In the narrative of his frenzy (quoted p. [56]), his personnel is thus given. “His aspect was furious, his eyes were rather fiery than lively, which he rolled about in an uncommon manner. He often opened his mouth as if he would have uttered some matter of importance, but the sound seemed lost inwardly. His beard was grown, which they told me he would not suffer to be shaved, believing the modern dramatic poets had corrupted all the barbers of the town to take the first opportunity of cutting his throat. His eyebrows were grey, long, and grown together, which he knit with indignation when anything was spoken, insomuch that he seemed not to have smoothed his forehead for many years.”—Ed.
There is an epigram on Dennis by Savage, which Johnson has preserved in his Life; and I feel it to be a very correct likeness, although Johnson censures Savage for writing an epigram against Dennis, while he was living in great familiarity with the critic. Perhaps that was the happiest moment to write the epigram. The anecdote in the text doubtless prompted “the fool” to take this fair revenge and just chastisement. Savage has brought out the features strongly, in these touches—
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“Say what revenge on Dennis can be had, Too dull for laughter, for reply too mad. On one so poor you cannot take the law, On one so old your sword you scorn to draw. Uncaged then, let the harmless monster rage, Secure in dulness, madness, want, and age!” |
Dennis points his heavy cannon of criticism and thus bombards that aerial edifice, the “Rape of the Lock.” He is inquiring into the nature of poetical machinery, which, he oracularly pronounces, should be religious, or allegorical, or political; asserting the “Lutrin” of Boileau to be a trifle only in appearance, covering the deep political design of reforming the Popish Church!—With the yard of criticism he takes measure of the slender graces and tiny elegance of Pope’s aerial machines, as “less considerable than the human persons, which is without precedent. Nothing can be so contemptible as the persons or so foolish as the understandings of these hobgoblins. Ariel’s speech is one continued impertinence. After he has talked to them of black omens and dire disasters that threaten his heroine, those bugbears dwindle to the breaking a piece of china, to staining a petticoat, the losing a fan, or a bottle of sal volatile—and what makes Ariel’s speech more ridiculous is the place where it is spoken, on the sails and cordage of Belinda’s barge.” And then he compares the Sylphs to the Discord of Homer, whose feet are upon the earth, and head in the skies. “They are, indeed, beings so diminutive that they bear the same proportion to the rest of the intellectual that Eels in vinegar do to the rest of the material world; the latter are only to be seen through microscopes, and the former only through the false optics of a Rosicrucian understanding.” And finally, he decides that “these diminutive beings are only Sawney (that is, Alexander Pope), taking the change; for it is he, a little lump of flesh, that talks, instead of a little spirit.” Dennis’s profound gravity contributes an additional feature of the burlesque to these heroi-comic poems themselves, only that Dennis cannot be playful, and will not be good-humoured.
On the same tasteless principle he decides on the improbability of that incident in the “Conscious Lovers” of Steele, raised by Bevil, who, having received great obligations from his father, has promised not to marry without his consent. On this Dennis, who rarely in his critical progress will stir a foot without authority, quotes four formidable pages from Locke’s “Essay on Government,” to prove that, at the age of discretion, a man is free to dispose of his own actions! One would imagine that Dennis was arguing like a special pleader, rather than developing the involved action of an affecting drama. Are there critics who would pronounce Dennis to be a very sensible brother? It is here too he calls Steele “a twopenny author,” alluding to the price of the “Tatlers”—but this cost Dennis dear!
“The narrative of the frenzy of Mr. John Dennis,” published in the Miscellanies of Pope, Swift, and Arbuthnot, and said to have been written by Pope, is a grave banter on his usual violence. It professes to be the account of the physician who attended him at the request of a servant, who describes the first attack of his madness coming on when “a poor simple child came to him from the printers; the boy had no sooner entered the room, but he cried out ‘the devil was come!’” The constant idiosyncrasy he had that his writings against France and the Pope might endanger his liberty, is amusingly hit off; “he perpetually starts and runs to the window when any one knocks, crying out ‘’Sdeath! a messenger from the French King; I shall die in the Bastile!’”—Ed.