About this time he published the Temple of Fame, which, as he tells Steele in their correspondence, he had written two years before; that is, when he was only twenty-two years old, an early time of life for so much learning and so much observation as that work exhibits.
On this poem Dennis afterwards published some remarks, of which the most reasonable is, that some of the lines represent motion, as exhibited by sculpture[116].
Of the epistle from Eloisa to Abelard, I do not know the date. His first inclination to attempt a composition of that tender kind arose, as Mr. Savage told me, from his perusal of Prior’s Nut-brown Maid. How much he has surpassed Prior’s work it is not necessary to mention, when, perhaps, it may be said with justice, that he has excelled every composition of the same kind. The mixture of religious hope and resignation gives an elevation and dignity to disappointed love, which images merely natural cannot bestow. The gloom of a convent strikes the imagination with far greater force than the solitude of a grove.
This piece was, however, not much his favourite in his latter years, though I never heard upon what principle he slighted it[117].
In the next year, 1713, he published Windsor Forest; of which, part was, as he relates, written at sixteen, about the same time as his pastorals; and the latter part was added afterwards: where the addition begins, we are not told. The lines relating to the peace, confess their own date. It is dedicated to lord Lansdowne, who was then high in reputation and influence among the tories; and it is said, that the conclusion of the poem gave great pain to Addison, both as a poet and a politician. Reports like this are often spread with boldness very disproportionate to their evidence. Why should Addison receive any particular disturbance from the last lines of Windsor Forest? If contrariety of opinion could poison a politician, he would not live a day: and, as a poet, he must have felt Pope’s force of genius much more from many other parts of his works.
The pain that Addison might feel it is not likely that he would confess; and it is certain that he so well suppressed his discontent, that Pope now thought himself his favourite; for having been consulted in the revisal of Cato, he introduced it by a prologue; and when Dennis published his remarks, undertook, not indeed to vindicate, but to revenge his friend, by a Narrative of the Frensy of John Dennis.
There is reason to believe that Addison gave no encouragement to this disingenuous hostility; for, says Pope, in a letter to him, “indeed your opinion, that ’tis entirely to be neglected, would be my own in my own case; but I felt more warmth here than I did when I first saw his book against myself, (though indeed in two minutes it made me heartily merry.”) Addison was not a man on whom such cant of sensibility could make much impression. He left the pamphlet to itself, having disowned it to Dennis, and, perhaps, did not think Pope to have deserved much by his officiousness.
This year was printed in the Guardian the ironical comparison between the Pastorals of Philips and Pope; a composition of artifice, criticism, and literature, to which nothing equal will easily be found. The superiority of Pope is so ingeniously dissembled, and the feeble lines of Philips so skilfully preferred, that Steele, being deceived, was unwilling to print the paper, lest Pope should be offended. Addison immediately saw the writer’s design; and, as it seems, had malice enough to conceal his discovery, and to permit a publication which, by making his friend Philips ridiculous, made him for ever an enemy to Pope.
It appears that about this time Pope had a strong inclination to unite the art of painting with that of poetry, and put himself under the tuition of Jervas. He was near-sighted, and, therefore, not formed by nature for a painter: he tried, however, how far he could advance, and sometimes persuaded his friends to sit. A picture of Betterton, supposed to be drawn by him, was in the possession of lord Mansfield[118]: if this was taken from the life, he must have begun to paint earlier; for Betterton was now dead. Pope’s ambition of this new art produced some encomiastick verses to Jervas, which certainly show his power as a poet; but I have been told that they betray his ignorance of painting.
He appears to have regarded Betterton with kindness and esteem; and after his death published, under his name, a version into modern English of Chaucer’s prologues, and one of his tales, which, as was related by Mr. Harte, were believed to have been the performance of Pope himself by Fenton, whe made him a gay offer of five pounds, if he would show them in the hand of Betterton.