JOSEPH ADDISON was born on the 1st of May, 1672, at Milston, of which his
father, Lancelot Addison, was then rector, near Ambrosebury, in
Wiltshire, and, appearing weak and unlikely to live, he was christened
the same day. After the usual domestic education, which from the
character of his father may be reasonably supposed to have given him
strong impressions of piety, he was committed to the care of Mr. Naish at
Ambrosebury, and afterwards of Mr. Taylor at Salisbury.
Not to name the school or the masters of men illustrious for literature,
is a kind of historical fraud, by which honest fame is injuriously
diminished: I would therefore trace him through the whole process of his
education. In 1683, in the beginning of his twelfth year, his father,
being made Dean of Lichfield, naturally carried his family to his new
residence, and, I believe, placed him for some time, probably not long,
under Mr. Shaw, then master of the school at Lichfield, father of the
late Dr. Peter Shaw. Of this interval his biographers have given no
account, and I know it only from a story of a _barring-out_, told me,
when I was a boy, by Andrew Corbet, of Shropshire, who had heard it from
Mr. Pigot, his uncle.
The practice of _barring-out_ was a savage licence, practised in many
schools to the end of the last century, by which the boys, when the
periodical vacation drew near, growing petulant at the approach of
liberty, some days before the time of regular recess, took possession of
the school, of which they barred the doors, and bade their master
defiance from the windows. It is not easy to suppose that on such
occasions the master would do more than laugh; yet, if tradition may be
credited, he often struggled hard to force or surprise the garrison. The
master, when Pigot was a schoolboy, was _barred out_ at Lichfield; and
the whole operation, as he said, was planned and conducted by Addison.
To judge better of the probability of this story, I have inquired when he
was sent to the Chartreux; but, as he was not one of those who enjoyed
the founder’s benefaction, there is no account preserved of his
admission. At the school of the Chartreux, to which he was removed either
from that of Salisbury or Lichfield, he pursued his juvenile studies
under the care of Dr. Ellis, and contracted that intimacy with Sir
Richard Steele which their joint labours have so effectually recorded.
Of this memorable friendship the greater praise must be given to Steele.
It is not hard to love those from whom nothing can be feared; and Addison
never considered Steele as a rival; but Steele lived, as he confesses,
under an habitual subjection to the predominating genius of Addison, whom
he always mentioned with reverence, and treated with obsequiousness.
Addison, who knew his own dignity, could not always forbear to show it,
by playing a little upon his admirer; but he was in no danger of retort;
his jests were endured without resistance or resentment. But the sneer of
jocularity was not the worst. Steele, whose imprudence of generosity, or
vanity of profusion, kept him always incurably necessitous, upon some
pressing exigence, in an evil hour, borrowed a hundred pounds of his
friend probably without much purpose of repayment; but Addison, who seems
to have had other notions of a hundred pounds, grew impatient of delay,
and reclaimed his loan by an execution. Steele felt with great
sensibility the obduracy of his creditor, but with emotions of sorrow
rather than of anger.
In 1687 he was entered into Queen’s College in Oxford, where, in 1689,
the accidental perusal of some Latin verses gained him the patronage of
Dr. Lancaster, afterwards Provost of Queen’s College; by whose
recommendation he was elected into Magdalen College as a demy, a term by
which that society denominates those who are elsewhere called scholars:
young men who partake of the founder’s benefaction, and succeed in their
order to vacant fellowships. Here he continued to cultivate poetry and
criticism, and grew first eminent by his Latin compositions, which are
indeed entitled to particular praise. He has not confined himself to the
imitation of any ancient author, but has formed his style from the
general language, such as a diligent perusal of the productions of
different ages happened to supply. His Latin compositions seem to have
had much of his fondness, for he collected a second volume of the “Musæ
Anglicanæ” perhaps for a convenient receptacle, in which all his Latin
pieces are inserted, and where his poem on the Peace has the first place.
He afterwards presented the collection to Boileau, who from that time
“conceived,” says Tickell, “an opinion of the English genius for poetry.”
Nothing is better known of Boileau than that he had an injudicious and
peevish contempt of modern Latin, and therefore his profession of regard
was probably the effect of his civility rather than approbation.
Three of his Latin poems are upon subjects on which perhaps he would not
have ventured to have written in his own language: “The Battle of the
Pigmies and Cranes,” “The Barometer,” and “A Bowling-green.” When the
matter is low or scanty, a dead language, in which nothing is mean
because nothing is familiar, affords great conveniences; and by the
sonorous magnificence of Roman syllables, the writer conceals penury of
thought, and want of novelty, often from the reader and often from
himself.
In his twenty-second year he first showed his power of English poetry by
some verses addressed to Dryden; and soon after published a translation
of the greater part of the Fourth Georgic upon Bees; after which, says
Dryden, “my latter swarm is scarcely worth the hiving.” About the same
time he composed the arguments prefixed to the several books of Dryden’s
Virgil; and produced an Essay on the Georgics, juvenile, superficial, and
uninstructive, without much either of the scholar’s learning or the
critic’s penetration. His next paper of verses contained a character of
the principal English poets, inscribed to Henry Sacheverell, who was
then, if not a poet, a writer of verses; as is shown by his version of a
small part of Virgil’s Georgics, published in the Miscellanies; and a
Latin encomium on Queen Mary, in the “Musæ Anglicanæ.” These verses
exhibit all the fondness of friendship; but, on one side or the other,
friendship was afterwards too weak for the malignity of faction. In this
poem is a very confident and discriminate character of Spenser, whose
work he had then never read; so little sometimes is criticism the effect
of judgment. It is necessary to inform the reader that about this time he
was introduced by Congreve to Montague, then Chancellor of the Exchequer:
Addison was then learning the trade of a courtier, and subjoined Montague
as a poetical name to those of Cowley and of Dryden. By the influence of
Mr. Montague, concurring, according to Tickell, with his natural modesty,
he was diverted from his original design of entering into holy orders.
Montague alleged the corruption of men who engaged in civil employments
without liberal education; and declared that, though he was represented
as an enemy to the Church, he would never do it any injury but by
withholding Addison from it.
Soon after (in 1695) he wrote a poem to King William, with a rhyming
introduction addressed to Lord Somers. King William had no regard to
elegance or literature; his study was only war; yet by a choice of
Ministers, whose disposition was very different from his own, he
procured, without intention, a very liberal patronage to poetry. Addison
was caressed both by Somers and Montague.
In 1697 appeared his Latin verses on the Peace of Ryswick, which he
dedicated to Montague, and which was afterwards called, by Smith, “the
best Latin poem since the ‘Æneid.’” Praise must not be too rigorously
examined; but the performance cannot be denied to be vigorous and
elegant. Having yet no public employment, he obtained (in 1699) a pension
of three hundred pounds a year, that he might be enabled to travel. He
stayed a year at Blois, probably to learn the French language and then
proceeded in his journey to Italy, which he surveyed with the eyes of a
poet. While he was travelling at leisure, he was far from being idle: for
he not only collected his observations on the country, but found time to
write his “Dialogues on Medals,” and four acts of _Cato_. Such, at least,
is the relation of Tickell. Perhaps he only collected his materials and
formed his plan. Whatever were his other employments in Italy, he there
wrote the letter to Lord Halifax which is justly considered as the most
elegant, if not the most sublime, of his poetical productions. But in
about two years he found it necessary to hasten home; being, as Swift
informs us, distressed by indigence, and compelled to become the tutor of
a travelling squire, because his pension was not remitted.
At his return he published his Travels, with a dedication to Lord Somers.
As his stay in foreign countries was short, his observations are such as
might be supplied by a hasty view, and consist chiefly in comparisons of
the present face of the country with the descriptions left us by the
Roman poets, from whom he made preparatory collections, though he might
have spared the trouble had he known that such collections had been made
twice before by Italian authors.
The most amusing passage of his book is his account of the minute
republic of San Marino; of many parts it is not a very severe censure to
say that they might have been written at home. His elegance of language,
and variegation of prose and verse, however, gain upon the reader; and
the book, though awhile neglected, became in time so much the favourite
of the public that before it was reprinted it rose to five times its
price.
When he returned to England (in 1702), with a meanness of appearance
which gave testimony of the difficulties to which he had been reduced, he
found his old patrons out of power, and was therefore, for a time, at
full leisure for the cultivation of his mind; and a mind so cultivated
gives reason to believe that little time was lost. But he remained not
long neglected or useless. The victory at Blenheim (1704) spread triumph
and confidence over the nation; and Lord Godolphin, lamenting to Lord
Halifax that it had not been celebrated in a manner equal to the subject,
desired him to propose it to some better poet. Halifax told him that
there was no encouragement for genius; that worthless men were
unprofitably enriched with public money, without any care to find or
employ those whose appearance might do honour to their country. To this
Godolphin replied that such abuses should in time be rectified; and that,
if a man could be found capable of the task then proposed, he should not
want an ample recompense. Halifax then named Addison, but required that
the Treasurer should apply to him in his own person. Godolphin sent the
message by Mr. Boyle, afterwards Lord Carlton; and Addison, having
undertaken the work, communicated it to the Treasury while it was yet
advanced no further than the simile of the angel, and was immediately
rewarded by succeeding Mr. Locke in the place of Commissioner of Appeals.
In the following year he was at Hanover with Lord Halifax: and the year
after he was made Under Secretary of State, first to Sir Charles Hedges,
and in a few months more to the Earl of Sunderland. About this time the
prevalent taste for Italian operas inclined him to try what would be the
effect of a musical drama in our own language. He therefore wrote the
opera of Rosamond, which, when exhibited on the stage, was either hissed
or neglected; but, trusting that the readers would do him more justice,
he published it with an inscription to the Duchess of Marlborough—a woman
without skill, or pretensions to skill, in poetry or literature. His
dedication was therefore an instance of servile absurdity, to be exceeded
only by Joshua Barnes’s dedication of a Greek Anacreon to the Duke. His
reputation had been somewhat advanced by The Tender Husband, a comedy
which Steele dedicated to him, with a confession that he owed to him
several of the most successful scenes. To this play Addison supplied a
prologue.
When the Marquis of Wharton was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland,
Addison attended him as his secretary; and was made Keeper of the
Records, in Birmingham’s Tower, with a salary of three hundred pounds a
year. The office was little more than nominal, and the salary was
augmented for his accommodation. Interest and faction allow little to the
operation of particular dispositions or private opinions. Two men of
personal characters more opposite than those of Wharton and Addison could
not easily be brought together. Wharton was impious, profligate, and
shameless; without regard, or appearance of regard, to right and wrong.
Whatever is contrary to this may be said of Addison; but as agents of a
party they were connected, and how they adjusted their other sentiments
we cannot know.
Addison must, however, not be too hastily condemned. It is not necessary
to refuse benefits from a bad man when the acceptance implies no
approbation of his crimes; nor has the subordinate officer any obligation
to examine the opinions or conduct of those under whom he acts, except
that he may not be made the instrument of wickedness. It is reasonable to
suppose that Addison counteracted, as far as he was able, the malignant
and blasting influence of the Lieutenant; and that at least by his
intervention some good was done, and some mischief prevented. When he was
in office he made a law to himself, as Swift has recorded, never to remit
his regular fees in civility to his friends: “for,” said he, “I may have
a hundred friends; and if my fee be two guineas, I shall, by
relinquishing my right, lose two hundred guineas, and no friend gain more
than two; there is therefore no proportion between the good imparted and
the evil suffered.” He was in Ireland when Steele, without any
communication of his design, began the publication of the _Tatler_; but
he was not long concealed; by inserting a remark on Virgil which Addison
had given him he discovered himself. It is, indeed, not easy for any man
to write upon literature or common life so as not to make himself known
to those with whom he familiarly converses, and who are acquainted with
his track of study, his favourite topic, his peculiar notions, and his
habitual phrases.
If Steele desired to write in secret, he was not lucky; a single month
detected him. His first _Tatler_ was published April 22 (1709); and
Addison’s contribution appeared May 26. Tickell observes that the
_Tatler_ began and was concluded without his concurrence. This is
doubtless literally true; but the work did not suffer much by his
unconsciousness of its commencement, or his absence at its cessation; for
he continued his assistance to December 23, and the paper stopped on
January 2. He did not distinguish his pieces by any signature; and I know
not whether his name was not kept secret till the papers were collected
into volumes.
To the _Tatler_, in about two months, succeeded the _Spectator_: a series
of essays of the same kind, but written with less levity, upon a more
regular plan, and published daily. Such an undertaking showed the writers
not to distrust their own copiousness of materials or facility of
composition, and their performance justified their confidence. They
found, however, in their progress many auxiliaries. To attempt a single
paper was no terrifying labour; many pieces were offered, and many were
received.
Addison had enough of the zeal of party; but Steele had at that time
almost nothing else. The _Spectator_, in one of the first papers, showed
the political tenets of its authors; but a resolution was soon taken of
courting general approbation by general topics, and subjects on which
faction had produced no diversity of sentiments—such as literature,
morality, and familiar life. To this practice they adhered with few
deviations. The ardour of Steele once broke out in praise of Marlborough;
and when Dr. Fleetwood prefixed to some sermons a preface overflowing
with Whiggish opinions, that it might be read by the Queen, it was
reprinted in the _Spectator_.
To teach the minuter decencies and inferior duties, to regulate the
practice of daily conversation, to correct those depravities which are
rather ridiculous than criminal, and remove those grievances which, if
they produce no lasting calamities, impress hourly vexation, was first
attempted by Casa in his book of “Manners,” and Castiglione in his
“Courtier:” two books yet celebrated in Italy for purity and elegance,
and which, if they are now less read, are neglected only because they
have effected that reformation which their authors intended, and their
precepts now are no longer wanted. Their usefulness to the age in which
they were written is sufficiently attested by the translations which
almost all the nations of Europe were in haste to obtain.
This species of instruction was continued, and perhaps advanced, by the
French; among whom La Bruyère’s “Manners of the Age” (though, as Boileau
remarked, it is written without connection) certainly deserves praise for
liveliness of description and justness of observation.
Before the _Tatler_ and _Spectator_, if the writers for the theatre are
excepted, England had no masters of common life. No writers had yet
undertaken to reform either the savageness of neglect, or the
impertinence of civility; to show when to speak, or to be silent; how to
refuse, or how to comply. We had many books to teach us our more
important duties, and to settle opinions in philosophy or politics; but
an _arbiter elegantiarum_, (a judge of propriety) was yet wanting who
should survey the track of daily conversation, and free it from thorns
and prickles, which tease the passer, though they do not wound him. For
this purpose nothing is so proper as the frequent publication of short
papers, which we read, not as study, but amusement. If the subject be
slight, the treatise is short. The busy may find time, and the idle may
find patience. This mode of conveying cheap and easy knowledge began
among us in the civil war, when it was much the interest of either party
to raise and fix the prejudices of the people. At that time appeared
_Mercurius Aulicus_, _Mercurius Rusticus_, and _Mercurius Civicus_. It is
said that when any title grew popular, it was stolen by the antagonist,
who by this stratagem conveyed his notions to those who would not have
received him had he not worn the appearance of a friend. The tumult of
those unhappy days left scarcely any man leisure to treasure up
occasional compositions; and so much were they neglected that a complete
collection is nowhere to be found.
These Mercuries were succeeded by L’Estrange’s _Observator_; and that by
Lesley’s _Rehearsal_, and perhaps by others; but hitherto nothing had
been conveyed to the people, in this commodious manner, but controversy
relating to the Church or State; of which they taught many to talk, whom
they could not teach to judge.
It has been suggested that the Royal Society was instituted soon after
the Restoration to divert the attention of the people from public
discontent. The _Tatler_ and _Spectator_ had the same tendency; they were
published at a time when two parties—loud, restless, and violent, each
with plausible declarations, and each perhaps without any distinct
termination of its views—were agitating the nation; to minds heated with
political contest they supplied cooler and more inoffensive reflections;
and it is said by Addison, in a subsequent work, that they had a
perceptible influence upon the conversation of that time, and taught the
frolic and the gay to unite merriment with decency—an effect which they
can never wholly lose while they continue to be among the first books by
which both sexes are initiated in the elegances of knowledge.
The _Tatler_ and _Spectator_ adjusted, like Casa, the unsettled practice
of daily intercourse by propriety and politeness; and, like La Bruyère,
exhibited the “Characters and Manners of the Age.” The personages
introduced in these papers were not merely ideal; they were then known,
and conspicuous in various stations. Of the _Tatler_ this is told by
Steele in his last paper; and of the _Spectator_ by Budgell in the
preface to “Theophrastus,” a book which Addison has recommended, and
which he was suspected to have revised, if he did not write it. Of those
portraits which may be supposed to be sometimes embellished, and
sometimes aggravated, the originals are now partly known, and partly
forgotten. But to say that they united the plans of two or three eminent
writers, is to give them but a small part of their due praise; they
superadded literature and criticism, and sometimes towered far above
their predecessors; and taught, with great justness of argument and
dignity of language, the most important duties and sublime truths. All
these topics were happily varied with elegant fictions and refined
allegories, and illuminated with different changes of style and
felicities of invention.
It is recorded by Budgell, that of the characters feigned or exhibited in
the _Spectator_, the favourite of Addison was Sir Roger de Coverley, of
whom he had formed a very delicate and discriminate idea, which he would
not suffer to be violated; and therefore when Steele had shown him
innocently picking up a girl in the Temple, and taking her to a tavern,
he drew upon himself so much of his friend’s indignation that he was
forced to appease him by a promise of forbearing Sir Roger for the time
to come.
The reason which induced Cervantes to bring his hero to the grave, _para
mi sola nacio Don Quixote_, _y yo para el_, made Addison declare, with
undue vehemence of expression, that he would kill Sir Roger; being of
opinion that they were born for one another, and that any other hand
would do him wrong.
It may be doubted whether Addison ever filled up his original
delineation. He describes his knight as having his imagination somewhat
warped; but of this perversion he has made very little use. The
irregularities in Sir Roger’s conduct seem not so much the effects of a
mind deviating from the beaten track of life, by the perpetual pressure
of some overwhelming idea, as of habitual rusticity, and that negligence
which solitary grandeur naturally generates. The variable weather of the
mind, the flying vapours of incipient madness, which from time to time
cloud reason without eclipsing it, it requires so much nicety to exhibit
that Addison seems to have been deterred from prosecuting his own design.
To Sir Roger (who, as a country gentleman, appears to be a Tory, or, as
it is gently expressed, an adherent to the landed interest) is opposed
Sir Andrew Freeport, a new man, a wealthy merchant, zealous for the
moneyed interest, and a Whig. Of this contrariety of opinions, it is
probable more consequences were at first intended than could be produced
when the resolution was taken to exclude party from the paper. Sir Andrew
does but little, and that little seems not to have pleased Addison, who,
when he dismissed him from the club, changed his opinions. Steele had
made him, in the true spirit of unfeeling commerce, declare that he
“would not build an hospital for idle people;” but at last he buys land,
settles in the country, and builds, not a manufactory, but an hospital
for twelve old husbandmen—for men with whom a merchant has little
acquaintance, and whom he commonly considers with little kindness.
Of essays thus elegant, thus instructive, and thus commodiously
distributed, it is natural to suppose the approbation general, and the
sale numerous. I once heard it observed that the sale may be calculated
by the product of the tax, related in the last number to produce more
than twenty pounds a week, and therefore stated at one-and-twenty pounds,
or three pounds ten shillings a day: this, at a halfpenny a paper, will
give sixteen hundred and eighty for the daily number. This sale is not
great; yet this, if Swift be credited, was likely to grow less; for he
declares that the _Spectator_, whom he ridicules for his endless mention
of the _fair sex_, had before his recess wearied his readers.
The next year (1713), in which _Cato_ came upon the stage, was the grand
climacteric of Addison’s reputation. Upon the death of _Cato_ he had, as
is said, planned a tragedy in the time of his travels, and had for
several years the four first acts finished, which were shown to such as
were likely to spread their admiration. They were seen by Pope and by
Cibber, who relates that Steele, when he took back the copy, told him, in
the despicable cant of literary modesty, that, whatever spirit his friend
had shown in the composition, he doubted whether he would have courage
sufficient to expose it to the censure of a British audience. The time,
however, was now come when those who affected to think liberty in danger
affected likewise to think that a stage-play might preserve it; and
Addison was importuned, in the name of the tutelary deities of Britain,
to show his courage and his zeal by finishing his design.
To resume his work he seemed perversely and unaccountably unwilling; and
by a request, which perhaps he wished to be denied, desired Mr. Hughes to
add a fifth act. Hughes supposed him serious; and, undertaking the
supplement, brought in a few days some scenes for his examination; but he
had in the meantime gone to work himself, and produced half an act, which
he afterwards completed, but with brevity irregularly disproportionate to
the foregoing parts, like a task performed with reluctance and hurried to
its conclusion.
It may yet be doubted whether _Cato_ was made public by any change of the
author’s purpose; for Dennis charged him with raising prejudices in his
own favour by false positions of preparatory criticism, and with
_poisoning the town_ by contradicting in the _Spectator_ the established
rule of poetical justice, because his own hero, with all his virtues, was
to fall before a tyrant. The fact is certain; the motives we must guess.
Addison was, I believe, sufficiently disposed to bar all avenues against
all danger. When Pope brought him the prologue, which is properly
accommodated to the play, there were these words, “Britains, arise! be
worth like this approved;” meaning nothing more than—Britons, erect and
exalt yourselves to the approbation of public virtue. Addison was
frighted, lest he should be thought a promoter of insurrection, and the
line was liquidated to “Britains, attend.”
Now “heavily in clouds came on the day, the great, the important day,”
when Addison was to stand the hazard of the theatre. That there might,
however, be left as little hazard as was possible, on the first night
Steele, as himself relates, undertook to pack an audience. “This,” says
Pope, “had been tried for the first time in favour of the _Distressed
Mother_; and was now, with more efficacy, practised for _Cato_.” The
danger was soon over. The whole nation was at that time on fire with
faction. The Whigs applauded every line in which liberty was mentioned,
as a satire on the Tories; and the Tories echoed every clap, to show that
the satire was unfelt. The story of Bolingbroke is well known; he called
Booth to his box, and gave him fifty guineas for defending the cause of
liberty so well against a perpetual dictator. “The Whigs,” says Pope,
“design a second present, when they can accompany it with as good a
sentence.”
The play, supported thus by the emulation of factious praise, was acted
night after night for a longer time than, I believe, the public had
allowed to any drama before; and the author, as Mrs. Porter long
afterwards related, wandered through the whole exhibition behind the
scenes with restless and unappeasable solicitude. When it was printed,
notice was given that the Queen would be pleased if it was dedicated to
her; “but, as he had designed that compliment elsewhere, he found himself
obliged,” says Tickell, “by his duty on the one hand, and his honour on
the other, to send it into the world without any dedication.”
Human happiness has always its abatements; the brightest sunshine of
success is not without a cloud. No sooner was _Cato_ offered to the
reader than it was attacked by the acute malignity of Dennis with all the
violence of angry criticism. Dennis, though equally zealous, and probably
by his temper more furious than Addison, for what they called liberty,
and though a flatterer of the Whig Ministry, could not sit quiet at a
successful play; but was eager to tell friends and enemies that they had
misplaced their admirations. The world was too stubborn for instruction;
with the fate of the censurer of Corneille’s _Cid_, his animadversions
showed his anger without effect, and _Cato_ continued to be praised.
Pope had now an opportunity of courting the friendship of Addison by
vilifying his old enemy, and could give resentment its full play without
appearing to revenge himself. He therefore published “A Narrative of the
Madness of John Dennis:” a performance which left the objections to the
play in their full force, and therefore discovered more desire of vexing
the critic than of defending the poet.
Addison, who was no stranger to the world, probably saw the selfishness
of Pope’s friendship; and, resolving that he should have the consequences
of his officiousness to himself, informed Dennis by Steele that he was
sorry for the insult; and that, whenever he should think fit to answer
his remarks, he would do it in a manner to which nothing could be
objected.
The greatest weakness of the play is in the scenes of love, which are
said by Pope to have been added to the original plan upon a subsequent
review, in compliance with the popular practice of the stage. Such an
authority it is hard to reject; yet the love is so intimately mingled
with the whole action that it cannot easily be thought extrinsic and
adventitious; for if it were taken away, what would be left? or how were
the four acts filled in the first draft? At the publication the wits
seemed proud to pay their attendance with encomiastic verses. The best
are from an unknown hand, which will perhaps lose somewhat of their
praise when the author is known to be Jeffreys.
_Cato_ had yet other honours. It was censured as a party-play by a
scholar of Oxford; and defended in a favourable examination by Dr. Sewel.
It was translated by Salvini into Italian, and acted at Florence; and by
the Jesuits of St. Omer’s into Latin, and played by their pupils. Of this
version a copy was sent to Mr. Addison: it is to be wished that it could
be found, for the sake of comparing their version of the soliloquy with
that of Bland.
A tragedy was written on the same subject by Des Champs, a French poet,
which was translated with a criticism on the English play. But the
translator and the critic are now forgotten.
Dennis lived on unanswered, and therefore little read. Addison knew the
policy of literature too well to make his enemy important by drawing the
attention of the public upon a criticism which, though sometimes
intemperate, was often irrefragable.
While _Cato_ was upon the stage, another daily paper, called the
_Guardian_, was published by Steele. To this Addison gave great
assistance, whether occasionally or by previous engagement is not known.
The character of _Guardian_ was too narrow and too serious: it might
properly enough admit both the duties and the decencies of life, but
seemed not to include literary speculations, and was in some degree
violated by merriment and burlesque. What had the _Guardian_ of the
Lizards to do with clubs of tall or of little men, with nests of ants, or
with Strada’s prolusions? Of this paper nothing is necessary to be said
but that it found many contributors, and that it was a continuation of
the _Spectator_, with the same elegance and the same variety, till some
unlucky sparkle from a Tory paper set Steele’s politics on fire, and wit
at once blazed into faction. He was soon too hot for neutral topics, and
quitted the _Guardian_ to write the Englishman.
The papers of Addison are marked in the _Spectator_ by one of the letters
in the name of Clio, and in the _Guardian_ by a hand; whether it was, as
Tickell pretends to think, that he was unwilling to usurp the praise of
others, or as Steele, with far greater likelihood, insinuates, that he
could not without discontent impart to others any of his own. I have
heard that his avidity did not satisfy itself with the air of renown, but
that with great eagerness he laid hold on his proportion of the profits.
Many of these papers were written with powers truly comic, with nice
discrimination of characters, and accurate observation of natural or
accidental deviations from propriety; but it was not supposed that he had
tried a comedy on the stage, till Steele after his death declared him the
author of _The Drummer_. This, however, Steele did not know to be true by
any direct testimony, for when Addison put the play into his hands, he
only told him it was the work of a “gentleman in the company;” and when
it was received, as is confessed, with cold disapprobation, he was
probably less willing to claim it. Tickell omitted it in his collection;
but the testimony of Steele, and the total silence of any other claimant,
has determined the public to assign it to Addison, and it is now printed
with other poetry. Steele carried _The Drummer_ to the play-house, and
afterwards to the press, and sold the copy for fifty guineas.
To the opinion of Steele may be added the proof supplied by the play
itself, of which the characters are such as Addison would have
delineated, and the tendency such as Addison would have promoted. That it
should have been ill received would raise wonder, did we not daily see
the capricious distribution of theatrical praise.
He was not all this time an indifferent spectator of public affairs. He
wrote, as different exigences required (in 1707), “The Present State of
the War, and the Necessity of an Augmentation;” which, however judicious,
being written on temporary topics, and exhibiting no peculiar powers,
laid hold on no attention, and has naturally sunk by its own weight into
neglect. This cannot be said of the few papers entitled the _Whig
Examiner_, in which is employed all the force of gay malevolence and
humorous satire. Of this paper, which just appeared and expired, Swift
remarks, with exultation, that “it is now down among the dead men.” He
might well rejoice at the death of that which he could not have killed.
Every reader of every party, since personal malice is past, and the
papers which once inflamed the nation are read only as effusions of wit,
must wish for more of the _Whig Examiners_; for on no occasion was the
genius of Addison more vigorously exerted, and on none did the
superiority of his powers more evidently appear. His “Trial of Count
Tariff,” written to expose the treaty of commerce with France, lived no
longer than the question that produced it.
Not long afterwards an attempt was made to revive the _Spectator_, at a
time indeed by no means favourable to literature, when the succession of
a new family to the throne filled the nation with anxiety, discord, and
confusion; and either the turbulence of the times, or the satiety of the
readers, put a stop to the publication after an experiment of eighty
numbers, which were actually collected into an eighth volume, perhaps
more valuable than any of those that went before it. Addison produced
more than a fourth part; and the other contributors are by no means
unworthy of appearing as his associates. The time that had passed during
the suspension of the _Spectator_, though it had not lessened his power
of humour, seems to have increased his disposition to seriousness: the
proportion of his religious to his comic papers is greater than in the
former series.
The _Spectator_, from its re-commencement, was published only three times
a week; and no discriminative marks were added to the papers. To Addison,
Tickell has ascribed twenty-three. The _Spectator_ had many contributors;
and Steele, whose negligence kept him always in a hurry, when it was his
turn to furnish a paper, called loudly for the letters, of which Addison,
whose materials were more, made little use—having recourse to sketches
and hints, the product of his former studies, which he now reviewed and
completed: among these are named by Tickell the Essays on Wit, those on
the Pleasures of the Imagination, and the Criticism on Milton.
When the House of Hanover took possession of the throne, it was
reasonable to expect that the zeal of Addison would be suitably rewarded.
Before the arrival of King George, he was made Secretary to the Regency,
and was required by his office to send notice to Hanover that the Queen
was dead, and that the throne was vacant. To do this would not have been
difficult to any man but Addison, who was so overwhelmed with the
greatness of the event, and so distracted by choice of expression, that
the lords, who could not wait for the niceties of criticism, called Mr.
Southwell, a clerk in the House, and ordered him to despatch the message.
Southwell readily told what was necessary in the common style of
business, and valued himself upon having done what was too hard for
Addison. He was better qualified for the _Freeholder_, a paper which he
published twice a week, from December 23, 1715, to the middle of the next
year. This was undertaken in defence of the established Government,
sometimes with argument, and sometimes with mirth. In argument he had
many equals; but his humour was singular and matchless. Bigotry itself
must be delighted with the “Tory Fox-hunter.” There are, however, some
strokes less elegant and less decent; such as the “Pretender’s Journal,”
in which one topic of ridicule is his poverty. This mode of abuse had
been employed by Milton against King Charles II.
“Jacobœi.
Centum exulantis viscera Marsupii regis.”
And Oldmixon delights to tell of some alderman of London that he had more
money than the exiled princes; but that which might be expected from
Milton’s savageness, or Oldmixon’s meanness, was not suitable to the
delicacy of Addison.
Steele thought the humour of the _Freeholder_ too nice and gentle for
such noisy times, and is reported to have said that the Ministry made use
of a lute, when they should have called for a trumpet.
This year (1716) he married the Countess Dowager of Warwick, whom he had
solicited by a very long and anxious courtship, perhaps with behaviour
not very unlike that of Sir Roger to his disdainful widow; and who, I am
afraid, diverted herself often by playing with his passion. He is said to
have first known her by becoming tutor to her son. “He formed,” said
Tonson, “the design of getting that lady from the time when he was first
taken into the family.” In what part of his life he obtained the
recommendation, or how long, and in what manner he lived in the family, I
know not. His advances at first were certainly timorous, but grew bolder
as his reputation and influence increased; till at last the lady was
persuaded to marry him, on terms much like those on which a Turkish
princess is espoused, to whom the Sultan is reported to pronounce,
“Daughter, I give thee this man for thy slave.” The marriage, if
uncontradicted report can be credited, made no addition to his happiness;
it neither found them nor made them equal. She always remembered her own
rank, and thought herself entitled to treat with very little ceremony the
tutor of her son. Rowe’s ballad of the “Despairing Shepherd” is said to
have been written, either before or after marriage, upon this memorable
pair; and it is certain that Addison has left behind him no encouragement
for ambitious love.
The year after (1717) he rose to his highest elevation, being made
Secretary of State. For this employment he might be justly supposed
qualified by long practice of business, and by his regular ascent through
other offices; but expectation is often disappointed; it is universally
confessed that he was unequal to the duties of his place. In the House of
Commons he could not speak, and therefore was useless to the defence of
the Government. “In the office,” says Pope, “he could not issue an order
without losing his time in quest of fine expressions.” What he gained in
rank he lost in credit; and finding by experience his own inability, was
forced to solicit his dismission, with a pension of fifteen hundred
pounds a year. His friends palliated this relinquishment, of which both
friends and enemies knew the true reason, with an account of declining
health, and the necessity of recess and quiet. He now returned to his
vocation, and began to plan literary occupations for his future life. He
purposed a tragedy on the death of Socrates: a story of which, as Tickell
remarks, the basis is narrow, and to which I know not how love could have
been appended. There would, however, have been no want either of virtue
in the sentiments, or elegance in the language. He engaged in a nobler
work, a “Defence of the Christian Religion,” of which part was published
after his death; and he designed to have made a new poetical version of
the Psalms.
These pious compositions Pope imputed to a selfish motive, upon the
credit, as he owns, of Tonson; who, having quarrelled with Addison, and
not loving him, said that when he laid down the Secretary’s office he
intended to take orders and obtain a bishopric; “for,” said he, “I always
thought him a priest in his heart.”
That Pope should have thought this conjecture of Tonson worth
remembrance, is a proof—but indeed, so far as I have found, the only
proof—that he retained some malignity from their ancient rivalry. Tonson
pretended to guess it; no other mortal ever suspected it; and Pope might
have reflected that a man who had been Secretary of State in the Ministry
of Sunderland knew a nearer way to a bishopric than by defending religion
or translating the Psalms.
It is related that he had once a design to make an English dictionary,
and that he considered Dr. Tillotson as the writer of highest authority.
There was formerly sent to me by Mr. Locker, clerk of the Leathersellers
Company, who was eminent for curiosity and literature, a collection of
examples selected from Tillotson’s works, as Locker said, by Addison. It
came too late to be of use, so I inspected it but slightly, and remember
it indistinctly. I thought the passages too short. Addison, however, did
not conclude his life in peaceful studies, but relapsed, when he was near
his end, to a political dispute.
It so happened that (1718–19) a controversy was agitated with great
vehemence between those friends of long continuance, Addison and Steele.
It may be asked, in the language of Homer, what power or what cause
should set them at variance. The subject of their dispute was of great
importance. The Earl of Sunderland proposed an Act, called the “Peerage
Bill;” by which the number of Peers should be fixed, and the King
restrained from any new creation of nobility, unless when an old family
should be extinct. To this the Lords would naturally agree; and the King,
who was yet little acquainted with his own prerogative, and, as is now
well known, almost indifferent to the possessions of the Crown, had been
persuaded to consent. The only difficulty was found among the Commons,
who were not likely to approve the perpetual exclusion of themselves and
their posterity. The Bill, therefore, was eagerly opposed, and, among
others, by Sir Robert Walpole, whose speech was published.
The Lords might think their dignity diminished by improper advancements,
and particularly by the introduction of twelve new Peers at once, to
produce a majority of Tories in the last reign: an act of authority
violent enough, yet certainly legal, and by no means to be compared with
that contempt of national right with which some time afterwards, by the
instigation of Whiggism, the Commons, chosen by the people for three
years, chose themselves for seven. But, whatever might be the disposition
of the Lords, the people had no wish to increase their power. The
tendency of the Bill, as Steele observed in a letter to the Earl of
Oxford, was to introduce an aristocracy: for a majority in the House of
Lords, so limited, would have been despotic and irresistible.
To prevent this subversion of the ancient establishment, Steele, whose
pen readily seconded his political passions, endeavoured to alarm the
nation by a pamphlet called “The Plebeian.” To this an answer was
published by Addison, under the title of “The Old Whig,” in which it is
not discovered that Steele was then known to be the advocate for the
Commons. Steele replied by a second “Plebeian;” and, whether by ignorance
or by courtesy, confined himself to his question, without any personal
notice of his opponent. Nothing hitherto was committed against the laws
of friendship or proprieties of decency; but controvertists cannot long
retain their kindness for each other. The “Old Whig” answered “The
Plebeian,” and could not forbear some contempt of “little _Dicky_, whose
trade it was to write pamphlets.” Dicky, however, did not lose his
settled veneration for his friend, but contented himself with quoting
some lines of _Cato_, which were at once detection and reproof. The Bill
was laid aside during that session, and Addison died before the next, in
which its commitment was rejected by two hundred and sixty-five to one
hundred and seventy-seven.
Every reader surely must regret that these two illustrious friends, after
so many years passed in confidence and endearment, in unity of interest,
conformity of opinion, and fellowship of study, should finally part in
acrimonious opposition. Such a controversy was “bellum plusquam
_civile_,” as Lucan expresses it. Why could not faction find other
advocates? But among the uncertainties of the human state, we are doomed
to number the instability of friendship. Of this dispute I have little
knowledge but from the “Biographia Britannica.” “The Old Whig” is not
inserted in Addison’s works: nor is it mentioned by Tickell in his Life;
why it was omitted, the biographers doubtless give the true reason—the
fact was too recent, and those who had been heated in the contention were
not yet cool.
The necessity of complying with times, and of sparing persons, is the
great impediment of biography. History may be formed from permanent
monuments and records: but lives can only be written from personal
knowledge, which is growing every day less, and in a short time is lost
for ever. What is known can seldom be immediately told; and when it might
be told, it is no longer known. The delicate features of the mind, the
nice discriminations of character, and the minute peculiarities of
conduct, are soon obliterated; and it is surely better that caprice,
obstinacy, frolic, and folly, however they might delight in the
description, should be silently forgotten, than that, by wanton merriment
and unseasonable detection, a pang should be given to a widow, a
daughter, a brother, or a friend. As the process of these narratives is
now bringing me among my contemporaries, I begin to feel myself “walking
upon ashes under which the fire is not extinguished,” and coming to the
time of which it will be proper rather to say “nothing that is false,
than all that is true.”
The end of this useful life was now approaching. Addison had for some
time been oppressed by shortness of breath, which was now aggravated by a
dropsy; and, finding his danger pressing, he prepared to die conformably
to his own precepts and professions. During this lingering decay, he
sent, as Pope relates, a message by the Earl of Warwick to Mr. Gay,
desiring to see him. Gay, who had not visited him for some time before,
obeyed the summons, and found himself received with great kindness. The
purpose for which the interview had been solicited was then discovered.
Addison told him that he had injured him; but that, if he recovered, he
would recompense him. What the injury was he did not explain, nor did Gay
ever know; but supposed that some preferment designed for him had, by
Addison’s intervention, been withheld.
Lord Warwick was a young man, of very irregular life, and perhaps of
loose opinions. Addison, for whom he did not want respect, had very
diligently endeavoured to reclaim him, but his arguments and
expostulations had no effect. One experiment, however, remained to be
tried; when he found his life near its end, he directed the young lord to
be called, and when he desired with great tenderness to hear his last
injunctions, told him, “I have sent for you that you may see how a
Christian can die.” What effect this awful scene had on the earl, I know
not; he likewise died himself in a short time.