country gentleman, who, having no other care than to leave him rich,
considered that literature could not be had without expense; masters
would not teach for nothing; and when a book was bought and read, it
would sell for little. Jack was, therefore, taught to read and write by
the butler; and when this acquisition was made, was left to pass his
days in the kitchen and the stable, where he heard no crime censured but
covetousness and distrust of poor honest servants, and where all the
praise was bestowed on good housekeeping, and a free heart. At the death
of his father, Jack set himself to retrieve the honour of his family: he
abandoned his cellar to the butler, ordered his groom to provide hay and
corn at discretion, took his housekeeper's word for the expenses of the
kitchen, allowed all his servants to do their work by deputies,
permitted his domesticks to keep his house open to their relations and
acquaintance, and in ten years was conveyed hither, without having
purchased by the loss of his patrimony either honour or pleasure, or
obtained any other gratification than that of having corrupted the
neighbouring villagers by luxury and idleness.
Dick Serge was a draper in Cornhill, and passed eight years in
prosperous diligence, without any care but to keep his books, or any
ambition but to be in time an alderman: but then, by some unaccountable
revolution in his understanding, he became enamoured of wit and humour,
despised the conversation of pedlars and stock-jobbers, and rambled
every night to the regions of gaiety, in quest of company suited to his
taste. The wits at first flocked about him for sport, and afterwards for
interest; some found their way into his books, and some into his
pockets; the man of adventure was equipped from his shop for the
pursuit, of a fortune; and he had sometimes the honour to have his
security accepted when his friends were in distress. Elated with these
associations, he soon learned to neglect his shop; and having drawn his
money out of the funds, to avoid the necessity of teasing men of honour
for trifling debts, he has been forced at last to retire hither, till
his friends can procure him a post at court.
Another that joins in the same mess is Bob Cornice, whose life has been
spent in fitting up a house. About ten years ago Bob purchased the
country habitation of a bankrupt: the mere shell of a building Bob holds
no great matter; the inside is the test of elegance. Of this house he
was no sooner master than he summoned twenty workmen to his assistance,
tore up the floors and laid them anew, stripped off the wainscot, drew
the windows from their frames, altered the disposition of doors and
fire-places, and cast the whole fabrick into a new form: his next care
was to have his ceilings painted, his pannels gilt, and his
chimney-pieces carved: every thing was executed by the ablest hands:
Bob's business was to follow the workmen with a microscope, and call
upon them to retouch their performances, and heighten excellence to
perfection.
The reputation of his house now brings round him a daily confluence of
visitants, and every one tells him of some elegance which he has
hitherto overlooked, some convenience not yet procured, or some new mode
in ornament or furniture. Bob, who had no wish but to be admired, nor
any guide but the fashion, thought every thing beautiful in proportion
as it was new, and considered his work as unfinished, while any observer
could suggest an addition; some alteration was therefore every day made,
without any other motive than the charms of novelty. A traveller at last
suggested to him the convenience of a grotto: Bob immediately ordered
the mount of his garden to be excavated: and having laid out a large sum
in shells and minerals, was busy in regulating the disposition of the
colours and lustres, when two gentlemen, who had asked permission to see
his gardens, presented him a writ, and led him off to less elegant
apartments.
I know not, Sir, whether among this fraternity of sorrow you will think
any much to be pitied; nor indeed do many of them appear to solicit
compassion, for they generally applaud their own conduct, and despise
those whom want of taste or spirit suffers to grow rich. It were happy
if the prisons of the kingdom were filled only with characters like
these, men whom prosperity could not make useful, and whom ruin cannot
make wise: but there are among us many who raise different sensations,
many that owe their present misery to the seductions of treachery, the
strokes of casualty, or the tenderness of pity; many whose sufferings
disgrace society, and whose virtues would adorn it: of these, when
familiarity shall have enabled me to recount their stories without
horrour, you may expect another narrative from
Sir,
Your most humble servant,
MISARGYRUS.
No. 58. SATURDAY, MAY 25, 1753.
_Damnant quod non intelligunt_. CIC.
They condemn what they do not understand.
Euripides, having presented Socrates with the writings of Heraclitus[1],
a philosopher famed for involution and obscurity, inquired afterwards
his opinion of their merit. "What I understand," said Socrates, "I find
to be excellent; and, therefore, believe that to be of equal value which
I cannot understand."
The reflection of every man who reads this passage will suggest to him
the difference between the practice of Socrates, and that of modern
criticks: Socrates, who had, by long observation upon himself and
others, discovered the weakness of the strongest, and the dimness of the
most enlightened intellect, was afraid to decide hastily in his own
favour, or to conclude that an author had written without meaning,
because he could not immediately catch his ideas; he knew that the
faults of books are often more justly imputable to the reader, who
sometimes wants attention, and sometimes penetration; whose
understanding is often obstructed by prejudice, and often dissipated by
remissness; who comes sometimes to a new study, unfurnished with
knowledge previously necessary; and finds difficulties insuperable, for
want of ardour sufficient to encounter them.
Obscurity and clearness are relative terms: to some readers scarce any
book is easy, to others not many are difficult: and surely they, whom
neither any exuberant praise bestowed by others, nor any eminent
conquests over stubborn problems, have entitled to exalt themselves
above the common orders of mankind, might condescend to imitate the
candour of Socrates; and where they find incontestable proofs of
superior genius, be content to think that there is justness in the
connexion which they cannot trace, and cogency in the reasoning which
they cannot comprehend.
This diffidence is never more reasonable than in the perusal of the
authors of antiquity; of those whose works have been the delight of
ages, and transmitted as the great inheritance of mankind from one
generation to another: surely, no man can, without the utmost arrogance,
imagine that he brings any superiority of understanding to the perusal
of these books which have been preserved in the devastation of cities,
and snatched up from the wreck of nations; which those who fled before
barbarians have been careful to carry off in the hurry of migration, and
of which barbarians have repented the destruction. If in books thus made
venerable by the uniform attestation of successive ages, any passages
shall appear unworthy of that praise which they have formerly received,
let us not immediately determine, that they owed their reputation to
dulness or bigotry; but suspect at least that our ancestors had some
reasons for their opinions, and that our ignorance of those reasons
makes us differ from them.
It often happens that an author's reputation is endangered in succeeding
times, by that which raised the loudest applause among his
contemporaries: nothing is read with greater pleasure than allusions to
recent facts, reigning opinions, or present controversies; but when
facts are forgotten, and controversies extinguished, these favourite
touches lose all their graces; and the author in his descent to
posterity must be left to the mercy of chance, without any power of
ascertaining the memory of those things, to which he owed his luckiest
thoughts and his kindest reception.
On such occasions, every reader should remember the diffidence of
Socrates, and repair by his candour the injuries of time: he should
impute the seeming defects of his author to some chasm of intelligence,
and suppose that the sense which is now weak was once forcible, and the
expression which is now dubious formerly determinate.
How much the mutilation of ancient history has taken away from the
beauty of poetical performances, may be conjectured from the light which
a lucky commentator sometimes effuses, by the recovery of an incident
that had been long forgotten: thus, in the third book of Horace, Juno's
denunciations against, those that should presume to raise again the
walls of Troy, could for many ages please only by splendid images and
swelling language, of which no man discovered the use or propriety, till
Le Fevre, by showing on what occasion the Ode was written, changed
wonder to rational delight. Many passages yet undoubtedly remain in the
same author, which an exacter knowledge of the incidents of his time
would clear from objections. Among these I have always numbered the
following lines:
_Aurum per medios ire satellites,
Et perrumpere amat saxa, potentius
Ictu fulmineo. Concidit auguris
Argivi domus ob lucrum
Demersa exitio. Diffidit urbium
Portas vir Macedo, et subruit aemulos
Regis muneribus_: Munera navium
Saevos illaqueant duces. HOR. Lib. iii. Ode xvi. 9.
Stronger than thunder's winged force,
All-powerful gold can spread its course,
Thro' watchful guards its passage make,
And loves thro' solid walls to break:
From gold the overwhelming woes
That crush'd the Grecian augur rose:
Philip with gold thro' cities broke,
And rival monarchs felt his yoke;
_Captains of ships to gold are slaves,
Tho' fierce as their own winds and waves._ FRANCIS.
The close of this passage, by which every reader is now disappointed and
offended, was probably the delight of the Roman Court: it cannot be
imagined, that Horace, after having given to gold the force of thunder,
and told of its power to storm cities and to conquer kings, would have
concluded his account of its efficacy with its influence over naval
commanders, had he not alluded to some fact then current in the mouths
of men, and therefore more interesting for a time than the conquests of
Philip. Of the like kind may be reckoned another stanza in the same
book:
--_Jussa coram non sine conscio
Surgit marito, seu vocat_ institor,
_Seu_ navis Hispanae magister,
_Dedecorum pretiosus emptor_. HOR. Lib. iii. Ode. vi. 29.
The conscious husband bids her rise,
_When some rich factor courts her charms_,
Who calls the wanton to his arms,
And, prodigal of wealth and fame,
Profusely buys the costly shame. FRANCIS.
He has little knowledge of Horace who imagines that the _factor_, or the
_Spanish merchant_, are mentioned by chance: there was undoubtedly some
popular story of an intrigue, which those names recalled to the memory
of his reader.
The flame of his genius in other parts, though somewhat dimmed by time,
is not totally eclipsed; his address and judgment yet appear, though
much of the spirit and vigour of his sentiment is lost: this has
happened in the twentieth Ode of the first book:
_Vile potabis modicis Sabinum
Cantharis, Graecâ quod ego ipse testâ
Conditum levi, datus in theatro
Cum tibi plausus,
Care Maecenas eques: ut paterni
Fluminis ripae, simul et jocosa
Redderet laudes tibi Vaticani
Montis imago._
A poet's beverage humbly cheap,
(Should great Maecenas be my guest,)
The vintage of the Sabine grape,
But yet in sober cups shall crown the feast:
'Twas rack'd into a Grecian cask,
Its rougher juice to melt away;
I seal'd it too--a pleasing task!
With annual joy to mark the glorious day,
When in applausive shouts thy name
Spread from the theatre around,
Floating on thy own Tiber's stream,
And Echo, playful nymph, return'd the sound. FRANCIS.
We here easily remark the intertexture of a happy compliment with an
humble invitation; but certainly are less delighted than those, to whom
the mention of the applause bestowed upon Maecenas, gave occasion to
recount the actions or words that produced it.
Two lines which have exercised the ingenuity of modern criticks, may, I
think, be reconciled to the judgment, by an easy supposition: Horace
thus addresses Agrippa:
_Scriberis Vario fortis, et hostium
Victor_, Maeonii carminis alite. HOR. Lib. i. Ode vi. 1.
Varius, a _swan of Homer's wing_,
Shall brave Agrippa's conquests sing.
That Varius should be called "A bird of Homeric song," appears so harsh
to modern ears, that an emendation of the text has been proposed: but
surely the learning of the ancients had been long ago obliterated, had
every man thought himself at liberty to corrupt the lines which he did
not understand. If we imagine that Varius had been by any of his
contemporaries celebrated under the appellation of _Musarum ales_, "the
swan of the Muses," the language of Horace becomes graceful and
familiar; and that such a compliment was at least possible, we know from
the transformation feigned by Horace of himself.
The most elegant compliment that was paid to Addison, is of this obscure
and perishable kind;
When panting Virtue her last efforts made,
You brought your Clio to the virgin's aid.
These lines must please as long as they are understood; but can be
understood only by those that have observed Addison's signatures in the
Spectator.
The nicety of these minute allusions I shall exemplify by another
instance, which I take this occasion to mention, because, as I am told,
the commentators have omitted it. Tibullus addressed Cynthia in this
manner:
_Te spectem, suprema mihi cum venerit hora,
Te teneam moriens deficiente manu._ Lib. i. El. i. 73.
Before my closing eyes dear Cynthia stand,
Held weakly by my fainting trembling hand.
To these lines Ovid thus refers in his Elegy on the death of Tibullus:
Cynthia discedens, Felicius, inquit, amata
Sum tibi; vixisti dum tuus ignis eram.
Cui Nemesis, quid, ait, tibi sint mea damna dolori?
Me tenuit moriens deficiente manu. Am. Lib. in. El. ix. 56.
Blest was my reign, retiring Cynthia cry'd;
Not till he left my breast, Tibullus dy'd.
Forbear, said Nemesis, my loss to moan,
The _fainting trembling hand_ was mine alone.
The beauty of this passage, which consists in the appropriation made by
Nemesis of the line originally directed to Cynthia, had been wholly
imperceptible to succeeding ages, had chance, which has destroyed so
many greater volumes, deprived us likewise of the poems of Tibullus.
[1] The obscurity of this philosopher's style is complained of by
Aristotle in his treatise on Rhetoric, iii. 5. We make the reference
with the view of recommending to attention the whole of that book,
which is interspersed with the most acute remarks, and with rules of
criticism founded deeply on the workings of the human mind. It is
undervalued only by those who have not scholarship to read it, and
surely merits this slight tribute of admiration from an Editor of
Johnson's works, with whom a Translation of the Rhetoric was long a
favourite project.
No. 62. SATURDAY, JUNE 9, 1753.
_O fortuna viris, invida fortibus
Quam non aequa bonis praemia dividis._ SENECA.
Capricious Fortune ever joys,
With partial hand to deal the prize,
To crush the brave and cheat the wise.
TO THE ADVENTURER.
Fleet, June 6.
SIR,
To the account of such of my companions as are imprisoned without being
miserable, or are miserable without any claim to compassion, I promised
to add the histories of those, whose virtue has made them unhappy or
whose misfortunes are at least without a crime. That this catalogue
should be very numerous, neither you nor your readers ought to expect:
_rari quippe boni_; "the good are few." Virtue is uncommon in all the
classes of humanity; and I suppose it will scarcely be imagined more
frequent in a prison than in other places.
Yet in these gloomy regions is to be found the tenderness, the
generosity, the philanthropy of Serenus, who might have lived in
competence and ease, if he could have looked without emotion on the
miseries of another. Serenus was one of those exalted minds, whom
knowledge and sagacity could not make suspicious; who poured out his
soul in boundless intimacy, and thought community of possessions the law
of friendship. The friend of Serenus was arrested for debt, and after
many endeavours to soften his creditor, sent his wife to solicit that
assistance which never was refused. The tears and importunity of female
distress were more than was necessary to move the heart of Serenus; he
hasted immediately away, and conferring a long time with his friend,
found him confident that if the present pressure was taken off, he
should soon be able to reestablish his affairs. Serenus, accustomed to
believe, and afraid to aggravate distress, did not attempt to detect the
fallacies of hope, nor reflect that every man overwhelmed with calamity
believes, that if that was removed he shall immediately be happy: he,
therefore, with little hesitation offered himself as surety.
In the first raptures of escape all was joy, gratitude, and confidence:
the friend of Serenus displayed his prospects, and counted over the sums
of which he should infallibly be master before the day of payment.
Serenus in a short time began to find his danger, but could not prevail
with himself to repent of beneficence; and therefore suffered himself
still to be amused with projects which he durst not consider, for fear
of finding them impracticable. The debtor, after he had tried every
method of raising money which art or indigence could prompt, wanted
either fidelity or resolution to surrender himself to prison, and left
Serenus to take his place.
Serenus has often proposed to the creditor, to pay him whatever he shall
appear to have lost by the flight of his friend: but however reasonable
this proposal may be thought, avarice and brutality have been hitherto
inexorable, and Serenus still continues to languish in prison. In this
place, however, where want makes almost every man selfish, or
desperation gloomy, it is the good fortune of Serenus not to live
without a friend: he passes most of his hours in the conversation of
Candidus, a man whom the same virtuous ductility has, with some
difference of circumstances, made equally unhappy. Candidus, when he was
young, helpless, and ignorant, found a patron that educated, protected,
and supported him; his patron being more vigilant for others than
himself, left at his death an only son, destitute and friendless.
Candidus was eager to repay the benefits he had received; and having
maintained the youth for a few years at his own house, afterwards placed
him with a merchant of eminence, and gave bonds to a great value as a
security for his conduct.
The young man, removed too early from the only eye of which he dreaded
the observation, and deprived of the only instruction which he heard
with reverence, soon learned to consider virtue as restraint, and
restraint as oppression: and to look with a longing eye at every expense
to which he could not reach, and every pleasure which he could not
partake: by degrees he deviated from his first regularity, and unhappily
mingling among young men busy in dissipating the gains of their fathers'
industry, he forgot the precepts of Candidus, spent the evening in
parties of pleasure, and the morning in expedients to support his riots.
He was, however, dexterous and active in business: and his master, being
secured against any consequences of dishonesty, was very little
solicitous to inspect his manners, or to inquire how he passed those
hours, which were not immediately devoted to the business of his
profession: when he was informed of the young man's extravagance or
debauchery, "let his bondsman look to that," said he, "I have taken care
of myself."
Thus the unhappy spendthrift proceeded from folly to folly, and from
vice to vice, with the connivance, if not the encouragement, of his
master; till in the heat of a nocturnal revel he committed such
violences in the street as drew upon him a criminal prosecution. Guilty
and unexperienced, he knew not what course to take; to confess his crime
to Candidus, and solicit his interposition, was little less dreadful
than to stand before the frown of a court of justice. Having, therefore,
passed the day with anguish in his heart and distraction in his looks,
he seized at night a very large sum of money in the compting-house, and
setting out he knew not whither, was heard of no more.
The consequence of his flight was the ruin of Candidus; ruin surely
undeserved and irreproachable, and such as the laws of a just government
ought either to prevent or repair: nothing is more inequitable than that
one man should suffer for the crimes of another, for crimes which he
neither prompted nor permitted, which he could neither foresee nor
prevent. When we consider the weakness of human resolutions and the
inconsistency of human conduct, it must appear absurd that one man shall
engage for another, that he will not change his opinions or alter his
conduct.
It is, I think, worthy of consideration, whether, since no wager is
binding without a possibility of loss on each side, it is not equally
reasonable, that no contract should be valid without reciprocal
stipulations; but in this case, and others of the same kind, what is
stipulated on his side to whom the bond is given? he takes advantage of
the security, neglects his affairs, omits his duty, suffers timorous
wickedness to grow daring by degrees, permits appetite to call for new
gratifications, and, perhaps, secretly longs for the time in which he
shall have power to seize the forfeiture; and if virtue or gratitude
should prove too strong for temptation, and a young man persist in
honesty, however instigated by his passions, what can secure him at last
against a false accusation? I for my part always shall suspect, that he
who can by such methods secure his property, will go one step further to
increase it; nor can I think that man safely trusted with the means of
mischief, who, by his desire to have them in his hands, gives an evident
proof how much less he values his neighbour's happiness than his own.
Another of our companions is Lentulus, a man whose dignity of birth was
very ill supported by his fortune. As some of the first offices in the
kingdom were filled by his relations, he was early invited to court, and
encouraged by caresses and promises to attendance and solicitation; a
constant appearance in splendid company necessarily required
magnificence of dress; and a frequent participation of fashionable
amusements forced him into expense: but these measures were requisite to
his success; since every body knows, that to be lost to sight is to be
lost to remembrance, and that he who desires to fill a vacancy, must be
always at hand, lest some man of greater vigilance should step in before
him.
By this course of life his little fortune was every day made less: but
he received so many distinctions in publick, and was known to resort so
familiarly to the houses of the great, that every man looked on his
preferment as certain, and believed that its value would compensate for
its slowness: he, therefore, found no difficulty in obtaining credit for
all that his rank or his vanity made necessary: and, as ready payment
was not expected, the bills were proportionably enlarged, and the value
of the hazard or delay was adjusted solely by the equity of the
creditor. At length death deprived Lentulus of one of his patrons, and a
revolution in the ministry of another; so that all his prospects
vanished at once, and those that had before encouraged his expenses,
began to perceive that their money was in danger; there was now no other
contention but who should first seize upon his person, and, by forcing
immediate payment, deliver him up naked to the vengeance of the rest.