without consequence; the bliss with which he solaces his hours he always
expects from others, though very often he knows not from whom: he folds
his arms about him, and sits in expectation of some revolution in the
state that shall raise him to greatness, or some golden shower that
shall load him with wealth; he dozes away the day in musing upon the
morrow; and at the end of life is roused from his dream only to discover
that the time of action is past, and that he can now shew his wisdom
only by repentance.
No. 74. SATURDAY, JULY 21, 1753.
_Insanientis dun sapientæ
Consultus erro.--_ HOR. Lib. i. Od. xxxiv. 2.
I miss'd my end, and lost my way,
By crack-brain'd wisdom led astray.
TO THE ADVENTURER.
SIR,
It has long been charged by one part of mankind upon the other, that
they will not take advice; that counsel and instruction are generally
thrown away; and that, in defiance both of admonition and example, all
claim the right to choose their own measures, and to regulate their own
lives.
That there is something in advice very useful and salutary, seems to be
equally confessed on all hands: since even those that reject it, allow
for the most part that rejection to be wrong, but charge the fault upon
the unskilful manner in which it is given: they admit the efficacy of
the medicine, but abhor the nauseousness of the vehicle.
Thus mankind have gone on from century to century: some have been
advising others how to act, and some have been teaching the advisers how
to advise; yet very little alteration has been made in the world. As we
must all by the law of nature enter life in ignorance, we must all make
our way through it by the light of our own experience; and for any
security that advice has been yet able to afford, must endeavour after
success at the hazard of miscarriage, and learn to do right by venturing
to do wrong.
By advice I would not be understood to mean, the everlasting and
invariable principles of moral and religious truth, from which no change
of external circumstances can justify any deviation; but such directions
as respect merely the prudential part of conduct, and which may he
followed or neglected without any violation of essential duties.
It is, indeed, not so frequently to make us good as to make us wise,
that our friends employ the officiousness of counsel; and among the
rejectors of advice, who are mentioned by the grave and sententious with
so much acrimony, you will not so often find the vicious and abandoned,
as the pert and the petulant, the vivacious and the giddy.
As the great end of female education is to get a husband, this likewise
is the general subject of female advice: and the dreadful denunciation
against those volatile girls, who will not listen patiently to the
lectures of wrinkled wisdom, is, that they will die unmarried, or throw
themselves away upon some worthless fellow, who will never be able to
keep them a coach.
I being naturally of a ductile and easy temper, without strong desires
or quick resentments, was always a favourite amongst the elderly ladies,
because I never rebelled against seniority, nor could be charged with
thinking myself wise before my time; but heard every opinion with
submissive silence, professed myself ready to learn from all who seemed
inclined to teach me, paid the same grateful acknowledgments for
precepts contradictory to each other, and if any controversy arose, was
careful to side with her who presided in the company.
Of this compliance I very early found the advantage; for my aunt Matilda
left me a very large addition to my fortune, for this reason chiefly, as
she herself declared, because I was not above hearing good counsel, but
would sit from morning till night to be instructed, while my sister
Sukey, who was a year younger than myself, and was, therefore, in
greater want of information, was so much conceited of her own knowledge,
that whenever the good lady in the ardour of benevolence reproved or
instructed her, she would pout or titter, interrupt her with questions,
or embarrass her with objections.
I had no design to supplant my sister by this complaisant attention;
nor, when the consequence of my obsequiousness came to be known, did
Sukey so much envy as despise me: I was, however, very well pleased with
my success; and having received, from the concurrent opinion of all
mankind, a notion that to be rich was to be great and happy, I thought I
had obtained my advantages at an easy rate, and resolved to continue the
same passive attention, since I found myself so powerfully recommended
by it to kindness and esteem.
The desire of advising has a very extensive prevalence; and since advice
cannot be given but to those that will hear it, a patient listener is
necessary to the accommodation of all those who desire to be confirmed
in the opinion of their own wisdom: a patient listener, however, is not
always to be had; the present age, whatever age is present, is so
vitiated and disordered that young people are readier to talk than to
attend, and good counsel is only thrown away upon those who are full of
their own perfections.
I was, therefore, in this scarcity of good sense, a general favourite;
and seldom saw a day in which some sober matron did not invite me to her
house, or take me out in her chariot, for the sake of instructing me how
to keep my character in this censorious age, how to conduct myself in
the time of courtship, how to stipulate for a settlement, how to manage
a husband of every character, regulate my family, and educate my
children.
We are all naturally credulous in our own favour. Having been so often
caressed and applauded for docility, I was willing to believe myself
really enlightened by instruction, and completely qualified for the task
of life. I did not doubt but I was entering the world with a mind
furnished against all exigencies, with expedients to extricate myself
from every difficulty, and sagacity to provide against every danger; I
was, therefore, in haste to give some specimen of my prudence, and to
show that this liberality of instruction had not been idly lavished upon
a mind incapable of improvement.
My purpose, for why should I deny it? was like that of other women, to
obtain a husband of rank and fortune superior to my own; and in this I
had the concurrence of all those that had assumed the province of
directing me. That the woman was undone who married below herself, was
universally agreed: and though some ventured to assert, that the richer
man ought invariably to be preferred, and that money was a sufficient
compensation for a defective ancestry; yet the majority declared warmly
for a gentleman, and were of opinion that upstarts should not be
encouraged.
With regard to other qualifications I had an irreconcilable variety of
instructions. I was sometimes told that deformity was no defect in a
man; and that he who was not encouraged to intrigue by an opinion of his
person, was more likely to value the tenderness of his wife: but a
grave-widow directed me to choose a man who might imagine himself
agreeable to me, for that the deformed were always insupportably
vigilant, and apt to sink into sullenness, or burst into rage, if they
found their wife's eye wandering for a moment to a good face or a
handsome shape.
They were, however, all unanimous in warning me, with repeated cautions,
against all thoughts of union with a wit, as a being with whom no
happiness could possibly be enjoyed: men of every other kind I was
taught to govern, but a wit was an animal for whom no arts of taming had
been yet discovered: the woman whom he could once get within his power,
was considered as lost to all hope of dominion or of quiet: for he would
detect artifice and defeat allurement; and if once he discovered any
failure of conduct, would believe his own eyes, in defiance of tears,
caresses, and protestations.
In pursuance of these sage principles, I proceeded to form my schemes;
and while I was yet in the first bloom of youth, was taken out at an
assembly by Mr. Frisk. I am afraid my cheeks glowed, and my eyes
sparkled; for I observed the looks of all my superintendants fixed
anxiously upon me; and I was next day cautioned against him from all
hands, as a man of the most dangerous and formidable kind, who had writ
verses to one lady, and then forsaken her only because she could not
read them, and had lampooned another for no other fault than defaming
his sister.
Having been hitherto accustomed to obey, I ventured to dismiss Mr.
Frisk, who happily did not think me worth the labour of a lampoon. I was
then addressed by Mr. Sturdy, and congratulated by all my friends on the
manors of which I was shortly to be lady: but Sturdy's conversation was
so gross, that after the third visit I could endure him no longer; and
incurred, by dismissing him, the censure of all my friends, who declared
that my nicety was greater than my prudence, and that they feared it
would be my fate at last to be wretched with a wit.
By a wit, however, I was never afterwards attacked, but lovers of every
other class, or pretended lovers, I have often had; and, notwithstanding
the advice constantly given me, to have no regard in my choice to my own
inclinations, I could not forbear to discard some for vice, and some for
rudeness. I was once loudly censured for refusing an old gentleman who
offered an enormous jointure, and died of the phthisic a year after; and
was so baited with incessant importunities, that I should have given my
hand to Drone the stock-jobber, had not the reduction of interest made
him afraid of the expenses of matrimony.
Some, indeed, I was permitted to encourage; but miscarried of the main
end, by treating them according to the rules of art which had been
prescribed me. Altilis, an old maid, infused into me so much haughtiness
and reserve, that some of my lovers withdrew themselves from my frown,
and returned no more; others were driven away, by the demands of
settlement which the widow Trapland directed me to make; and I have
learned, by many experiments, that to ask advice is to lose opportunity.
I am, Sir,
Your humble servant,
PERDITA.
No. 81. TUESDAY, AUGUST 14, 1753.
_Nil desperandum. Lib. i. Od. vii. 27.
Avaunt despair!_
I have sometimes heard it disputed in conversation, whether it be more
laudable or desirable, that a man should think too highly or too meanly
of himself: it is on all hands agreed to be best, that he should think
rightly; but since a fallible being will always make some deviations
from exact rectitude, it is not wholly useless to inquire towards which
side it is safer to decline.
The prejudices of mankind seem to favour him who errs by under-rating
his own powers: he is considered as a modest and harmless member of
society, not likely to break the peace by competition, to endeavour
after such splendour of reputation as may dim the lustre of others, or
to interrupt any in the enjoyment of themselves; he is no man's rival,
and, therefore, may be every man's friend.
The opinion which a man entertains of himself ought to be distinguished,
in order to an accurate discussion of this question, as it relates to
persons or to things. To think highly of ourselves in comparison with
others, to assume by our own authority that precedence which none is
willing to grant, must be always invidious and offensive; but to rate
our powers high in proportion to things, and imagine ourselves equal to
great undertakings, while we leave others in possession of the same
abilities, cannot with equal justice provoke censure.
It must be confessed, that self-love may dispose us to decide too
hastily in our own favour: but who is hurt by the mistake? If we are
incited by this vain opinion to attempt more than we can perform, ours
is the labour, and ours is the disgrace.
But he that dares to think well of himself, will not always prove to be
mistaken; and the good effects of his confidence will then appear in
great attempts and great performances: if he should not fully complete
his design, he will at least advance it so far as to leave an easier
task for him that succeeds him; and even though he should wholly fail,
he will fail with honour.
But from the opposite errour, from torpid despondency, can come no
advantage; it is the frost of the soul, which binds up all its powers,
and congeals life in perpetual sterility. He that has no hopes of
success, will make no attempts; and where nothing is attempted, nothing
can be done.
Every man should, therefore, endeavour to maintain in himself a
favourable opinion of the powers of the human mind; which are, perhaps,
in every man, greater than they appear, and might, by diligent
cultivation, be exalted to a degree beyond what their possessor presumes
to believe. There is scarce any man but has found himself able, at the
instigation of necessity, to do what in a state of leisure and
deliberation he would have concluded impossible; and some of our species
have signalized themselves by such achievements, as prove that there are
few things above human hope.
It has been the policy of all nations to preserve, by some public
monuments, the memory of those who have served their country by great
exploits: there is the same reason for continuing or reviving the names
of those, whose extensive abilities have dignified humanity. An honest
emulation may be alike excited; and the philosopher's curiosity may be
inflamed by a catalogue of the works of Boyle or Bacon, as Themistocles
was kept awake by the trophies of Miltiades.
Among the favourites of nature that have from time to time appeared in
the world, enriched with various endowments and contrarieties of
excellence, none seems to have been exalted above the common rate of
humanity, than the man known about two centuries ago by the appellation
of the Admirable Crichton; of whose history, whatever we may suppress as
surpassing credibility, yet we shall, upon incontestable authority,
relate enough to rank him among prodigies.
"Virtue," says Virgil, "is better accepted when it comes in a pleasing
form:" the person of Crichton was eminently beautiful; but his beauty
was consistent with such activity and strength, that in fencing he would
spring at one bound the length of twenty feet upon his antagonist; and
he used the sword in either hand with such force and dexterity, that
scarce any one had courage to engage him.
Having studied at St. Andrew's in Scotland, he went to Paris in his
twenty-first year, and affixed on the gate of the college of Navarre a
kind of challenge to the learned of that university to dispute with him
on a certain day: offering to his opponents, whoever they should be, the
choice of ten languages, and of all faculties and sciences. On the day
appointed three thousand auditors assembled, when four doctors of the
church and fifty masters appeared against him; and one of his
antagonists confesses, that the doctors were defeated; that he gave
proofs of knowledge above the reach of man; and that a hundred years
passed without food or sleep, would not be sufficient for the attainment
of his learning. After a disputation of nine hours, he was presented by
the president and professors with a diamond and a purse of gold, and
dismissed with repeated acclamations.
From Paris he went away to Rome, where he made the same challenge, and
had in the presence of the pope and cardinals the same success.
Afterwards he contracted at Venice an acquaintance with Aldus Manutius,
by whom he was introduced to the learned of that city: then visited
Padua, where he engaged in another publick disputation, beginning his
performance with an extemporal poem in praise of the city and the
assembly then present, and concluding with an oration equally
unpremeditated in commendation of ignorance.
He afterwards published another challenge, in which he declared himself
ready to detect the errours of Aristotle and all his commentators,
either in the common forms of logick, or in any which his antagonists
should propose of a hundred different kinds of verse.
These acquisitions of learning, however stupendous, were not gained at
the expense of any pleasure which youth generally indulges, or by the
omission of any accomplishment in which it becomes a gentleman to excel:
he practised in great perfection the arts of drawing and painting, he
was an eminent performer in both vocal and instrumental musick, he
danced with uncommon gracefulness, and, on the day after his disputation
at Paris, exhibited his skill in horsemanship before the court of
France, where at a publick match of tilting, he bore away the ring upon
his lance fifteen times together.
He excelled likewise in domestic games of less dignity and reputation:
and in the interval between his challenge and disputation at Paris, he
spent so much of his time at cards, dice, and tennis, that a lampoon was
fixed upon the gate of the Sorbonne, directing those that would see this
monster of erudition, to look for him at the tavern.
So extensive was his acquaintance with life and manners, that in an
Italian comedy composed by himself, and exhibited before the court of
Mantua, he is said to have personated fifteen different characters; in
all which he might succeed without great difficulty, since he had such
power of retention, that once hearing an oration of an hour, he would
repeat it exactly, and in the recital follow the speaker through all his
variety of tone and gesticulation.
Nor was his skill in arms less than in learning, or his courage inferior
to his skill: there was a prize-fighter at Mantua, who travelling about
the world, according to the barbarous custom of that age, as a general
challenger, had defeated the most celebrated masters in many parts of
Europe; and in Mantua, where he then resided, had killed three that
appeared against him. The duke repented that he had granted him his
protection; when Crichton, looking on his sanguinary success with
indignation, offered to stake fifteen hundred pistoles, and mount the
stage against him. The duke with some reluctance consented, and on the
day fixed the combatants appeared: their weapon seems to have been
single rapier, which was then newly introduced in Italy. The
prize-fighter advanced with great violence and fierceness, and Crichton
contented himself calmly to ward his passes, and suffered him to exhaust
his vigour by his own fury. Crichton then became the assailant; and
pressed upon him with such force and agility, that he thrust him thrice
through the body, and saw him expire: he then divided the prize he had
won among the widows whose husbands had been killed.
The death of this wonderful man I should be willing to conceal, did I
not know that every reader will inquire curiously after that fatal hour,
which is common to all human beings, however distinguished from each
other by nature or by fortune.
The duke of Mantua, having received so many proofs of his various merit,
made him tutor to his son Vicentio di Gonzaga, a prince of loose manners
and turbulent disposition. On this occasion it was, that he composed the
comedy in which he exhibited so many different characters with exact
propriety. But his honour was of short continuance; for as he was one
night in the time of Carnival rambling about the streets, with his
guitar in his hand, he was attacked by six men masked. Neither his
courage nor skill in his exigence deserted him: he opposed them with
such activity and spirit, that he soon dispersed them, and disarmed
their leader, who throwing off his mask, discovered himself to be the
prince his pupil. Crichton, falling on his knees, took his own sword by
the point, and presented it to the prince; who immediately seized it,
and instigated, as some say, by jealousy, according to others, only by
drunken fury and brutal resentment, thrust him through the heart.
Thus was the Admirable Crichton brought into that state, in which he
could excel the meanest of mankind only by a few empty honours paid to
his memory: the court of Mantua testified their esteem by a publick
mourning, the contemporary wits were profuse of their encomiums, and the
palaces of Italy were adorned with pictures, representing him on
horseback with a lance in one hand and a book in the other[1].
[1] This paper is enumerated by Chalmers among those which Johnson
dictated, not to Bathurst, but to Hawkesworth. It is an elegant
summary of Crichton's life which is in Mackenzie's Writers of the
Scotch Nation. See a fuller account by the Earl of Buchan and Dr.
Kippis in the Biog. Brit. and the recently published one by Mr.
Frazer Tytler.
No. 84. SATURDAY, AUGUST 25, 1753.
_Tolle periclum,
Jam vaga prosiliet frenis natura remotis._ HOR. Lib. ii. Sat. vii. 73.
But take the danger and the shame away,
And vagrant nature bounds upon her prey. FRANCIS.
TO THE ADVENTURER.
SIR,
It has been observed, I think, by Sir William Temple, and after him by
almost every other writer, that England affords a greater variety of
characters than the rest of the world. This is ascribed to the liberty
prevailing amongst us, which gives every man the privilege of being wise
or foolish his own way, and preserves him from the necessity of
hypocrisy or the servility of imitation.
That the position itself is true, I am not completely satisfied. To be
nearly acquainted with the people of different countries can happen to
very few; and in life, as in every thing else beheld at a distance,
there appears an even uniformity: the petty discriminations which
diversify the natural character, are not discoverable but by a close
inspection; we, therefore, find them most at home, because there we have
most opportunities of remarking them. Much less am I convinced, that
this peculiar diversification, if it be real, is the consequence of
peculiar liberty; for where is the government to be found that
superintends individuals with so much vigilance, as not to leave their
private conduct without restraint? Can it enter into a reasonable mind
to imagine, that men of every other nation are not equally masters of
their own time or houses with ourselves, and equally at liberty to be
parsimonious or profuse, frolick or sullen, abstinent or luxurious?
Liberty is certainly necessary to the full play of predominant humours;
but such liberty is to be found alike under the government of the many
or the few, in monarchies or commonwealths.
How readily the predominant passion snatches an interval of liberty, and
how fast it expands itself when the weight of restraint is taken away, I
had lately an opportunity to discover, as I took a journey into the
country in a stage-coach; which, as every journey is a kind of
adventure, may be very properly related to you, though I can display no
such extraordinary assembly as Cervantes has collected at Don Quixote's
inn[1].
In a stage coach, the passengers are for the most part wholly unknown to
one another, and without expectation of ever meeting again when their
journey is at an end; one should therefore imagine, that it was of
little importance to any of them, what conjectures the rest should form
concerning him. Yet so it is, that as all think themselves secure from
detection, all assume that character of which they are most desirous,
and on no occasion is the general ambition of superiority more
apparently indulged.
On the day of our departure, in the twilight of the morning, I ascended
the vehicle with three men and two women, my fellow travellers. It was
easy to observe the affected elevation of mien with which every one
entered, and the supercilious servility with which they paid their
compliments to each other. When the first ceremony was despatched, we
sat silent for a long time, all employed in collecting importance into
our faces, and endeavouring to strike reverence and submission into our
companions.