Anguillam cauda tenes.--T. D'URFEY.
* * * * *
_From my own Apartment, January 27._
There is no sort of company so agreeable as that of women who have good
sense without affectation, and can converse with men without any private
design of imposing chains and fetters. Belvidera, whom I visited this
evening, is one of these. There is an invincible prejudice in favour of
all she says, from her being a beautiful woman, because she does not
consider herself as such when she talks to you. This amiable temper
gives a certain tincture to all her discourse, and made it very
agreeable to me, till we were interrupted by Lydia, a creature who has
all the charms that can adorn a woman. Her attractions would indeed be
irresistible, but that she thinks them so, and is always employing them
in stratagems and conquests. When I turned my eye upon her as she sat
down, I saw she was a person of that character, which, for the further
information of my country correspondents, I had long wanted an
opportunity of explaining. Lydia is a finished coquette, which is a sect
among women of all others the most mischievous, and makes the greatest
havoc and disorder in society. I went on in the discourse I was in with
Belvidera, without showing that I had observed anything extraordinary in
Lydia: upon which, I immediately saw her look me over as some very
ill-bred fellow; and casting a scornful glance on my dress, gave a shrug
at Belvidera. But as much as she despised me, she wanted my admiration,
and made twenty offers to bring my eyes her way: but I reduced her to a
restlessness in her seat, an impertinent playing of her fan, and many
other motions and gestures, before I took the least notice of her. At
last I looked at her with a kind of surprise, as if she had before been
unobserved by reason of an ill light where she sat. It is not to be
expressed what a sudden joy I saw rise in her countenance, even at the
approbation of such a very old fellow: but she did not long enjoy her
triumph without a rival; for there immediately entered Castabella, a
lady of a quite contrary character, that is to say, as eminent a prude
as Lydia is a coquette. Belvidera gave me a glance, which methought
intimated, that they were both curiosities in their kind, and worth
remarking. As soon as we were again seated, I stole looks at each lady,
as if I was comparing their perfections. Belvidera observed it, and
began to lead me into a discourse of them both to their faces, which is
to be done easily enough; for one woman is generally so intent upon the
faults of another, that she has not reflection enough to observe when
her own are represented. "I have taken notice, Mr. Bickerstaff," said
Belvidera, "that you have in some parts of your writings drawn
characters of our sex, in which you have not, to my apprehension, been
clear enough and distinct, particularly in those of a prude and a
coquette." Upon the mention of this, Lydia was roused with the
expectation of seeing Castabella's picture, and Castabella with the
hopes of that of Lydia. "Madam," said I to Belvidera, "when we consider
nature, we shall often find very contrary effects flow from the same
cause. The prude and coquette (as different as they appear in their
behaviour) are in reality the same kind of women: the motive of action
in both is the affectation of pleasing men. They are sisters of the same
blood and constitution, only one chooses a grave, the other a light,
dress. The prude appears more virtuous, the coquette more vicious, than
she really is. The distant behaviour of the prude tends to the same
purpose as the advances of the coquette; and you have as little reason
to fall into despair from the severity of the one, as to conceive hope
from the familiarity of the latter. What leads you into a clear sense of
their character is, that you may observe each of them has the
distinction of sex in all her thoughts, words and actions. You can never
mention any assembly you were lately in, but one asks you with a rigid,
the other with a sprightly air, 'Pray, what men were there?' As for
prudes, it must be confessed, that there are several of them, who, like
hypocrites, by long practice of a false part, become sincere; or at
least delude themselves into a belief that they are so."
For the benefit of this society of ladies, I shall propose one rule to
them as a test of their virtue. I find in a very celebrated modern
author, that the great foundress of the Pietists, Madame de
Bourignon,[53] who was no less famous for the sanctity of her life than
for the singularity of some of her opinions, was used to boast, that she
had not only the spirit of continency in herself, but that she had also
the power of communicating it to all who beheld her. This the scoffers
of those days called the Gift of Infrigidation, and took occasion from
it to rally her face, rather than admire her virtue. I would therefore
advise the prude, who has a mind to know the integrity of her own heart,
to lay her hand seriously upon it, and to examine herself, whether she
could sincerely rejoice in such a gift of conveying chaste thoughts to
all her male beholders. If she has any aversion to the power of
inspiring so great a virtue, whatever notion she may have of her
perfection, she deceives her own heart, and is still in the state of
prudery. Some perhaps will look upon the boast of Madame de Bourignon as
the utmost ostentation of a prude.
If you would see the humour of a coquette pushed to the last excess, you
may find an instance of it in the following story, which I will set down
at length, because it pleased me when I read it, though I cannot
recollect in what author.
A young coquette widow in France having been followed by a Gascon of
quality, who had boasted among his companions of some favours which he
had never received, to be revenged of him, sent for him one evening, and
told him, it was in his power to do her a very particular service. The
Gascon, with much profession of his readiness to obey her commands,
begged to hear in what manner she designed to employ him. "You know,"
said the widow, "my friend Belinda, and must often have heard of the
jealousy of that impotent wretch her husband. Now it is absolutely
necessary, for the carrying on a certain affair, that his wife and I
should be together a whole night. What I have to ask of you, is, to
dress yourself in her night-clothes, and lie by him a whole night in her
place, that he may not miss her while she is with me." The Gascon
(though of a very lively and undertaking complexion) began to startle at
the proposal. "Nay," says the widow, "if you have not the courage to go
through what I ask of you, I must employ somebody else that will."
"Madam," says the Gascon, "I'll kill him for you if you please; but for
lying with him!--How is it possible to do it without being discovered?"
"If you do not discover yourself," says the widow, "you will lie safe
enough, for he is past all curiosity. He comes in at night while she is
asleep, and goes out in the morning before she awakes, and is in pain
for nothing, so he knows she is there." "Madam," replied the Gascon,
"how can you reward me for passing a night with this old fellow?" The
widow answered with a laugh, "Perhaps by admitting you to pass a night
with one you think more agreeable." He took the hint, put on his
night-clothes, and had not been a-bed above an hour before he heard a
knocking at the door, and the treading of one who approached the other
side of the bed, and who he did not question was the good man of the
house. I do not know, whether the story would be better by telling you
in this place, or at the end of it, that the person who went to bed to
him was our young coquette widow. The Gascon was in a terrible fright
every time she moved in the bed, or turned towards him, and did not fail
to shrink from her till he had conveyed himself to the very ridge of the
bed. I will not dwell upon the perplexity he was in the whole night,
which was augmented, when he observed that it was now broad day, and
that the husband did not yet offer to get up and go about his business.
All that the Gascon had for it, was to keep his face turned from him,
and to feign himself asleep, when, to his utter confusion, the widow at
last puts out her arm, and pulls the bell at her bed's head. In came her
friend, and two or three companions, to whom the Gascon had boasted of
her favours. The widow jumped into a wrapping-gown, and joined with the
rest in laughing at this man of intrigue.[54]
[Footnote 53: Bayle, in his life of this devotee, 1697, says that
Antoinette Bourignon was born at Lisle in 1616, so deformed, that it was
debated for some days in the family, whether it was not proper to stifle
her as a monster. Her deformity diminishing, they laid aside the
thought. Although she was of a morose and peevish temper, and embroiled
in troubles most part of her life, she seemed to be but forty years of
age when she was above sixty; never made use of spectacles, and died at
Franeker, in the province of Frise, in 1680. From her childhood to her
old age she had an extraordinary turn of mind. She published a multitude
of books, filled with singular doctrines, such as might be expected from
a person who roundly asserted, on the express declaration, she said, of
God Himself, "That the examination of things by reason, was the most
accursed of all heresies, formal atheism, a rejection of God, and the
substitution of corrupt reason in his place." She pretended to
inspiration, and boasted of extraordinary communications with God; but
appears to have been exceedingly defective in the essential duties of
humility and charity. She was a woman of such ill conditions and odd
behaviour, that nobody could live with her; and she seriously
maintained, that anger was a real virtue. She contrived to accumulate
money, but continued always uncharitable upon principle, alleging the
errors of her understanding in defence of the inhumanity of her
conduct.]
[Footnote 54: "_Advertisement._--Proposals for printing the Lucubrations
of Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., by subscriptions, are to be seen, and
subscriptions taken by Charles Lillie, a perfumer, at the corner of
Beaufort Buildings, in the Strand, and John Morphew, near Stationers
Hall." See No. 80, note. The same proposals are advertised at the end of
the subsequent papers in the original folio, with the following
variation and addition: Proposals for printing, &c. by subscriptions,
"in two volumes in octavo, on a large character and fine royal paper,"
&c. In No. 134, &c., there was this addition: "All persons that desire
to subscribe to this work are desired to send their subscriptions before
the 25th instant, it being intended to print no more than what shall be
subscribed for, and to begin on the 27th in order to have it published
before Easter." In No. 139 (Feb. 25-28) was the announcement, "this day
put to press." The idea of publishing by Easter was given up after No.
153. The books were not ready for the subscribers until July 10 (see No.
195, Advertisement). The third and fourth volumes of the _Tatler_ were
advertised as "ready to be delivered" in No. 227 of the _Spectator_
(Nov. 20, 1711). The copies on royal paper were issued at a guinea a
volume, and copies on medium paper at half a guinea. "I am one of your
two-guinea subscribers," says the writer of No. 5 of the _Examiner_
(Aug. 31, 1710).]
No. 127. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Jan. 28_, to _Tuesday, Jan. 31, 1709-10_.
Nimirum insanus paucis videatur, eo quod
Maxima pars hominum morbo jactatur eodem.
HOR., 2 Sat. iii. 120.
* * * * *
_From my own Apartment, January 30._
There is no affection of the mind so much blended in human nature, and
wrought into our very constitution, as pride. It appears under a
multitude of disguises, and breaks out in ten thousand different
symptoms. Every one feels it in himself, and yet wonders to see it in
his neighbour. I must confess, I met with an instance of it the other
day where I should very little have expected it. Who would believe the
proud person I am going to speak of, is a cobbler upon Ludgate Hill?
This artist being naturally a lover of respect, and considering that his
circumstances are such that no man living will give it him, has
contrived the figure of a beau in wood, who stands before him in a
bending posture, with his hat under his left arm, and his right hand
extended in such a manner as to hold a thread, a piece of wax, or an
awl, according to the particular service in which his master thinks fit
to employ him. When I saw him, he held a candle in this obsequious
posture. I was very well pleased with the cobbler's invention, that had
so ingeniously contrived an inferior, and stood a little while
contemplating this inverted idolatry, wherein the image did homage to
the man. When we meet with such a fantastic vanity in one of this order,
it is no wonder if we may trace it through all degrees above it, and
particularly through all the steps of greatness. We easily see the
absurdity of pride when it enters into the heart of a cobbler; though in
reality it is altogether as ridiculous and unreasonable wherever it
takes possession of a human creature. There is no temptation to it from
the reflection upon our being in general, or upon any comparative
perfection, whereby one man may excel another. The greater a man's
knowledge is, the greater motive he may seem to have for pride; but in
the same proportion as the one rises, the other sinks, it being the
chief office of wisdom to discover to us our weaknesses and
imperfections.
As folly is the foundation of pride, the natural superstructure of it is
madness. If there was an occasion for the experiment, I would not
question to make a proud man a lunatic in three weeks' time, provided I
had it in my power to ripen his frenzy with proper applications. It is
an admirable reflection in Terence, where it is said of a parasite,
"_Hic homines ex stultis facit insanos!_"[55] "This fellow," says he,
"has an art of converting fools into madmen." When I was in France (the
region of complaisance and vanity), I have often observed, that a great
man who has entered a levy of flatterers humble and temperate, has grown
so insensibly heated by the court which was paid him on all sides, that
he has been quite distracted before he could get into his coach.
If we consult the collegiates of Moorfields, we shall find most of them
are beholden to their pride for their introduction into that magnificent
palace.[56] I had some years ago the curiosity to inquire into the
particular circumstances of these whimsical freeholders, and learned
from their own mouths the condition and character of each of them.
Indeed I found, that all I spoke to were persons of quality. There were
at that time five duchesses, three earls, two heathen gods, an emperor,
and a prophet. There were also a great number of such as were locked up
from their estates, and others who concealed their titles. A
leather-seller of Taunton whispered me in my ear, that he was the Duke
of Monmouth; but begged me not to betray him. At a little distance from
him sat a tailor's wife, who asked me as I went by, if I had seen the
sword-bearer? Upon which I presumed to ask her, who she was; and was
answered, "My Lady Mayoress."
I was very sensibly touched with compassion towards these miserable
people; and indeed, extremely mortified to see human nature capable of
being thus disfigured. However, I reaped this benefit from it, that I
was resolved to guard myself against a passion which makes such havoc in
the brain, and produces so much disorder in the imagination. For this
reason, I have endeavoured to keep down the secret swellings of
resentment, and stifle the very first suggestions of self-esteem; to
establish my mind in tranquillity, and over-value nothing in my own, or
in another's possession.
For the benefit of such whose heads are a little turned, though not to
so great a degree as to qualify them for the place of which I have been
now speaking, I shall assign one of the sides of the college which I am
erecting, for the cure of this dangerous distemper.
The most remarkable of the persons whose disturbance arises from pride,
and whom I shall use all possible diligence to cure, are such as are
bidden in the appearance of quite contrary habits and dispositions.
Among such, I shall in the first place take care of one who is under the
most subtle species of pride that I have observed in my whole
experience.
This patient is a person for whom I have a great respect, as being an
old courtier, and a friend of mine in my youth. The man has but a bare
subsistence, just enough to pay his reckoning with us at the
Trumpet:[57] but by having spent the beginning of his life in the
hearing of great men and persons of power, he is always promising to do
good offices, to introduce every man he converses with into the world;
will desire one of ten times his substance to let him see him sometimes,
and hints to him, that he does not forget him. He answers to matters of
no consequence with great circumspection; but however, maintains a
general civility in his words and actions, and an insolent benevolence
to all whom he has to do with: this he practises with a grave tone and
air; and though I am his senior by twelve years, and richer by forty
pounds per annum, he had yesterday the impudence to commend me to my
face, and tell me, he should be always ready to encourage me. In a-word,
he is a very insignificant fellow, but exceeding gracious. The best
return I can make him for his favours, is, to carry him myself to
Bedlam, and see him well taken care of.[58]
The next person I shall provide for, is of a quite contrary character;
that has in him all the stiffness and insolence of quality, without a
grain of sense or good nature to make it either respected or beloved.
His pride has infected every muscle of his face; and yet, after all his
endeavours to show mankind that he contemns them, he is only neglected
by all that see him, as not of consequence enough to be hated.
For the cure of this particular sort of madness, it will be necessary to
break through all forms with him, and familiarise[59] his carriage by
the use of a good cudgel. It may likewise be of great benefit to make
him jump over a stick half a dozen times every morning.
A third whom I have in my eye is a young fellow, whose lunacy is such,
that he boasts of nothing but what he ought to be ashamed of. He is vain
of being rotten, and talks publicly of having committed crimes, which he
ought to be hanged for by the laws of his country.
There are several others whose brains are hurt with pride, and whom I
may hereafter attempt to recover; but shall conclude my present list
with an old woman, who is just dropping into her grave, that talks of
nothing but her birth. Though she has not a tooth in her head, she
expects to be valued for the blood in her veins, which she fancies is
much better than that which glows in the cheeks of Belinda,[60] and sets
half the town on fire.
[Footnote 55: "Eunuchus," II. ii. 23. See No. 208.]
[Footnote 56: Bedlam.]
[Footnote 57: In Shire Lane. See No. 132.]
[Footnote 58: "Perhaps the most consummately drawn of all his characters
is introduced in the Essay, No. 127.... We have a portrait of that kind
which, though produced by a few apparently careless touches, never
ceases to charm, and is a study for all succeeding time and painters"
(Forster's Essay on Steele). "This character," wrote Leigh Hunt, "is one
of the finest that ever proceeded from his pen. It shows his contempt of
that absurdest of all the passions of mortality--pride. The reader will
take notice of the exquisite expression 'insolent benevolence,' and the
'very insignificant fellow, but exceeding gracious'" ("A Book for a
Corner," ii. 78-9).]
[Footnote 59: Bring down from its state of superiority.]
[Footnote 60: Nichols suggests an allusion to Mary Ann, daughter of
Baron Spanheim, the Bavarian ambassador. She married the Marquis de
Montandre in April 1710, and was a Kit-Cat toast. The reference--if
there is any personal reference at all--may equally well be to any one
of the beauties of the time.]
No. 128. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Jan. 31_, to _Thursday, Feb. 2, 1709-10_.
----Veniunt a dote sagittae.--JUV., Sat. vi. 139.
* * * * *
_From my own Apartment, February 1._
This morning I received a letter from a fortune-hunter, which being
better in its kind than men of that character usually write, I have
thought fit to communicate to the public:
"_To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq._
"SIR,
"I take the boldness to recommend to your care the enclosed letter,
not knowing how to communicate it but by your means to the
agreeable country maid you mention with so much honour in your
discourse concerning the lottery.[61]
"I should be ashamed to give you this trouble without offering at
some small requital: I shall therefore direct a new pair of globes
and a telescope of the best maker, to be left for you at Mr.
Morphew's, as a testimony of the great respect with which I am
"Your most humble Servant, &c."
"_To Mopsa in Sheer Lane._
"FAIREST UNKNOWN,
"It being discovered by the stars, that about ten[62] months hence,
you will run the hazard of being persecuted by many worthless
pretenders to your person, unless timely prevented, I now offer my
service for your security against the persecution that threatens
you. This is therefore to let you know, that I have conceived a
most extraordinary passion for you; and that for several days I
have been perpetually haunted with the vision of a person I have
never yet seen. To satisfy you that I am in my senses, and that I
do not mistake you for any one of higher rank, I assure you, that
in your daily employment, you appear to my imagination more
agreeable in a short scanty petticoat, than the finest woman of
quality in her spreading farthingale; and that the dexterous twirl
of your mop has more native charms than the studied airs of a
lady's fan. In a word, I am captivated with your menial
qualifications: the domestic virtues adorn you like attendant
Cupids; cleanliness and healthful industry wait on all your
motions; and dust and cobwebs fly your approach.
"Now, to give you an honest account of myself, and that you may see
my designs are honourable, I am an esquire of an ancient family,
born to about fifteen hundred pounds a year, half of which I have
spent in discovering myself to be a fool, and with the rest am
resolved to retire with some plain honest partner, and study to be
wiser. I had my education in a laced coat, and a French dancing
school; and by my travel into foreign parts, have just as much
breeding to spare, as you may think you want, which I intend to
exchange as fast as I can for old English honesty and good sense. I
will not impose on you by a false recommendation of my person,
which (to show you my sincerity) is none of the handsomest, being
of a figure somewhat short; but what I want in length, I make out
in breadth. But in amends for that and all other defects, If you
can like me when you see me, I shall continue to you, whether I
find you fair, black or brown,
"THE MOST CONSTANT OF LOVERS.
"_January 27, 1709/10._"
This letter seems to be written by a wag, and for that reason I am not
much concerned for what reception Mopsa shall think fit to give it; but
the following certainly proceeds from a poor heart, that languishes
under the most deplorable misfortune that possibly can befall a woman. A
man that is treacherously dealt with in love may have recourse to many
consolations. He may gracefully break through all opposition to his
mistress, or explain with his rival; urge his own constancy, or
aggravate the falsehood by which it is repaid. But a woman that is
ill-treated has no refuge in her griefs but in silence and secrecy. The
world is so unjust, that a female heart which has been once touched is
thought for ever blemished. The very grief in this case is looked upon
as a reproach, and a complaint almost a breach of chastity. For these
reasons, we see treachery and falsehood are become as it were male
vices, and are seldom found, never acknowledged, in the other sex. This
may serve to introduce Statira's letter, which, without any turn or art,
has something so pathetical and moving in it, that I verily believe it
to be true, and therefore heartily pity the injured creature that wrote
it:
"_To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq._
"SIR,
"You seem in many of your writings to be a man of a very
compassionate temper, and well acquainted with the passion of love.
This encourages me to apply myself to you in my present distress,
which I believe you will look upon to be very great, and treat with
tenderness, notwithstanding it wholly arises from love, and that it
is a woman that makes this confession. I am now in the twenty-third
year of my age, and have for a great while entertained the
addresses of a man who I thought loved me more than life. I am sure
I did him; and must own to you, not without some confusion, that I
have thought on nothing else for these two long years, but the
happy life we should lead together, and the means I should use to
make myself still dearer to him. My fortune was indeed much beyond
his; and as I was always in the company of my relations, he was
forced to discover his inclinations, and declare himself to me by
stories of other persons, kind looks, and many ways which he knew
too well that I understood. Oh! Mr. Bickerstaff, it is impossible
to tell you, how industrious I have been to make him appear lovely
in my thoughts. I made it a point of conscience to think well of
him, and of no man else: but he has since had an estate fallen to
him, and makes love to another of a greater fortune than mine. I
could not believe the report of this at first; but about a
fortnight ago I was convinced of the truth of it by his own
behaviour. He came to give our family a formal visit, when, as
there were several in company, and many things talked of, the
discourse fell upon some unhappy woman who was in my own
circumstances. It was said by one in the room, that they could not
believe the story could be true, because they did not believe any
man could be so false. Upon which, I stole a look upon him with an
anguish not to be expressed. He saw my eyes full of tears; yet had
the cruelty to say, that he could see no falsehood in alterations
of this nature, where there had been no contracts or vows
interchanged. Pray, do not make a jest of misery, but tell me
seriously your opinion of his behaviour; and if you can have any
pity for my condition, publish this in your next paper, that being
the only way I have of complaining of his unkindness, and showing
him the injustice he has done me. I am
"Your humble Servant,
"The unfortunate
"STATIRA."
The name my correspondent gives herself, puts me in mind of my old
reading in romances, and brings into my thoughts a speech of the
renowned Don Bellianis, who, upon a complaint made him of a discourteous
knight, that had left his injured paramour in the same manner, dries up
her tears with a promise of relief. "Disconsolate damsel," quoth he, "a
foul disgrace it were to all right worthy professors of chivalry, if
such a blot to knighthood should pass unchastised. Give me to know the
abode of this recreant lover, and I will give him as a feast to the
fowls of the air, or drag him bound before you at my horse's tail."
* * * * *
I am not ashamed to own myself a champion of distressed damsels, and
would venture as far to relieve them as Don Bellianis; for which reason,
I do invite this lady to let me know the name of the traitor who has
deceived her; and do promise, not only her, but all the fair ones of
Great Britain who lie under the same calamity, to employ my right hand
for their redress, and serve them to my last drop of ink.
[Footnote 61: See No. 124.]
[Footnote 62: Altered, in error, to "three," in the 1711 edition. In No.
124 "ten months" remains. The drawing was at Michaelmas 1710.]