A very clean, well-behaved young gentleman, who is in a very good way in
Cornhill, has writ to me the following lines, and seems in some passages
of his letter (which I omit) to lay it very much to heart, that I have
not spoken of a supernatural beauty whom he sighs for, and complains to
in most elaborate language. Alas! what can a monitor do? All mankind
live in romance:
"Royal Exchange, _March 11_.
"MR. BICKERSTAFF,
"Some time since you were pleased to mention the beauties in the
New Exchange and Westminster Hall,[157] and in my judgment were not
very impartial; for if you were pleased to allow there was one
goddess in the New Exchange, and two shepherdesses in Westminster
Hall, you very well might say, there was and is at present one
angel in the Royal Exchange: and I humbly beg the favour of you to
let justice be done her, by inserting this in your next _Tatler_;
which will make her my good angel, and me your most humble servant,
"A. B."[158]
[Footnote 154: See No. 141.]
[Footnote 155: See No. 50.]
[Footnote 156: See No. 9.]
[Footnote 157: See No. 139.]
[Footnote 158: Perhaps Alexander Bayne; see No. 84.]
No. 146. [ADDISON.
From _Tuesday, March 14_, to _Thursday, March 16, 1709-10_.
Permittes ipsis expendere numinibus, quid
Conveniat nobis, rebusque sit utile nostris.
Nam pro jucundis aptissima quaeque dabunt Di.
Carior est illis homo, quam sibi. Nos animorum
Impulsu et caeca magnaque cupidine ducti
Conjugium petimus, partumque uxoris; at illis
Notum, qui pueri qualisque futura sit uxor.
JUV., Sat. x. 347.
* * * * *
_From my own Apartment, March 15._
Among the various sets of correspondents who apply to me for advice, and
send up their cases from all parts of Great Britain, there are none who
are more importunate with me, and whom I am more inclined to answer,
than the complainers. One of them dates his letter to me from the banks
of a purling stream, where he used to ruminate in solitude upon the
divine Clarissa, and where he is now looking about for a convenient
leap, which he tells me he is resolved to take, unless I support him
under the loss of that charming perjured woman. Poor Lavinia presses as
much for consolation on the other side, and is reduced to such an
extremity of despair by the inconstancy of Philander, that she tells me
she writes her letter with her pen in one hand and her garter in the
other. A gentleman of an ancient family in Norfolk is almost out of his
wits upon account of a greyhound, that after having been his inseparable
companion for ten years, is at last run mad. Another (who I believe is
serious) complains to me, in a very moving manner, of the loss of a
wife; and another, in terms still more moving, of a purse of money that
was taken from him on Bagshot Heath, and which, he tells me, would not
have troubled him if he had given it to the poor. In short, there is
scarce a calamity in human life that has not produced me a letter.
It is indeed wonderful to consider, how men are able to raise affliction
to themselves out of everything. Lands and houses, sheep and oxen, can
convey happiness and misery into the hearts of reasonable creatures.
Nay, I have known a muff, a scarf, or a tippet, become a solid blessing
or misfortune. A lap-dog has broke the hearts of thousands. Flavia, who
had buried five children, and two husbands, was never able to get over
the loss of her parrot. How often has a divine creature been thrown into
a fit by a neglect at a ball or an assembly? Mopsa has kept her chamber
ever since the last masquerade, and is in greater danger of her life
upon being left out of it, than Clarinda from the violent cold which she
caught at it. Nor are these dear creatures the only sufferers by such
imaginary calamities: many an author has been dejected at the censure of
one whom he ever looked upon as an idiot; and many a hero cast into a
fit of melancholy, because the rabble have not hooted at him as he
passed through the streets. Theron places all his happiness in a running
horse, Suffenus in a gilded chariot, Fulvius in a blue string, and
Florio in a tulip root. It would be endless to enumerate the many
fantastical afflictions that disturb mankind; but as a misery is not to
be measured from the nature of the evil, but from the temper of the
sufferer, I shall present my readers, who are unhappy either in reality
or imagination, with an allegory, for which I am indebted to the great
father and prince of poets.
As I was sitting after dinner in my elbow-chair, I took up Homer, and
dipped into that famous speech of Achilles to Priam, in which he tells
him, that Jupiter has by him two great vessels, the one filled with
blessings, and the other with misfortunes; out of which he mingles a
composition for every man that comes into the world. This passage so
exceedingly pleased me, that as I fell insensibly into my afternoon's
slumber, it wrought my imagination into the following dream:
When Jupiter took into his hands the government of the world, the
several parts of nature, with their presiding deities, did homage to
him. One presented him with a mountain of winds, another with a magazine
of hail, and a third with a pile of thunderbolts. The stars offered up
their influences; the ocean gave in his trident, the earth her fruits,
and the sun his seasons. Among the several deities who came to make
their court on this occasion, the destinies advanced with two great tuns
carried before them, one of which they fixed at the right hand of
Jupiter as he sat upon his throne, and the other on his left. The first
was filled with all the blessings, and the other with all the calamities
of human life. Jupiter, in the beginning of his reign, finding the world
much more innocent than it is in this iron age, poured very plentifully
out of the tun that stood at his right hand; but as mankind degenerated,
and became unworthy of his blessings, he set abroach the other vessel,
that filled the world with pain and poverty, battles and distempers,
jealousy and falsehood, intoxicating pleasures and untimely deaths.
He was at length so very much incensed at the great depravation of human
nature, and the repeated provocations which he received from all parts
of the earth, that having resolved to destroy the whole species, except
Deucalion and Pyrrha, he commanded the Destinies to gather up the
blessings which he had thrown away upon the sons of men, and lay them up
till the world should be inhabited by a more virtuous and deserving race
of mortals.
The three sisters immediately repaired to the earth, in search of the
several blessings that had been scattered on it; but found the task
which was enjoined them, to be much more difficult than they had
imagined. The first places they resorted to, as the most likely to
succeed in, were cities, palaces, and courts; but instead of meeting
with what they looked for here, they found nothing but envy, repining,
uneasiness, and the like bitter ingredients of the left-hand vessel.
Whereas, to their great surprise, they discovered content, cheerfulness,
health, innocence, and other the most substantial blessings of life, in
cottages, shades, and solitudes.
There was another circumstance no less unexpected than the former, and
which gave them very great perplexity in the discharge of the trust
which Jupiter had committed to them. They observed, that several
blessings had degenerated into calamities, and that several calamities
had improved into blessings, according as they fell into the possession
of wise or foolish men. They often found power, with so much insolence
and impatience cleaving to it, that it became a misfortune to the person
on whom it was conferred. Youth had often distempers growing about it,
worse than the infirmities of old age: wealth was often united to such a
sordid avarice, as made it the most uncomfortable and painful kind of
poverty. On the contrary, they often found pain made glorious by
fortitude, poverty lost in content, deformity beautified with virtue. In
a word, the blessings were often like good fruits planted in a bad
soil, that by degrees fall off from their natural relish, into tastes
altogether insipid or unwholesome; and the calamities, like harsh
fruits, cultivated in a good soil, and enriched by proper grafts and
inoculations, till they swell with generous and delightful juices.
There was still a third circumstance that occasioned as great a surprise
to the three sisters as either of the foregoing, when they discovered
several blessings and calamities which had never been in either of the
tuns that stood by the throne of Jupiter, and were nevertheless as great
occasions of happiness or misery as any there. These were that spurious
crop of blessings and calamities which were never sown by the hand of
the Deity, but grow of themselves out of the fancies and dispositions of
human creatures. Such are dress, titles, place, equipage, false shame,
and groundless fear, with the like vain imaginations that shoot up in
trifling, weak, and irresolute minds.
The Destinies finding themselves in so great a perplexity, concluded,
that it would be impossible for them to execute the commands that had
been given them according to their first intention; for which reason
they agreed to throw all the blessings and calamities together into one
large vessel, and in that manner offer them up at the feet of Jupiter.
* * * * *
This was performed accordingly, the eldest sister presenting herself
before the vessel, and introducing it with an apology for what they had
done.
* * * * *
"O Jupiter!" says she, "we have gathered together all the good and evil,
the comforts and distresses of human life, which we thus present before
thee in one promiscuous heap. We beseech thee that thou thyself wilt
sort them out for the future, as in thy wisdom thou shalt think fit. For
we acknowledge, that there is none beside thee that can judge what will
occasion grief or joy in the heart of a human creature, and what will
prove a blessing or a calamity to the person on whom it is bestowed."
No. 147. [ADDISON AND STEELE.
From _Thurs., March 16_, to _Satur., March 18, 1709-10_.
----Ut ameris, amabilis esto.--OVID., Ars Am. ii. 107.
* * * * *
_From my own Apartment, March 17._
Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body. As by the one,
health is preserved, strengthened and invigorated; by the other, virtue
(which is the health of the mind) is kept alive, cherished and
confirmed. But as exercise becomes tedious and painful when we make use
of it only as the means of health, so reading is apt to grow uneasy and
burdensome, when we apply ourselves to it only for our improvement in
virtue. For this reason, the virtue which we gather from a fable, or an
allegory, is like the health we get by hunting; as we are engaged in an
agreeable pursuit that draws us on with pleasure, and makes us
insensible of the fatigues that accompany it.
After this preface, I shall set down a very beautiful allegorical fable
out of the great poet whom I mentioned in my last paper, and whom it is
very difficult to lay aside when one is engaged in the reading of him.
And this I particularly design for the use of several of my fair
correspondents, who in their letters have complained to me, that they
have lost the affections of their husbands, and desire my advice how to
recover them.
Juno, says Homer,[159] seeing her Jupiter seated on the top of Mount
Ida, and knowing that he had conceived an aversion to her, began to
study how she should regain his affections, and make herself amiable to
him. With this thought she immediately retired into her chamber, where
she bathed herself in ambrosia, which gave her person all its beauty,
and diffused so divine an odour, as refreshed all nature, and sweetened
both heaven and earth. She let her immortal tresses flow in the most
graceful manner, and took a particular care to dress herself in several
ornaments, which the poet describes at length, and which the goddess
chose out as the most proper to set off her person to the best
advantage. In the next place, she made a visit to Venus, the deity who
presides over love, and begged of her, as a particular favour, that she
would lend her for a while those charms with which she subdued the
hearts both of gods and men. "For," says the goddess, "I would make use
of them to reconcile the two deities who took care of me in my infancy,
and who, at present, are at so great a variance, that they are estranged
from each other's bed." Venus was proud of an opportunity of obliging so
great a goddess, and therefore made her a present of the cestus which
she used to wear about her own waist, with advice to hide it in her
bosom till she had accomplished her intention. This cestus was a fine
parti-coloured girdle, which, as Homer tells us, had all the attractions
of the sex wrought into it. The four principal figures in the embroidery
were Love, Desire, Fondness of Speech, and Conversation, filled with
that sweetness and complacency, which, says the poet, insensibly steal
away the hearts of the wisest men.
Juno, after having made these necessary preparations, came as by
accident into the presence of Jupiter, who is said to have been as much
inflamed with her beauty, as when he first stole to her embraces without
the consent of their parents. Juno, to cover her real thoughts, told
him as she had told Venus, that she was going to make a visit to
Oceanus and Tethys. He prevailed upon her to stay with him, protesting
to her, that she appeared more amiable in his eye than ever any mortal,
goddess, or even herself, had appeared to him till that day. The poet
then represents him in so great an ardour, that (without going up to the
house which had been built by the hands of Vulcan according to Juno's
direction) he threw a golden cloud over their heads as they sat upon the
top of Mount Ida, while the earth beneath them sprung up in
lotuses,[160] saffrons, hyacinths, and a bed of the softest flowers for
their repose.
This close translation of one of the finest passages in Homer, may
suggest abundance of instruction to a woman who has a mind to preserve
or recall the affection of her husband. The care of the person and the
dress, with the particular blandishments woven in the cestus, are so
plainly recommended by this fable, and so indispensably necessary in
every female who desires to please, that they need no further
explanation. The discretion likewise in covering all matrimonial
quarrels from the knowledge of others, is taught in the pretended visit
to Tethys, in the speech where Juno addresses herself to Venus; as the
chaste and prudent management of a wife's charms is intimated by the
same pretence for her appearing before Jupiter, and by the concealment
of the cestus in her bosom.
I shall leave this tale to the consideration of such good housewives who
are never well dressed but when they are abroad, and think it necessary
to appear more agreeable to all men living than their husbands: as also
to those prudent ladies, who, to avoid the appearance of being
overfond, entertain their husband with indifference, aversion, sullen
silence, or exasperating language.[161]
_Sheer Lane, March 17._
Upon my coming home last night, I found a very handsome present of wine
left for me, as a taste of 216 hogsheads which are to be put to sale at
L20 a hogshead, at Garraway's Coffee-house in Exchange Alley, on the
22nd instant, at three in the afternoon, and to be tasted in Major
Long's vaults from the 20th instant till the time of sale.[162] This
having been sent to me with a desire that I would give my judgment upon
it, I immediately impanelled a jury of men of nice palates and strong
heads, who being all of them very scrupulous, and unwilling to proceed
rashly in a matter of so great importance, refused to bring in their
verdict till three in the morning; at which time the foreman pronounced,
as well as he was able, "Extra--a--ordinary French claret." For my own
part, as I love to consult my pillow in all points of moment, I slept
upon it before I would give my sentence, and this morning confirmed the
verdict.
Having mentioned this tribute of wine, I must give notice to my
correspondents for the future, who shall apply to me on this occasion,
that as I shall decide nothing unadvisedly in matters of this nature, I
cannot pretend to give judgment of a right good liquor, without
examining at least three dozen bottles of it. I must at the same time do
myself the justice to let the world know, that I have resisted great
temptations in this kind; as it is well known to a butcher in Clare
Market, who endeavoured to corrupt me with a dozen and a half of
marrow-bones. I had likewise a bribe sent me by a fishmonger, consisting
of a collar of brawn, and a joll of salmon; but not finding them
excellent in their kinds, I had the integrity to eat them both up,
without speaking one word of them. However, for the future, I shall have
an eye to the diet of this great city, and will recommend the best and
most wholesome food to them, if I receive these proper and respectful
notices from the sellers, that it may not be said hereafter, my readers
were better taught than fed.
[Footnote 159: "Iliad," xiv. 157.]
[Footnote 160: Lotus is the name of a native genus akin to the trefoil
and clovers. It is best known as the supposed opium-like food of a
people on the shores of the Mediterranean, visited by
Ulysses,--Tennyson's "mild-eyed melancholy lotos-eaters," living in a
land where all things always seemed the same.]
[Footnote 161: The preceding portion of this paper was by Addison
(Tickell)]
[Footnote 162: This sale was advertised in No. 145.]
No. 148. [ADDISON.
From _Saturday, March 18_, to _Tuesday, March 21, 1709-10_.
----Gustus elementa per omnia quaerunt,
Nunquam animo pretiis obstantibus.
JUV., Sat. xi. 14.
* * * * *
_From my own Apartment, March 20._
Having intimated in my last paper, that I design to take under my
inspection the diet of this great city, I shall begin with a very
earnest and serious exhortation to all my well-disposed readers, that
they would return to the food of their forefathers, and reconcile
themselves to beef and mutton. This was the diet which bred that hardy
race of mortals who won the fields of Cressy and Agincourt. I need not
go up so high as the history of Guy Earl of Warwick, who is well known
to have eaten up a dun cow of his own killing.[163] The renowned King
Arthur is generally looked upon as the first who ever sat down to a
whole roasted ox (which was certainly the best way to preserve the
gravy), and it is further added, that he and his knights sat about it at
his Round Table, and usually consumed it to the very bones before they
would enter upon any debate of moment. The Black Prince was a professed
lover of the brisket; not to mention the history of the sirloin, or the
institution of the Order of Beef-eaters, which are all so many evident
and undeniable marks of the great respect which our warlike predecessors
have paid to this excellent food. The tables of the ancient gentry of
this nation were covered thrice a day with hot roast beef; and I am
credibly informed, by an antiquary who has searched the registers in
which the bills of fare of the Court are recorded, that instead of tea
and bread and butter, which have prevailed of late years, the maids of
honour in Queen Elizabeth's time were allowed three rumps of beef for
their breakfast. Mutton has likewise been in great repute among our
valiant countrymen, but was formerly observed to be the food rather of
men of nice and delicate appetites, than those of strong and robust
constitutions. For which reason, even to this day, we use the word
"sheep-biter" as a term of reproach, as we do "beef-eater" in a
respectful and honourable sense. As for the flesh of lamb, veal,
chicken, and other animals under age, they were the invention of sickly
and degenerate palates, according to that wholesome remark of Daniel the
historian,[164] who takes notice, that in all taxes upon provisions,
during the reigns of several of our kings, there is nothing mentioned
besides the flesh of such fowl and cattle as were arrived at their full
growth, and were mature for slaughter. The common people of this kingdom
do still keep up the taste of their ancestors; and it is to this that we
in a great measure owe the unparalleled victories that have been gained
in this reign: for, I would desire my reader to consider, what work our
countrymen would have made at Blenheim and Ramillies, if they had been
fed with fricassees and ragouts.
For this reason, we at present see the florid complexion, the strong
limb, and the hale constitution, are to be found chiefly among the
meaner sort of people, or in the wild gentry, who have been educated
among the woods or mountains. Whereas many great families are insensibly
fallen off from the athletic constitution of their progenitors, and are
dwindled away into a pale, sickly, spindle-legged, generation of
valetudinarians.
I may perhaps be thought extravagant in my notion; but I must confess, I
am apt to impute the dishonours that sometimes happen in great families
to the inflaming kind of diet which is so much in fashion. Many dishes
can excite desire without giving strength, and heat the body without
nourishing it; as physicians observe, that the poorest and most
dispirited blood is most subject to fevers. I look upon a French ragout
to be as pernicious to the stomach as a glass of spirits; and when I
have seen a young lady swallow all the instigations of high soups,
seasoned sauces, and forced meats, I have wondered at the despair or
tedious sighing of her lovers.
The rules among these false delicates are to be as contradictory as they
can be to nature.
Without expecting the return of hunger, they eat for an appetite, and
prepare dishes not to allay, but to excite it.
They admit of nothing at their tables, in its natural form, or without
some disguise.
They are to eat everything before it comes in season, and to leave it
off as soon as it is good to be eaten.
They are not to approve anything that is agreeable to ordinary palates;
and nothing is to gratify their senses, but what would offend those of
their inferiors.
I remember I was last summer invited to a friend's house, who is a great
admirer of the French cookery, and (as the phrase is) eats well. At our
sitting down, I found the table covered with a great variety of unknown
dishes. I was mightily at a loss to learn what they were, and therefore
did not know where to help myself. That which stood before me, I took to
be a roasted porcupine, however did not care for asking questions; and
have since been informed, that it was only a larded turkey. I afterwards
passed my eye over several hashes, which I do not know the names of to
this day; and hearing that they were delicacies, did not think fit to
meddle with them.
Among other dainties, I saw something like a pheasant, and therefore
desired to be helped to a wing of it; but to my great surprise, my
friend told me it was a rabbit, which is a sort of meat I never cared
for. At last I discovered, with some joy, a pig at the lower end of the
table, and begged a gentleman that was near it to cut me a piece of it.
Upon which the gentleman of the house said, with great civility, "I am
sure you will like the pig, for it was whipped to death." I must
confess, I heard him with horror, and could not eat of an animal that
had died so tragical a death. I was now in great hunger and confusion,
when, methought, I smelt the agreeable savour of roast beef, but could
not tell from which dish it arose, though I did not question but it lay
disguised in one of them. Upon turning my head, I saw a noble sirloin on
the side-table smoking in the most delicious manner. I had recourse to
it more than once, and could not see, without some indignation, that
substantial English dish banished in so ignominious a manner, to make
way for French kickshaws.
The dessert was brought up at last, which in truth was as extraordinary
as anything that had come before it. The whole, when ranged in its
proper order, looked like a very beautiful winter-piece. There were
several pyramids of candied sweetmeats, that hung like icicles, with
fruit scattered up and down, and hid in an artificial kind of frost. At
the same time there were great quantities of cream beaten up into a
snow, and near them little plates of sugar-plums, disposed like so many
heaps of hailstones, with a multitude of congelations in jellies of
various colours. I was indeed so pleased with the several objects which
lay before me, that I did not care for displacing any of them, and was
half angry with the rest of the company, that for the sake of a piece of
lemon-peel, or a sugar-plum, would spoil so pleasing a picture. Indeed,
I could not but smile to see several of them cooling their mouths with
lumps of ice which they had just before been burning with salts and
peppers.
* * * * *
As soon as this show was over I took my leave, that I might finish my
dinner at my own house: for as I in every thing love what is simple and
natural, so particularly in my food; two plain dishes, with two or three
good-natured, cheerful, ingenious friends, would make me more pleased
and vain, than all that pomp and luxury can bestow. For it is my maxim,
that he keeps the greatest table, who has the most valuable company at
it.
[Footnote 163: Butler, speaking of Talgol ("Hudibras," Part I. canto ii.
305), says:
"He many a boar and huge dun-cow
Did, like another Guy, o'erthrow,
But Guy, with him in fight compared,
Had like the boar or dun-cow fared."
]
[Footnote 164: Samuel Daniel's "History" was published in 1613.]
No. 149. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, March 21_, to _Thursday, March 23, 1709-10_.
* * * * *
_From my own Apartment, March 22._
It has often been a solid grief to me, when I have reflected on this
glorious nation, which is the scene of public happiness and liberty,
that there are still crowds of private tyrants, against whom there
neither is any law now in being, nor can there be invented any by the
wit of man. These cruel men are ill-natured husbands. The commerce in
the conjugal state is so delicate, that it is impossible to prescribe
rules for the conduct of it, so as to fit ten thousand nameless
pleasures and disquietudes which arise to people in that condition. But
it is in this as in some other nice cases, where touching upon the
malady tenderly, is half way to the cure; and there are some faults
which need only to be observed to be amended. I am put into this way of
thinking by a late conversation which I am going to give an account of.
I made a visit the other day to a family for which I have a great
honour, and found the father, the mother, and two or three of the
younger children, drop off designedly to leave me alone with the eldest
daughter, who was but a visitant there as well as myself, and is the
wife of a gentleman of a very fair character in the world. As soon as we
were alone, I saw her eyes full of tears, and methought she had much to
say to me, for which she wanted encouragement. "Madam," said I, "you
know I wish you all as well as any friend you have: speak freely what I
see you are oppressed with, and you may be sure, if I cannot relieve
your distress, you may at least reap so much present advantage, as
safely to give yourself the ease of uttering it." She immediately
assumed the most becoming composure of countenance, and spoke as
follows: "It is an aggravation of affliction in a married life, that
there is a sort of guilt in communicating it: for which reason it is,
that a lady of your and my acquaintance, instead of speaking to you
herself, desired me the next time I saw you, as you are a professed
friend to our sex, to turn your thoughts upon the reciprocal
complaisance which is the duty of a married state.
"My friend was neither in fortune, birth nor education, below the
gentleman whom she has married. Her person, her age, and her character,
are also such as he can make no exception to. But so it is, that from
the moment the marriage ceremony was over, the obsequiousness of a lover
was turned into the haughtiness of a master. All the kind endeavours
which she uses to please him, are at best but so many instances of her
duty. This insolence takes away that secret satisfaction, which does not
only excite to virtue, but also rewards it. It abates the fire of a free
and generous love, and embitters all the pleasures of a social life."
The young lady spoke all this with such an air of resentment, as
discovered how nearly she was concerned in the distress.
When I observed she had done speaking, "Madam," said I, "the affliction
you mention is the greatest that can happen in human life, and I know
but one consolation in it, if that be a consolation, that the calamity
is a pretty general one. There is nothing so common as for men to enter
into marriage, without so much as expecting to be happy in it. They seem
to propose to themselves a few holidays in the beginning of it; after
which they are to return at best to the usual course of their life; and
for aught they know, to constant misery and uneasiness. From this false
sense of the state they are going into, proceeds the immediate coldness
and indifference, or hatred and aversion, which attend ordinary
marriages, or rather bargains to cohabit." Our conversation was here
interrupted by company which came in upon us.
The humour of affecting a superior carriage, generally rises from a
false notion of the weakness of a female understanding in general, or an
overweening opinion that we have of our own: for when it proceeds from a
natural ruggedness and brutality of temper, it is altogether
incorrigible, and not to be amended by admonition. Sir Francis Bacon, as
I remember, lays it down as a maxim, that no marriage can be happy in
which the wife has no opinion of her husband's wisdom;[165] but without
offence to so great an authority, I may venture to say, that a
sullen-wise man is as bad as a good-natured fool. Knowledge, softened
with complacency and good breeding, will make a man equally beloved and
respected; but when joined with a severe, distant and unsociable temper,
it creates rather fear than love. I who am a bachelor, have no other
notion of conjugal tenderness, but what I learn from books, and shall
therefore produce three letters of Pliny,[166] who was not only one of
the greatest, but the most learned men in the whole Roman Empire. At the
same time I am very much ashamed, that on such occasions I am obliged to
have recourse to heathen authors, and shall appeal to my readers, if
they would not think it a mark of a narrow education in a man of quality
to write such passionate letters to any woman but a mistress. They were
all three written at a time when she was at a distance from him: the
first of them puts me in mind of a married friend of mine, who said,
sickness itself is pleasant to a man that is attended in it by one whom
he dearly loves.
_Pliny to Calphurnia._
"I never was so much offended at business, as when it hindered me from
going with you into the country, or following you thither: for I more
particularly wish to be with you at present, that I might be sensible of
the progress you make in the recovery of your strength and health; as
also of the entertainment and diversions you can meet with in your
retirement. Believe me, it is an anxious state of mind to live in
ignorance of what happens to those whom we passionately love. I am not
only in pain for your absence, but also for your indisposition. I am
afraid of everything, fancy everything, and, as it is the nature of men
in fear, I fancy those things most which I am most afraid of. Let me
therefore earnestly desire you to favour me under these my apprehensions
with one letter every day, or, if possible, with two; for I shall be a
little at ease while I am reading your letters, and grow anxious again
as soon as I have read them."
_Second Letter._
"You tell me that you are very much afflicted at my absence, and that
you have no satisfaction in anything but my writings, which you often
lay by you upon my pillow. You oblige me very much in wishing to see me,
and making me your comforter in my absence. In return, I must let you
know, I am no less pleased with the letters which you writ to me, and
read them over a thousand times with new pleasure. If your letters are
capable of giving me so much pleasure, what would your conversation do?
Let me beg of you to write to me often; though at the same time I must
confess, your letters give me anguish whilst they give me pleasure."
_Third Letter._
"It is impossible to conceive how much I languish for you in your
absence; the tender love I bear you is the chief cause of this my
uneasiness, which is still the more insupportable, because absence is
wholly a new thing to us. I lie awake most part of the night in thinking
of you, and several times of the day go as naturally to your apartment,
as if you were there to receive me; but when I miss you, I come away
dejected, out of humour, and like a man that had suffered a repulse.
There is but one part of the day in which I am relieved from this
anxiety, and that is when I am engaged in public affairs.
"You may guess at the uneasy condition of one who has no rest but in
business, no consolation but in trouble."
* * * * *
I shall conclude this paper with a beautiful passage out of Milton,[167]
and leave it as a lecture to those of my own sex, who have a mind to
make their conversation agreeable as well as instructive, to the fair
partners who are fallen into their care. Eve, having observed that Adam
was entering into some deep disquisitions with the angel, who was sent
to visit him, is described as retiring from their company, with a design
of learning what should pass there from her husband.
_So spake our sire, and by his countenance seemed
Entering on studious thoughts abstruse, which Eve
Perceiving where she sat retired in sight,
With lowliness majestic from her seat
Rose, and went forth among her fruits and flowers.
Yet went she not, as not with such discourse
Delighted, or not capable her ear
Of what was high: such pleasure she reserved,
Adam relating, she sole auditress;
Her husband the relater she preferred
Before the angel, and of him to ask
Chose rather: he, she knew, would intermix
Grateful digressions, and solve high dispute
With conjugal caresses; from his lip
Not words alone pleased her. O! when meet now
Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined?_
[Footnote 165: Bacon, Essay viii., "Of marriage and single life": "It is
one of the best bonds, both of chastity and obedience, in the wife, if
she thinks her husband wise, which she will never do if she finds him
jealous."]
[Footnote 166: "Epist.," vi. 4, 7, 5.]
[Footnote 167: "Paradise Lost," viii. 39.]
No. 150. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, March 23_, to _Saturday, March 25, 1710_.
Haec sunt jucundi causa, cibusque mali.
OVID, Rem. Amor. 138.
* * * * *
_From my own Apartment, March 24._
I have received the following letter upon the subject of my last paper.
The writer of it tells me, I there spoke of marriage as one that knows
it only by speculation, and for that reason he sends me his sense of it,
as drawn from experience:
"MR. BICKERSTAFF,
"I have read your paper of this day, and think you have done the
nuptial state a great deal of justice in the authority you give us
of Pliny, whose letters to his wife you have there translated: but
give me leave to tell you, that it is impossible for you, that are
a bachelor, to have so just a notion of this way of life, as to
touch the affections of your readers in a particular wherein every
man's own heart suggests more than the nicest observer can form to
himself without experience. I therefore, who am an old married man,
have sat down to give you an account of the matter from my own
knowledge, and the observations which I have made upon the conduct
of others in that most agreeable or wretched condition.
"It is very commonly observed, that the most smart pangs which we
meet with are in the beginning of wedlock, which proceed from
ignorance of each other's humour, and want of prudence to make
allowances for a change from the most careful respect to the most
unbounded familiarity. Hence it arises, that trifles are commonly
occasions of the greatest anxiety; for contradiction being a thing
wholly unusual between a new married couple, the smallest instance
of it is taken for the highest injury; and it very seldom happens,
that the man is slow enough in assuming the character of a husband,
or the woman quick enough in condescending to that of a wife. It
immediately follows, that they think they have all the time of
their courtship been talking in masks to each other, and therefore
begin to act like disappointed people. Philander finds Delia
ill-natured and impertinent; and Delia, Philander surly and
inconstant.
"I have known a fond couple quarrel in the very honeymoon about
cutting up a tart: nay, I could name two, who after having had
seven children, fell out and parted beds upon the boiling of a leg
of mutton. My very next neighbours have not spoken to one another
these three days, because they differed in their opinions, whether
the clock should stand by the window, or over the chimney. It may
seem strange to you, who are not a married man, when I tell you how
the least trifle can strike a woman dumb for a week together. But
if you ever enter into this state, you will find, that the soft sex
as often express their anger by an obstinate silence, as by an
ungovernable clamour.
"Those indeed who begin this course of life without jars at their
setting out, arrive within few months at a pitch of benevolence
and affection, of which the most perfect friendship is but a faint
resemblance. As in the unfortunate marriage, the most minute and
indifferent things are objects of the sharpest resentment; so in a
happy one, they are occasions of the most exquisite satisfaction.
For what does not oblige in one we love? What does not offend in
one we dislike? For these reasons I take it for a rule, that in
marriage, the chief business is to acquire a prepossession in
favour of each other. They should consider one another's words and
actions with a secret indulgence: there should be always an inward
fondness pleading for each other, such as may add new beauties to
everything that is excellent, give charms to what is indifferent,
and cover everything that is defective. For want of this kind
propensity and bias of mind, the married pair often take things ill
of each other, which no one else would take notice of in either of
them.
"But the most unhappy circumstance of all is, where each party is
always laying up fuel for dissension, and gathering together a
magazine of provocations to exasperate each other with when they
are out of humour. These people in common discourse make no scruple
to let those who are by know they are quarrelling with one another,
and think they are discreet enough, if they conceal from the
company the matters which they are hinting at. About a week ago, I
was entertained for a whole dinner with a mysterious conversation
of this nature; out of which I could learn no more, than that the
husband and wife were angry at one another. We had no sooner sat
down, but says the gentleman of the house, in order to raise
discourse, 'I thought Margarita[168] sung extremely well last
night.' Upon this, says the lady, looking as pale as ashes, 'I
suppose she had cherry-coloured ribands[169] on.' 'No,' answered
the husband, with a flush in his face, 'but she had laced
shoes.'[170] I look upon it, that a bystander on such occasions has
as much reason to be out of countenance as either of the
combatants. To turn off my confusion, and seem regardless of what
had passed, I desired the servant who attended to give me the
vinegar, which unluckily created a new dialogue of hints; for as
far as I could gather by the subsequent discourse, they had
dissented the day before about the preference of elder to wine
vinegar. In the midst of their discourse, there appeared a dish of
chickens and asparagus, when the husband seemed disposed to lay
aside all disputes; and looking upon her with a great deal of good
nature, said, 'Pray, my dear, will you help my friend to a wing of
the fowl that lies next you, for I think it looks extremely well.'
The lady, instead of answering him, addressing herself to me,
'Pray, sir,' said she, 'do you in Surrey reckon the white- or the
black-legged fowls the best?' I found the husband changed colour at
the question; and before I could answer, asked me, whether we did
not call hops 'broom' in our country? I quickly found, they did not
ask questions so much out of curiosity as anger: for which reason I
thought fit to keep my opinion to myself, and, as an honest man
ought (when he sees two friends in warmth with each other), I took
the first opportunity I could to leave them by themselves.
"You see, sir, I have laid before you only small incidents, which
are seemingly trivial; but take it from a man who am very well
experienced in this state, they are principally evils of this
nature which make marriages unhappy. At the same time, that I may
do justice to this excellent institution, I must own to you, there
are unspeakable pleasures which are as little regarded in the
computation of the advantages of marriage, as the others are in the
usual survey that is made of its misfortunes.
"Lovemore and his wife live together in the happy possession of
each other's hearts, and by that means have no indifferent moments,
but their whole life is one continued scene of delight. Their
passion for each other communicates a certain satisfaction, like
that which they themselves are in, to all that approach them. When
she enters the place where he is, you see a pleasure which he
cannot conceal, nor he or any one else describe. In so consummate
an affection, the very presence of the person beloved has the
effect of the most agreeable conversation. Whether they have matter
to talk of or not, they enjoy the pleasures of society, and at the
same time the freedom of solitude. Their ordinary life is to be
preferred to the happiest moments of other lovers. In a word, they
have each of them great merit, live in the esteem of all who know
them, and seem but to comply with the opinions of their friends, in
the just value they have for each other."
[Footnote 168: Francesca Margarita de l'Epine, a native of Tuscany. This
celebrated singer performed in many of the earlier Italian operas
represented in England. She and Mrs. Tofts were rivals for the public
favour, and it seems they divided pretty equally the applause of the
town. She sung on the stage, at public entertainments, in concerts at
York Buildings and Stationers' Hall, and once in the hall of the Middle
Temple, in a musical performance at the Christmas revels of that
society. One Greber, a German musician, who studied some few years in
Italy, brought this Italian with him to England, whence she was known by
the name of Greber's Peg. It is said that she had afterwards a criminal
connection with Daniel Earl of Nottingham. In a shrewd epigram written
by Lord Halifax, she is styled "The Tawny Tuscan," and he is called
"Tall Nottingham." Margarita continued a singer till about the year
1718, when, having, as Downes relates, scraped together above ten
thousand guineas, she retired, and was afterwards married to Dr.
Pepusch. The epithet "tawny" was very characteristic of her, for she was
remarkably swarthy, and in general so destitute of personal charms, that
her husband seldom called her by any other name than Hecate, to which
she answered very readily. She died about 1740. See Sir J. Hawkin's
"History of Music," vol. v. p. 153 (Nichols).--The statement that she
had an improper connection with the Earl of Nottingham appears to rest
solely on statements in party poems of the time.]
[Footnote 169: Ladies wore "commodes" as head-dresses, sometimes backed
by dark-coloured ribbons. The prevailing fashion about 1712 was cherry
colour; see _Spectator_, No. 271.]
[Footnote 170: In a song in D'Urfey's "Wit and Mirth"--"The Young Maid's
Portion"--the lady speaks of her laced shoes of Spanish leather. Malcolm
says that Spanish leather shoes laced with gold were common about this
time (Planche's "Cyclopaedia of Costume").]