Th’ instructive page, with transport had survey’d,
And own’d its author, to have well supplied,
The place, his laws, to Homer’s self denied.
Under these lines we have this note. By the laws of Plato’s commonwealth, Homer was denied a place there, on account of the bad tendency of the morals he ascribes to his Gods and his Heroes; but from the short parallel I have drawn, let the impartial determine whose writings have the worst tendency. I know nothing of your poet Laureate, therefore shall say as little of him, but I cannot tell which most to wonder at, your own ignorance or vanity, the last is conspicuous in numberless other places as well as this, the first is scarce less so. Tho’ you have mention’d Plato’s commonwealth oftener than once in your works, yet, it appears that you know nothing of its nature or constitution, by which it was rendered impossible, for such characters as you describe, to have either an existence, or an admission into that imaginary republic. The pride of wealth in the Harlow family, and the pride of titles and descent in the Lovelace family, can no where be found, save, in a monarchial and commercial state, where there is a hereditary noblesse, and a great inequality among the fortunes of the citizens. Neither can such characters as Lovelace and his associates, or mother Sinclair and her nymphs, display themselves, or such a place as the mother’s brothel, subsist any where but in a city like London, the overgrown metropolis of a powerful Empire, and an extensive commerce; all these corruptions, are the necessary and unavoidable consequences of such a constitution of things. In order to prevent which, Plato made the basis of his republic consist in a perfect equality of the citizens, both with respect to honours and estates, and to banish commerce, in his opinion, the other great corrupter of the morals of a people, forever from the state; he supposes that his city is built in an inland country, at a distance from the Ocean or Sea-ports. I shall not pretend to justify Plato in all his whims; but it is certain, that if such an establishment were practicable, every public and private virtue would have a better chance to flourish there, than in any other State, where different principles prevail. From these circumstances it is manifest, that if we could suppose a Platonic citizen, entirely unacquainted with what passes in the world, beyond the verges of his own republic, he would imagine, if such a book as Clarissa was recommended to his perusal, that the characters described in it were monsters, not men, and existed no where, except in the depraved fancy of its author.
Here, Sir, I put a period to my general remarks on your compositions; I cannot say they are thrown altogether into a regular order, but they may do well enough in a loose essay, as this is intended to be. It would require a bulky volume to contain remarks on all the passages which deserve it, whether it were to point out innumerable faults, or some few shining beauties. I am not equal to the task, and, though I were, should not undertake it. Had you wrote nothing else, Pamela would have been consigned, long before now, to utter neglect and oblivion. Such soon will be the fate of Grandison, admired and sought after as it is at present. People must some time or other tire of conning over such quantities of flimzy stuff. I wonder at their present patience and perseverance, and can never sufficiently admire the contexture of that brain which can weave with unwearied toil such immense webs of idle tittle-tattle, and gossipping nonsense. Clarissa perhaps deserves a better fate.
Great are its faults, but glorious is its flame, may not improperly be said of it, as has been said of Shakespear’s Othello.
It must be owned, you have fallen upon a manner of writing, in a series of Letters, which is very affecting, and capable of great improvements. It preserves a great probability in the narration, and makes every thing appear animated and impassioned. It is to be regretted, that you have trifled so egregiously as you have done; you are one of those who, having an exuberant genius, and little judgment, never know when they have said enough. The manner in which you have published your pieces is a proof of this; Pamela came out first in two volumes, and was then compleat, however two more were afterwards added; Clarissa made her first appearance in seven volumes, and there are now eight; and Grandison, I suppose, will in a short time be improved in the same manner. This conduct, Sir, may at first encrease the profits of authorship, but in the end will always destroy the credit of the author. There never was a good writer yet, who blotted not out ten lines for one that he added. It has been said of Virgil, that when composing, he used to dictate a great many lines in the morning, and employ the rest of the day in reducing them to a small number. It was said in commendation of Shakespear, that he never blotted a line; Ben Johnson replied, he wished he had blotted a thousand, in which I believe every body now concurs with him. Homer alone seems to be an exception to this rule, in all his writings there are so much ease and nature, that I can hardly think he either blotted or corrected, his verses appear to have been wholly dictated by the inspired Muse herself. But you, Sir, are not a Homer, and are besides totally ignorant of that art, without the frequent exercise of which no other authors have ever attained to a great and lasting reputation, I mean the art of blotting judiciously, and lopping off superfluities and excrescences, without tenderness or remorse. Instead of adding one volume to Clarissa, as originally printed, had you taken three away, it might have been made a valuable performance. The best, perhaps, the only way to correct Grandison and Pamela, would be to make them pass thro’ the fire.
To conclude, I think your writings have corrupted our language and our taste; that the composition of them all, except Clarissa, is bad; and that they all, particularly that, have a manifest tendency to corrupt our morals. I have likewise shewn that your principal characters are all, except Clarissa’s, faulty, ridiculous, or unmeaning. Grandison is an inconsistent angel, Lovelace is an absolute devil, and Booby is a perfect ass; Pamela is a little pert minx, whom any man of common sense or address might have had on his own terms in a week or a fortnight, Harriet appears to be every thing, and yet may be nothing, except a ready scribe, a verbose letter-writer; and as to Clarissa, I believe you will own yourself, that I have done you ample justice. I now leave you seriously to contemplate the merit of your performances, and shall only add, that I hope you will have the candour not to impute these animadversions to any spiteful envy conceived at your great reputation and extraordinary success; yet, this I will say, that some expressions might perhaps have been pointed with less severity, had I not observed that your constant endeavours are to render a certain set of men amongst us, the objects of public hatred and detestation; for any thing you know to the contrary they may be in the right, and you in the wrong, at least, as I told you before, you are no proper judge in the controversy, whether they are or not. At any rate this conduct of yours must proceed either from a weakness of the head, or a badness of the heart. A weakness in the head, that your understanding still continues blinded with all those prejudices, in their full strength, which you imbibed in the years of your childhood, from the old women in the nursery. A badness of the heart, that makes you imagine any difference in opinions, merely speculative, ever can give just occasion to an unfavourable distinction among members of the same society, partakers of the same human nature, and children of one common indulgent Parent, the almighty and beneficent Creator of all things.
I am, &c.