Whereas Mr. Bickerstaff has lately received a letter out of Ireland,
dated June 9, importing that he is grown very dull, for the postage of
which Mr. Morphew charges one shilling; and another without date of
place or time, for which he the said Morphew charges twopence: it is
desired, that for the future his courteous and uncourteous readers will
go a little further in expressing their good and ill-will, and pay for
the carriage of their letters, otherwise the intended pleasure or pain
which is designed for Mr. Bickerstaff will be wholly disappointed.
[Footnote 309: See Nos. 30, 39, 138.]
No. 187. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, June 17_, to _Tuesday, June 20, 1710_.
----Pudet haec opprobria nobis
Et dici potuisse et non potuisse refelli.
OVID, Met. i. 758.
* * * * *
_From my own Apartment, June 19._
_Pasquin of Rome to Isaac Bickerstaff of London._[310]
"His Holiness is gone to Castel Gandolpho, much discomposed at some
late accounts from the missionaries in your island: for a committee
of cardinals, which lately sat for the reviving the force of some
obsolete doctrines, and drawing up amendments to certain points of
faith, have represented the Church of Rome to be in great danger,
from a treatise written by a learned Englishman, which carries
spiritual power much higher than we could have dared to have
attempted even here. His book is called, 'An Epistolary Discourse,
proving from the Scriptures and the First Fathers, that the Soul is
a Principle naturally Mortal: wherein is proved, that none have the
Power of giving this Divine immortalising Spirit since the
Apostles, but the Bishops.' By Henry Dodwell, A.M.[311] The
assertion appeared to our _literati_ so short and effectual method
of subjecting the laity, that it is feared auricular confession and
absolution will not be capable of keeping the clergy of Rome in any
degree of greatness, in competition with such teachers whose flocks
shall receive this opinion. What gives the greater jealousy here
is, that in the catalogue of treatises which have been lately burnt
within the British territories, there is no mention made of this
learned work; which circumstance is a sort of implication, that the
tenet is not held erroneous, but that the doctrine is received
amongst you as orthodox. The youth of this place are very much
divided in opinion, whether a very memorable quotation which the
author repeats out of Tertullian, be not rather of the style and
manner of Meursius? _In illo ipso voluptatis aestu quo genitale
virus expellitur, nonne aliquid de anima quoque, sentimus exire,
atque, adeo marcessimus et devigescimus cum lucis detrimento?_ This
piece of Latin goes no further than to tell us how our fathers got
us, so that we are still at a loss how we afterwards commence
eternal; for _creando infunditur, et infundendo creatur_, which is
mentioned soon after, may allude only to flesh and blood as well as
the former. Your readers in this city, some of whom have very much
approved the warmth with which you have attacked free-thinkers,
atheists, and other enemies to religion and virtue, are very much
disturbed that you have given them no account of this remarkable
dissertation: and I am employed by them to desire you would with
all possible expedition send me over the ceremony of the creation
of souls, as well as a list of all the mortal and immortal men
within the dominions of Great Britain. When you have done me this
favour, I must trouble you for other tokens of your kindness, and
particularly I desire you would let me have the religious
handkerchief,[312] which is of late so much worn in England, for I
have promised to make a present of it to a courtesan of a French
Minister.
"Letters from the frontiers of France inform us, that a young
gentleman[313] who was to have been created a cardinal on the next
promotion, has put off his design of coming to Rome so soon as was
intended, having, as it is said, received letters from Great
Britain, wherein several virtuosi of that island have desired him
to suspend his resolutions towards a monastic life, till the
British grammarians shall publish their explication of the words
'indefeasible' and 'revolution.' According as these two hard terms
are made to fit the mouths of the people, this gentleman takes his
measures for his journey hither.
"Your 'New Bedlam' has been read and considered by some of your
countrymen among us; and one gentleman, who is now here as a
traveller, says your design is impracticable, for that there can be
no place large enough to contain the number of your lunatics. He
advises you therefore to name the ambient sea for the boundary of
your hospital. If what he says be true, I do not see how you can
think of any other enclosure; for according to his discourse, the
whole people are taken with a vertigo; great and popular actions
are received with coldness and discontent; ill news hoped for with
impatience; heroes in your service are treated with calumny, while
criminals pass through your towns with acclamations.[314]
"This Englishman went on to say, you seemed at present to flag
under a satiety of success, as if you wanted misfortune as a
necessary vicissitude. Yet, alas! though men have but a cold relish
of prosperity, quick is the anguish of the contrary fortune. He
proceeded to make comparisons of times, seasons, and great
incidents. After which he grew too learned for my understanding,
and talked of Hanno the Carthaginian, and his irreconcilable hatred
to the glorious commander Hannibal. Hannibal, said he, was able to
march to Rome itself, and brought that ambitious people, which
designed no less than the empire of the world, to sue for peace in
the most abject and servile manner; when faction at home detracted
from the glory of his actions, and after many artifices, at last
prevailed with the Senate to recall him from the midst of his
victories, and in the very instant when he was to reap the benefit
of all his toils, by reducing the then common enemy of all nations
which had liberty to reason. When Hannibal heard the message of the
Carthaginian senators who were sent to recall him, he was moved
with a generous and disdainful sorrow, and is reported to have
said, 'Hannibal then must be conquered not by the arms of the
Romans, whom he has often put to flight, but by the envy and
detraction of his countrymen. Nor shall Scipio triumph so much in
his fall as Hanno, who will smile to have purchased the ruin of
Hannibal, though attended with the fall of Carthage.'[315]
"I am, Sir, &c.
"PASQUIN."
_Will's Coffee-house, June 19._
There is a sensible satisfaction in observing the countenance and action
of the people on some occasions. To gratify myself in this pleasure, I
came hither with all speed this evening with an account of the surrender
of Douay. As soon as the battle-critics[316] heard it, they immediately
drew some comfort, in that it must have cost us a great deal of men.
Others were so negligent of the glory of their country, that they went
on in their discourse on the full house which is to be at "Othello" on
Thursday, and the curiosity they should go with to see Wilks play a part
so very different from what he had ever before appeared in, together
with the expectation that was raised in the gay part of the town on that
occasion.
This universal indolence and inattention among us to things that concern
the public, made me look back with the highest reverence on the glorious
instances in antiquity, of a contrary behaviour in the like
circumstances. Harry English, upon observing the room so little roused
on the news, fell into the same way of thinking. "How unlike," said he,
"Mr. Bickerstaff, are we to the old Romans! There was not a subject of
their State but thought himself as much concerned in the honour of his
country, as the first officer of the commonwealth. How do I admire the
messenger, who ran with a thorn in his foot to tell the news of a
victory to the Senate! He had not leisure for his private pain, till he
had expressed his public joy; nor could he suffer as a man, till he had
triumphed as a Roman."
[Footnote 310: See No. 129. In Lillie's "Letters sent to the _Tatler_
and _Spectator_" (i. 56) there is a letter from "Orontes" to Mr.
Bickerstaff, dated July 6, 1710, referring to this and to No. 190, in
which the writer says: "You would do yourself a grand favour, if you
would break off acquaintance with the Italian Pasquin, and not disturb
yourself with principles which are as far above your thoughts as the
probability of your discovering the philosopher's stone." A censor
should not be among the factions.]
[Footnote 311: See No. 118.]
[Footnote 312: Handkerchiefs printed with pictures of Dr. Sacheverell.]
[Footnote 313: The Pretender.]
[Footnote 314: Dr. Sacheverell received many popular ovations while he
was suspended from preaching: "Lest these brethren in iniquity [the
_Observator_ and the _Review_] should not prove sufficient to poison the
nation, sow sedition plentifully, and ripen rebellion to a fruitful
harvest of blood and rapine, a third person [the _Tatler_] who for a
considerable time hath diverted the Town with the most useful and
pleasing amusements our age ever produced, hath joined in the cry with
them, in hopes, no doubt, that by his additional strength they shall
become such a formidable Triumvirate that all opposition must fall
before them, and the Church irresistibly submit to that fate which the
other two have so long endeavoured to procure by their seditious popular
harangues.... Our third gentleman is pleased to tell us, '_That great
and popular actions_,' &c. This is a subtle way to create jealousies and
divisions amongst us, noways becoming the character of a gentleman, or
an ingenuous education. Pray, sir, speak plain, and don't instil your
poison secretly, and stab in the dark. What heroes in our service are
treated with calumny? Who do you mean by your Hanno and Hannibal? All
the nation owns and glories in the noble actions of our great Duke of
Marlborough" (_Moderator_, No. 13, June 30 to July 3, 1710). The next
number of the _Moderator_, No. 14, is upon the same subject, and is
largely occupied with a discussion of the legal question mentioned in
the _Tatler_, No. 190. The writer speaks of the brains of the common
people, who are too apt to censure the actions of their superiors, as
"set on work by a person who has gained their esteem by his learned
Lucubrations." "They are assured that a gentleman of his bright parts
and learning must be intimately acquainted with persons of the first
rank and quality, from whom he learns these high and important secrets
which he thus generously communicates to the world." If any one,
therefore, pretends that the author's meaning is that the "Duke of
Marlborough is likely to be ruined by the Lord Treasurer's converting to
other uses that money which our Senate voted for our General's service,
who is to be blamed for the vile aspersion?" Ministers should take care
that the spreaders of such false reports shall know to their cost that
the Act respecting false and slanderous news is still in force.]
[Footnote 315: The conclusion of Pasquin's letter alludes to the
following allegorical piece, the publication of which was just then
recent: "The History of Hannibal and Hanno, &c., collected from the best
authors, by A. M., Esq." It is reprinted in "The Life and Posthumous
Writings" of Arthur Maynwaring, 1715. See No. 190.]
[Footnote 316: See No. 65.]
No. 188. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, June 20_, to _Thursday, June 22, 1710_.
Quae regio in terris nostri non plena laboris?
VIRG., AEn. i. 460.
* * * * *
_From my own Apartment. June 21._
I was this morning looking over my letters that I have lately received
from my several correspondents; some of which referring to my late
papers, I have laid aside, with an intent to give my reader a sight of
them. The first criticises upon my greenhouse, and is as follows:
"MR. BICKERSTAFF, "South Wales, _June 7_.
"This letter comes to you from my orangery, which I intend to
reform as much as I can, according to your ingenious model, and
shall only beg of you to communicate to me your secret of
preserving grass-plots in a covered room;[317] for in the climate
where my country-seat lies, they require rain and dews as well as
sun and fresh air, and cannot live upon such fine food as your
'sifted weather.' I must likewise desire you to write over your
greenhouse the following motto:
"_Hic ver perpetuum, atque alienis mensibus aestas._
instead of your
"_O! qui me gelidis sub montibus Haemi
Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra!_[318]
which, under favour, is the panting of one in summer after cool
shades, and not of one in winter after a summer-house. The rest of
your plan is very beautiful; and that your friend who has so well
described it may enjoy it many winters, is the hearty wish of
"His and your Unknown," &c.
This oversight of a grass-plot in my friend's greenhouse, puts me in
mind of a like inconsistency in a celebrated picture, where Moses is
represented as striking a rock, and the Children of Israel quenching
their thirst at the waters that flow from it, and run through a
beautiful landscape of groves and meadows, which could not flourish in a
place where water was to have been found only by a miracle.
The next letter comes to me from a Kentish yeoman, who is very angry
with me for my advice to parents, occasioned by the amours of Sylvia and
Philander, as related in my paper, No. 185:
"SQUIRE BICKERSTAFF,
"I don't know by what chance one of your _Tatlers_ is got into my
family, and has almost turned the brains of my eldest daughter
Winifred, who has been so undutiful as to fall in love of her own
head, and tells me a foolish heathen story that she has read in
your paper to persuade me to give my consent. I am too wise to let
children have their own wills in a business like marriage. It is a
matter in which neither I myself, nor any of my kindred, were ever
humoured. My wife and I never pretended to love one another like
your Sylvias and Philanders; and yet if you saw our fireside, you
would be satisfied we are not always a-squabbling. For my part, I
think that where man and woman come together by their own good
liking, there is so much fondling and fooling, that it hinders
young people from minding their business. I must therefore desire
you to change your note, and instead of advising us old folks, who
perhaps have more wit than yourself, to let Sylvia know, that she
ought to act like a dutiful daughter, and marry the man that she
does not care for. Our great-grandmothers were all bid to marry
first, and love would come afterwards; and I don't see why their
daughters should follow their own inventions. I am resolved
Winifred shan't.
"Yours," &c.
This letter is a natural picture of ordinary contracts, and of the
sentiments of those minds that lie under a kind of intellectual
rusticity. This trifling occasion made me run over in my imagination
the many scenes I have observed of the married condition, wherein the
quintessence of pleasure and pain are represented as they accompany that
state, and no other. It is certain, there are a thousand thousand like
the above-mentioned yeoman and his wife, who are never highly pleased or
distasted in their whole lives: but when we consider the more informed
part of mankind, and look upon their behaviour, it then appears that
very little of their time is indifferent, but generally spent in the
most anxious vexation, or the highest satisfaction. Shakespeare has
admirably represented both the aspects of this state in the most
excellent tragedy of "Othello." In the character of Desdemona, he runs
through all the sentiments of a virtuous maid and a tender wife. She is
captivated by his virtue, and faithful to him, as well from that motive,
as regard to her own honour. Othello is a great and noble spirit, misled
by the villany of a false friend to suspect her innocence, and resents
it accordingly. When after the many instances of passion the wife is
told her husband is jealous, her simplicity makes her incapable of
believing it, and say, after such circumstances as would drive another
woman into distraction,
"_I think the sun where he was born
Drew all such humours from him._"[319]
This opinion of him is so just, that his noble and tender heart beats
itself to pieces before he can affront her with the mention of his
jealousy; and owns, this suspicion has blotted out all the sense of
glory and happiness which before it was possessed with, when he laments
himself in the warm allusions of a mind accustomed to entertainments so
very different from the pangs of jealousy and revenge. How moving is his
sorrow, when he cries out as follows:
"_I had been happy, if the general camp,
Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body,
So I had nothing known. Oh now! for ever
Farewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content,
Farewell the plumed troops, and the big wars,
That make ambition virtue! Oh farewell!
Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
And oh ye mortal engines! whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone._[320]"
I believe I may venture to say, there is not in any other part of
Shakespeare's works more strong and lively pictures of nature than in
this. I shall therefore steal incog. to see it, out of curiosity to
observe how Wilks and Cibber touch those places where Betterton[321] and
Sandford[322] so very highly excelled. But now I am got into a discourse
of acting, with which I am so professedly pleased, I shall conclude this
paper with a note I have just received from the two ingenious friends,
Mr. Penkethman[323] and Mr. Bullock:[324]
"SIR,
"Finding by your paper, No. 182, that you are drawing parallels
between the greatest actors of the age; as you have already begun
with Mr. Wilks and Mr. Cibber, we desire you would do the same
justice to your humble Servants,
"WILLIAM BULLOCK, and
"WILLIAM PENKETHMAN."
For the information of posterity, I shall comply with this letter, and
set these two great men in such a light as Sallust has placed his Cato
and Caesar.
Mr. William Bullock and Mr. William Penkethman are of the same age,
profession, and sex. They both distinguish themselves in a very
particular manner under the discipline of the crabtree, with this only
difference, that Mr. Bullock has the most agreeable squawl, and Mr.
Penkethman the more graceful shrug. Penkethman devours a cold chicken
with great applause; Bullock's talent lies chiefly in asparagus.
Penkethman is very dexterous at conveying himself under a table; Bullock
is no less active at jumping over a stick. Mr. Penkethman has a great
deal of money, but Mr. Bullock is the taller man.
[Footnote 317: See No. 179.]
[Footnote 318: Virgil, "Georg." ii. 488 ("In vallibus Haemi").]
[Footnote 319: "Othello," act iii. sc. 4.]
[Footnote 320: "Othello," act iii. sc. 3.]
[Footnote 321: See Nos. 1, 71, 157, 167.]
[Footnote 322: See No. 134.]
[Footnote 323: See No. 4.]
[Footnote 324: See No. 7.]
No. 189. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, June 22_, to _Saturday, June 24, 1710_.
Est in juvencis, est in equis patrum
Virtus; neque imbellem feroces
Progenerant aquilae columbam.
HOR., 4 Od. iv. 30.
* * * * *
_From my own Apartment, June 23._
Having lately turned my thoughts upon the consideration of the behaviour
of parents to children in the great affair of marriage,[325] I took much
delight in turning over a bundle of letters which a gentleman's steward
in the country had sent me some time ago. This parcel is a collection of
letters written by the children of the family to which he belongs to
their father, and contain all the little passages of their lives, and
the new ideas they received as their years advanced. There is in them
an account of their diversions as well as their exercises; and what I
thought very remarkable, is, that two sons of the family, who now make
considerable figures in the world, gave omens of that sort of character
which they now bear, in the first rudiments of thought which they show
in their letters. Were one to point out a method of education, one could
not, methinks, frame one more pleasing or improving than this; where the
children get a habit of communicating their thoughts and inclinations to
their best friend with so much freedom, that he can form schemes for
their future life and conduct from an observation of their tempers, and
by that means be early enough in choosing their way of life, to make
them forward in some art or science at an age when others have not
determined what profession to follow. As to the persons concerned in
this packet I am speaking of, they have given great proofs of the force
of this conduct of their father in the effect it has had upon their
lives and manners. The elder, who is a scholar, showed from his infancy
a propensity to polite studies, and has made a suitable progress in
literature; but his learning is so well woven into his mind, that from
the impressions of it, he seems rather to have contracted a habit of
life, than manner of discourse. To his books he seems to owe a good
economy in his affairs, and a complacency in his manners, though in
others that way of education has commonly a quite different effect. The
epistles of the other son are full of accounts of what he thought most
remarkable in his reading. He sends his father for news the last noble
story he had read. I observe, he is particularly touched with the
conduct of Codrus, who plotted his own death, because the oracle had
said, if he were not killed, the enemy should prevail over his country.
Many other incidents in his little letters give omens of a soul capable
of generous undertakings; and what makes it the more particular is, that
this gentleman had, in the present war, the honour and happiness of
doing an action for which only it was worth coming into the world. Their
father is the most intimate friend they have, and they always consult
him rather than any other, when any error has happened in their conduct
through youth and inadvertency. The behaviour of this gentleman to his
sons has made his life pass away with the pleasures of a second youth;
for as the vexations which men receive from their children hasten the
approach of age and double the force of years; so the comforts which
they reap from them are balm to all other sorrows, and disappoint the
injuries of time. Parents of children repeat their lives in their
offspring, and their concern for them is so near, that they feel all
their sufferings and enjoyments as much as if they regarded their own
proper persons. But it is generally so far otherwise, that the common
race of squires in this kingdom use their sons as persons that are
waiting only for their funerals, and spies upon their health and
happiness; as indeed they are by their own making them such. In cases
where a man takes the liberty after this manner to reprehend others, it
is commonly said, "Let him look at home." I am sorry to own it; but
there is one branch of the house of the Bickerstaffs, who have been as
erroneous in their conduct this way as any other family whatsoever. The
head of this branch is now in town, and has brought up with him his son
and daughter (who are all the children he has) in order to be put some
way into the world, and see fashions. They are both very ill-bred cubs,
and having lived together from their infancy without knowledge of the
distinctions and decencies that are proper to be paid to each other's
sex, they squabble like two brothers. The father is one of those who
knows no better than that all pleasure is debauchery, and imagines,
when he sees a man become his estate, that he will certainly spend it.
This branch are a people who never had among them one man eminent either
for good or ill; however, have all along kept their heads just above
water, not by a prudent and regular economy, but by expedients in the
matches they have made into their house. When one of the family has, in
the pursuit of foxes, and in the entertainment of clowns, run out the
third part of the value of his estate, such a spendthrift has dressed up
his eldest son, and married what they call a good fortune, who has
supported the father as a tyrant over them, during his life, in the same
house or neighbourhood. The son in succession has just taken the same
method to keep up his dignity, till the mortgages he has ate and drank
himself into, have reduced him to the necessity of sacrificing his son
also, in imitation of his progenitor. This had been for many generations
the whole that had happened in the family of Sam. Bickerstaff, till the
time of my present cousin Samuel, the father of the young people we have
just now spoken of.
Samuel Bickerstaff, Esq., is so happy, as that by several legacies from
distant relations, deaths of maiden sisters, and other instances of good
fortune, he has, besides his real estate, a great sum of ready money.
His son at the same time knows he has a good fortune, which the father
cannot alienate, though he strives to make him believe he depends only
on his will for maintenance. Tom is now in his nineteenth year, Mrs.
Mary in her fifteenth. Cousin Samuel, who understands no one point of
good behaviour as it regards all the rest of the world, is an exact
critic in the dress, the motion, the looks and gestures of his children.
What adds to their misery is, that he is excessively fond of them, and
the greatest part of their time is spent in the presence of this nice
observer. Their life is one continued constraint. The girl never turns
her head, but she is warned not to follow the proud minxes of the town.
The boy is not to turn fop, or be quarrelsome; at the same time not to
take an affront. I had the good fortune to dine with him to-day, and
heard his fatherly table-talk as we sat at dinner, which, if my memory
does not fail me, for the benefit of the world, I shall set down as he
spoke it, which was much as follows, and may be of great use to those
parents who seem to make it a rule, that their children's turn to enjoy
the world is not to commence till they themselves have left it.
"Now, Tom, I have bought you chambers in the Inns of Court. I allow
you to take a walk once or twice a day round the garden. If you
mind your business, you need not study to be as great a lawyer as
Coke upon Littleton. I have that that will keep you; but be sure
you keep an exact account of your linen. Write down what you give
out to your laundress, and what she brings home again. Go as little
as possible to the other end of the town; but if you do, come home
early. I believe I was as sharp as you for your years, and I had my
hat snatched off my head coming home late at a shop by St.
Clement's Church, and I don't know from that day to this who took
it. I do not care if you learn to fence a little, for I would not
have you be made a fool of. Let me have an account of everything
every post; I am willing to be at that charge, and I think you need
not spare your pains. As for you, daughter Molly, don't mind one
word that is said to you in London, for it is only for your
money."[326]
[Footnote 325: See No. 185.]
[Footnote 326: It has been suggested that the latter part of this paper
may refer to Dr. Gilbert Budgell and his son Eustace, Addison's cousin.
(See "Grand Magazine," i. 391, _seq._; and Cibber's "Lives of the
Poets," vol. v.) On the death of his father in 1711, Eustace Budgell
came into possession of an estate of L950 a year.]
No. 190. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, June 24_, to _Tuesday, June 27, 1710_.
----Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.--VIRG., AEn. ii. 49.
* * * * *
_Sheer Lane, June 26._
There are some occasions in life, wherein regards to a man's self is the
most pitiful and contemptible of all passions; and such a time certainly
is when the true public spirit of a nation is run into a faction against
their friends and benefactors. I have hinted heretofore some things
which discover the real sorrow I am in at the observation, that it is
now very much so in Great Britain, and have had the honour to be pelted
with several epistles to expostulate with me on that subject;[327] among
others, one from a person of the number of those they call Quakers, who
seems to admonish me out of pure zeal and goodwill. But as there is no
character so unjust as that of talking in party upon all occasions,
without respect to merit or worth on the contrary side, so there is no
part we can act so justifiable as to speak our mind when we see things
urged to extremity, against all that is praiseworthy or valuable in
life, upon general and groundless suggestions. But if I have talked too
frankly upon such reflections, my correspondent has laid before me,
after his way, the error of it in a manner that makes me indeed
thankful for his kindness, but the more inclinable to repeat the
imprudence from the necessity of the circumstance:
"The 23rd of the 6th month,
which is the month _June_.
"FRIEND ISAAC,
"Forasmuch as I love thee, I cannot any longer refrain declaring my
mind unto thee concerning some things. Thou didst thyself indite
the epistle inserted in one of thy late Lucubrations, as thou
wouldst have us call them: for verily thy friend of stone,[328] and
I speak according to knowledge, hath no fingers; and though he hath
a mouth, yet speaketh he not therewith; nor yet did that epistle at
all come unto thee from the mansion-house of the Scarlet Whore. It
is plain therefore, that the truth is not in thee: but since thou
wouldst lie, couldst thou not lie with more discretion? Wherefore
shouldst thou insult over the afflicted, or add sorrow unto the
heavy of heart? Truly this gall proceedeth not from the spirit of
meekness. I tell thee moreover, the people of this land be
marvellously given to change; insomuch that it may likely come to
pass, that before thou art many years nearer to thy dissolution,
thou mayest behold him sitting on a high place whom thou now
laughest to scorn: and then how wilt thou be glad to humble thyself
to the ground, and lick the dust of his feet, that thou mayest find
favour in his sight? If thou didst meditate as much upon the Word
as thou dost upon the profane scribblings of the wise ones of this
generation, thou wouldst have remembered what happened unto Shimei,
the son of Gera the Benjamite, who cursed the good man David in his
distress.[329] David pardoned his transgression, yet was he
afterwards taken as in a snare by the words of his own mouth, and
fell by the sword of Solomon the chief ruler.[330]Furthermore, I do
not remember to have heard in the days of my youth and vanity, when,
like thine, my conversation was with the Gentiles, that the men of
Rome, which is Babylon, ever sued unto the men of Carthage for
tranquillity, as thou dost aver: neither was Hannibal, the son of
Hamilcar, called home by his countrymen, till these saw the sword
of their enemies at their gates; and then was it not time for him,
thinkest thou, to return? It appeareth therefore that thou dost
prophecy backwards; thou dost row one way, and look another; and
indeed in all things art thou too much a time-server; yet seemest
thou not to consider what a day may bring forth. Think of this, and
take tobacco.
"Thy Friend,
"AMINADAB."
If the zealous writer of the above letter has any meaning, it is of too
high a nature to be the subject of my Lucubrations. I shall therefore
waive such high points, and be as useful as I can to persons of less
moment than any he hints at. When a man runs into a little fame in the
world, as he meets with a great deal of reproach which he does not
deserve, so does he also a great deal of esteem to which he has in
himself no pretensions. Were it otherwise, I am sure no one would offer
to put a law case to me: but because I am an adept in physic and
astrology, they will needs persuade me that I am no less a proficient in
all other sciences. However, the point mentioned in the following letter
is so plain a one, that I think I need not trouble myself to cast a
figure to be able to discuss it.
"MR. BICKERSTAFF,
"It is some years ago since the entail of the estate of our family
was altered, by passing a fine in favour of me (who now am in
possession of it) after some others deceased. The heirs-general,
who live beyond sea, were excluded by this settlement, and the
whole estate is to pass in a new channel after me and my heirs. But
several tenants of the lordship persuade me to let them hereafter
hold their lands of me according to the old customs of the barony,
and not oblige them to act by the limitations of the last
settlement. This, they say, will make me more popular among my
dependants, and the ancient vassals of the estate, to whom any
deviation from the line of succession is always invidious.
"Yours," &c.
"SIR, "Sheer Lane, _June 24._
"You have by the fine a plain right, in which none else of your
family can be your competitor; for which reason, by all means
demand vassalage upon that title. The contrary advice can be given
for no other purpose in nature but to betray you, and favour other
pretenders, by making you place a right which is in you only, upon
a level with a right which you have in common with others. I am,
"Sir,
"Your most faithful
"Servant till death,
"I. B."
There is nothing so dangerous or so pleasing, as compliments made to us
by our enemies: and my correspondent tells me, that though he knows
several of those who give him this counsel were at first against passing
the fine in favour of him; yet is he so touched with their homage to
him, that he can hardly believe they have a mind to set it aside, in
order to introduce the heirs-general into his estate.
These are great evils; but since there is no proceeding with success in
this world, without complying with the arts of it, I shall use the same
method as my correspondent's tenants did with him, in relation to one
whom I never had a kindness for; but shall, notwithstanding, presume to
give him my advice.
"_Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., of Great Britain, to Lewis XIV. of
France._
"SIR,
"Your Majesty will pardon me while I take the liberty to acquaint
you, that some passages written from your side of the water do very
much obstruct your interests. We take it very unkindly that the
prints of Paris are so very partial in favour of one set of men
among us, and treat the others as irreconcilable to your interests.
Your writers are very large in recounting anything which relates to
the figure and power of one party, but are dumb when they should
represent the actions of the other. This is a trifling circumstance
many here are apt to lay some stress upon; therefore I thought fit
to offer it to your consideration before you despatch the next
courier.
"I. B."[331]
[Footnote 327: Swift may have been among those who protested at the
introduction of politics into the _Tatler_ (see No. 187), and Nichols
thought that he was the writer of the letter signed "Aminadab" in this
number. In June 1710, the fall of the Whigs was rapidly approaching.]
[Footnote 328: Pasquin. See Nos. 129, 130, 187.]
[Footnote 329: 2 Sam. xvi. 13.]
[Footnote 330: 1 Kings ii. 36.]
[Footnote 331: "The Tories happen now to have other work upon their
hands, and are not at leisure to return the civilities that are paid
them; however, having had the honour of a letter from the King of France
... they have sent in their answer to me, and desire me to forward it;
but I am at a loss how to do this, unless my brother the _Tatler_ will
convey it under his cover, for I protest I know no man in England but
him that holds a correspondence with his Christian Majesty" (_Examiner_,
No. 2, August 10, 1710).]
No. 191. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, June 27_, to _Thursday, June 29, 1710_.
----Propter vitam vivendi perdere causas.--JUV., Sat. viii. 84.
* * * * *
_From my own Apartment, June 28._
Of all the evils under the sun, that of making vice commendable is the
greatest: for it seems to be the basis of society, that applause and
contempt should be always given to proper objects. But in this age we
behold things for which we ought to have an abhorrence, not only
received without disdain, but even valued as motives of emulation. This
is naturally the destruction of simplicity of manners, openness of
heart, and generosity of temper. When one gives oneself the liberty to
range, and run over in one's thoughts the different geniuses of men
which one meets in the world, one cannot but observe, that most of the
indirection and artifice which is used among men, does not proceed so
much from a degeneracy in Nature, as an affectation of appearing men of
consequence by such practices. By this means it is, that a cunning man
is so far from being ashamed of being esteemed such, that he secretly
rejoices in it. It has been a sort of maxim, that the greatest art is to
conceal art; but I know not how, among some people we meet with, their
greatest cunning is to appear cunning. There is Polypragmon[332] makes
it the whole business of his life to be thought a cunning fellow, and
thinks it a much greater character to be terrible than agreeable. When
it has once entered into a man's head to have an ambition to be thought
crafty, all other evils are necessary consequences. To deceive is the
immediate endeavour of him who is proud of the capacity of doing it. It
is certain, Polypragmon does all the ill he possibly can, but pretends
to much more than he performs. He is contented in his own thoughts, and
hugs himself in his closet, that though he is locked up there and doing
nothing, the world does not know but that he is doing mischief. To
favour this suspicion, he gives half-looks and shrugs in his general
behaviour, to give you to understand that you don't know what he means.
He is also wonderfully adverbial in his expressions, and breaks off with
a "perhaps" and a nod of the head, upon matters of the most indifferent
nature. It is a mighty practice with men of this genius to avoid
frequent appearance in public, and to be as mysterious as possible when
they do come into company. There is nothing to be done, according to
them, the common way; and let the matter in hand be what it will, it
must be carried with an air of importance, and transacted, if we may so
speak, with an ostentatious secrecy. These are your persons of long
heads, who would fain make the world believe their thoughts and ideas
are very much superior to their neighbours', and do not value what these
their neighbours think of them, provided they do not reckon them fools.
These have such a romantic touch in business, that they hate to perform
anything like other men. Were it in their choice, they had rather bring
their purposes to bear by overreaching the persons they deal with, than
by a plain and simple manner. They make difficulties for the honour of
surmounting them. Polypragmon is eternally busied after this manner,
with no other prospect, than that he is in hopes to be thought the most
cunning of all men, and fears the imputation of want of understanding
much more than that of the abuse of it. But alas! how contemptible is
such an ambition, which is the very reverse of all that is truly
laudable, and the very contradiction to the only means to a just
reputation, simplicity of manners? Cunning can in no circumstance
imaginable be a quality worthy a man except in his own defence, and
merely to conceal himself from such as are so; and in such cases it is
no longer craft, but wisdom. The monstrous affectation of being thought
artful immediately kills all thoughts of humanity and goodness, and
gives men a sense of the soft affections and impulses of the mind (which
are imprinted in us for our mutual advantage and succour) as of mere
weaknesses and follies. According to the men of cunning, you are to put
off the nature of a man as fast as you can, and acquire that of a
demon, as if it were a more eligible character to be a powerful enemy
than an able friend. But it ought to be a mortification to men affected
this way, that there wants but little more than instinct to be
considerable in it; for when a man has arrived at being very bad in his
inclination, he has not much more to do, but to conceal himself, and he
may revenge, cheat, and deceive, without much employment for
understanding, and go on with great cheerfulness with the high applause
of being a prodigious cunning fellow. But indeed, when we arrive at that
pitch of false taste, as not to think cunning a contemptible quality, it
is, methinks, a very great injustice that pick-pockets are had in so
little veneration, who must be admirably well turned, not only for the
theoretic, but also the practical behaviour of cunning fellows. After
all the endeavour of this family of men whom we call cunning, their
whole work falls to pieces, if others will lay down all esteem for such
artifices, and treat it as an unmanly quality, which they forbear to
practise only because they abhor it. When the spider is ranging in the
different apartments of his web, it is true that he only can weave so
fine a thread; but it is in the power of the merest drone that has wings
to fly through and destroy it.
_Will's Coffee-house, June 28._
Though the taste of wit and pleasure is at present but very low in this
town, yet there are some that preserve their relish undebauched with
common impressions, and can distinguish between reality and imposture. A
gentleman was saying here this evening, that he would go to the play
to-morrow night to see heroism, as it has been represented by some of
our tragedians, represented in burlesque. It seems, the play of
"Alexander" is to be then turned into ridicule for its bombast, and
other false ornaments in the thought as well as the language.[333] The
bluster Alexander makes, is as much inconsistent with the character of a
hero, as the roughness of Clytus is an instance of the sincerity of a
bold artless soldier. To be plain is not to be rude, but rather inclines
a man to civility and deference; not indeed to show it in the gestures
of the body, but in the sentiments of the mind. It is, among other
things, from the impertinent figures unskilful dramatists draw of the
characters of men, that youth are bewildered and prejudiced in their
sense of the world, of which they have no notions but what they draw
from books and such representations. Thus talk to a very young man, let
him be of never so good sense, and he shall smile when you speak of
sincerity in a courtier, good sense in a soldier, or honesty in a
politician. The reason of this is, that you hardly see one play wherein
each of these ways of life is not drawn by hands that know nothing of
any one of them: and the truth is so far of the opposite side to what
they paint, that it is more impracticable to live in esteem in Courts
than anywhere else without sincerity. Good sense is the great requisite
in a soldier, and honesty the only thing that can support a politician.
This way of thinking made the gentleman of whom I was just now speaking
say, he was glad any one had taken upon him to depreciate such unnatural
fustian as the tragedy of "Alexander." The character of that prince
indeed was, that he was unequal, and given to intemperance; but in his
sober moments, when he had warm in his imagination the precepts of his
great instructor, he was a pattern of generous thoughts and
dispositions, in opposition to the strongest desires which are incident
to a youth and conqueror. But instead of representing that hero in the
glorious character of generosity and chastity, in his treatment of the
beauteous family of Darius, he is drawn all along as a monster of lust,
or of cruelty; as if the way to raise him to the degree of a hero were
to make his character as little like that of a worthy man as possible.
Such rude and indigested draughts of things are the proper objects of
ridicule and contempt, and depreciating Alexander, as we have him drawn,
is the only way of restoring him to what he was in himself. It is well
contrived of the players to let this part be followed by a true picture
of life, in the comedy called, "The Chances,"[334] wherein Don John and
Constantia are acted to the utmost perfection. There need not be a
greater instance of the force of action than in many incidents of this
play, where indifferent passages, and such that conduce only to the
tacking of the scenes together, are enlivened with such an agreeable
gesture and behaviour, as apparently shows what a play might be, though
it is not wholly what a play should be.
[Footnote 332: In reply to this suggestion that the character of
Polypragmon was meant for Harley, Steele said, in the _Guardian_, No.
53: "I drew it as the most odious image I could paint of ambition....
Whoever seeks employment for his own private interest, vanity, or pride,
and not for the good of his prince and country, has his share in the
picture of Polypragmon; and let this be the rule in examining that
description, and I believe the Examiner will find others to whom he
would rather give a part of it, than to the person on whom I believe he
bestows it, because he thinks he is the most capable of having his
vengeance on me.... I have not, like him, fixed odious images on
persons, but on vices." To this the _Examiner_ (vol. iv. No. 2) replied:
"He would insinuate, that Timon and Polypragmon are general characters,
and stand for a whole species, or, as he quaintly words it, for Knights
of the Shire. If this be true, why did he not before now silence the
industrious clamours of his party, who both in print and public
conversation applied those characters to persons of the first rank,
though without any regard to the rules of resemblance?" The writer of
"Annotations on the _Tatler_," 1710, in the preface to the second part,
regretted that Steele had become a politician, and said, in allusion to
Steele's experiments in alchemy: "Turning statesman and drudging for the
Philosopher's Stone, are toils not altogether unlike each other;
buffeting with fire, labouring in smoke, wearing out of lungs, and
tiring oneself with expectation, are misfortunes common to both these
projects; 'tis converting real gold to dross, out of a prospect of
converting dross into real gold."]
[Footnote 333: A burlesque of Lee's "Rival Queens; or, the Death of
Alexander the Great," by Gibber, called "The Rival Queans; or, the
Humours of Alexander the Great," was acted at Drury Lane in 1710, but
not printed until 1729.]
[Footnote 334: An adaptation of Beaumont and Fletcher's comedy, by the
Duke of Buckingham, 1682.]
No. 192. [ADDISON.
From _Thursday, June 29_, to _Saturday, July 1, 1710_.
Tecum vivere amem, tecum obeam libens.--HOR., 3 Od. ix. 24.
* * * * *
_From my own Apartment, June 30._
Some years since I was engaged with a coachful of friends to take a
journey as far as the Land's End. We were very well pleased with one
another the first day, every one endeavouring to recommend himself by
his good humour and complaisance to the rest of the company. This good
correspondence did not last long; one of our party was soured the very
first evening by a plate of butter which had not been melted to his
mind, and which spoiled his temper to such a degree, that he continued
upon the fret to the end of our journey. A second fell off from his good
humour the next morning, for no other reason that I could imagine, but
because I chanced to step into the coach before him, and place myself on
the shady side. This however was but my own private guess, for he did
not mention a word of it, nor indeed of anything else, for three days
following. The rest of our company held out very near half the way, when
of a sudden Mr. Sprightly fell asleep; and instead of endeavouring to
divert and oblige us, as he had hitherto done, carried himself with an
unconcerned, careless, drowsy behaviour, till we came to our last stage.
There were three of us who still held up our heads, and did all we could
to make our journey agreeable; but, to my shame be it spoken, about
three miles on this side Exeter, I was taken with an unaccountable fit
of sullenness, that hung upon me for above three-score miles; whether
it were for want of respect, or from an accidental tread upon my foot,
or from a foolish maid's calling me "The old gentleman," I cannot tell.
In short, there was but one who kept his good humour to the Land's End.
There was another coach that went along with us, in which I likewise
observed, that there were many secret jealousies, heartburnings, and
animosities: for when we joined companies at night, I could not but take
notice, that the passengers neglected their own company, and studied how
to make themselves esteemed by us, who were altogether strangers to
them; till at length they grew so well acquainted with us, that they
liked us as little as they did one another. When I reflect upon this
journey, I often fancy it to be a picture of human life, in respect to
the several friendships, contracts, and alliances that are made and
dissolved in the several periods of it. The most delightful and most
lasting engagements are generally those which pass between man and
woman; and yet upon what trifles are they weakened, or entirely broken?
Sometimes the parties fly asunder, even in the midst of courtship, and
sometimes grow cool in the very honey month. Some separate before the
first child, and some after the fifth; others continue good till thirty,
others till forty; while some few, whose souls are of a happier make,
and better fitted to one another, travel on together to the end of their
journey in a continual intercourse of kind offices and mutual
endearments.
When we therefore choose our companions for life, if we hope to keep
both them and ourselves in good humour to the last stage of it, we must
be extremely careful in the choice we make, as well as in the conduct on
our own part. When the persons to whom we join ourselves can stand an
examination, and bear the scrutiny, when they mend upon our acquaintance
with them, and discover new beauties the more we search into their
characters, our love will naturally rise in proportion to their
perfections.
But because there are very few possessed of such accomplishments of body
and mind, we ought to look after those qualifications both in ourselves
and others, which are indispensably necessary towards this happy union,
and which are in the power of every one to acquire, or at least to
cultivate and improve. These, in my opinion, are cheerfulness and
constancy. A cheerful temper joined with innocence will make beauty
attractive, knowledge delightful, and wit good-natured. It will lighten
sickness, poverty, and affliction; convert ignorance into an amiable
simplicity, and render deformity itself agreeable.
Constancy is natural to persons of even tempers and uniform
dispositions, and may be acquired by those of the greatest fickleness,
violence, and passion, who consider seriously the terms of union upon
which they come together, the mutual interest in which they are engaged,
with all the motives that ought to incite their tenderness and
compassion towards those who have their dependence upon them, and are
embarked with them for life in the same state of happiness or misery.
Constancy, when it grows in the mind upon considerations of this nature,
becomes a moral virtue, and a kind of good nature, that is not subject
to any change of health, age, fortune, or any of those accidents which
are apt to unsettle the best dispositions that are founded rather in
constitution than in reason. Where such a constancy as this is wanting,
the most inflamed passion may fall away into coldness and indifference,
and the most melting tenderness degenerate into hatred and aversion. I
shall conclude this paper with a story that is very well known in the
North of England.
About thirty years ago, a packet-boat that had several passengers on
board was cast away upon a rock, and in so great danger of sinking, that
all who were in it endeavoured to save themselves as well as they could,
though only those who could swim well had a bare possibility of doing
it. Among the passengers there were two women of fashion, who seeing
themselves in such a disconsolate condition, begged of their husbands
not to leave them. One of them chose rather to die with his wife than to
forsake her; the other, though he was moved with the utmost compassion
for his wife, told her, that for the good of their children it was
better one of them should live, than both perish. By a great piece of
good luck, next to a miracle, when one of our good men had taken the
last and long farewell in order to save himself, and the other held in
his arms the person that was dearer to him than life, the ship was
preserved. It is with a secret sorrow and vexation of mind that I must
tell the sequel of the story, and let my reader know, that this faithful
pair who were ready to have died in each other's arms, about three years
after their escape, upon some trifling disgust, grew to a coldness at
first, and at length fell out to such a degree, that they left one
another and parted for ever. The other couple lived together in an
uninterrupted friendship and felicity; and what was remarkable, the
husband whom the shipwreck had like to have separated from his wife,
died a few months after her, not being able to survive the loss of her.
I must confess, there is something in the changeableness and inconstancy
of human nature, that very often both dejects and terrifies me. Whatever
I am at present, I tremble to think what I may be. While I find this
principle in me, how can I assure myself that I shall be always true to
my God, my friend, or myself? In short, without constancy there is
neither love, friendship, nor virtue in the world.