Of his life at Blois a very slight sketch has been preserved by the Abbe Philippeaux, one of the many gossipping informants from whom Spence collected his anecdotes:
“Mr. Addison stayed above a year at Blois. He would rise as early as between two and three in summer, and lie abed till between eleven and twelve in the depth of winter. He was untalkative while here, and often thoughtful; sometimes so lost in thought that I have come into his room and have stayed five minutes there before he has known anything of it. He had his masters generally at supper with him, kept very little company beside, and had no amour whilst here that I know of, and I think I should have known it if he had had any.”
The following characteristic letter to a gentleman of Blois, with whom he seems to have had an altercation, is interesting as showing the mixture of coolness and dignity, the “blood and judgment well commingled” which Hamlet praised in Horatio, and which are conspicuous in all Addison’s actions as well as in his writings:
“Sir,—I am always as slow in making an Enemy as a Friend, and am therefore very ready to come to an Accommodation with you; but as for any satisfaction, I don’t think it is due on either side when ye Affront is mutual. You know very well that according to ye opinion of ye world a man would as soon be called a Knave as a Fool, and I believe most people wd be rather thought to want Legs than Brains. But I suppose whatever we said in ye heat of discourse is not ye real opinion we have of each other, since otherwise you would have scorned to subscribe yourself as I do at present, Sr, yr very, etc.
A. Monsr L’Espagnol,
Blois, 10br 1699.”
The length of Addison’s sojourn at Blois seems to have been partly caused by the difficulty he experienced, owing to the defectiveness of his memory, in mastering the language. Finding himself at last able to converse easily, he returned to Paris some time in the autumn of 1700, in order to see a little of polite society there before starting on his travels in Italy. He found the best company in the capital among the men of letters, and he makes especial mention of Malebranche, whom he describes as solicitous about the adequate rendering of his works into English; and of Boileau, who, having now survived almost all his literary friends, seems, in his conversation with Addison, to have been even more than usually splenetic in his judgments on his contemporaries. The old poet and critic was, however, propitiated with the present of the Musæ Anglicanæ; and, according to Tickell, said “that he did not question there were excellent compositions in the native language of a country that possessed the Roman genius in so eminent a degree.”
In general, Addison’s remarks on the French character are not complimentary. He found the vanity of the people so elated by the elevation of the Duke of Anjou to the throne of Spain that they were insupportable, and he felt no reluctance to quit France for Italy. His observations on the national manners, as seen at Blois, are characteristic:
“Truly, by what I have yet seen, they are the Happiest nation in the world. ’Tis not in the pow’r of Want or Slavery to make ’em miserable. There is nothing to be met with in the Country but Mirth and Poverty. Ev’ry one sings, laughs, and starves. Their Conversation is generally Agreeable; for if they have any Wit or Sense they are sure to show it. They never mend upon a Second meeting, but use all the freedom and familiarity at first Sight that a long Intimacy or Abundance of wine can scarce draw from an Englishman. Their Women are perfect Mistresses in this Art of showing themselves to the best Advantage. They are always gay and sprightly, and set off ye worst faces in Europe with ye best airs. Ev’ry one knows how to give herself as charming a look and posture as Sr Godfrey Kneller cd draw her in.”[11]
He embarked from Marseilles for Genoa in December, 1700, having as his companion Edward Wortley Montague, whom Pope satirises under the various names of Shylock, Worldly, and Avidien. It is unnecessary to follow him step by step in his travels, but the reader of his Letter to Lord Halifax may still enjoy the delight and enthusiasm to which he gives utterance on finding himself among the scenes described in his favourite authors:
“Poetic fields encompass me around,
And still I seem to tread on classic ground;
For here the Muse so oft her harp has strung,
That not a mountain rears its head unsung;
Renowned in verse each shady thicket grows,
And every stream in heavenly numbers flows.”[12]