NICHOLAS ROWE was born at Little Beckford, in Bedfordshire, in 1673. His
family had long possessed a considerable estate, with a good house, at
Lambertoun in Devonshire. The ancestor from whom he descended in a
direct line received the arms borne by his descendants for his bravery in
the Holy War. His father, John Rowe, who was the first that quitted his
paternal acres to practise any part of profit, professed the law, and
published Benlow’s and Dallison’s Reports in the reign of James the
Second, when, in opposition to the notions then diligently propagated of
dispensing power, he ventured to remark how low his authors rated the
prerogative. He was made a serjeant, and died April 30, 1692. He was
buried in the Temple church.
Nicholas was first sent to a private school at Highgate; and, being
afterwards removed to Westminster, was at twelve years chosen one of the
King’s Scholars. His master was Busby, who suffered none of his scholars
to let their powers lie useless; and his exercises in several languages
are said to have been written with uncommon degrees of excellence, and
yet to have cost him very little labour. At sixteen he had, in his
father’s opinion, made advances in learning sufficient to qualify him for
the study of law, and was entered a student of the Middle Temple, where
for some time he read statutes and reports with proficiency proportionate
to the force of his mind, which was already such that he endeavoured to
comprehend law, not as a series of precedents, or collection of positive
precepts, but as a system of rational government and impartial justice.
When he was nineteen, he was, by the death of his father, left more to
his own direction, and probably from that time suffered law gradually to
give way to poetry. At twenty-five he produced the _Ambitious
Step-Mother_, which was received with so much favour that he devoted
himself from that time wholly to elegant literature.
His next tragedy (1702) was Tamerlane, in which, under the name of
Tamerlane, he intended to characterise King William, and Louis the
Fourteenth under Bajazet. The virtues of Tamerlane seem to have been
arbitrarily assigned him by his poet, for I know not that history gives
any other qualities than those which make a conqueror. The fashion,
however, of the time was to accumulate upon Louis all that can raise
horror and detestation; and whatever good was withheld from him, that it
might not be thrown away was bestowed upon King William. This was the
tragedy which Rowe valued most, and that which probably, by the help of
political auxiliaries, excited most applause; but occasional poetry must
often content itself with occasional praise. Tamerlane has for a long
time been acted only once a year, on the night when King William landed.
Our quarrel with Louis has been long over; and it now gratifies neither
zeal nor malice to see him painted with aggravated features, like a
Saracen upon a sign.
_The Fair Penitent_, his next production (1703), is one of the most
pleasing tragedies on the stage, where it still keeps its turns of
appearing, and probably will long keep them, for there is scarcely any
work of any poet at once so interesting by the fable, and so delightful
by the language. The story is domestic, and therefore easily received by
the imagination, and assimilated to common life; the diction is
exquisitely harmonious, and soft or sprightly as occasion requires.
The character of Lothario seems to have been expanded by Richardson into
Lovelace; but he has excelled his original in the moral effect of the
fiction. Lothario, with gaiety which cannot be hated, and bravery which
cannot be despised, retains too much of the spectator’s kindness. It was
in the power of Richardson alone to teach us at once esteem and
detestation, to make virtuous resentment overpower all the benevolence
which wit, elegance, and courage, naturally excite; and to lose at last
the hero in the villain. The fifth act is not equal to the former; the
events of the drama are exhausted, and little remains but to talk of what
is past. It has been observed that the title of the play does not
sufficiently correspond with the behaviour of Calista, who at last shows
no evident signs of repentance, but may be reasonably suspected of
feeling pain from detection rather than from guilt, and expresses more
shame than sorrow, and more rage than shame.
His next (1706) was _Ulysses_; which, with the common fate of
mythological stories, is now generally neglected. We have been too early
acquainted with the poetical heroes to expect any pleasure from their
revival; to show them as they have already been shown, is to disgust by
repetition; to give them new qualities, or new adventures, is to offend
by violating received notions.
“_The Royal Convert_” (1708) seems to have a better claim to longevity.
The fable is drawn from an obscure and barbarous age, to which fictions
are more easily and properly adapted; for when objects are imperfectly
seen, they easily take forms from imagination. The scene lies among our
ancestors in our own country, and therefore very easily catches
attention. Rodogune is a personage truly tragical, of high spirit, and
violent passions, great with tempestuous dignity, and wicked with a soul
that would have been heroic if it had been virtuous. The motto seems to
tell that this play was not successful.
Rowe does not always remember what his characters require. In
_Tamerlane_ there is some ridiculous mention of the God of Love; and
Rodogune, a savage Saxon, talks of Venus and the eagle that bears the
thunder of Jupiter.
This play discovers its own date, by a prediction of the Union, in
imitation of Cranmer’s prophetic promises to Henry VIII. The anticipated
blessings of union are not very naturally introduced, nor very happily
expressed. He once (1706) tried to change his hand. He ventured on a
comedy, and produced the _Biter_, with which, though it was unfavourably
treated by the audience, he was himself delighted; for he is said to have
sat in the house laughing with great vehemence, whenever he had, in his
own opinion, produced a jest. But finding that he and the public had no
sympathy of mirth, he tried at lighter scenes no more.
After the _Royal Convert_ (1714) appeared _Jane Shore_, written, as its
author professes, _in imitation of Shakespeare’s style_. In what he
thought himself an imitator of Shakespeare it is not easy to conceive.
The numbers, the diction, the sentiments, and the conduct, everything in
which imitation can consist, are remote in the utmost degree from the
manner of Shakespeare, whose dramas it resembles only as it is an English
story, and as some of the persons have their names in history. This
play, consisting chiefly of domestic scenes and private distress, lays
hold upon the heart. The wife is forgiven because she repents, and the
husband is honoured because he forgives. This, therefore, is one of
those pieces which we still welcome on the stage.
His last tragedy (1715) was _Lady Jane Grey_. This subject had been
chosen by Mr. Smith, whose papers were put into Rowe’s hands such as he
describes them in his preface. This play has likewise sunk into
oblivion. From this time he gave nothing more to the stage.
Being by a competent fortune exempted from any necessity of combating his
inclination, he never wrote in distress, and therefore does not appear to
have ever written in haste. His works were finished to his own
approbation, and bear few marks of negligence or hurry. It is remarkable
that his prologues and epilogues are all his own, though he sometimes
supplied others; he afforded help, but did not solicit it.
As his studies necessarily made him acquainted with Shakespeare, and
acquaintance produced veneration, he undertook (1709) an edition of his
works, from which he neither received much praise, nor seems to have
expected it; yet I believe those who compare it with former copies will
find that he has done more than he promised; and that, without the pomp
of notes or boasts of criticism, many passages are happily restored. He
prefixed a life of the author, such as tradition, then almost expiring,
could supply, and a preface, which cannot be said to discover much
profundity or penetration. He at least contributed to the popularity of
his author. He was willing enough to improve his fortune by other arts
than poetry. He was under-secretary for three years when the Duke of
Queensberry was Secretary of State, and afterwards applied to the Earl of
Oxford for some public employment. Oxford enjoined him to study Spanish;
and when, some time afterwards, he came again, and said that he had
mastered it, dismissed him with this congratulation, “Then, sir, I envy
you the pleasure of reading ‘Don Quixote’ in the original.”
This story is sufficiently attested; but why Oxford, who desired to be
thought a favourer of literature, should thus insult a man of
acknowledged merit, or how Rowe, who was so keen a Whig that he did not
willingly converse with men of the opposite party, could ask preferment
from Oxford, it is not now possible to discover. Pope, who told the
story, did not say on what occasion the advice was given; and, though he
owned Rowe’s disappointment, doubted whether any injury was intended him,
but thought it rather Lord Oxford’s _odd way_.
It is likely that he lived on discontented through the rest of Queen
Anne’s reign; but the time came at last when he found kinder friends. At
the accession of King George he was made Poet-Laureate—I am afraid, by
the ejection of poor Nahum Tate, who (1716) died in the Mint, where he
was forced to seek shelter by extreme poverty. He was made likewise one
of the land-surveyors of the customs of the Port of London. The Prince
of Wales chose him Clerk of his Council; and the Lord Chancellor Parker,
as soon as he received the seals, appointed him, unasked, Secretary of
the Presentations. Such an accumulation of employments undoubtedly
produced a very considerable revenue.
Having already translated some parts of Lucan’s “Pharsalia,” which had
been published in the _Miscellanies_, and doubtless received many
praises, he undertook a version of the whole work, which he lived to
finish, but not to publish. It seems to have been printed under the care
of Dr. Welwood, who prefixed the author’s life, in which is contained the
following character:—
“As to his person, it was graceful and well made; his face regular,
and of a manly beauty. As his soul was well lodged, so its rational
and animal faculties excelled in a high degree. He had a quick and
fruitful invention, a deep penetration, and a large compass of
thought, with singular dexterity and easiness in making his thoughts
to be understood. He was master of most parts of polite learning,
especially the classical authors, both Greek and Latin; understood
the French, Italian, and Spanish languages, and spoke the first
fluently, and the other two tolerably well. He had likewise read
most of the Greek and Roman histories in their original languages,
and most that are wrote in English, French, Italian, and Spanish. He
had a good taste in philosophy; and, having a firm impression of
religion upon his mind, he took great delight in divinity and
ecclesiastical history, in both of which he made great advances in
the times he retired into the country, which was frequent. He
expressed on all occasions his full persuasion of the truth of
revealed religion; and, being a sincere member of the Established
Church himself, he pitied, but condemned not, those that dissented
from it. He abhorred the principles of persecuting men upon the
account of their opinions in religion; and, being strict in his own,
he took it not upon him to censure those of another persuasion. His
conversation was pleasant, witty, and learned, without the least
tincture of affectation or pedantry; and his inimitable manner of
diverting and enlivening the company made it impossible for any one
to be out of humour when he was in it. Envy and detraction seemed to
be entirely foreign to his constitution; and whatever provocations he
met with at any time, he passed them over without the least thought
of resentment or revenge. As Homer had a Zoilus, so Mr. Rowe had
sometimes his; for there were not wanting malevolent people, and
pretenders to poetry too, that would now and then bark at his best
performances; but he was so conscious of his own genius, and had so
much good-nature, as to forgive them, nor could he ever be tempted to
return them an answer.
“The love of learning and poetry made him not the less fit for
business, and nobody applied himself closer to it when it required
his attendance. The late Duke of Queensberry, when he was Secretary
of State, made him his secretary for public affairs; and when that
truly great man came to know him well, he was never so pleased as
when Mr. Rowe was in his company. After the duke’s death, all
avenues were stopped to his preferment; and during the rest of that
reign he passed his time with the Muses and his books, and sometimes
the conversation of his friends. When he had just got to be easy in
his fortune, and was in a fair way to make it better, death swept him
away, and in him deprived the world of one of the best men, as well
as one of the best geniuses, of the age. He died like a Christian
and a philosopher, in charity with all mankind, and with an absolute
resignation to the will of God. He kept up his good-humour to the
last; and took leave of his wife and friends, immediately before his
last agony, with the same tranquillity of mind, and the same
indifference for life, as though he had been upon taking but a short
journey. He was twice married—first to a daughter of Mr. Parsons,
one of the auditors of the revenue; and afterwards to a daughter of
Mr. Devenish, of a good family in Dorsetshire. By the first he had a
son; and by the second a daughter, married afterwards to Mr. Fane.
He died 6th December, 1718, in the forty-fifth year of his age, and
was buried on the 19th of the same month in Westminster Abbey, in the
aisle where many of our English poets are interred, over against
Chaucer, his body being attended by a select number of his friends,
and the dean and choir officiating at the funeral.”
To this character, which is apparently given with the fondness of a
friend, may be added the testimony of Pope, who says, in a letter to
Blount, “Mr. Rowe accompanied me, and passed a week in the Forest. I
need not tell you how much a man of his turn entertained me; but I must
acquaint you, there is a vivacity and gaiety of disposition, almost
peculiar to him, which make it impossible to part from him without that
uneasiness which generally succeeds all our pleasure.”
Pope has left behind him another mention of his companion less
advantageous, which is thus reported by Dr. Warburton:—
“Rowe, in Mr. Pope’s opinion, maintained a decent character, but had
no heart. Mr. Addison was justly offended with some behaviour which
arose from that want, and estranged himself from him, which Rowe felt
very severely. Mr. Pope, their common friend, knowing this, took an
opportunity, at some juncture of Mr. Addison’s advancement, to tell
him how poor Rowe was grieved at his displeasure, and what
satisfaction he expressed at Mr. Addison’s good fortune, which he
expressed so naturally that he (Mr. Pope) could not but think him
sincere. Mr. Addison replied, ‘I do not suspect that he feigned; but
the levity of his heart is such, that he is struck with any new
adventure, and it would affect him just in the same manner if he
heard I was going to be hanged.’ Mr. Pope said he could not deny but
Mr. Addison understood Rowe well.”
This censure time has not left us the power of confirming or refuting;
but observation daily shows that much stress is not to be laid on
hyperbolical accusations and pointed sentences, which even he that utters
them desires to be applauded rather than credited. Addison can hardly be
supposed to have meant all that he said. Few characters can bear the
microscopic scrutiny of wit quickened by anger; and, perhaps, the best
advice to authors would be, that they should keep out of the way of one
another.
Rowe is chiefly to be considered as a tragic writer and a translator. In
his attempt at comedy he failed so ignominiously that his _Biter_ is not
inserted in his works: and his occasional poems and short compositions
are rarely worthy either praise or censure, for they seem the casual
sports of a mind seeking rather to amuse its leisure than to exercise its
powers. In the construction of his dramas there is not much art; he is
not a nice observer of the unities. He extends time and varies places as
his convenience requires. To vary the place is not, in my opinion, any
violation of nature, if the change be made between the acts, for it is no
less easy for the spectator to suppose himself at Athens in the second
act, than at Thebes in the first; but to change the scene, as is done by
Rowe, in the middle of an act, is to add more acts to the play, since an
act is so much of the business as is transacted without interruption.
Rowe, by this licence, easily extricates himself from difficulties; as in
Jane Grey, when we have been terrified with all the dreadful pomp of
public execution; and are wondering how the heroine or the poet will
proceed, no sooner has Jane pronounced some prophetic rhymes than—pass
and be gone—the scene closes, and Pembroke and Gardiner are turned out
upon the stage.
I know not that there can be found in his plays any deep search into
nature, any accurate discriminations of kindred qualities, or nice
display of passion in its progress; all is general and undefined. Nor
does he much interest or affect the auditor, except in Jane Shore, who is
always seen and heard with pity. Alicia is a character of empty noise,
with no resemblance to real sorrow or to natural madness.
Whence, then, has Rowe his reputation? From the reasonableness and
propriety of some of his scenes, from the elegance of his diction, and
the suavity of his verse. He seldom moves either pity or terror, but he
often elevates the sentiments; he seldom pierces the breast, but he
always delights the ear, and often improves the understanding. His
translation of the “Golden Verses,” and of the first book of Quillet’s
poem, have nothing in them remarkable. The “Golden Verses” are tedious.
The version of Lucan is one of the greatest productions of English
poetry, for there is perhaps none that so completely exhibits the genius
and spirit of the original. Lucan is distinguished by a kind of
dictatorial or philosophic dignity, rather, as Quintilian observes,
declamatory than poetical; full of ambitious morality and pointed
sentences, comprised in vigorous and animated lines. This character Rowe
has very diligently and successfully preserved. His versification, which
is such as his contemporaries practised, without any attempt at
innovation or improvement, seldom wants either melody or force. His
author’s sense is sometimes a little diluted by additional infusions, and
sometimes weakened by too much expansion. But such faults are to be
expected in all translations, from the constraint of measures and
dissimilitude of languages. The “Pharsalia” of Rowe deserves more notice
than it obtains, and as it is more read will be more esteemed.