MR. DIGBY, DR. ARBUTHNOT, MR. ADDISON.
It happened, in the summer of the year 1716, that Dr. Arbuthnot and Mr. Addison had occasion to take a journey together into Warwickshire. Mr. Digby, who had received intelligence of their motions, and was then at Coleshill, contrived to give them the meeting at Warwick; where they intended to pass a day or two, in visiting the curiosities of that fine town, and the more remarkable of these remains of antiquity that are to be seen in its neighbourhood. These were matter of high entertainment to all of them; to Dr. Arbuthnot, for the pleasure of recollecting the ancient times; to Mr. Addison, on account of some political reflexions, he was fond of indulging on such occasions; and to Mr. Digby, from an ingenuous curiosity, and the love of seeing and observing whatever was most remarkable, whether in the past ages, or the present.
Amongst other things that amused them, they were much taken with the great church at Warwick. They entertained themselves with the several histories, which it’s many old monuments recalled to their memory[60]. The famous inscription of Sir Fulk Grevil occasioned some reflexions; especially to Mr. Digby, who had used to be much affected with the fame and fortunes of the accomplished Sir Philip Sidney. The glory of the house of Warwick was, also, an ample field of meditation. But what chanced to take their attention most, was the monument of the great earl of Leicester. It recorded his titles at full length, and was, besides, richly decorated with sculpture, displaying the various ensigns and trophies of his greatness. The pride of this minister had never appeared to them so conspicuous, as in the legends and ornaments of his tomb-stone; which had not only outlived his family, but seemed to assure itself of immortality, by taking refuge, as it were, at the foot of the altar.
These funeral honours engaged them in some common reflexions on the folly of such expedients to perpetuate human grandeur; but at the same time, as is the usual effect of these things, struck their imaginations very strongly. They readily apprehended what must have been the state of this mighty favourite in his lifetime, from what they saw of it in this proud memorial, which continued in a manner to insult posterity so many years after his death. But understanding that the fragments at least of his supreme glory, when it was flourishing at its height, were still to be seen at Kenelworth, which they knew could be at no great distance, they resolved to visit them the next day, and indulge to the utmost the several reflexions which such scenes are apt to inspire. On enquiry, they found it was not more than five or six miles to the castle; so that, by starting early in the morning, they might easily return to dinner at Warwick. They kept to their appointment so well, that they got to Kenelworth in good time, and had even two or three hours on their hands to spend, in taking an exact view of the place.
It was luckily one of those fine days, which our travellers would most have wished for, and which indeed are most agreeable in this season. It was clear enough to afford a distinct prospect of the country, and to set the objects, they wanted to take a view of, in a good light; and yet was so conveniently clouded as to check the heat of the sun, and make the exercise of walking, of which they were likely to have a good deal, perfectly easy to them.
When they alighted from the coach, the first object that presented itself was the principal Gate-way of the Castle. It had been converted into a farm-house, and was indeed the only part of these vast ruins that was inhabited. On their entrance into the inner-court, they were struck with the sight of many mouldering towers, which preserved a sort of magnificence even in their ruins. They amused themselves with observing the vast compass of the whole, with marking the uses, and tracing the dimensions, of the several parts. All which it was easy for them to do, by the very distinct traces that remained of them, and especially by means of Dugdale’s plans and descriptions, which they had taken care to consult.
After rambling about for some time, they clambered up a heap of ruins, which lay on the west side the court: and thence came to a broken tower, which, when they had mounted some steps, led them out into a path-way on the tops of the walls. From this eminence they had a very distinct view of the several parts they had before contemplated; of the gardens on the north-side; of the winding meadow that encompassed the walls of the castle, on the west and south; and had, besides, the command of the country round about them for many miles. The prospect of so many antique towers falling into rubbish, contrasted to the various beauties of the landscape, struck them with admiration, and kept them silent for some time.
At length recovering himself, I perceive, said Dr. Arbuthnot, we are all of us not a little affected with the sight of these ruins. They even create a melancholy in me; and yet a melancholy of so delightful a kind, that I would not exchange it, methinks, for any brisker sensation. The experience of this effect hath often led me to enquire, how it is that the mind, even while it laments, finds so great a pleasure in visiting these scenes of desolation. Is it, continued he, from the pure love of antiquity, and the amusing train of reflexions into which such remains of ancient magnificence naturally lead us?
I know not, returned Mr. Addison, what pain it may give you to contemplate these triumphs of time and fortune. For my part, I am not sensible of the mixt sensation you speak of. I feel a pleasure indeed; but it is sincere, and, as I conceive, may be easily accounted for. ’Tis nothing more, I believe, than a fiction of the imagination, which makes me think I am taking a revenge on the once prosperous and overshadowing height, PRÆUMBRANS FASTIGIUM, as somebody expresses it, of inordinate Greatness. It is certain, continued he, this theatre of a great statesman’s pride, the delight of many of our princes, and which boasts of having given entertainment to one of them in a manner so splendid, as to claim a remembrance, even in the annals of our country, would now, in its present state, administer ample matter for much insulting reflexion.
“Where, one might ask, are the tilts and tournaments, the princely shows and sports, which were once so proudly celebrated within these walls? Where are the pageants, the studied devices and emblems of curious invention, that set the court at a gaze, and even transported the high soul of our Elizabeth? Where now, pursued he, (pointing to that which was formerly a canal, but at present is only a meadow with a small rivulet running through it) where is the floating island, the blaze of torches that eclipsed the day, the lady of the lake, the silken nymphs her attendants, with all the other fantastic exhibitions surpassing even the whimsies of the wildest romance? What now is become of the revelry of feasting? of the minstrelsy, that took the ear so delightfully as it babbled along the valley, or floated on the surface of this lake? See there the smokeless kitchens, stretching to a length that might give room for the sacrifice of a hecatomb; the vaulted hall, which mirth and jollity have set so often in an uproar; the rooms of state, and the presence-chamber: what are they now but void and tenantless ruins, clasped with ivy, open to wind and weather, and representing to the eye nothing but the ribs and carcase, as it were, of their former state? And see, said he, that proud gate-way, once the mansion of a surly porter[61], who, partaking of the pride of his lord, made the crowds wait, and refused admittance, perhaps, to nobles whom fear or interest drew to these walls, to pay their homage to their master: see it now the residence of a poor tenant, who turns the key but to let himself out to his daily labour, to admit him to a short meal, and secure his nightly slumbers. Yet, in this humble state, it hath had the fortune to outlive the glory of the rest, and hath even drawn to itself the whole of that little note and credit which time hath continued to this once pompous building. For, while the castle itself is crumbled into shapeless ruins, and is prophaned, as we there see, by the vilest uses, this outwork of greatness is left entire, sheltered and closed in from bird and beast, and even affords some decent room in which the human face divine is not ashamed to shew itself.”
While Mr. Addison went on in this vein, his two friends stood looking on each other; as not conceiving what might be the cause of his expressing himself with a vehemence, so uncommon, and not suited to his natural temper. When the fit was over, I confess, said Dr. Arbuthnot, this is no bad topic for a moralist to declaim upon. And, though it be a trite one, we know how capable it is of being adorned by him who, on a late occasion, could meditate so finely on the Tombs at Westminster[62]. But surely, proceeded he, you warm yourself in this contemplation, beyond what the subject requires of you. The vanity of human greatness is seen in so many instances, that I wonder to hear you harangue on this with so peculiar an exultation. There is no travelling ten miles together in any part of the kingdom without stumbling on some ruin, which, though perhaps not so considerable as this before us, would furnish occasion, however, for the same reflexions. There would be no end of moralizing over every broken tower, or shattered fabric, which calls to mind the short-lived glories of our ancestors.
True, said Mr. Addison; and, if the short continuance of these glories were the only circumstance, I might well have spared the exultation, you speak of, in this triumph over the shattered remnants of Kenelworth. But there is something else that fires me on the occasion. It brings to mind the fraud, the rapine, the insolence, of the potent minister, who vainly thought to immortalize his ill-gotten glory by this proud monument. Nay, further, it awakens an indignation against the prosperous tyranny of those wretched times, and creates a generous pleasure in reflecting on the happiness we enjoy under a juster and more equal government. Believe me, I never see the remains of that greatness which arose in the past ages on the ruins of public freedom and private property, but I congratulate with myself on living at a time, when the meanest subject is as free and independent as those royal minions; and when his property, whatever it be, is as secure from oppression, as that of the first minister. And I own this congratulation is not the less sincere for considering that the instance before us is taken from the reign of the virgin queen, which it hath been the fashion to cry up above that of any other of our princes[63]. I desire no other confutation of so strange unthankful a preference, than the sight of this vast castle, together with the recollection of those means by which its master arrived at his enormous greatness.
Your indignation then, replied Dr. Arbuthnot, is not so much of the moral, as political kind[64]. But is not the conclusion a little too hasty, when, from the instance of one overgrown favourite, you infer the general infelicity of the time, in which he flourished? I am not, I assure you, one of those unthankful men who forget the blessings they enjoy under a prince of more justice and moderation than queen Elizabeth, and under a better constitution of government than prevailed in the days of our forefathers. Yet, setting aside some particular dishonours of that reign (of which, let the tyranny of Leicester, if you will, be one), I see not but the acknowledged virtues of that princess, and the wisdom of her government, may be a proper foundation for all the honours that posterity have ever paid to her.
Were I even disposed to agree with you, returned Mr. Addison, I should not have the less reason for triumphing, as I do, on the present state of our government. For, if such abuses could creep in, and be suffered for so many years under so great a princess, what was there not to fear (as what, indeed, did not the subject actually feel) under some of her successors? But, to speak my mind frankly, I see no sufficient grounds for the excessive prejudice, that hath somehow taken place, in favour of the GOLDEN REIGN, as it is called, of Elizabeth. I find neither the wisdom, nor the virtue in it, that can entitle it to a preference before all other ages.
On the contrary, said Dr. Arbuthnot, I never contemplate the monuments of that time, without a silent admiration of the virtues that adorned it. Heroes and sages crowd in upon my memory. Nay, the very people were of a character above what we are acquainted with in our days. I could almost fancy, the soil itself were another face, and, as you poets imagine on some occasions, that our ancestors lived under a brighter sun and happier climate than we can boast of.
To be sure! said Mr. Addison, smiling: or, why not affirm, in the proper language of romance, that the women of those days were all chaste, and the men valiant? But cannot you suspect at least that there is some enchantment in the case, and that your love of antiquity may possibly operate in more instances than those of your favourite Greeks and Romans? Tell me honestly, pursued he, hath not this distance of a century and a half a little imposed upon you? Do not these broken towers, which moved you just now to so compassionate a lamentation over them, dispose you to a greater fondness for the times in which they arose, than can be fairly justified?
I will not deny, returned Dr. Arbuthnot, but we are often very generous to the past times, and unjust enough to the present. But I think there is little of this illusion in the case before us. And, since you call my attention to these noble ruins, let me own to you, that they do indeed excite in me a veneration for the times of which they present so striking a memorial. But surely not without reason. For there is scarce an object in view, that doth not revive the memory of some distinguishing character of that age, which may justify such veneration.
Alas! interrupted Mr. Addison, and what can these objects call to mind but the memory of barbarous manners and a despotic government?
For the government, replied Dr. Arbuthnot, I do not well conceive how any conclusion about that can be drawn from this fabric. The MANNERS I was thinking of; and I see them strongly expressed in many parts of it. But whether barbarous or not, I could almost take upon me to dispute with you. And why, indeed, since you allowed yourself to declaim on the vices, so apparent, as you suppose, in this monument of antiquity, may not I have leave to consider it in another point of view, and present to you the virtues which, to my eye at least, are full as discernible?
You cannot, continued he, turn your eyes on any part of these ruins, without encountering some memorial of the virtue, industry, or ingenuity, of our ancestors.
Look there, said he, on that fine room (pointing to the HALL, that lay just beneath them); and tell me if you can help respecting the HOSPITALITY which so much distinguished the palaces of the great in those simpler ages. You gave an invidious turn to this circumstance when you chose to consider it only in the light of wasteful expence and prodigality. But no virtue is privileged from an ill name. And, on second thoughts, I persuade myself, it will appear you have injured this, by so uncandid an appellation. Can it deserve this censure, that the lord of this princely castle threw open his doors and spread his table for the reception of his friends, his followers, and even for the royal entertainment of his sovereign? Is any expence more proper than that which tends to conciliate[65] friendships, spread the interests of society, and knit mankind together by a generous communication in these advantages of wealth and fortune? The arts of a refined sequestered luxury were then unknown. The same bell, that called the great man to his table, invited the neighbourhood all around, and proclaimed a holiday to the whole country[66]. Who does not feel the decorum, and understand the benefits of this magnificence? The pre-eminence of rank and fortune was nobly sustained: the subordination of society preserved: and yet the envy, that is so apt to attend the great, happily avoided. Hence this weight and influence of the old nobility, who engaged the love, as well as commanded the veneration, of the people. In the mean time, rural industry flourished: private luxury was discouraged: and in both ways that frugal simplicity of life, our country’s grace and ornament in those days, was preserved and promoted.
It would spoil your panegyric, I doubt, said Mr. Addison, to observe the factious use, that was made of this magnificence, and the tendency it had to support the pride and insolence of the old nobility. The interest of the great, I am afraid, was but another name for the slavery of the people[67].
I see it, Dr. Arbuthnot said, in a different light; and so did our princes themselves, who could not but be well acquainted with the proper effects of that interest. They considered the weight of the nobility, as a counterpoise to their own sovereignty. It was on this account they had used all means to lessen their influence. But the consequence was beside their expectation. The authority of the crown fell with it: and, which was still less expected by political men, the liberty of the people, after it had wantoned for a time, sunk under the general oppression. It was then discovered, but a little of the latest, that public freedom throve best, when it wound itself about the stock of the ancient nobility. In truth, it was the defect, not the excess, of patrician influence, that made way for the miseries of the next century.
You see then it is not without cause that I lay a stress, even in a political view, on this popular hospitality of the great in the former ages[68].
But, lest you think I sit too long at the table, let us go on to the TILTYARD, which lies just before us; that school of fortitude and honour to our generous forefathers. A younger fancy, than mine, would be apt to kindle at the sight. And our sprightlier friend here, I dare say, has already taken fire at the remembrance of the gallant exercises, which were celebrated in that quarter.
Mr. Digby owned, he had a secret veneration for the manly games of that time, which he had seen so triumphantly set forth in the old poets and romancers.
Right, said Mr. Addison; it is precisely in that circumstance that the enchantment consists. Some of our best wits have taken a deal of idle pains to ennoble a very barbarous entertainment, and recommend it to us under the specious name of gallantry and honour. But Mr. Digby sees through the cheat. Not that I doubt, continued he, but the Doctor, now he is in the vein of panegyric, will lay a mighty stress on these barbarities; and perhaps compare them with the exercises in the Roman Circus, or the Olympic Barriers.
And why not? interrupted Dr. Arbuthnot. The tendency of all three was the same; to invigorate the faculties both of mind and body; to give strength, grace, and dexterity, to the limbs; and fire the mind with a generous emulation of the manly and martial virtues.
Why truly, said Mr. Addison, I shall not deny that all three, as you observe, were much of the same merit. And, now your hand is in for this sort of encomium, do not forget to celebrate the sublime taste of our forefathers for bear-baiting[69], as well as tilting; and tell us too, how gloriously the mob of those days, as well as their betters, used to belabour one another.
I confess, said Dr. Arbuthnot, the softness of our manners makes it difficult to speak on this subject without incurring the ridicule, you appear so willing to employ against me. But you must not think to discredit these gymnastics by a little raillery, which has its foundation only in modern prejudices. For it is no secret that the gravest and politest men of antiquity were of my mind. You will hardly suspect Plato of incivility, either in his notions or manners. And need I remind you how much he insists on the gymnastic discipline; without which he could not have formed, or at least have supported, his Republic?
It was upon this principle, I suppose then, said Mr. Digby, or perhaps in imitation of his Græcian master, that our Milton laid so great a stress on this discipline in his TRACTATE OF EDUCATION. And before him, in the very time you speak of, Ascham, I observe, took no small pains to much the same purpose in his Toxophilus.
It is very clear, resumed Dr. Arbuthnot, from these instances, and many more that might be given, that the ancients were not singular in their notions on this subject. But, since you have drawn me into a grave defence of these exercises, let me further own to you that I think the Gothic Tilts and Tournaments exceeded, both in use and elegance, even the Græcian gymnastics[70]. They were a more direct image of war, than any of the games at Olympia. And if Xenophon could be so lavish in his praises on the Persian practice of hunting, because it had some resemblance to the exercise of arms, what would he not have said of an institution, which has all the forms of a real combat?
But there was an elegance, too, in the conduct of the tournament, that might reconcile it even to modern delicacy. For, besides the splendor of the shew; the dexterity, with which these exercises were performed; and the fancy, that appeared in their accoutrement, dresses, and devices; the whole contest was ennobled with an air of gallantry, that must have had a great effect in refining the manners of the combatants. And yet this gallantry had no ill influence on morals; for, as you insulted me just now, it was the odd humour of those days for the women to pride themselves in their chastity[71], as well as the men in their valour.
In short, I consider the Tournay, as the best school of civility as well as heroism. “High-erected thoughts, seated in a heart of courtesy,” as an old writer[72] well expresses it, was the proper character of such as had been trained in this discipline.
No wonder then, pursued he, the poets and romance-writers took so much pains to immortalize these trials of manhood. It was but what Pindar and Homer himself, those ancient masters of romance, had done before them. And how could it be otherwise? The shew itself, as I said, had something very taking in it; whilst every graceful attitude of person, with every generous movement of the mind, afforded the finest materials for description. And I am even ready to believe, that what we hear censured in their writings, as false, incredible, and fantastic, was frequently but a just copy of life, and that there was more of truth and reality[73] in their representations, than we are apt to imagine. Their notions of honour and gallantry were carried to an elevation[74], which, in these degenerate days, hurts the credit of their story; just as I have met with men that have doubted whether the virtues of the Reguli and the Scipios of ancient fame were not the offspring of pure fancy.
Nay now, Dr. Arbuthnot, said Mr. Addison, you grow quite extravagant. What you, who are used to be so quick at espying all abuses in science, and defects in good taste, turn advocate for these fopperies! Mr. Digby and I shall begin to think you banter us, in this apology for the ancient gymnastics, and are only preparing a chapter for the facetious memoirs[75], you sometimes promise us.
Never more in earnest, assure you, replied the Doctor. I know what you have to object to these pictures of life and manners. But, if they will not bear examining as copies, they may deserve to be imitated as models. And their use, methinks, might atone for some defects in the article of probability.
For my part, I consider the legends of ancient chivalry in a very serious light,
As niches, fill’d with statues to invite
Young valours forth—[76]
as Ben Jonson, a valorous hardy poet, and who, himself, would have made a good knight-errant, justly says of them. For, it is certain, they had this effect. The youth, in general, were fired with the love of martial exercises. They were early formed to habits of fatigue and enterprise. And, together with this warlike spirit, the profession of chivalry was favourable to every other virtue. Affability, courtesy, generosity, veracity, these were the qualifications most pretended to by the men of arms, in the days of pure and uncorrupted chivalry. We do not perhaps, ourselves, know, at this distance of time, how much we are indebted to the force of this singular institution. But this I may presume to say, that the men, among whom it arose and flourished most, had prodigious obligations to it. No policy, even of an ancient legislator, could have contrived a better expedient to cultivate the manners and tame the spirits of a rude and ignorant people. I could almost fancy it providentially introduced among the northern nations, to break the fierceness of their natures, and prevent that brutal savageness and ferocity of character, which must otherwise have grown upon them in the darker ages.
Nay, the generous sentiments, it inspired, perhaps contributed very much to awaken an emulation of a different kind; and to bring on those days of light and knowledge which have disposed us, somewhat unthankfully, to vilify and defame it. This is certain, that the first essays of wit and poetry, those harbingers of returning day to every species of good letters, were made in the bosom of chivalry, and amidst the assemblies of noble dames, and courteous knights. And we may even observe, that the best of our modern princes, such as have been most admired for their personal virtues, and have been most concerned in restoring all the arts of civility and politeness, have been passionately addicted to the feats of ancient prowess. In the number of these, need I remind you of the courts of Francis I, and Henry IV, to say nothing of our own Edwards and Henrys, and that mirrour of all their virtues in one, our renowned and almost romantic Elizabeth[77]?
But you think I push the argument too far. And less than this may dispose you to conceive with reverence of the scene before us, which must ever be regarded as a nursery of brave men, a very seed-plot of warriors and heroes. I consider the successes at the barriers as preludes to future conquests in the field. And, as whimsical a figure as a young tilter may make in your eye, who will say that the virtue was not formed here, that triumphed at Axell, and bled at Zutphen?
We shall very readily, replied Mr. Addison, acknowledge the bravery and other virtues of the young hero, whose fortunes you hint at. He was, in truth, to speak the language of that time, the very flower of knighthood, and contributed more than any body else, by his pen, as well as sword, to throw a lustre on the profession of chivalry. But the thing itself, however adorned by his wit and recommended by his manners, was barbarous; the offspring of Gothic fierceness; and shews the times, which favoured it so much, to have scarcely emerged from their original rudeness and brutality. You may celebrate, as loudly as you please, the deeds of these wonder-working knights. Alas, what affinity have such prodigies to our life, and manners? The old poet, you quoted just now with approbation, shall tell us the difference:
These were bold stories of our Arthur’s age:
But here are other acts, another stage
And scene appears; it is not since as then;
No giants, dwarfs, or monsters here, but MEN[78].
Or, if you want a higher authority, we should not, methinks, on such an occasion, forget the admirable Cervantes, whose ridicule hath brought eternal dishonour on the profession of knight-errantry.
With your leave, interrupted Dr. Arbuthnot, I have reason to except against both your authorities. At best, they do but condemn the abuses of chivalry, and the madness of continuing the old romantic spirit in times when, from a change of manners and policy, it was no longer in season. Adventures, we will say, were of course to cease, when giants and monsters disappeared. And yet have they totally disappeared, and have giants and monsters been no where heard of out of the castles and forests of our old romancers. ’Tis odds, methinks, but, in the sense of Elizabeth’s good subjects, Philip II. might be a giant at least: and, without a little of this adventurous spirit, it may be a question whether all her enchanters, I mean her Burleighs and Walsinghams, would have proved a match for him. I mention this the rather to shew you, how little obligation his countrymen have to your Cervantes for laughing away the remains of that prowess, which was the best support of the Spanish monarchy.
As if, said Mr. Addison, the prowess of any people were only to be kept alive by their running mad. But let the case of the Spaniards be what it will, surely we, of this country, have little obligation to the spirit of chivalry, if it were only that it produced, or encouraged at least, and hath now entailed upon us, the curse of duelling; which even yet domineers in the fashionable world, in spite of all that wit, and reason, and religion itself, have done to subdue it. ’Tis true, at present this law of arms is appealed to only in the case some high point of nice and mysterious honour. But in the happier days you celebrate, it was called in aid, on common occasions. Even questions of right and property, you know, were determined at the barriers[79]: and brute force was allowed the most equitable, as well as shortest, way of deciding all disputes both concerning a man’s estate and honour.
You might observe too, interposed Dr. Arbuthnot, that this was the way in which those fiercer disputes concerning a mistress, or a kingdom, were frequently decided. And, if this sort of decision, in such cases, were still in use among Christian princes, you might call it perhaps a barbarous custom: but would it be ever the worse, do you think, for their good subjects?
Perhaps it would not, returned Mr. Addison, in some instances. And yet will you affirm, that those good subjects were in any enviable situation, under their fighting masters? After all, allowing you to put the best construction you can on these usages of our forefathers,
“all we find
Is, that they did their work and din’d.”
And though such feats may argue a sound athletic constitution, you must excuse me, if I am not forward to entertain any high notions of their civility.
Their civility, said Dr. Arbuthnot, is another consideration. The HALL and TILT-YARD are certainly good proofs of what they are alleged for, the hospitality and bravery of our ancestors. But it hath not been maintained, that these were their only virtues. On the contrary, it seems to me, that every flower of humanity, every elegance of art and genius, was cultivated amongst them. For an instance, need we look any further than the LAKE, which in the flourishing times of this castle was so famous, and which we even now trace in the winding bed of that fine meadow?
I do not understand you, replied Mr. Addison. I can easily imagine what an embellishment that lake must have been to the castle; but am at a loss to conceive what flowers of wit and ingenuity, to use your own ænigmatical language, could be raised or so much as watered by it.
And, have you then, returned Dr. Arbuthnot, so soon forgotten the large description, you gave us just now, of the shows and pageants displayed on this lake? And can any thing better declare the art, invention, and ingenuity, of their conductors? Is not this canal as good a memorial of the ardour and success with which the finer exercises of the mind were pursued in that time, as the tilt-yard, we have now left, is of the address and dexterity shewn in those of the body?
I remember, said Mr. Addison, that many of the shows, intended for the queen’s entertainment at this place, were exhibited on that canal. But as to any art or beauty of contrivance—
“You see none, I suppose.”
Why truly none, resumed Mr. Addison. To me they seemed but well enough suited to the other barbarities of the time. “The Lady of the Lake and her train of Nereids,” was not that the principal? And can it pass for any thing better than a jumble of Gothic romance and pagan fable? a barbarous modern conceit, varnished over with a little classical pedantry?
And is that the best word you can afford, said Dr. Arbuthnot, to these ingenious devices? The business was, to welcome the Queen to this palace, and at the same time to celebrate the honours of her government. And what more decent way of complimenting a great Prince, than through the veil of fiction? or what so elegant way of entertaining a learned Prince, as by working up that fiction out of the old poetical story? And if something of the Gothic romance adhered to these classical fictions, it was not for any barbarous pleasure, that was taken in this patchwork, but that the artist found means to incorporate them with the highest grace and ingenuity. For what, in other words, was the Lady of the Lake (the particular that gives most offence to your delicacy), but the presiding nymph of the stream, on which these shews were presented? And, if the contrivance was to give us this nymph under a name that romance had made familiar, what was this but taking advantage of a popular prejudice to introduce his fiction with more address and probability?
But see the propriety of the scene itself, for the designer’s purpose, and the exact decorum with which these fanciful personages were brought in upon it. It was not enough, that the pagan deities were summoned to pay their homage to the queen. They were the deities of the fount and ocean, the watery nymphs and demi-gods: and these were to play their part in their own element. Could any preparation be more artful for the panegyric designed on the naval glory of that reign? Or, could any representation be more grateful to the queen of the ocean, as Elizabeth was then called, than such as expressed her sovereignty in those regions? Hence the sea-green Nereids, the Tritons, and Neptune himself, were the proper actors in the drama. And the opportunity of this spacious lake gave the easiest introduction and most natural appearance to the whole scenery. Let me add too, in further commendation of the taste which was shewn in these agreeable fancies, that the attributes and dresses of the deities themselves were studied with care; and the most learned poets of the time employed to make them speak and act in character. So that an old Greek or Roman might have applauded the contrivance, and have almost fancied himself assisting at a religious ceremony in his own country.
And, to shew you that all this propriety was intended by the designer himself, and not imagined at pleasure by his encomiast; I remember, that when, some years after, the earl of Hertford had the honour to receive the queen at his seat in Hampshire, because he had no such canal as this in readiness on the occasion, he set on a vast number of hands to hollow a bason in his park for that purpose. With so great diligence and so exact a decorum were these entertainments conducted!
Did not I tell you, interposed Mr. Addison, addressing himself to Mr. Digby, to what an extravagance the Doctor’s admiration of the ancient times would carry him? Could you have expected all this harangue on the art, elegance, and decorum of the princely pleasures of Kenelworth[80]? And must not it divert you to see the unformed genius of that age tricked out in the graces of Roman or even Attic politeness?
Mr. Digby acknowledged, it was very generous in the Doctor to represent in so fair a light the amusements of the ruder ages. But I was thinking, said he, to what cause it could possibly be owing, that these pagan fancies had acquired so general a consideration in the days of Elizabeth.
The general passion for these fancies, returned Dr. Arbuthnot, was a natural consequence of the revival of learning. The first books, that came into vogue, were the poets. And nothing could be more amusing to rude minds, just opening to a taste of letters, than the fabulous story of the pagan gods, which is constantly interwoven in every piece of ancient poetry. Hence the imitative arts of sculpture, painting, and poetry, were immediately employed in these pagan exhibitions. But this was not all. The first artists in every kind were of Italy; and it was but natural for them to act these fables over again on the very spot that had first produced them. These too were the masters to the rest of Europe. So that fashion concurred with the other prejudices of the time, to recommend this practice to the learned.
From the men of art and literature the enthusiasm spread itself to the great; whose supreme delight it was to see the wonders of the old poetical story brought forth, and realized, as it were, before them[81]. And what, in truth, could they do better? For, if I were not a little afraid of your raillery, I should desire to know what courtly amusements even of our time are comparable to the shows and masques, which were the delight and improvement of the court of Elizabeth. I say, the improvement; for, besides that these shows were not in the number of the INERUDITÆ VOLUPTATES, so justly characterized and condemned by a wise ancient, they were even highly useful and instructive. These devices, composed out of the poetical history, were not only the vehicles of compliment to the great on certain solemn occasions, but of the soundest moral lessons, which were artfully thrown in, and recommended to them by the charm of poetry and numbers. Nay, some of these masques were moral dramas in form, where the virtues and vices were impersonated. We know the cast of their composition by what we see of these fictions in the next reign; and have reason to conceive of them with reverence when we find the names of Fletcher and Jonson[82] to some of them. I say nothing of Jones and Lawes, though all the elegance of their respective arts was called in to assist the poet in the contrivance and execution of these entertainments.
And, now the poets have fallen in my way, let me further observe, that the manifest superiority of this class of writers in Elizabeth’s reign, and that of her successor, over all others who have succeeded to them, is, among other reasons, to be ascribed to the taste which then prevailed for these moral representations. This taught them to animate and impersonate every thing. Rude minds, you will say, naturally give into this practice. Without doubt. But art and genius do not disdain to cultivate and improve it. Hence it is, that we find in the phraseology and mode of thinking of that time, and of that time only, the essence of the truest and sublimest poetry.
Without doubt, Mr. Addison said, the poetry of that time is of a better taste than could well have been expected from its barbarism in other instances. But such prodigies as Shakespear and Spenser would do great things in any age, and under every disadvantage.
Most certainly they would, returned Dr. Arbuthnot, but not the things that you admire so much in these immortal writers. And, if you will excuse the intermixture of a little philosophy in these ramblings, I will attempt to account for it.
There is, I think, in the revolutions of taste and language, a certain point, which is more favourable to the purposes of poetry, than any other. It may be difficult to fix this point with exactness. But we shall hardly mistake in supposing it lies somewhere between the rude essays of uncorrected fancy, on the one hand, and the refinements of reason and science, on the other.
And such appears to have been the condition of our language in the age of Elizabeth. It was pure, strong, and perspicuous, without affectation. At the same time, the high figurative manner, which fits a language so peculiarly for the uses of the poet, had not yet been controlled by the prosaic genius of philosophy and logic. Indeed, this character had been struck so deeply into the English tongue, that it was not to be removed by any ordinary improvements in either: the reason of which might be, the delight which was taken by the English very early in their old MYSTERIES and MORALITIES; and the continuance of the same spirit in succeeding times, by means of their MASQUES and TRIUMPHS. And something like this, I observe, attended the progress of the Greek and Roman poetry; which was the truest poetry, on the clown’s maxim in Shakespear, because it was the most feigning[83]. It had its rise, you know, like ours, from religion: and pagan religion, of all others, was the properest to introduce and encourage a spirit of allegory and moral fiction. Hence we easily account for the allegoric cast of their old dramas, which have a great resemblance to our ancient moralities. Necessity is brought in as a person of the drama, in one of Æschylus’s plays; and Death in one of Euripides: to say nothing of many shadowy persons in the comedies of Aristophanes. The truth is, the pagan religion deified every thing, and delivered these deities into the hand of their painters, sculptors, and poets. In like manner, Christian superstition, or, if you will, modern barbarism, impersonated every thing; and these persons, in proper form, subsisted for some time on the stage, and almost to our days, in the masques. Hence the picturesque style of our old poetry; which looks so fanciful in Spenser, and which Shakespear’s genius hath carried to the utmost sublimity.
I will not deny, said Mr. Addison, but there may be something in this deduction of the causes, by which you account for the strength and grandeur of the English poetry, unpolished as it still was in the hands of Elizabeth’s great poets. But for the masques themselves—
You forget, I believe, one, interrupted Dr. Arbuthnot, which does your favourite poet, Milton, almost as much honour, as his Paradise Lost.—But I have no mind to engage in a further vindication of these fancies. I only conclude that the taste of the age, the state of letters, the genius of the English tongue, was such as gave a manliness to their compositions of all sorts, and even an elegance to those of the lighter forms, which we might do well to emulate, and not deride, in this æra of politeness.
But I am aware, as you say, I have been transported too far. My design was only to hint to you, in opposition to your invective against the memory of the old times, awakened in us by the sight of this castle, that what you object to is capable of a much fairer interpretation. You have a proof of it, in two or three instances; in their festivals, their exercises, and their poetical fictions: or, to express myself in the classical forms, you have seen by this view of their CONVIVIAL, GYMNASTIC, and MUSICAL character, that the times of Elizabeth may pass for golden, notwithstanding what a fondness for this age of baser metal may incline us to represent it.
In the mean time, these smaller matters have drawn me aside from my main purpose. What surprised me most, pursued he, was to hear you speak so slightly, I would not call it by a worse name, of the GOVERNMENT of Elizabeth. Of the manners and tastes of different ages, different persons, according to their views of things, will judge very differently. But plain facts speak so strongly in favour of the policy of that reign, and the superior talents of the sovereign, that I could not but take it for the wantonness of opposition in you to espouse the contrary opinion. And, now I am warmed by this slight skirmish, I am even bold enough to dare you to a defence of it; if, indeed, you were serious in advancing that strange paradox. At least, I could wish to hear upon what grounds you would justify so severe an attack on the reverend administration of that reign, supported by the wisdom of such men as Cecil and Walsingham, under the direction of so accomplished a princess as our Elizabeth. Your manner of defending even the wrong side of the question will, at least, be entertaining. And, I think, I may answer for our young friend, that his curiosity will lead him to join me in this request to you.
Mr. Addison said, He did not expect to be called to so severe an account for what had escaped him on this subject. But, though I was ever so willing, continued he, to oblige you, this is no time or place for entering on such a controversy. We have not yet compleated the round of these buildings. And I would fain, methinks, make the circuit of that pleasant meadow. Besides its having been once, in another form, the scene of those shows you described so largely to us, it will deserve to be visited for the sake of the many fine views which, as we wind along it, we may promise to ourselves of these ruins.
You forget my bad legs, said Dr. Arbuthnot smiling; otherwise, I suppose, we can neither of us have any dislike to your proposal. But, as you please: let us descend from these heights. We may resume the conversation, as we walk along: and especially, as you propose, when we get down into that valley.