[232] Among many other things to the same effect, Montaigne wrote:
"Grant that it is a fault in me to write about myself, I ought not,
following my general intent, to refuse an action that publisheth this
crazed quality, since I have it in myself, and I should not conceal
this fault, which I have not only in use but in profession" (Florio's
"Montaigne").
[233] See No. 81.
[234] 2 Epist. ii. 55.
No. 84. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, Oct. 20_, to _Saturday, Oct. 22, 1709_.
_From my own Apartment, October 21._
I have received a letter subscribed A. B.[235] wherein it has been
represented to me as an enormity, that there are more than ordinary
crowds of women at the Old Bailey when a rape is to be tried: but by
Mr. A. B.'s favour, I can't tell who are so much concerned in that part
of the law as the sex he mentions, they being the only persons liable
to such insults. Nor indeed do I think it more unreasonable that they
should be inquisitive on such occasions, than men of honour when one
is tried for killing another in a duel. It is very natural to inquire
how the fatal pass was made, that we may the better defend ourselves
when we come to be attacked. Several eminent ladies appeared lately at
the Court of Justice on such an occasion, and with great patience and
attention stayed the whole trials of two persons for the above-said
crime. The law to me indeed seems a little defective on this point;
and it is a very great hardship, that this crime, which is committed
by men only, should have men only on their jury. I humbly therefore
propose, that on future trials of this sort, half of the twelve may be
women; and those such whose faces are well known to have taken notes,
or may be supposed to remember what happened in former trials in the
same place. There is the learned Androgyne, that would make a good
fore-woman of the panel, who (by long attendance) understands as much
law and anatomy as is necessary in this case. Till this is taken care
of, I am humbly of opinion, it would be much more expedient that the
fair were wholly absent: for to what end can it be that they should
be present at such examinations, when they can only be perplexed
with a fellow-feeling for the injured, without any power to avenge
their sufferings. It is an unnecessary pain which the fair ones give
themselves on these occasions. I have known a young woman shriek out
at some parts of the evidence; and have frequently observed, that when
the proof grew particular and strong, there has been such a universal
flutter of fans, that one would think the whole female audience were
falling into fits. Nor indeed can I see how men themselves can be
wholly unmoved at such tragical relations. In short, I must tell my
female readers, and they may take an old man's word for it, that there
is nothing in woman so graceful and becoming as modesty: it adds charms
to their beauty, and gives a new softness to their sex. Without it,
simplicity and innocence appear rude, reading and good sense masculine,
wit and humour lascivious. This is so necessary a qualification for
pleasing, that the loose part of womankind, whose study it is to
ensnare men's hearts, never fail to support the appearance of what
they know is so essential to that end: and I have heard it reported
by the young fellows in my time, as a maxim of the celebrated Madam
Bennet,[236] that a young wench, though never so beautiful, was
not worth her board when she was past her blushing. This discourse
naturally brings into my thoughts a letter I have received from the
virtuous Lady Whittlestick on the subject of Lucretia.
_From my Tea-table,
October_ 17.
"COUSIN ISAAC,
"I read your _Tatler_ of Saturday last,[237] and was surprised
to see you so partial to your own sex, as to think none of ours
worthy to sit at your first table; for sure you cannot but own
Lucretia as famous as any you have placed there, who first parted
with her virtue, and afterwards with her life, to preserve her
fame."
Mrs. Biddy Twig has written me a letter to the same purpose: but in
answer to both my pretty correspondents and kinswomen, I must tell
them, that although I know Lucretia would have made a very graceful
figure at the upper end of the table, I did not think it proper to
place her there, because I knew she would not care for being in the
company of so many men without her husband. At the same time I must
own, that Tarquin himself was not a greater lover and admirer of
Lucretia than I myself am in an honest way. When my sister Jenny was
in her sampler, I made her get the whole story without book, and tell
it me in needlework. This illustrious lady stands up in history as the
glory of her own sex, and the reproach of ours; and the circumstances
under which she fell were so very particular, that they seem to make
adultery and murder meritorious. She was a woman of such transcendent
virtue, that her beauty, which was the greatest of the age and country
in which she lived, and is generally celebrated as the highest of
praise in other women, is never mentioned as a part of her character.
But it would be declaiming to dwell upon so celebrated a story, which
I mentioned only in respect to my kinswomen; and to make reparation
for the omission they complain of, do further promise them, that if
they can furnish me with instances to fill it, there shall be a small
tea-table set apart in my palace of fame for the reception of all of
her character.[238]
_Grecian Coffee-house, October 21._
I was this evening communicating my design of producing obscure merit
into public view; and proposed to the learned, that they would please
to assist me in the work. For the same end I publish my intention to
the world, that all men of liberal thoughts may know they have an
opportunity of doing justice to such worthy persons as have come within
their respective observation, and who by misfortune, modesty, or want
of proper writers to recommend them, have escaped the notice of the
rest of mankind. If therefore any one can bring any tale or tidings of
illustrious persons, or glorious actions, that are not commonly known,
he is desired to send an account thereof to me at J. Morphew's, and
they shall have justice done them. At the same time that I have this
concern for men and things that deserve reputation and have it not, I
am resolved to examine into the claims of such ancients and moderns as
are in possession of it, with a design to displace them, in case I find
their titles defective. The first whose merits I shall inquire into,
are some merry gentlemen of the French nation, who have written very
advantageous histories of their exploits in war, love, and politics,
under the title of memoirs. I am afraid I shall find several of these
gentlemen tardy, because I hear of them in no writings but their own.
To read the narrative of one of these authors, you would fancy there
was not an action in a whole campaign which he did not contrive or
execute; yet if you consult the history, or gazettes of those times,
you do not find him so much as the head of a party from one end of the
summer to the other. But it is the way of these great men, when they
lie behind their lines, and are in a time of inaction, as they call
it, to pass away their time in writing their exploits. By this means,
several who are either unknown or despised in the present age, will
be famous in the next, unless a sudden stop be put to such pernicious
practices. There are others of that gay people who (as I am informed)
will live half a year together in a garret, and write a history of
their intrigues in the court of France. As for politicians, they do not
abound with that species of men so much as we; but as ours are not so
famous for writing as for extemporary dissertations in coffee-houses,
they are more annoyed with memoirs of this nature also than we are. The
most immediate remedy that I can apply to prevent this growing evil,
is, that I do hereby give notice to all booksellers and translators
whatsoever, that the word "memoir" is French for a novel; and to
require of them, that they sell and translate it accordingly.
_Wills Coffee-house, October 21._
Coming into this place to-night, I met an old friend of mine,[239] who,
a little after the Restoration, wrote an epigram with some applause,
which he has lived upon ever since; and by virtue of it, has been a
constant frequenter of this coffee-house for forty years. He took me
aside, and with a great deal of friendship told me, he was glad to
see me alive; "for" says he, "Mr. Bickerstaff, I am sorry to find
you have raised many enemies by your lucubrations. There are indeed
some," says he, "whose enmity is the greatest honour they can show a
man; but have you lived to these years, and don't know, that the ready
way to disoblige is to give advice? You may endeavour to guard your
children, as you call them, but--" He was going on; but I found the
disagreeableness of giving advice without being asked it, by my own
impatience of what he was about to say. In a word, I begged him to give
me the hearing of a short fable.
"A gentleman," says I, "who was one day slumbering in an arbour, was
on a sudden awakened by the gentle biting of a lizard, a little animal
remarkable for its love to mankind. He threw it from his hand with some
indignation, and was rising up to kill it, when he saw an huge venomous
serpent sliding towards him on the other side, which he soon destroyed;
reflecting afterwards with gratitude upon his friend that saved him,
and with anger against himself, that had shown so little sense of a
good office."