your Eyes after what has pass'd, I flatter my self, that amidst all their Confusion you will discover such a Tenderness in mine, as none can imitate but those who Love. I shall be all this Month at Lady D—'s in the Country; but the Woods, the Fields and Gardens, without Philander, afford no Pleasures to the unhappy Amoret.
X.
| [No. 402] | Wednesday, June 11, 1712 | Steele |
—quæ
Spectator tradit sibi—
Hor.[1]
Were I to publish all the Advertisements I receive from different Hands, and Persons of different Circumstances and Quality, the very Mention of them, without Reflections on the several Subjects, would raise all the Passions which can be felt by human Mind
s
, As Instances of this, I shall give you two or three Letters; the Writers of which can have no Recourse to any legal Power for Redress, and seem to have written rather to vent their Sorrow than to receive Consolation.
Mr. Spectator,
I am a young Woman of Beauty and Quality, and suitably married to a Gentleman who doats on me. But this Person of mine is the Object of an unjust Passion in a Nobleman who is very intimate with my Husband. This Friendship gives him very easie Access, and frequent Opportunities of entertaining me apart. My Heart is in the utmost Anguish, and my Face is covered over with Confusion, when I impart to you another Circumstance, which is, that my Mother, the most mercenary of all Women, is gained by this false Friend of my Husband to sollicit me for him. I am frequently chid by the poor believing Man my Husband, for shewing an Impatience of his Friend's Company; and I am never alone with my Mother, but she tells me Stories of the discretionary Part of the World, and such a one, and such a one who are guilty of as much as she advises me to. She laughs at my Astonishment; and seems to hint to me, that as virtuous as she has always appeared, I am not the Daughter of her Husband. It is possible that printing this Letter may relieve me from the unnatural Importunity of my Mother, and the perfidious Courtship of my Husband's Friend. I have an unfeigned Love of Virtue, and am resolved to preserve my Innocence. The only Way I can think of to avoid the fatal Consequences of the Discovery of this Matter, is to fly away for ever; which I must do to avoid my Husband's fatal Resentment against the Man who attempts to abuse him, and the Shame of exposing the Parent to Infamy. The Persons concerned will know these Circumstances relate to 'em; and though the Regard to Virtue is dead in them, I have some Hopes from their Fear of Shame upon reading this in your Paper; which I conjure you to do, if you have any Compassion for Injured Virtue.
Sylvia.
Mr. Spectator,
I am the Husband of a Woman of Merit, but am fallen in Love, as they call it, with a Lady of her Acquaintance, who is going to be married to a Gentleman who deserves her. I am in a Trust relating to this Lady's Fortune, which makes my Concurrence in this Matter necessary; but I have so irresistible a Rage and Envy rise in me when I consider his future Happiness, that against all Reason, Equity, and common Justice, I am ever playing mean Tricks to suspend the Nuptials. I have no manner of Hopes for my self; Emilia, for so I'll call her, is a Woman of the most strict Virtue; her Lover is a Gentleman who of all others I could wish my Friend; but Envy and Jealousie, though placed so unjustly, waste my very Being, and with the Torment and Sense of a Daemon, I am ever cursing what I cannot but approve. I wish it were the Beginning of Repentance, that I sit down and describe my present Disposition with so hellish an Aspect; but at present the Destruction of these two excellent Persons would be more welcome to me than their Happiness. Mr. Spectator, pray let me have a Paper on these terrible groundless Sufferings, and do all you can to exorcise Crowds who are in some Degree possessed as I am.
Canniball.
Mr. Spectator,
I have no other Means but this to express my Thanks to one Man, and my Resentment against another. My Circumstances are as follows. I have been for five Years last past courted by a Gentleman of greater Fortune than I ought to expect, as the Market for Women goes. You must to be sure have observed People who live in that sort of Way, as all their Friends reckon it will be a Match, and are marked out by all the World for each other. In this View we have been regarded for some Time, and I have above these three Years loved him tenderly. As he is very careful of his Fortune, I always thought he lived in a near Manner to lay up what he thought was wanting in my Fortune to make up what he might expect in another. Within few Months I have observed his Carriage very much altered, and he has affected a certain Air of getting me alone, and talking with a mighty Profusion of passionate Words, How I am not to be resisted longer, how irresistible his Wishes are, and the like. As long as I have been acquainted with him, I could not on such Occasions say down-right to him, You know you may make me yours when you please. But the other Night he with great Frankness and Impudence explained to me, that he thought of me only as a Mistress. I answered this Declaration as it deserv'd; upon which he only doubled the Terms on which he proposed my yielding. When my Anger heightned upon him, he told me he was sorry he had made so little Use of the unguarded Hours we had been together so remote from Company, as indeed, continued he, so we are at present. I flew from him to a neighbouring Gentlewoman's House, and tho' her Husband was in the Room, threw my self on a Couch, and burst into a Passion of Tears. My Friend desired her Husband to leave the Room. But, said he, there is something so extraordinary in this, that I will partake in the Affliction; and be it what it will, she is so much your Friend, that she knows she may command what Services I can do her. The Man sate down by me, and spoke so like a Brother, that I told him my whole Affliction. He spoke of the Injury done me with so much Indignation, and animated me against the Love he said he saw I had for the Wretch who would have betrayed me, with so much Reason and Humanity to my Weakness, that I doubt not of my Perseverance. His Wife and he are my Comforters, and I am under no more Restraint in their Company than if I were alone; and I doubt not but in a small time Contempt and Hatred will take Place of the Remains of Affection to a Rascal.
I am
Sir,
Your affectionate Reader,
Dorinda.
Mr. Spectator,
I had the Misfortune to be an Uncle before I knew my Nephews from my Nieces, and now we are grown up to better Acquaintance they deny me the Respect they owe. One upbraids me with being their Familiar, another will hardly be perswaded that I am an Uncle, a third calls me Little Uncle, and a fourth tells me there is no Duty at all due to an Uncle. I have a Brother-in-law whose Son will win all my Affection, unless you shall think this worthy of your Cognizance, and will be pleased to prescribe some Rules for our future reciprocal Behaviour. It will be worthy the Particularity of your Genius to lay down Rules for his Conduct who was as it were born an old Man, in which you will much oblige,
Sir,
Your most obedient Servant,
Cornelius Nepos.
T.
No motto in the first issue.
| [No. 403] | Thursday, June 12, 1712 | Addison |
Qui mores hominun multorum vidit?
Hor.
When I consider this great City in its several Quarters and Divisions, I look upon it as an Aggregate of various Nations distinguished from each other by their respective Customs, Manners and Interests. The Courts of two Countries do not so much differ from one another, as the Court and City in their peculiar Ways of Life and Conversation. In short, the Inhabitants of
St. James's
, notwithstanding they live under the same Laws, and speak the same Language, are a distinct People from those of
Cheapside
, who are likewise removed from those of the
Temple
on the one side, and those of
Smithfield
on the other, by several Climates and Degrees in their way of Thinking and Conversing together.
For this Reason, when any publick Affair is upon the Anvil, I love to hear the Reflections that arise upon it in the several Districts and Parishes of
London
and
Westminster
, and to ramble up and down a whole Day together, in order to make my self acquainted with the Opinions of my Ingenious Countrymen. By this means I know the Faces of all the principal Politicians within the Bills of Mortality; and as every Coffee-house has some particular Statesman belonging to it, who is the Mouth of the Street where he lives, I always take care to place my self near him, in order to know his Judgment on the present Posture of Affairs. The last Progress that I made with this Intention, was about three Months ago, when we had a current Report of the King of
France's
Death. As I foresaw this would produce a new Face of things in
Europe
, and many curious Speculations in our
British
Coffee-houses, I was very desirous to learn the Thoughts of our most eminent Politicians on that Occasion.
That I might begin as near the Fountain Head as possible, I first of all called in at
St James's,
where I found the whole outward Room in a Buzz of Politics. The Speculations were but very indifferent towards the Door, but grew finer as you advanced to the upper end of the Room, and were so very much improved by a Knot of Theorists, who sat in the inner Room, within the Steams of the Coffee-Pot, that I there heard the whole
Spanish
Monarchy disposed of, and all the Line of
Bourbon
provided for in less than a Quarter of an Hour.
I afterwards called in at
Giles's
, where I saw a Board of
French
Gentlemen sitting upon the Life and Death of their
Grand Monarque
. Those among them who had espoused the
Whig
Interest, very positively affirmed, that he departed this Life about a Week since, and therefore proceeded without any further Delay to the Release of their Friends on the
Gallies
, and to their own Re-establishment; but finding they could not agree among themselves, I proceeded on my intended Progress.
Upon my Arrival at
Jenny Man's
, I saw an alerte young Fellow that cocked his Hat upon a Friend of his who entered just at the same time with my self, and accosted him after the following Manner.
Well, Jack, the old Prig is dead at last. Sharp's the Word. Now or never, Boy. Up to the Walls of Paris directly.
With several other deep Reflections of the same Nature.
I met with very little Variation in the Politics between
Charing-Cross
and
Covent-Garden
. And upon my going into
Wills
I found their Discourse was gone off from the Death of the French King to that of
Monsieur Boileau, Racine, Corneile,
and several other Poets, whom they regretted on this Occasion, as Persons who would have obliged the World with very noble Elegies on the Death of so great a Prince, and so eminent a Patron of Learning.
At a Coffee-house near the
Temple
, I found a couple of young Gentlemen engaged very smartly in a Dispute on the Succession to the
Spanish
Monarchy. One of them seemed to have been retained as Advocate for the
Duke of Anjou
, the other for his
Imperial Majesty
. They were both for regulating the Title to that Kingdom by the Statute Laws of England; but finding them going out of my Depth, I passed forward to
Paul's Church-Yard,
where I listen'd with great Attention to a learned Man, who gave the Company an Account of the deplorable State of
France
during the Minority of the deceased King. I then turned on my right Hand into
Fish-street
, where the chief Politician of that Quarter, upon hearing the News, (after having taken a Pipe of Tobacco, and ruminated for some time) If, says he, the King of
France
is certainly dead, we shall have Plenty of Mackerell this Season; our Fishery will not be disturbed by Privateers, as it has been for these ten Years past. He afterwards considered how the Death of this great Man would affect our Pilchards, and by several other Remarks infused a general Joy into his whole Audience.
I afterwards entered a By Coffee-house that stood at the upper end of a narrow Lane, where I met with a Nonjuror, engaged very warmly with a Laceman who was the great Support of a neighbouring Conventicle. The Matter in Debate was, whether the late
French
King was most like
Augustus Cæsar,
or
Nero
. The Controversie was carried on with great Heat on both Sides, and as each of them looked upon me very frequently during the Course of their Debate, I was under some Apprehension that they would appeal to me, and therefore laid down my Penny at the Bar, and made the best of my way to
Cheapside
.
I here gazed upon the Signs for some time before I found one to my Purpose. The first Object I met in the Coffeeroom was a Person who expressed a great Grief for the Death of the
French
King; but upon his explaining himself, I found his Sorrow did not arise from the Loss of the Monarch, but for his having sold out of the Bank about three Days before he heard the News of it: Upon which a Haberdasher, who was the Oracle of the Coffee-house, and had his Circle of Admirers about him, called several to witness that he had declared his Opinion above a Week before, that the
French
King was certainly dead; to which he added, that considering the late Advices we had received from France, it was impossible that it could be otherwise. As he was laying these together, and dictating to his Hearers with great Authority, there came in a Gentleman from
Garraway's
, who told us that there were several Letters from
France
just come in, with Advice that the King was in good Health, and was gone out a Hunting the very Morning the Post came away: Upon which the Haberdasher stole off his Hat that hung upon a wooden Pegg by him, and retired to his Shop with great Confusion.
Intelligence put a Stop to my Travels, which I had prosecuted with
much
Satisfaction; not being a little pleased to hear so many different Opinions upon so great an Event, and to observe how naturally upon such a Piece of News every one is apt to consider it with a Regard to his own particular Interest and Advantage.
L.
great
| [No. 404] | Friday, June 13, 1712 | Budgell |
—Non omnia possumus omnes.
Virg.[1]
Nature does nothing in vain:
the Creator of the Universe
has appointed every thing to a certain Use and Purpose, and determin'd it to a settled Course and Sphere of Action, from which, if it in the least deviates, it becomes unfit to answer those Ends for which it was designed. In like manner it is in the Dispositions of Society, the civil Œconomy is formed in a Chain as well as the natural; and in either Case the Breach but of one Link puts the Whole into some Disorder. It is, I think, pretty plain, that most of the Absurdity and Ridicule we meet with in the World, is generally owing to the impertinent Affectation of excelling in Characters Men are not fit for, and for which Nature never designed them.
Every Man has one or more Qualities which may make him useful both to himself and others: Nature never fails of pointing them out, and while the Infant continues under her Guardianship, she brings him on in this Way; and then offers her self for a Guide in what remains of the Journey; if he proceeds in that Course, he can hardly miscarry: Nature makes good her Engagements; for as she never promises what she is not able to perform, so she never fails of performing what she promises. But the Misfortune is, Men despise what they may be Masters of, and affect what they are not fit for; they reckon themselves already possessed of what their Genius inclined them to, and so bend all their Ambition to excel in what is out of their Reach: Thus they destroy the Use of their natural Talents, in the same manner as covetous Men do their Quiet and Repose; they can enjoy no Satisfaction in what they have, because of the absurd Inclination they are possessed with for what they have not.
Cleanthes
had good Sense, a great Memory, and a Constitution capable of the closest Application: In a Word, there was no Profession in which
Cleanthes
might not have made a very good Figure; but this won't satisfie him, he takes up an unaccountable Fondness for the Character of a fine Gentleman; all his Thoughts are bent upon this: instead of attending a Dissection, frequenting the Courts of Justice, or studying the Fathers,
Cleanthes
reads Plays, dances, dresses, and spends his Time in drawing-rooms; instead of being a good Lawyer, Divine, or Physician,
Cleanthes
is a downright Coxcomb, and will remain to all that knew him a contemptible Example of Talents misapplied. It is to this Affectation the World owes its whole Race of Coxcombs: Nature in her whole Drama never drew such a Part: she has sometimes made a Fool, but a Coxcomb is always of a Man's own making, by applying his Talents otherwise than Nature designed, who ever bears an high Resentment for being put out of her Course, and never fails of taking her Revenge on those that do so. Opposing her Tendency in the Application of a Man's Parts, has the same Success as declining from her Course in the Production of Vegetables; by the Assistance of Art and an hot Bed, we may possibly extort an unwilling Plant, or an untimely Sallad; but how weak, how tasteless and insipid? Just as insipid as the Poetry of
Valerio
:
Valerio
had an universal Character, was genteel, had Learning, thought justly, spoke correctly; 'twas believed there was nothing in which
Valerio
did not excel; and 'twas so far true, that there was but one;
Valerio
had no Genius for Poetry, yet he's resolved to be a Poet; he writes Verses, and takes great Pains to convince the Town, that
Valerio
is not that extraordinary Person he was taken for.
If Men would be content to graft upon Nature, and assist her Operations, what mighty Effects might we expect?
Tully
would not stand so much alone in Oratory,
Virgil
in Poetry, or
Cæsar
in War. To build upon Nature, is laying the Foundation upon a Rock; every thing disposes its self into Order as it were of Course, and the whole Work is half done as soon as undertaken.
Cicero's
Genius inclined him to Oratory,
Virgil's
to follow the Train of the Muses; they piously obeyed the Admonition, and were rewarded. Had
Virgil
attended the Bar, his modest and ingenious Virtue would surely have made but a very indifferent Figure; and
Tully's
declamatory Inclination would have been as useless in Poetry. Nature, if left to her self, leads us on in the best Course, but will do nothing by Compulsion and Constraint; and if we are not satisfied to go her Way, we are always the greatest Sufferers by it.
Wherever Nature designs a Production, she always disposes Seeds proper for it, which are as absolutely necessary to the Formation of any moral or intellectual Excellence, as they are to the Being and Growth of Plants; and I know not by what Fate and Folly it is, that Men are taught not to reckon him equally absurd that will write Verses in Spite of Nature, with that Gardener that should undertake to raise a Jonquil or Tulip without the Help of their respective Seeds.
As there is no Good or bad Quality that does not affect both Sexes, so it is not to be imagined but the fair Sex must have suffered by an Affectation of this Nature, at least as much as the other: The ill Effect of it is in none so conspicuous as in the two opposite Characters of
Cælia
and
Iras
;
Cælia
has all the Charms of Person, together with an abundant Sweetness of Nature, but wants Wit, and has a very ill Voice;
Iras
is ugly and ungenteel, but has Wit and good Sense: If
Cælia
would be silent, her Beholders would adore her; if
Iras
would talk, her Hearers would admire her; but
Cælia's
Tongue runs incessantly, while
Iras
gives her self silent Airs and soft Languors; so that 'tis difficult to persuade one's self that
Cælia
has Beauty and
Iras
Wit: Each neglects her own Excellence, and is ambitious of the other's Character;
Iras
would be thought to have as much Beauty as
Cælia
, and
Cælia
as much Wit as
Iras
.
The great Misfortune of this Affectation is, that Men not only lose a good Quality, but also contract a bad one: They not only are unfit for what they were designed, but they assign themselves to what they are not fit for; and instead of making a very good Figure one Way, make a very ridiculous one another. If
Semanthe
would have been satisfied with her natural Complexion, she might still have been celebrated by the Name of
the Olive Beauty
; but
Semanthe
has taken up an Affectation to White and Red, and is now distinguished by the Character of
the Lady that paints so well.
In a word, could the World be reformed to the Obedience of that famed Dictate,
Follow Nature
, which the Oracle of Delphos pronounced to Cicero when he consulted what Course of Studies he should pursue, we should see almost every Man as eminent in his proper Sphere as
Tully
was in his, and should in a very short time find Impertinence and Affectation banished from among the Women, and Coxcombs and false Characters from among the Men. For my Part, I could never consider this preposterous Repugnancy to Nature any otherwise, than not only as the greatest Folly, but also one of the most heinous Crimes, since it is
a direct Opposition to the Disposition of Providence
, and (as
Tully
expresses it) like the Sin of the Giants,
an actual Rebellion against Heaven.
Z.
Continuo has leges æternaque fœdera certis
Imposuit natura locis.
Virg.
| [No. 405] | Saturday, June 14, 1712 | Addison |
I am very sorry to find, by the Opera Bills for this Day, that we are likely to lose the greatest Performer in Dramatick Musick that is now living, or that perhaps ever appeared upon a Stage. I
not acquaint my Reader, that I am speaking of
Signior Nicolini.
The Town is highly obliged to that Excellent Artist, for having shewn us the
Italian
Musick in its Perfection, as well as for that generous Approbation he lately gave to an Opera of our own Country, in which the Composer endeavoured to do Justice to the Beauty of the Words, by following that Noble Example, which has been set him by the greatest Foreign Masters in that Art.
I could heartily wish there was the same Application and Endeavours to cultivate and improve our Church-Musick, as have been lately bestowed on that of the Stage. Our Composers have one very great Incitement to it: They are sure to meet with Excellent Words, and, at the same time, a wonderful Variety of them. There is no Passion that is not finely expressed in those parts of the inspired Writings, which are proper for Divine Songs and Anthems.
There is a certain Coldness and Indifference in the Phrases of our
European
Languages, when they are compared with the
Oriental
Forms of Speech: and it happens very luckily, that the
Hebrew
Idioms run into the
English
Tongue with a particular Grace and Beauty. Our Language has received innumerable Elegancies and Improvements, from that Infusion of
Hebraisms
, which are derived to it out of the Poetical Passages in
Holy Writ
. They give a Force and Energy to our Expressions, warm and animate our Language, and convey our Thoughts in more ardent and intense Phrases, than any that are to be met with in our own Tongue. There is something so pathetick in this kind of Diction, that it often sets the Mind in a Flame, and makes our Hearts burn within us. How cold and dead does a Prayer appear, that is composed in the most Elegant and Polite Forms of Speech, which are natural to our Tongue, when it is not heightened by that Solemnity of Phrase, which may be drawn from the Sacred Writings. It has been said by some of the Ancients, that if the Gods were to talk with Men, they would certainly speak in
Plato's
Style; but I think we may say, with Justice, that when Mortals converse with their Creator, they cannot do it in so proper a Style as in that of the
Holy Scriptures.
If any one would judge of the Beauties of Poetry that are to be met with in the Divine Writings, and examine how kindly the
Hebrew
Manners of Speech mix and incorporate with the
English
Language; after having perused the
Book of Psalms,
let him read a literal Translation of
Horace
or
Pindar
. He will find in these two last such an Absurdity and Confusion of Style, with such a Comparative Poverty of Imagination, as will make him very sensible of what I have been here advancing.
Since we have therefore such a Treasury of Words, so beautiful in themselves, and so proper for the Airs of Musick, I cannot but wonder that Persons of Distinction should give so little Attention and Encouragement to that Kind of Musick, which would have its Foundation in Reason, and which would improve our Virtue in proportion as it raised our Delight. The Passions that are excited by ordinary Compositions generally flow from such silly and absurd Occasions, that a Man is ashamed to reflect upon them seriously; but the Fear, the Love, the Sorrow, the Indignation that are awakened in the Mind by Hymns and Anthems, make the Heart better, and proceed from such Causes as are altogether reasonable and praise-worthy. Pleasure and Duty go hand in hand, and the greater our Satisfaction is, the greater is our Religion.
Musick among those who were styled the chosen People was a Religious Art. The
Songs of Sion
, which we have reason to believe were in high Repute among the Courts of the
Eastern
Monarchs, were nothing else but
Psalms
and Pieces of
Poetry
that adored or celebrated the Supreme Being. The greatest Conqueror in this Holy Nation, after the manner of the old
Grecian
Lyricks, did not only compose the Words of his Divine Odes, but generally set them to Musick himself: After which, his Works, tho' they were consecrated to the
Tabernacle
, became the National Entertainment, as well as the Devotion of his People.
The first Original of the Drama was a Religious Worship consisting only of a Chorus, which was nothing else but an Hymn to a Deity. As Luxury and Voluptuousness prevailed over Innocence and Religion, this Form of Worship degenerated into Tragedies; in which however the Chorus so far remembered its first Office, as to brand every thing that was vicious, and recommend every thing that was laudable, to intercede with Heaven for the Innocent, and to implore its Vengeance on the Criminal.
Homer
and
Hesiod
intimate to us how this Art should be applied, when they represent the Muses as surrounding
Jupiter
, and warbling their Hymns about his Throne. I might shew from innumerable Passages in Ancient Writers, not only that Vocal and Instrumental Musick were made use of in their Religious Worship, but that their most favourite Diversions were filled with Songs and Hymns to their respective Deities. Had we frequent Entertainments of this Nature among us, they would not a little purifie and exalt our Passions, give our Thoughts a proper Turn, and cherish those Divine Impulses in the Soul, which every one feels that has not stifled them by sensual and immoderate Pleasures.
Musick, when thus applied, raises noble Hints in the Mind of the Hearer, and fills it with great Conceptions. It strengthens Devotion, and advances Praise into Rapture. It lengthens out every Act of Worship, and produces more lasting and permanent Impressions in the Mind, than those which accompany any transient Form of Words that are uttered in the ordinary Method of Religious Worship.
O.
See note on p. 51, vol. i [Volume 1 links:
of
]. He took leave, June 14, in the Opera of
Antiochus
.]
| [No. 406] | Monday, June 16, 1712 | Steele |
Hæc studia Adolescentiam alunt, Senectutem oblectant, secundas res ornant, adversis solatium et perfugium præbet delectant domi, non impediunt foris; Pernoctant nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur.
Tull.
The following Letters bear a pleasing Image of the Joys and Satisfactions of private Life. The first is from a Gentleman to a Friend, for whom he has a very great Respect, and to whom he communicates the Satisfaction he takes in Retirement;
other is a Letter to me, occasioned by an Ode written by my
Lapland
Lover; this Correspondent is so kind as to translate another of
Scheffer's
Songs
in a very agreeable Manner. I publish them together, that the Young and Old may find something in the same Paper which may be suitable to their respective Taste in Solitude; for I know no Fault in the Description of ardent Desires, provided they are honourable.
Dear Sir,
You have obliged me with a very kind Letter; by which I find you shift the Scene of your Life from the Town to the Country, and enjoy that mixt State which wise Men both delight in, and are qualified for. Methinks most of the Philosophers and Moralists have run too much into Extreams, in praising entirely either Solitude or publick Life; in the former Men generally grow useless by too much Rest, and in the latter are destroyed by too much Precipitation: As Waters lying still, putrifie and are good for nothing; and running violently on, do but the more Mischief in their Passage to others, and are swallowed up and lost the sooner themselves. Those who, like you, can make themselves useful to all States, should be like gentle Streams, that not only glide through lonely Vales and Forests amidst the Flocks and Shepherds, but visit populous Towns in their Course, and are at once of Ornament and Service to them. But there is another sort of People who seem designed for Solitude, those I mean who have more to hide than to shew: As for my own Part, I am one of those of whom Seneca says, Tum Umbratiles sunt, ut putent in turbido esse quicquid in luce est. Some Men, like Pictures, are fitter for a Corner than a full Light; and I believe such as have a natural Bent to Solitude, are like Waters which may be forced into Fountains, and exalted to a great Height, may make a much nobler Figure, and a much louder Noise, but after all run more smoothly, equally and plentifully, in their own natural Course upon the Ground. The Consideration of this would make me very well contented with the Possession only of that Quiet which Cowley calls the Companion of Obscurity; but whoever has the Muses too for his Companions, can never be idle enough to be uneasie. Thus, Sir, you see I would flatter my self into a good Opinion of my own Way of Living; Plutarch just now told me, that 'tis in human Life as in a Game at Tables, one may wish he had the highest Cast, but if his Chance be otherwise, he is even to play it as well as he can, and make the best of it.
I am, Sir,
Your most obliged,
and most humble Servant.
Mr. Spectator,
The Town being so well pleased with the fine Picture of artless Love, which Nature inspired the Laplander to paint in the Ode you lately printed; we were in Hopes that the ingenious Translator would have obliged it with the other also which Scheffer has given us; but since he has not, a much inferior Hand has ventured to send you this.
It is a Custom with the Northern Lovers to divert themselves with a Song, whilst they Journey through the fenny Moors to pay a visit to their Mistresses. This is addressed by the Lover to his Rain-Deer, which is the Creature that in that Country supplies the Want of Horses. The Circumstances which successively present themselves to him in his Way, are, I believe you will think, naturally interwoven. The Anxiety of Absence, the Gloominess of the Roads, and his Resolution of frequenting only those, since those only can carry him to the Object of his Desires; the Dissatisfaction he expresses even at the greatest Swiftness with which he is carried, and his joyful Surprize at an unexpected Sight of his Mistress as she is bathing, seems beautifully described in the Original.
If all those pretty Images of Rural Nature are lost in the Imitation, yet possibly you may think fit to let this supply the Place of a long Letter, when Want of Leisure or Indisposition for Writing will not permit our being entertained by your own Hand. I propose such a Time, because tho' it is natural to have a Fondness for what one does ones self, yet I assure you I would not have any thing of mine displace a single Line of yours.
I Haste, my Rain-Deer, and let us nimbly go
Our am'rous Journey through this dreery Waste;
Haste, my Rain-Deer! still still thou art too slow;
Impetuous Love demands the Lightning's Haste.II Around us far the Rushy Moors are spread:
Soon will the Sun withdraw her chearful Ray:
Darkling and tir'd we shall the Marshes tread,
No Lay unsung to cheat the tedious Way.III The wat'ry Length of these unjoyous Moors
Does all the flow'ry Meadow's Pride excel,
Through these I fly to her my Soul adores;
Ye flowery Meadows, empty Pride, Farewel.IV Each Moment from the Charmer I'm confin'd,
My Breast is tortur'd with impatient Fires;
Fly, my Rain-Deer, fly swifter than the Wind,
Thy tardy Feet wing with my fierce Desires.V Our pleasing Toil will then be soon o'erpaid,
And thou, in Wonder lost, shalt view my Fair,
Admire each Feature of the lovely Maid,
Her artless Charms, her Bloom, her sprightly Air,VI But lo! with graceful Motion there she swims,
Gently moving each ambitious Wave;
The crowding Waves transported clasp her Limbs:
When, when, oh when, shall I such Freedoms have!VII In vain, you envious Streams, so fast you flow,
To hide her from a Lover's ardent Gaze:
From ev'ry Touch you more transparent grow,
And all reveal'd the beauteous Wanton plays.
| I | Haste, my Rain-Deer, and let us nimbly go Our am'rous Journey through this dreery Waste; Haste, my Rain-Deer! still still thou art too slow; Impetuous Love demands the Lightning's Haste. |
| II | Around us far the Rushy Moors are spread: Soon will the Sun withdraw her chearful Ray: Darkling and tir'd we shall the Marshes tread, No Lay unsung to cheat the tedious Way. |
| III | The wat'ry Length of these unjoyous Moors Does all the flow'ry Meadow's Pride excel, Through these I fly to her my Soul adores; Ye flowery Meadows, empty Pride, Farewel. |
| IV | Each Moment from the Charmer I'm confin'd, My Breast is tortur'd with impatient Fires; Fly, my Rain-Deer, fly swifter than the Wind, Thy tardy Feet wing with my fierce Desires. |
| V | Our pleasing Toil will then be soon o'erpaid, And thou, in Wonder lost, shalt view my Fair, Admire each Feature of the lovely Maid, Her artless Charms, her Bloom, her sprightly Air, |
| VI | But lo! with graceful Motion there she swims, Gently moving each ambitious Wave; The crowding Waves transported clasp her Limbs: When, when, oh when, shall I such Freedoms have! |
| VII | In vain, you envious Streams, so fast you flow, To hide her from a Lover's ardent Gaze: From ev'ry Touch you more transparent grow, And all reveal'd the beauteous Wanton plays. |
T.
See
and
.
| [No. 407] | Tuesday, June 17, 1712 | Addison |
—abest facundis Gratia dictis.
Ovid.
Most Foreign Writers who have given any Character of the
English
Nation, whatever Vices they ascribe to it, allow in general, that the People are naturally
Modest
. It proceeds perhaps from this our National Virtue, that our Orators are observed to make use of less Gesture or Action than those of other Countries. Our Preachers stand stock-still in the Pulpit, and will not so much as move a Finger to set off the best Sermons in the World. We meet with the same speaking Statues at our Bars, and in all publick Places of Debate. Our Words flow from us in a smooth continued Stream, without those Strainings of the Voice, Motions of the Body, and Majesty of the Hand, which are so much celebrated in the Orators of
Greece
and
Rome
. We can talk of Life and Death in cold Blood, and keep our Temper in a Discourse which turns upon every thing that is dear to us. Though our Zeal breaks out in the finest Tropes and Figures, it is not able to stir a Limb about us. I have heard it observed more than once by those who have seen
Italy
, that an untravelled
Englishman
cannot relish all the Beauties of
Italian
Pictures, because the Postures which are expressed in them are often such as are peculiar to that Country. One who has not seen an
Italian
in the Pulpit, will not know what to make of that noble Gesture in
Raphael's
Picture of
St. Paul
preaching at
Athens
, where the
Apostle
is represented as lifting up both his Arms, and pouring out the Thunder of his Rhetorick amidst an Audience of Pagan Philosophers.
It is certain that proper Gestures and vehement Exertions of the Voice cannot be too much studied by a publick Orator. They are a kind of Comment to what he utters, and enforce every thing he says, with weak Hearers, better than the strongest Argument he can make use of. They keep the Audience awake, and fix their Attention to what is delivered to them, at the same time that they shew the Speaker is in earnest, and affected himself with what he so passionately recommends to others. Violent Gesture and Vociferation naturally shake the Hearts of the Ignorant, and fill them with a kind of Religious Horror. Nothing is more frequent than to see Women weep and tremble at the Sight of a moving Preacher, though he is placed quite out of their Hearing; as in
England
we very frequently see People lulled asleep with solid and elaborate Discourses of Piety, who would be warmed and transported out of themselves by the Bellowings and Distortions of Enthusiasm.
If Nonsense, when accompanied with such an Emotion of Voice and Body, has such an Influence on Men's Minds, what might we not expect from many of those Admirable Discourses which are printed in our Tongue, were they delivered with a becoming Fervour, and with the most agreeable Graces of Voice and Gesture?
We are told that the great
Latin
Orator very much impaired his Health by this
laterum contentio,
this Vehemence of Action, with which he used to deliver himself. The
Greek
Orator was likewise so very Famous for this Particular in Rhetorick, that one of his Antagonists, whom he had banished from
Athens
, reading over the Oration which had procured his Banishment, and seeing his Friends admire it, could not forbear asking them,
if they were so much affected by the bare reading of it, how much more they would have been alarmed, had they heard him actually throwing out such a Storm of Eloquence?
How cold and dead a Figure in Comparison of these two great Men, does an Orator often make at the
British
Bar, holding up his Head with the most insipid Serenity, and streaking the sides of a long Wigg that reaches down to his Middle? The truth of it is, there is often nothing more ridiculous than the Gestures of an
English
Speaker; you see some of them running their Hands into their Pockets as far as ever they can thrust them, and others looking with great Attention on a piece of Paper that has nothing written in it; you may see many a smart Rhetorician turning his Hat in his Hands, moulding it into several different Cocks, examining sometimes the Lining of it, and sometimes the Button, during the whole course of his Harangue. A deaf Man would think he was Cheap'ning a Beaver, when perhaps he is talking of the Fate of the
British
Nation. I remember, when I was a young Man, and used to frequent
Westminster-Hall
, there was a Counsellor who never pleaded without a Piece of Pack-thread in his Hand, which he used to twist about a Thumb, or a Finger, all the while he was speaking: The Waggs of those Days used to call it
the Thread of his Discourse
, for he was not able to utter a Word without it. One of his Clients, who was more merry than wise, stole it from him one Day in the midst of his Pleading; but he had better have let it alone, for he lost his Cause by his Jest.
I have all along acknowledged my self to be a Dumb Man, and therefore may be thought a very improper Person to give Rules for Oratory; but I believe every one will agree with me in this, that we ought either to lay aside all kinds of Gesture, (which seems to be very suitable to the Genius of our Nation) or at least to make use of such only as are graceful and expressive.
O.
| [No. 408] | Wednesday, June 18, 1712 | Pope |
Decet affectus animi neque se nimium erigere, nec subjacere serviliter.
Tull.
Mr. Spectator,
I have always been a very great Lover of your Speculations, as well in Regard to the Subject, as to your Manner of Treating it. Human Nature I always thought the most useful Object of human Reason, and to make the Consideration of it pleasant and entertaining, I always thought the best Employment of human Wit: Other Parts of Philosophy may perhaps make us wiser, but this not only answers that End, but makes us better too. Hence it was that the Oracle pronounced Socrates the wisest of all Men living, because he judiciously made Choice of human Nature for the Object of his Thoughts; an Enquiry into which as much exceeds all other Learning, as it is of more Consequence to adjust the true Nature and Measures of Right and Wrong, than to settle the Distance of the Planets, and compute the Times of their Circumvolutions.
One good Effect that will immediately arise from a near Observation of human Nature, is, that we shall cease to wonder at those Actions which Men are used to reckon wholly unaccountable; for as nothing is produced without a Cause, so by observing the Nature and Course of the Passions, we shall be able to trace every Action from its first Conception to its Death; We shall no more admire at the Proceedings of Catiline or Tiberius, when we know the one was actuated by a cruel Jealousie, the other by a furious Ambition; for the Actions of Men follow their Passions as naturally as Light does Heat, or as any other Effect flows from its Cause; Reason must be employed in adjusting the Passions, but they must ever remain the Principles of Action.
The strange and absurd Variety that is so apparent in Men's Actions, shews plainly they can never proceed immediately from Reason; so pure a Fountain emits no such troubled Waters: They must necessarily arise from the Passions, which are to the Mind as the Winds to a Ship, they only can move it, and they too often destroy it; if fair and gentle, they guide it into the Harbour; if contrary and furious, they overset it in the Waves: In the same manner is the Mind assisted or endangered by the Passions; Reason must then take the Place of Pilot, and can never fail of securing her Charge if she be not wanting to her self: The Strength of the Passions will never be accepted as an Excuse for complying with them, they were designed for Subjection, and if a Man suffers them to get the upper Hand, he then betrays the Liberty of his own Soul.
As Nature has framed the several Species of Beings as it were in a Chain, so Man seems to be placed as the middle Link between Angels and Brutes: Hence he participates both of Flesh and Spirit by an admirable Tie, which in him occasions perpetual War of Passions; and as a Man inclines to the angelick or brute Part of his Constitution, he is then denominated good or bad, virtuous or wicked; if Love, Mercy, and Good-nature prevail, they speak him of the Angel; if Hatred, Cruelty, and Envy predominate, they declare his Kindred to the Brute. Hence it was that some of the Ancients imagined, that as Men in this Life inclined more to the Angel or Brute, so after their Death they should transmigrate into the one or the other: and it would be no unpleasant Notion, to consider the several Species of Brutes, into which we may imagine that Tyrants, Misers, the Proud, Malicious, and Ill-natured might be changed.
As a Consequence of this Original, all Passions are in all Men, but all appear not in all; Constitution, Education, Custom of the Country, Reason, and the like Causes, may improve or abate the Strength of them, but still the Seeds remain, which are ever ready to sprout forth upon the least Encouragement. I have heard a Story of a good religious Man, who, having been bred with the Milk of a Goat, was very modest in Publick by a careful Reflection he made on his Actions, but he frequently had an Hour in Secret, wherein he had his Frisks and Capers; and if we had an Opportunity of examining the Retirement of the strictest Philosophers, no doubt but we should find perpetual Returns of those Passions they so artfully conceal from the Publick. I [remember] Matchiavel observes, that every State should entertain a perpetual jealousie of its Neighbours, that so it should never be unprovided when an Emergency happens[1]; in like manner should the Reason be perpetually on its Guard against the Passions, and never suffer them to carry on any Design that may be destructive of its Security; yet at the same Time it must be careful, that it don't so far break their Strength as to render them contemptible, and consequently it self unguarded.
The Understanding being of its self too slow and lazy to exert it self into Action, its necessary it should be put in Motion by the gentle Gales of the Passions, which may preserve it from stagnating and Corruption; for they are as necessary to the Health of the Mind, as the Circulation of the animal Spirits is to the Health of the Body; they keep it in Life, and Strength, and Vigour; nor is it possible for the Mind to perform its Offices without their Assistance: These Motions are given us with our Being, they are little Spirits that are born and dye with us; to some they are mild, easie, and gentle, to others wayward and unruly, yet never too strong for the Reins of Reason and the Guidance of Judgment.
We may generally observe a pretty nice Proportion between the Strength of Reason and Passion; the greatest Genius's have commonly the strongest Affections, as on the other hand, the weaker Understandings have generally the weaker Passions; and 'tis fit the Fury of the Coursers should not be too great for the Strength of the Charioteer. Young Men whose Passions are not a little unruly, give small Hopes of their ever being considerable; the Fire of Youth will of course abate, and is a Fault, if it be a Fault, that mends every Day; but surely unless a Man has Fire in Youth, he can hardly have Warmth in Old Age. We must therefore be very cautious, lest while we think to regulate the Passions, we should quite extinguish them, which is putting out the Light of the Soul: for to be without Passion, or to be hurried away with it, makes a Man equally blind. The extraordinary Severity used in most of our Schools has this fatal Effect, it breaks the Spring of the Mind, and most certainly destroys more good Genius's than it can possibly improve. And surely 'tis a mighty Mistake that the Passions should be so intirely subdued; for little Irregularities are sometimes not only to be borne with, but to be cultivated too, since they are frequently attended with the greatest Perfections. All great Geniuss have Faults mixed with their Virtues, and resemble the flaming Bush which has Thorns amongst Lights.
Since, therefore the Passions are the Principles of human Actions, we must endeavour to manage them so as to retain their Vigour, yet keep them under strict Command; we must govern them rather like free Subjects than Slaves, lest while we intend to make them obedient, they become abject, and unfit for those great Purposes to which they were designed. For my Part I must confess, I could never have any Regard to that Sect of Philosophers, who so much insisted upon an absolute Indifference and Vacancy from all Passion; for it seems to me a Thing very inconsistent for a Man to divest himself of Humanity, in order to acquire Tranquility of Mind, and to eradicate the very Principles of Action, because its possible they may produce ill Effects.
I am, Sir,
Your Affectionate Admirer,
T. B.
Z.
The Prince
, ch. xlv, at close.
| [No. 409] | Thursday, June 19, 1712 | Addison |
Musæo contingere cuncta lepore.
Lucr.
Gratian
very often recommends the
Fine Taste,
as the utmost Perfection of an accomplished Man. As this Word arises very often in Conversation, I shall endeavour to give some Account of it, and to lay down Rules how we may know whether we are possessed of it, and how we may acquire that fine Taste of Writing, which is so much talked of among the Polite World.
Most Languages make use of this Metaphor, to express that Faculty of the Mind, which distinguishes all the most concealed Faults and nicest Perfections in Writing. We may be sure this Metaphor would not have been so general in all Tongues, had there not been a very great Conformity between that Mental Taste, which is the Subject of this Paper, and that Sensitive Taste which gives us a Relish of every different Flavour that affects the Palate. Accordingly we find, there are as many Degrees of Refinement in the intellectual Faculty, as in the Sense, which is marked out by this common Denomination.
I knew a Person who possessed the one in so great a Perfection, that after having tasted ten different Kinds of Tea, he would distinguish, without seeing the Colour of it, the particular Sort which was offered him; and not only so, but any two Sorts of them that were mixt together in an equal Proportion; nay he has carried the Experiment so far, as upon tasting the Composition of three different Sorts, to name the Parcels from whence the three several Ingredients were taken. A Man of a fine Taste in Writing will discern, after the same manner, not only the general Beauties and Imperfections of an Author, but discover the several Ways of thinking and expressing himself, which diversify him from all other Authors, with the several Foreign Infusions of Thought and Language, and the particular Authors from whom they were borrowed.
After having thus far explained what is generally meant by a fine Taste in Writing, and shewn the Propriety of the Metaphor which is used on this Occasion, I think I may define it to be that Faculty of the Soul, which discerns the Beauties of an Author with Pleasure, and the Imperfections with Dislike. If a Man would know whether he is possessed of this Faculty, I would have him read over the celebrated Works of Antiquity, which have stood the Test of so many different Ages and Countries, or those Works among the Moderns which have the Sanction of the Politer Part of our Contemporaries. If upon the Perusal of such Writings he does not find himself delighted in an extraordinary Manner, or if, upon reading the admired Passages in such Authors, he finds a Coldness and Indifference in his Thoughts, he ought to conclude, not (as is too usual among tasteless Readers) that the Author wants those Perfections which have been admired in him, but that he himself wants the Faculty of discovering them.
He should, in the second Place, be very careful to observe, whether he tastes the distinguishing Perfections, or, if I may be allowed to call them so, the Specifick Qualities of the Author whom he peruses; whether he is particularly pleased with
Livy
for his Manner of telling a Story, with
Sallust
for his entering into those internal Principles of Action which arise from the Characters and Manners of the Persons he describes, or with
Tacitus
for his displaying those outward Motives of Safety and Interest, which give Birth to the whole Series of Transactions which he relates.
He may likewise consider, how differently he is affected by the same Thought, which presents it self in a great Writer, from what he is when he finds it delivered by a Person of an ordinary Genius. For there is as much Difference in apprehending a Thought cloathed in
Cicero's
Language, and that of a common Author, as in seeing an Object by the Light of a Taper, or by the Light of the Sun.
It is very difficult to lay down Rules for the Acquirement of such a Taste as that I am here speaking of. The Faculty must in some degree be born with us, and it very often happens, that those who have other Qualities in Perfection are wholly void of this. One of the most eminent Mathematicians of the Age has assured me, that the greatest Pleasure he took in reading
Virgil
, was in examining
Æneas
his Voyage by the Map; as I question not but many a Modern Compiler of History, would be delighted with little more in that Divine Author, than in the bare Matters of Fact.
But notwithstanding this Faculty must in some measure be born with us, there are several Methods for Cultivating and Improving it, and without which it will be very uncertain, and of little use to the Person that possesses it. The most natural Method for this Purpose is to be conversant among the Writings of the most Polite Authors. A Man who has any Relish for fine Writing, either discovers new Beauties, or receives stronger Impressions from the Masterly Strokes of a great Author every time he peruses him; Besides that he naturally wears himself into the same manner of Speaking and Thinking.
Conversation with Men of a Polite Genius is another Method for improving our Natural Taste. It is impossible for a Man of the greatest Parts to consider anything in its whole Extent, and in all its Variety of Lights. Every Man, besides those General Observations which are to be made upon an Author, forms several Reflections that are peculiar to his own Manner of Thinking; so that Conversation will naturally furnish us with Hints which we did not attend to, and make us enjoy other Men's Parts and Reflections as well as our own. This is the best Reason I can give for the Observation which several have made, that Men of great Genius in the same way of Writing seldom rise up singly, but at certain Periods of Time appear together, and in a Body; as they did at
Rome
in the Reign of
Augustus
, and in
Greece
about the Age of
Socrates
. I cannot think that
Corneille, Racine, Moliere, Boileau, la Fontaine, Bruyere, Bossu
, or the
Daciers
, would have written so well as they have done, had they not been Friends and Contemporaries.
It is likewise necessary for a Man who would form to himself a finished Taste of good Writing, to be well versed in the Works of the best Criticks both Ancient and Modern. I must confess that I could wish there were Authors of this kind, who beside the Mechanical Rules which a Man of very little Taste may discourse upon, would enter into the very Spirit and Soul of fine Writing, and shew us the several Sources of that Pleasure which rises in the Mind upon the Perusal of a noble Work. Thus although in Poetry it be absolutely necessary that the Unities of Time, Place and Action, with other Points of the same Nature, should be thoroughly explained and understood; there is still something more essential to the Art, something that elevates and astonishes the Fancy, and gives a Greatness of Mind to the Reader, which few of the Criticks besides
Longinus
have considered.
Our general Taste in
England
is for Epigram, Turns of Wit, and forced Conceits, which have no manner of Influence, either for the bettering or enlarging the Mind of him who reads them, and have been carefully avoided by the greatest Writers, both among the Ancients and Moderns. I have endeavoured in several of my Speculations to banish this
Gothic
Taste, which has taken Possession among us. I entertained the Town, for a Week together, with an
Essay upon Wit,
in which I endeavoured to detect several of those false Kinds which have been admired in the different Ages of the World; and at the same time to shew wherein the Nature of true Wit consists. I afterwards gave an Instance of the great Force which lyes in a natural Simplicity of Thought to affect the Mind of the Reader, from such vulgar Pieces as have little else besides this single Qualification to recommend them. I have likewise examined the Works of the greatest Poet which our Nation or perhaps any other has produced, and particularized most of those rational and manly Beauties which give a Value to that Divine Work. I shall next Saturday enter upon an Essay on the Pleasures of the Imagination, which, though it shall consider that Subject at large, will perhaps suggest to the Reader what it is that gives a Beauty to many Passages of the finest Writers both in Prose and Verse. As an Undertaking of this Nature is entirely new, I question not but it will be received with Candour.
O.
See note on p. 620, ante [
of
]. This fine taste was the
cultismo
the taste for false concepts, which Addison condemns.
| [No. 410] | Friday, June 20, 1712 | Tickell |
Dum foris sunt, nihil videtur Mundius,
Nec magis compositum quidquam, nec magis elegans:
Quæ, cum amatore suo cum coenant, Liguriunt,
Harum videre ingluviem, sordes, inopiam:
Quam inhonestæ solæ sint domi, atque avidæ cibi,
Quo pacto ex Jure Hesterno panem atrum varent.
Nosse omnia hæc, salus est adolescentulis.
Tert.
Will. Honeycomb
, who disguises his present Decay by visiting the Wenches of the Town only by Way of Humour, told us, that the last rainy Night he with Sir
Roger De Coverly
was driven into the Temple Cloister, whither had escaped also a Lady most exactly dressed from Head to Foot.
Will
, made no Scruple to acquaint us, that she saluted him very familiarly by his Name, and turning immediately to the Knight, she said, she supposed that was his good Friend, Sir
Roger De Coverly
: Upon which nothing less could follow than Sir
Roger's
Approach to Salutation, with,
Madam the same at your Service
. She was dressed in a black Tabby Mantua and Petticoat, without Ribbons; her Linnen striped Muslin, and in the whole in an agreeable Second-Mourning; decent Dresses being often affected by the Creatures of the Town, at once consulting Cheapness and the Pretensions to Modesty. She went on with a familiar easie Air.
Your Friend, Mr. Honeycomb, is a little surprized to see a Woman here alone and unattended; but I dismissed my Coach at the Gate, and tripped it down to my Council's Chambers, for Lawyer's Fees take up too much of a small disputed Joynture to admit any other Expence but meer Necessaries.
Mr.
Honeycomb
begged they might have the Honour of setting her down, for Sir
Roger's
Servant was gone to call a Coach. In the Interim the Footman returned, with no Coach to be had; and there appeared nothing to be done but trusting herself with Mr.
Honeycomb
and his Friend to wait at the Tavern at the Gate for a Coach, or to be subjected to all the Impertinence she must meet with in that publick Place. Mr.
Honeycomb
being a Man of Honour determined the Choice of the first, and Sir
Roger
, as the better Man, took the Lady by the Hand, leading through all the Shower, covering her with his Hat, and gallanting a familiar Acquaintance through Rows of young Fellows, who winked at Sukey in the State she marched off,
Will. Honeycomb
bringing up the Rear.
Much Importunity prevailed upon the Fair one to admit of a Collation, where, after declaring she had no Stomach, and eaten a Couple of Chickens, devoured a Trusse of Sallet, and drunk a full Bottle to her Share, she sung
the Old Man's Wish
to Sir
Roger
. The Knight left the Room for some Time after Supper, and writ the following Billet, which he conveyed to Sukey, and Sukey to her Friend
Will. Honeycomb. Will
. has given it to Sir
Andrew Freeport
, who read it last Night to the Club.
Madam,
I am not so meer a Country-Gentleman, but I can guess at the Law-Business you had at the Temple. If you would go down to the Country and leave off all your Vanities but your Singing, let me know at my Lodgings in Bow-street Covent-Garden, and you shall be encouraged by
Your humble Servant, Roger De Coverly.
My good Friend could not well stand the Raillery which was rising upon him; but to put a Stop to it I deliverd
Will. Honeycomb
the following Letter, and desired him to read it to the Board.
Mr. Spectator,
Having seen a Translation of one of the Chapters in the Canticles into English Verse inserted among your late Papers, I have ventured to send you the 7th Chapter of the Proverbs in a poetical Dress. If you think it worthy appearing among your Speculations, it will be a sufficient Reward for the Trouble of
Your constant Reader,
A. B.
My Son, th' Instruction that my Words impart,
Grave on the Living Tablet of thy Heart;
And all the wholesome Precepts that I give,
Observe with strictest Reverence, and live.
Let all thy Homage be to Wisdom paid,
Seek her Protection and implore her Aid;
That she may keep thy Soul from Harm secure,
And turn thy Footsteps from the Harlot's Door,
Who with curs'd Charms lures the Unwary in,
And sooths with Flattery their Souls to Sin.
Once from my Window as I cast mine Eye
On those that pass'd in giddy Numbers by,
A Youth among the foolish Youths I spy'd,
Who took not sacred Wisdom for his Guide.
Just as the Sun withdrew his cooler Light,
And Evening soft led on the Shades of Night,
He stole in covert Twilight to his Fate,
And pass'd the Corner near the Harlot's Gate
When, lo, a Woman comes!—
Loose her Attire, and such her glaring Dress,
As aptly did the Harlot's Mind express:
Subtle she is, and practisd in the Arts,
By which the Wanton conquer heedless Hearts:
Stubborn and loud she is; she hates her Home,
Varying her Place and Form; she loves to roam;
Now she's within, now in the Street does stray;
Now at each Corner stands, and waits her Prey.
The Youth she seiz'd; and laying now aside
All Modesty, the Female's justest Pride,
She said, with an Embrace, Here at my House
Peace-offerings are, this Day I paid my Vows.
I therefore came abroad to meet my Dear,
And, Lo, in Happy Hour I find thee here.
My Chamber I've adornd, and o'er my Bed
Are cov'rings of the richest Tapstry spread,
With Linnen it is deck'd from Egypt brought,
And Carvings by the Curious Artist wrought,
It wants no Glad Perfume Arabia yields
In all her Citron Groves, and spicy Fields;
Here all her store of richest Odours meets,
Ill lay thee in a Wilderness of Sweets.
Whatever to the Sense can grateful be
I have collected there—I want but Thee.
My Husband's gone a Journey far away, }
Much Gold he took abroad, and long will stay, }
He nam'd for his return a distant Day. }
Upon her Tongue did such smooth Mischief dwell,
And from her Lips such welcome Flatt'ry fell,
Th' unguarded Youth, in Silken Fetters ty'd,
Resign'd his Reason, and with Ease comply'd.
Thus does the Ox to his own Slaughter go,
And thus is senseless of th' impending Blow.
Thus flies the simple Bird into the Snare,
That skilful Fowlers for his Life prepare.
But let my Sons attend, Attend may they
Whom Youthful Vigour may to Sin betray;
Let them false Charmers fly, and guard their Hearts
Against the wily Wanton's pleasing Arts,
With Care direct their Steps, nor turn astray,
To tread the Paths of her deceitful Way;
Lest they too late of Her fell Power complain,
And fall, where many mightier have been Slain.
T.
| [No. 411] | Saturday, June 21, 1712 | Addison |
Avia Pieridum peragro loca, nullius ante
Trita solo; juvat integros accedere fonteis;
Atque haurire:—
Lucr.
Our Sight is the most perfect and most delightful of all our Senses. It fills the Mind with the largest Variety of Ideas, converses with its Objects at the greatest Distance, and continues the longest in Action without being tired or satiated with its proper Enjoyments. The Sense of Feeling can indeed give us a Notion of Extension, Shape, and all other Ideas that enter at the Eye, except Colours; but at the same time it is very much streightned and confined in its Operations, to the number, bulk, and distance of its particular Objects. Our Sight seems designed to supply all these Defects, and may be considered as a more delicate and diffusive kind of Touch, that spreads it self over an infinite Multitude of Bodies, comprehends the largest Figures, and brings into our reach some of the most remote Parts of the Universe.
It is this Sense which furnishes the Imagination with its Ideas; so that by the Pleasures of the Imagination or Fancy (which I shall use promiscuously) I here mean such as arise from visible Objects, either when we have them actually in our View, or when we call up their Ideas in our Minds by Paintings, Statues, Descriptions, or any the like Occasion. We cannot indeed have a single Image in the Fancy that did not make its first Entrance through the Sight; but we have the Power of retaining, altering and compounding those Images, which we have once received, into all the varieties of Picture and Vision that are most agreeable to the Imagination; for by this Faculty a Man in a Dungeon is capable of entertaining himself with Scenes and Landskips more beautiful than any that can be found in the whole Compass of Nature.
There are few Words in the English Language which are employed in a more loose and uncircumscribed Sense than those of the Fancy and the Imagination. I therefore thought it necessary to fix and determine the Notion of these two Words, as I intend to make use of them in the Thread of my following Speculations, that the Reader may conceive rightly what is the Subject which I proceed upon. I must therefore desire him to remember, that by the Pleasures of the Imagination, I mean only such Pleasures as arise originally from Sight, and that I divide these Pleasures into two Kinds: My Design being first of all to Discourse of those Primary Pleasures of the Imagination,
entirely proceed from such Objects as are
before our
Eye
s
; and in the next place to speak of those Secondary Pleasures of the Imagination which flow from the Ideas of visible Objects, when the Objects are not actually before the Eye, but are called up into our Memories, or formed into agreeable Visions of Things that are either Absent or Fictitious.
The Pleasures of the Imagination, taken in the full Extent, are not so gross as those of Sense, nor so refined as those of the Understanding. The last are, indeed, more preferable, because they are founded on some new Knowledge or Improvement in the Mind of Man; yet it must be confest, that those of the Imagination are as great and as transporting as the other. A beautiful Prospect delights the Soul, as much as a Demonstration; and a Description in
Homer
has charmed more Readers than a Chapter in
Aristotle
. Besides, the Pleasures of the Imagination have this Advantage, above those of the Understanding, that they are more obvious, and more easie to be acquired. It is but opening the Eye, and the Scene enters. The Colours paint themselves on the Fancy, with very little Attention of Thought or Application of Mind in the Beholder. We are struck, we know not how, with the Symmetry of any thing we see, and immediately assent to the Beauty of an Object, without enquiring into the particular Causes and Occasions of it.
A Man of a Polite Imagination is let into a great many Pleasures, that the Vulgar are not capable of receiving. He can converse with a Picture, and find an agreeable Companion in a Statue. He meets with a secret Refreshment in a Description, and often feels a greater Satisfaction in the Prospect of Fields and Meadows, than another does in the Possession. It gives him, indeed, a kind of Property in every thing he sees, and makes the most rude uncultivated Parts of Nature administer to his Pleasures: So that he looks upon the World, as it were in another Light, and discovers in it a Multitude of Charms, that conceal themselves from the generality of Mankind.
There are, indeed, but very few who know how to be idle and innocent, or have a Relish of any Pleasures that are not Criminal; every Diversion they take is at the Expence of some one Virtue or another, and their very first Step out of Business is into Vice or Folly. A Man should endeavour, therefore, to make the Sphere of his innocent Pleasures as wide as possible, that he may retire into them with Safety, and find in them such a Satisfaction as a wise Man would not blush to take. Of this Nature are those of the Imagination, which do not require such a Bent of Thought as is necessary to our more serious Employments, nor, at the same time, suffer the Mind to sink into that Negligence and Remissness, which are apt to accompany our more sensual Delights, but, like a gentle Exercise to the Faculties, awaken them from Sloth and Idleness, without putting them upon any Labour or Difficulty.
We might here add, that the Pleasures of the Fancy are more conducive to Health, than those of the Understanding, which are worked out by Dint of Thinking, and attended with too violent a Labour of the Brain. Delightful Scenes, whether in Nature, Painting, or Poetry, have a kindly Influence on the Body, as well as the Mind, and not only serve to clear and brighten the Imagination, but are able to disperse Grief and Melancholy, and to set the Animal Spirits in pleasing and agreeable Motions. For this Reason
Sir Francis Bacon
, in his
Essay upon Health
, has not thought it improper to prescribe to his Reader a Poem or a Prospect, where he particularly dissuades him from knotty and subtile Disquisitions, and advises him to pursue Studies that fill the Mind with splendid and illustrious Objects, as Histories, Fables, and Contemplations of Nature.
I have in this Paper, by way of Introduction, settled the Notion of those Pleasures of the Imagination which are the Subject of my present Undertaking, and endeavoured, by several Considerations, to recommend to my Reader the Pursuit of those Pleasures. I
, in my next Paper, examine the several Sources from whence these Pleasures are derived
.
O.
present to the
From a MS. Note-book of Addison's, met with in 1858, Mr. J. Dykes Campbell printed at Glasgow, in 1864, 250 copies of some portions of the first draught of these papers on Imagination with the
Essay on Jealousy
([Volume 1 link:
]) and that on Fame (
). The MS. was an old calf bound 8vo volume obtained from a dealer. There were about 31 pages written on one side of each leaf in a beautiful print-like hand, which contained the Essays in their first state. Passages were added by Addison in his ordinary handwriting upon the blank pages opposite to this carefully-written text, and there are pieces in a third hand-writing which neither the keeper of the MSS. Department of the British Museum nor the Librarian of the Bodleian could identify. The insertions in this third hand form part of the paper as finally published. Thus in the paper on Jealousy ([Volume 1 link:
]) it wrote the English verse translation added to the quotation from Horace's
Ode
I. xiii. The MS. shows with how much care Addison revised and corrected the first draught of his papers, especially where, as in the series of eleven upon
Imagination
here commenced, he meant to put out all his strength. In Blair's
Rhetoric
four Lectures (20-23) are given to a critical
Examination of the Style of Mr. Addison
in Nos.
,
,
, and
of the
Spectator
. Akenside's poem on the
Pleasures of the Imagination
, published in 1744, when he was 23 years old, was suggested by these papers. Many disquisitions upon Taste were written towards the close of the last century. They formed a new province in literature, of which Addison here appears as the founder and first lawgiver.
| [No. 412] | Monday, June 23, 1712 | Addison |
—Divisum sic breve fiet Opus.
Mart.
I shall first consider those Pleasures of the Imagination, which arise from the actual View and Survey of outward Objects: And these, I think, all proceed from the Sight of what is Great, Uncommon, or Beautiful. There may, indeed, be something so terrible or offensive, that the Horror or Loathsomeness of an Object may over-bear the Pleasure which results from its Greatness, Novelty, or Beauty; but still there will be such a Mixture of Delight in the very Disgust it gives us, as any of these three Qualifications are most conspicuous and prevailing.
By Greatness, I do not only mean the Bulk of any single Object, but the Largeness of a whole View, considered as one entire Piece. Such are the Prospects of an open Champain Country, a vast uncultivated Desart, of huge Heaps of Mountains, high Rocks and Precipices, or a wide Expanse of Waters, where we are not struck with the Novelty or Beauty of the Sight, but with that rude kind of Magnificence which appears in many of these stupendous Works of Nature. Our Imagination loves to be filled with an Object, or to grasp at any thing that is too big for its Capacity. We are flung into a pleasing Astonishment at such unbounded Views, and feel a delightful Stillness and Amazement in the Soul at the Apprehension of them. The Mind of Man naturally hates every thing that looks like a Restraint upon it, and is apt to fancy it self under a sort of Confinement, when the Sight is pent up in a narrow Compass, and shortned on every side by the Neighbourhood of Walls or Mountains. On the contrary, a spacious Horizon is an Image of Liberty, where the Eye has Room to range abroad, to expatiate at large on the Immensity of its Views, and to lose it self amidst the Variety of Objects that offer themselves to its Observation. Such wide and undetermined Prospects are as pleasing to the Fancy, as the Speculations of Eternity or Infinitude are to the Understanding. But if there be a Beauty or Uncommonness joined with this Grandeur, as in a troubled Ocean, a Heaven adorned with Stars and Meteors, or a spacious Landskip cut out into Rivers, Woods, Rocks, and Meadows, the Pleasure still grows upon us, as it rises from more than a single Principle.
Every thing that is new or uncommon raises a Pleasure in the Imagination, because it fills the Soul with an agreeable Surprize, gratifies its Curiosity, and gives it an Idea of which it was not before possest. We are indeed so often conversant with one Set of Objects, and tired out with so many repeated Shows of the same Things, that whatever is new or uncommon contributes a little to vary human Life, and to divert our Minds, for a while, with the Strangeness of its Appearance: It serves us for a kind of Refreshment, and takes off from that Satiety we are apt to complain of in our usual and ordinary Entertainments. It is this that bestows Charms on a Monster,
makes even the Imperfections of Nature
please
us. It is this that recommends Variety, where the Mind is every Instant called off to something new, and the Attention not suffered to dwell too long, and waste it self on any particular Object. It is this, likewise, that improves what is great or beautiful, and make it afford the Mind a double Entertainment. Groves, Fields, and Meadows, are at any Season of the Year pleasant to look upon, but never so much as in the Opening of the Spring, when they are all new and fresh, with their first Gloss upon them, and not yet too much accustomed and familiar to the Eye. For this Reason there is nothing that more enlivens a Prospect than Rivers, Jetteaus, or Falls of Water, where the Scene is perpetually shifting, and entertaining the Sight every Moment with something that is new. We are quickly tired with looking upon Hills and Vallies, where every thing continues fixed and settled in the same Place and Posture, but find our Thoughts a little agitated and relieved at the Sight of such Objects as are ever in Motion, and sliding away from beneath the Eye of the Beholder.
But there is nothing that makes its Way more directly to the Soul than Beauty, which immediately diffuses a secret Satisfaction and Complacency through the Imagination, and gives a Finishing to any thing that is Great or Uncommon. The very first Discovery of it strikes the Mind with an inward Joy, and spreads a Chearfulness and Delight through all its Faculties. There is not perhaps any real Beauty or Deformity more in one Piece of Matter than another, because we might have been so made, that whatsoever now appears loathsome to us, might have shewn it self agreeable; but we find by Experience, that there are several Modifications of Matter which the Mind, without any previous Consideration, pronounces at first sight Beautiful or Deformed. Thus we see that every different Species of sensible Creatures has its different Notions of Beauty, and that each of them is most affected with the Beauties of its own Kind. This is no where more remarkable than in Birds of the same Shape and Proportion, where we often see the Male determined in his Courtship by the single Grain or Tincture of a Feather, and never discovering any Charms but in the Colour of its Species.
Scit thalamo servare fidem, sanctasque veretur
Connubii leges, non illum in pectore candor
Sollicitat niveus; neque pravum accendit amorem
Splendida Lanugo, vel honesta in vertice crista,
Purpureusve nitor pennarum; ast agmina latè
Fœminea explorat cautus, maculasque requirit
Cognatas, paribusque interlita corpora guttis:
Ni faceret, pictis sylvam circum undique monstris
Confusam aspiceres vulgò, partusque biformes,
Et genus ambiguum, et Veneris monumenta nefandæ.
Hinc merula in nigro se oblectat nigra marito,
Hinc socium lasciva petit Philomela canorum,
Agnoscitque pares sonitus, hinc Noctua tetram
Canitiem alarum, et glaucos miratur ocellos.
Nempe sibi semper constat, crescitque quotannis
Lucida progenies, castos confessa parentes;
Dum virides inter saltus lucosque sonoros
Vere novo exultat, plumasque decora Juventus
Explicat ad solem, patriisque coloribus ardet[2]
There is a second Kind of Beauty that we find in the several Products of Art and Nature, which does not work in the Imagination with that Warmth and Violence as the Beauty that appears in our proper Species, but is apt however to raise in us a secret Delight, and a kind of Fondness for the Places or Objects in which we discover it. This consists either in the Gaiety or Variety of Colours, in the Symmetry and Proportion of Parts, in the Arrangement and Disposition of Bodies, or in a just Mixture and Concurrence of all together. Among these several Kinds of Beauty the Eye takes most Delight in Colours. We no where meet with a more glorious or pleasing Show in Nature than what appears in the Heavens at the rising and setting of the Sun, which is wholly made up of those different Stains of Light that shew themselves in Clouds of a different Situation. For this Reason we find the Poets, who are always addressing themselves to the Imagination, borrowing more of their Epithets from Colours than from any other Topic. As the Fancy delights in every thing that is Great, Strange, or Beautiful, and is still more pleased the more it finds of these Perfections in the same Object, so is it capable of receiving a new Satisfaction by the Assistance of another Sense. Thus any continued Sound, as the Musick of Birds, or a Fall of Water, awakens every moment the Mind of the Beholder, and makes him more attentive to the several Beauties of the Place that lye before him. Thus if there arises a Fragrancy of Smells or Perfumes, they heighten the Pleasures of the Imagination, and make even the Colours and Verdure of the Landskip appear more agreeable; for the Ideas of both Senses recommend each other, and are pleasanter together than when they enter the Mind separately: As the different Colours of a Picture, when they are well disposed, set off one another, and receive an additional Beauty from the Advantage of their Situation.
O.
to please
Addison's MS. described in the
to
shows, by corrections in his handwriting of four or five lines in this piece of Latin verse, that he was himself its author. Thus in the last line he had begun with
Scintillat solitis
, altered that to
Ostentat solitas
, struck out that also, and written, as above,
Explicat ad solem.
| [No. 413] | Tuesday, June 24, 1712 | Addison |
—Causa latet, vis est notissima—
Ovid.
Though in Yesterday's Paper we considered how every thing that is Great, New, or Beautiful, is apt to affect the Imagination with Pleasure, we must own that it is impossible for us to assign the necessary Cause of this Pleasure, because we know neither the Nature of an Idea, nor the Substance of a Human Soul, which might help us to discover the Conformity or Disagreeableness of the one to the other; and therefore, for want of such a Light, all that we can do in Speculations of this kind is to reflect on those Operations of the Soul that are most agreeable, and to range under their proper Heads, what is pleasing or displeasing to the Mind, without being able to trace out the several necessary and efficient Causes from whence the Pleasure or Displeasure arises.
Final Causes lye more bare and open to our Observation, as there are often a great Variety that belong to the same Effect; and these, tho' they are not altogether so satisfactory, are generally more useful than the other, as they give us greater Occasion of admiring the Goodness and Wisdom of the first Contriver.
One of the Final Causes of our Delight, in any thing that is great, may be this. The Supreme Author of our Being has so formed the Soul of Man, that nothing but himself can be its last, adequate, and proper Happiness. Because, therefore, a great Part of our Happiness must arise from the Contemplation of his Being, that he might give our Souls a just Relish of such a Contemplation, he has made them naturally delight in the Apprehension of what is Great or Unlimited. Our Admiration, which is a very pleasing Motion of the Mind, immediately rises at the Consideration of any Object that takes up a great deal of Room in the Fancy, and by Consequence, will improve into the highest Pitch of Astonishment and Devotion when we contemplate his Nature, that is neither circumscribed by Time nor Place, nor to be comprehended by the largest Capacity of a Created Being.
He has annexed a secret Pleasure to the Idea of any thing that is new or uncommon, that he might encourage us in the Pursuit after Knowledge, and engage us to search into the Wonders of his Creation; for every new Idea brings such a Pleasure along with it, as rewards any Pains we have taken in its Acquisition, and consequently serves as a Motive to put us upon fresh Discoveries.
He has made every thing that is beautiful in our own Species pleasant, that all Creatures might be tempted to multiply their Kind, and fill the World with Inhabitants; for 'tis very remarkable that where-ever Nature is crost in the Production of a Monster (the Result of any unnatural Mixture) the Breed is incapable of propagating its Likeness, and of founding a new Order of Creatures; so that unless all Animals were allured by the Beauty of their own Species, Generation would be at an End, and the Earth unpeopled.
In the last Place, he has made every thing that is beautiful in all other Objects pleasant, or rather has made so many Objects appear beautiful, that he might render the whole Creation more gay and delightful. He has given almost every thing about us the Power of raising an agreeable Idea in the Imagination: So that it is impossible for us to behold his Works with Coldness or Indifference, and to survey so many Beauties without a secret Satisfaction and Complacency. Things would make but a poor Appearance to the Eye, if we saw them only in their proper Figures and Motions: And what Reason can we assign for their exciting in us many of those Ideas which are different from any thing that exists in the Objects themselves, (for such are Light and Colours) were it not to add Supernumerary Ornaments to the Universe, and make it more agreeable to the Imagination? We are every where entertained with pleasing Shows and Apparitions, we discover Imaginary Glories in the Heavens, and in the Earth, and see some of this Visionary Beauty poured out upon the whole Creation; but what a rough unsightly Sketch of Nature should we be entertained with, did all her Colouring disappear, and the several Distinctions of Light and Shade vanish? In short, our Souls are at present delightfully lost and bewildered in a pleasing Delusion, and we walk about like the enchanted Hero of a Romance, who sees beautiful Castles, Woods and Meadows; and at the same time hears the warbling of Birds, and the purling of Streams; but upon the finishing of some secret Spell, the fantastick Scene breaks up, and the disconsolate Knight finds himself on a barren Heath, or in a solitary Desart. It is not improbable that something like this may be the State of the Soul after its first Separation, in respect of the Images it will receive from Matter; tho indeed the Ideas of Colours are so pleasing and beautiful in the Imagination, that it is possible the Soul will not be deprived of them, but perhaps find them excited by some other Occasional Cause, as they are at present by the different Impressions of the subtle Matter on the Organ of Sight.
I have here supposed that my Reader is acquainted with that great Modern Discovery, which is at present universally acknowledged by all the Enquirers into Natural Philosophy: Namely, that Light and Colours, as apprehended by the Imagination, are only Ideas in the Mind, and not Qualities that have any Existence in Matter. As this is a Truth which has been proved incontestably by many Modern Philosophers, and is indeed one of the finest Speculations in that Science, if the English Reader would see the Notion explained at large, he may find it in the Eighth Chapter of the second Book of Mr.
Lock's Essay on Human Understanding
.
O.
[To Addison's short paper there was added in number 413 of the Spectator the following letter, which was not included in the reprint into volumes:
June 24, 1712.
Mr. Spectator,
I would not divert the Course of your Discourses, when you seem bent upon obliging the World with a train of Thinking, which, rightly attended to, may render the Life of every Man who reads it, more easy and happy for the future. The Pleasures of the Imagination are what bewilder Life, when Reason and Judgment do not interpose; It is therefore a worthy Action in you to look carefully into the Powers of Fancy, that other Men, from the Knowledge of them, may improve their Joys and allay their Griefs, by a just use of that Faculty: I say, Sir, I would not interrupt you in the progress of this Discourse; but if you will do me the Favour of inserting this Letter in your next Paper, you will do some Service to the Public, though not in so noble a way of Obliging, as that of improving their Minds. Allow me, Sir, to acquaint you with a Design (of which I am partly Author), though it tends to no greater a Good than that of getting Money. I should not hope for the Favour of a Philosopher in this Matter, if it were not attempted under all the Restrictions which you Sages put upon private Acquisitions.
The first Purpose which every good Man is to propose to himself, is the Service of his Prince and Country; after that is done, he cannot add to himself, but he must also be beneficial to them. This Scheme of Gain is not only consistent with that End, but has its very Being in Subordination to it; for no Man can be a Gainer here but at the same time he himself, or some other, must succeed in their Dealings with the Government. It is called the Multiplication Table, and is so far calculated for the immediate Service of Her Majesty, that the same Person who is fortunate in the Lottery of the State, may receive yet further Advantage in this Table. And I am sure nothing can be more pleasing to Her gracious Temper than to find out additional Methods of increasing their good Fortune who adventure anything in Her Service, or laying Occasions for others to become capable of serving their Country who are at present in too low Circumstances to exert themselves. The manner of executing the Design is, by giving out Receipts for half Guineas received, which shall entitle the fortunate Bearer to certain Sums in the Table, as is set forth at large in the Proposals Printed the 23rd instant. There is another Circumstance in this Design, which gives me hopes of your Favour to it, and that is what Tully advises, to wit, that the Benefit is made as diffusive as possible. Every one that has half a Guinea is put into a possibility, from that small Sum, to raise himself an easy Fortune; when these little parcels of Wealth are, as it were, thus thrown back again into the Redonation of Providence, we are to expect that some who live under Hardship or Obscurity, may be produced to the World in the Figure they deserve by this means. I doubt not but this last Argument will have Force with you, and I cannot add another to it, but what your Severity will, I fear, very little regard; which is, that
I am, Sir, Your greatest Admirer,
Richard Steele.
| [No. 414] | Wednesday, June 25, 1712 | Addison |
—Alterius sic
Altera poscit opem res et conjurat amicè.
Hor.
If we consider the Works of Nature and Art, as they are qualified to entertain the Imagination, we shall find the last very defective, in Comparison of the former; for though they may sometimes appear as Beautiful or Strange, they can have nothing in them of that Vastness and Immensity, which afford so great an Entertainment to the Mind of the Beholder. The one may be as Polite and Delicate as the other, but can never shew her self so August and Magnificent in the Design. There is something more bold and masterly in the rough careless Strokes of Nature, than in the nice Touches and Embellishments of Art. The Beauties of the most stately Garden or Palace lie in a narrow Compass, the Imagination immediately runs them over, and requires something else to gratifie her; but, in the wide Fields of Nature, the Sight wanders up and down without Confinement, and is fed with an infinite variety of Images, without any certain Stint or Number. For this Reason we always find the Poet in Love with a Country-Life, where Nature appears in the greatest Perfection, and furnishes out all those Scenes that are most apt to delight the Imagination.
Scriptorum chorus omnis amat nemus et fugit Urbes.
Hor.
Hic Secura quies, et nescia fallere vita,
Dives opum variarum; hic latis otia fundis,
Speluncæ, vivique lacus, hic frigida Tempe,
Mugitusque boum, mollesque sub arbore somni.br>
Virg.
But tho' there are several of these wild Scenes, that are more delightful than any artificial Shows; yet we find the Works of Nature still more pleasant, the more they resemble those of Art: For in this case our Pleasure rises from a double Principle; from the Agreeableness of the Objects to the Eye, and from their Similitude to other Objects: We are pleased as well with comparing their Beauties, as with surveying them, and can represent them to our Minds, either as Copies or Originals. Hence it is that we take Delight in a Prospect which is well laid out, and diversified with Fields and Meadows, Woods and Rivers; in those accidental Landskips of Trees, Clouds and Cities, that are sometimes found in the Veins of Marble; in the curious Fret-work of Rocks and Grottos; and, in a Word, in any thing that hath such a Variety or Regularity as may seem the Effect of Design, in what we call the Works of Chance.
If the Products of Nature rise in Value, according as they more or less resemble those of Art, we may be sure that artificial Works receive a greater Advantage from their Resemblance of such as are natural; because here the Similitude is not only pleasant, but the Pattern more perfect. The prettiest Landskip I ever saw, was one drawn on the Walls of a dark Room, which stood opposite on one side to a navigable River, and on the other to a Park. The Experiment is very common in Opticks. Here you might discover the Waves and Fluctuations of the Water in strong and proper Colours, with the Picture of a Ship entering at one end, and sailing by Degrees through the whole Piece. On another there appeared the Green Shadows of Trees, waving to and fro with the Wind, and Herds of Deer among them in Miniature, leaping about upon the Wall. I must confess, the Novelty of such a Sight may be one occasion of its Pleasantness to the Imagination, but certainly the chief Reason is its near Resemblance to Nature, as it does not only, like other Pictures, give the Colour and Figure, but the Motion of the Things it represents.
We have before observed, that there is generally in Nature something more Grand and August, than what we meet with in the Curiosities of Art. When therefore, we see this imitated in any measure, it gives us a nobler and more exalted kind of Pleasure than what we receive from the nicer and more accurate Productions of Art. On this Account our
English
Gardens are not so entertaining to the Fancy as those in
France
and
Italy
, where we see a large Extent of Ground covered over with an agreeable mixture of Garden and Forest, which represent every where an artificial Rudeness, much more charming than that Neatness and Elegancy which we meet with in those of our own Country. It might, indeed, be of ill Consequence to the Publick, as well as unprofitable to private Persons, to alienate so much Ground from Pasturage, and the Plow, in many Parts of a Country that is so well peopled, and cultivated to a far greater Advantage. But why may not a whole Estate be thrown into a kind of Garden by frequent Plantations, that may turn as much to the Profit, as the Pleasure of the Owner? A Marsh overgrown with Willows, or a Mountain shaded with Oaks, are not only more beautiful, but more beneficial, than when they lie bare and unadorned. Fields of Corn make a pleasant Prospect, and if the Walks were a little taken care of that lie between them, if the natural Embroidery of the Meadows were helpt and improved by some small Additions of Art, and the several Rows of Hedges set off by Trees and Flowers, that the Soil was capable of receiving, a Man might make a pretty Landskip of his own Possessions.
Writers who have given us an Account of
China
, tell us the Inhabitants of that Country laugh at the Plantations of our
Europeans
, which are laid out by the Rule and Line; because, they say, any one may place Trees in equal Rows and uniform Figures. They chuse rather to shew a Genius in Works of this Nature, and therefore always conceal the Art by which they direct themselves. They have a Word, it seems, in their Language, by which they express the particular Beauty of a Plantation that thus strikes the Imagination at first Sight, without discovering what it is that has so agreeable an Effect. Our
British
Gardeners, on the contrary, instead of humouring Nature, love to deviate from it as much as possible. Our Trees rise in Cones, Globes, and Pyramids. We see the Marks of the Scissars upon every Plant and Bush. I do not know whether I am singular in my Opinion, but, for my own part, I would rather look upon a Tree in all its Luxuriancy and Diffusion of Boughs and Branches, than when it is thus cut and trimmed into a Mathematical Figure; and
but fancy that an Orchard in Flower looks infinitely more delightful, than all the little Labyrinths of the
more
finished Parterre. But as our great Modellers of Gardens have their Magazines of Plants to dispose of, it is very natural for them to tear up all the beautiful Plantations of Fruit Trees, and contrive a Plan that may most turn to their own Profit, in taking off their Evergreens, and the like Moveable Plants, with which their Shops are plentifully stocked.
O.
most
| [No. 415] | Thursday, June 26, 1712 | Addison |
Adde tot egregias urbes, operumque laborem.
Virg.
Having already shewn how the Fancy is affected by the Works of Nature, and afterwards considered in general both the Works of Nature and of Art, how they mutually assist and compleat each other, in forming such Scenes and Prospects as are most apt to delight the Mind of the Beholder, I shall in this Paper throw together some Reflections on that Particular Art, which has a more immediate Tendency, than any other, to produce those Primary Pleasures of the Imagination, which have hitherto been the Subject of this Discourse. The Art I mean is that of Architecture, which I shall consider only with regard to the Light in which the foregoing Speculations have placed it, without entring into those Rules and Maxims which the great Masters of Architecture have laid down, and explained at large in numberless Treatises upon that Subject.
Greatness, in the Works of Architecture, may be considered as relating to the Bulk and Body of the Structure, or to the Manner in which it is built. As for the first, we find the Ancients, especially among the
Eastern
Nations of the World, infinitely superior to the Moderns.
Not to mention the
Tower of Babel,
of which an old Author says, there were the Foundations to be seen in his time, which looked like a spacious Mountain; what could be more noble than the
Walls of Babylon
, its
hanging Gardens,
and its
Temple to Jupiter Belus
, that rose a Mile high by Eight several Stories, each Story a Furlong in Height, and on the Top of which was the
Babylonian Observatory;
I might here, likewise, take Notice of the huge Rock that was cut into the Figure of
Semiramis
, with the smaller Rocks that lay by it in the Shape of Tributary Kings; the prodigious Basin, or artificial Lake, which took in the whole
Euphrates
, till such time as a new Canal was formed for its Reception, with the several Trenches through which that River was conveyed. I know there
persons who look upon some of these Wonders of Art as Fabulous, but I cannot find any
Grand
for such a Suspicion, unless it be that we have no such Works among us at present. There were indeed many greater Advantages for Building in those Times, and in that Part of the World, than have been met with ever since. The Earth was extremely fruitful, Men lived generally on Pasturage, which requires a much smaller number of Hands than Agriculture: There were few Trades to employ the busie Part of Mankind, and fewer Arts and Sciences to give Work to Men of Speculative Tempers; and what is more than all the rest, the Prince was absolute; so that when he went to War, he put himself at the Head of a whole People:
we find
Semiramis
leading her
three
Millions to the Field, and yet over-powered by the Number of her Enemies. 'Tis no wonder, therefore, when she was at Peace, and turned her Thoughts on Building, that she could accomplish so great Works, with such a prodigious Multitude of Labourers: Besides that, in her Climate, there was small Interruption of Frosts and Winters, which make the
Northern
Workmen lie half the Year Idle. I might mention too, among the Benefits of the Climate, what Historians say of the Earth, that it sweated out a
Bitumen
or natural kind of Mortar, which is doubtless the same with that mentioned in
Holy Writ
, as contributing to the Structure of
Babel
. Slime they used instead of Mortar.
In
Egypt
we still see their
Pyramids
, which answer to the Descriptions that have been made of them; and I question not but a traveller might find out some Remains of the
Labyrinth
that covered a whole Province, and had a hundred Temples disposed among its several Quarters and Divisions.
The
Wall of China
is one of these
Eastern
Pieces of Magnificence, which makes a Figure even in the Map of the World, altho an Account of it would have been thought Fabulous, were not the Wall it self still extant.
We are obliged to Devotion for the noblest Buildings that have adornd the several Countries of the World. It is this which has set Men at work on Temples and Publick Places of Worship, not only that they might, by the Magnificence of the Building, invite the Deity to reside within it, but that such stupendous Works might, at the same time, open the Mind to vast Conceptions, and fit it to converse with the Divinity of the Place. For every thing that is Majestick imprints an Awfulness and Reverence on the Mind of the Beholder, and strikes in with the Natural Greatness of the Soul.
In the Second place we are to consider Greatness of Manner in Architecture, which has such Force upon the Imagination, that a small Building, where it appears, shall give the Mind nobler Ideas than one of twenty times the Bulk, where the Manner is ordinary or little. Thus, perhaps, a Man
have been more astonished with the Majestick Air that appeared in one of
Lysippus's
Statues of
Alexander
, tho' no bigger than the Life,
he might have been with
Mount Athos
, had it been cut into the Figure of the Hero, according to the Proposal of
Phidias
, with a River in one Hand, and a City in the other.
Let any one reflect on the Disposition of Mind he finds in himself, at his first Entrance into the
Pantheon
at
Rome
, and how his Imagination is filled with something Great and Amazing; and, at the same time, consider how little, in proportion, he is affected with the Inside of a
Gothick
Cathedral, tho' it be five times larger than the other; which can arise from nothing else, but the Greatness of the Manner in the one, and the Meanness in the other.
I have seen an Observation upon this Subject in a
French
Author, which very much pleased me. It is in
Monsieur Freart's Parallel of the Ancient and Modern Architecture.
I shall give it the Reader with the same Terms of Art which he has made use of.
I am observing
(says he)
a thing which, in my Opinion, is very curious, whence it proceeds, that in the same Quantity of Superficies, the one Manner seems great and magnificent, and the other poor and trifling; the Reason is fine and uncommon. I say then, that to introduce into Architecture this Grandeur of Manner, we ought so to proceed, that the Division of the Principal Members of the Order may consist but of few Parts, that they be all great and of a bold and ample Relievo, and Swelling; and that the Eye, beholding nothing little and mean, the Imagination may be more vigorously touched and affected with the Work that stands before it. For example; In a Cornice, if the Gola or Cynatium of the Corona, the Coping, the Modillions or Dentelli, make a noble Show by their graceful Projections, if we see none of that ordinary Confusion which is the Result of those little Cavities, Quarter Rounds of the Astragal and I know not how many other intermingled Particulars, which produce no Effect in great and massy Works, and which very unprofitably take up place to the Prejudice of the Principal Member, it is most certain that this Manner will appear Solemn and Great; as on the contrary, that it will have but a poor and mean Effect, where there is a Redundancy of those smaller Ornaments, which divide and scatter the Angles of the Sight into such a Multitude of Rays, so pressed together that the whole will appear but a Confusion.
Among all the Figures in Architecture, there are none that have a greater Air than the
Concave
and the
Convex
, and we find in all the Ancient and Modern Architecture, as well in the remote Parts of
China
, as in Countries nearer home, that round Pillars and Vaulted Roofs make a great Part of those Buildings which are designed for Pomp and Magnificence. The Reason I take to be, because in these Figures we generally see more of the Body, than in those of other Kinds. There are, indeed, Figures of Bodies, where the Eye may take in two Thirds of the Surface; but as in such Bodies the Sight must split upon several Angles, it does not take in one uniform Idea, but several Ideas of the same kind. Look upon the Outside of a Dome, your Eye half surrounds it; look up into the Inside, and at one Glance you have all the Prospect of it; the entire Concavity falls into your Eye at once, the Sight being as the Center that collects and gathers into it the Lines of the whole Circumference: In a Square Pillar, the Sight often takes in but a fourth Part of the Surface: and in a Square Concave, must move up and down to the different Sides, before it is Master of all the inward Surface. For this Reason, the Fancy is infinitely more struck with the View of the open Air, and Skies, that passes through an Arch, than what comes through a Square, or any other Figure. The Figure of the Rainbow does not contribute less to its Magnificence, than the Colours to its Beauty, as it is very poetically described
the Son of
Sirach
:
Look upon the Rainbow and praise him that made it; very beautiful it is in its Brightness; it encompasses the Heavens with a glorious Circle, and the Hands of the most High[5] have bended it.
Having thus spoken of that Greatness which affects the Mind in Architecture, I might next shew the Pleasure that arises in the Imagination from what appears new and beautiful in this Art; but as every Beholder has naturally a greater Taste of these two Perfections in every Building which offers it self to his View, than of that which I have hitherto considered, I shall not trouble my Reader with any Reflections upon it. It is sufficient for my present Purpose, to observe, that there is nothing in this whole Art which pleases the Imagination, but as it is Great, Uncommon, or Beautiful.
O.
Grounds
two
Protogenes's
Dinocrates.
Almighty
| [No. 416] | Friday, June 27, 1712 | Addison |
Quatenûs hoc simile est oculis, quod mente videmus.
Lucr.
I at first divided the Pleasures of the Imagination, into such as arise from Objects that are actually before our Eyes, or that once entered in at our Eyes, and are afterwards called up into the Mind either barely by its own Operations, or on occasion of something without us, as Statues, or Descriptions. We have already considered the first Division, and shall therefore enter on the other, which for Distinction sake, I have called the Secondary Pleasures of the Imagination. When I say the Ideas we receive from Statues, Descriptions, or such like Occasions, are the same that were once actually in our View, it must not be understood that we had once see the very Place, Action, or Person which are carved or described. It is sufficient, that we have seen Places, Persons, or Actions, in general, which bear a Resemblance, or at least some remote Analogy with what we find represented. Since it is in the Power of the Imagination, when it is once Stocked with particular Ideas, to enlarge, compound, and vary them at her own Pleasure.
Among the different Kinds of Representation, Statuary is the most natural, and shews us something likest the Object that is represented. To make use of a common Instance, let one who is born Blind take an Image in his Hands, and trace out with his Fingers the different Furrows and Impressions of the Chissel, and he will easily conceive how the Shape of a Man, or Beast, may be represented by it; but should he draw his Hand over a Picture, where all is smooth and uniform, he would never be able to imagine how the several Prominencies and Depressions of a human Body could be shewn on a plain Piece of Canvas, that has in it no Unevenness or Irregularity. Description runs yet further from the Things it represents than Painting; for a Picture bears a real Resemblance to its Original, which Letters and Syllables are wholly void of. Colours speak of Languages, but Words are understood only by such a People or Nation. For this Reason, tho' Men's Necessities quickly put them on finding out Speech, Writing is probably of a later invention than Painting; particularly we are told, that in
America
when the
Spaniards
first arrived there Expresses were sent to the
Emperor of Mexico
in Paint, and the News of his Country delineated by the Strokes of a Pencil, which was a more natural Way than that of Writing, tho' at the same time much more imperfect, because it is impossible to draw the little Connexions of Speech, or to give the Picture of a Conjunction or an Adverb. It would be yet more strange, to represent visible Objects by Sounds that have no Ideas annexed to them, and to make something like Description in Musick. Yet it is certain, there may be confused, imperfect Notions of this Nature raised in the Imagination by an Artificial Composition of Notes; and we find that great Masters in the Art are able, sometimes, to set their Hearers in the Heat and Hurry of a Battel, to overcast their Minds with melancholy Scenes and Apprehensions of Deaths and Funerals, or to lull them into pleasing Dreams of Groves and Elisiums.
In all these Instances, this Secondary Pleasure of the Imagination proceeds from that Action of the Mind, which compares the Ideas arising from the Original Objects, with the Ideas we receive from the Statue, Picture, Description, or Sound that represents them. It is impossible for us to give the necessary Reason, why this Operation of the Mind is attended with so much Pleasure, as I have before observed on the same Occasion; but we find a great Variety of Entertainments derived from this single Principle: For it is this that not only gives us a Relish of Statuary, Painting and Description, but makes us delight in all the Actions and Arts of Mimickry. It is this that makes the several kinds of Wit Pleasant, which consists, as I have formerly shewn, in the Affinity of Ideas: And we may add, it is this also that raises the little Satisfaction we sometimes find in the different Sorts of false Wit; whether it consists in the Affinity of Letters, as in Anagram, Acrostick; or of Syllables, as in Doggerel Rhimes, Ecchos; or of Words, as in Punns, Quibbles; or of a whole Sentence or Poem, to Wings, and Altars. The final Cause, probably, of annexing Pleasure to this Operation of the Mind, was to quicken and encourage us in our Searches after Truth, since the distinguishing one thing from another, and the right discerning betwixt our Ideas, depends wholly upon our comparing them together, and observing the Congruity or Disagreement that appears among the several Works of Nature.
I shall here confine my self to those Pleasures of the Imagination,
which
proceed from Ideas raised by Words, because most of the Observations that agree with Descriptions, are equally Applicable to Painting and Statuary.
Words, when well chosen, have so great a Force in them, that a Description often gives us more lively Ideas than the Sight of Things themselves. The Reader finds a Scene drawn in stronger Colours, and painted more to the Life in his Imagination, by the help of Words, than by an actual Survey of the Scene which they describe. In this case the Poet seems to get the better of Nature; he takes, indeed, the Landskip after her, but gives it more vigorous Touches, heightens its Beauty, and so enlivens the whole Piece, that the Images which flow from the Objects themselves appear weak and faint, in Comparison of those that come from the Expressions. The Reason, probably, may be, because in the Survey of any Object we have only so much of it painted on the Imagination, as comes in at the Eye; but in its Description, the Poet gives us as free a View of it as he pleases, and discovers to us several Parts, that either we did not attend to, or that lay out of our Sight when we first beheld it. As we look on any Object, our Idea of it is, perhaps, made up of two or three simple Ideas; but when the Poet represents it, he may either give us a more complex Idea of it, or only raise in us such Ideas as are most apt to affect the Imagination.
It may be here worth our while to Examine how it comes to pass that several Readers, who are all acquainted with the same Language, and know the Meaning of the Words they read, should nevertheless have a different Relish of the same Descriptions. We find one transported with a Passage, which another runs over with Coldness and Indifference, or finding the Representation extreamly natural, where another can perceive nothing of Likeness and Conformity. This different Taste must proceed, either from the Perfection of Imagination in one more than in another, or from the different Ideas that several Readers affix to the same Words. For, to have a true Relish, and form a right Judgment of a Description, a Man should be born with a good Imagination, and must have well weighed the Force and Energy that lye in the several Words of a Language, so as to be able to distinguish which are most significant and expressive of their proper Ideas, and what additional Strength and Beauty they are capable of receiving from Conjunction with others. The Fancy must be warm to retain the Print of those Images it hath received from outward Objects and the Judgment discerning, to know what Expressions are most proper to cloath and adorn them to the best Advantage. A Man who is deficient in either of these Respects, tho' he may receive the general Notion of a Description, can never see distinctly all its particular Beauties: As a Person, with a weak Sight, may have the confused Prospect of a Place that lies before him, without entering into its several Parts, or discerning the variety of its Colours in their full Glory and Perfection.
O.
that
end of Volume 2.
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