E'er yet had happiness complete:
Nor Peleus, grandson of the sky,
Nor Cadmus, scap'd the shafts of pain,
Though favour'd by the Pow'rs on high,
With every bliss that man can gain.
The writers who have undertaken the task of reconciling mankind to their
present state, and relieving the discontent produced by the various
distribution of terrestrial advantages, frequently remind us that we
judge too hastily of good and evil, that we view only the superfices of
life, and determine of the whole by a very small part; and that in the
condition of men it frequently happens, that grief and anxiety lie hid
under the golden robes of prosperity, and the gloom of calamity is
cheered by secret radiations of hope and comfort; as in the works of
nature the bog is sometimes covered with flowers, and the mine concealed
in the barren crags.
None but those who have learned the art of subjecting their senses as
well as reason to hypothetical systems, can be persuaded by the most
specious rhetorician that the lots of life are equal; yet it cannot be
denied that every one has his peculiar pleasures and vexations, that
external accidents operate variously upon different minds, and that no
man can exactly judge from his own sensations, what another would feel
in the same circumstances.
If the general disposition of things be estimated by the representation
which every one makes of his own estate, the world must be considered as
the abode of sorrow and misery; for how few can forbear to relate their
troubles and distresses? If we judge by the account which may be
obtained of every man's fortune from others, it may be concluded, that
we all are placed in an elysian region, overspread with the luxuriance
of plenty, and fanned by the breezes of felicity; since scarcely any
complaint is uttered without censure from those that hear it, and almost
all are allowed to have obtained a provision at least adequate to their
virtue or their understanding, to possess either more than they deserve,
or more than they enjoy.
We are either born with such dissimilitude of temper and inclination, or
receive so many of our ideas and opinions from the state of life in
which we are engaged, that the griefs and cares of one part of mankind
seem to the other hypocrisy, folly, and affectation. Every class of
society has its cant of lamentation, which is understood or regarded by
none but themselves; and every part of life has its uneasiness, which
those who do not feel them will not commiserate. An event which spreads
distraction over half the commercial world, assembles the trading
companies in councils and committees, and shakes the nerves of a
thousand stockjobbers, is read by the landlord and the farmer with
frigid indifference. An affair of love, which fills the young breast
with incessant alternations of hope and fear, and steals away the night
and day from every other pleasure or employment, is regarded by them
whose passions time has extinguished, as an amusement, which can
properly raise neither joy nor sorrow, and, though it may be suffered to
fill the vacuity of an idle moment, should always give way to prudence
or interest.
He that never had any other desire than to fill a chest with money, or
to add another manor to his estate, who never grieved but at a bad
mortgage, or entered a company but to make a bargain, would be
astonished to hear of beings known among the polite and gay by the
denomination of wits. How would he gape with curiosity, or grin with
contempt, at the mention of beings who have no wish but to speak what
was never spoken before; who, if they happen to inherit wealth, often
exhaust their patrimonies in treating those who will hear them talk; and
if they are poor, neglect opportunities of improving their fortunes, for
the pleasure of making others laugh? How slowly would he believe that
there are men who would rather lose a legacy than the reputation of a
distich; who think it less disgrace to want money than repartee; whom
the vexation of having been foiled in a contest of raillery is sometimes
sufficient to deprive of sleep; and who would esteem it a lighter evil
to miss a profitable bargain by some accidental delay, than not to have
thought of a smart reply till the time of producing it was past? How
little would he suspect that this child of idleness and frolick enters
every assembly with a beating bosom, like a litigant on the day of
decision, and revolves the probability of applause with the anxiety of a
conspirator, whose fate depends upon the next night; that at the hour of
retirement he carries home, under a show of airy negligence, a heart
lacerated with envy, or depressed with disappointment; and immures
himself in his closet, that he may disencumber his memory at leisure,
review the progress of the day, state with accuracy his loss or gain of
reputation, and examine the causes of his failure or success?
Yet more remote from common conceptions are the numerous and restless
anxieties, by which female happiness is particularly disturbed. A
solitary philosopher would imagine ladies born with an exemption from
care and sorrow, lulled in perpetual quiet, and feasted with unmingled
pleasure; for what can interrupt the content of those, upon whom one age
has laboured after another to confer honours, and accumulate immunities;
those to whom rudeness is infamy, and insult is cowardice; whose eye
commands the brave, and whose smiles soften the severe; whom the sailor
travels to adorn, the soldier bleeds to defend, and the poet wears out
life to celebrate; who claim tribute from every art and science, and for
whom all who approach them endeavour to multiply delights, without
requiring from them any returns but willingness to be pleased?
Surely, among these favourites of nature, thus unacquainted with toil
and danger, felicity must have fixed her residence; they must know only
the changes of more vivid or more gentle joys: their life must always
move either to the slow or sprightly melody of the lyre of gladness;
they can never assemble but to pleasure, or retire but to peace.
Such would be the thoughts of every man who should hover at a distance
round the world, and know it only by conjecture and speculation. But
experience will soon discover how easily those are disgusted who have
been made nice by plenty and tender by indulgence. He will soon see to
how many dangers power is exposed which has no other guard than youth
and beauty, and how easily that tranquillity is molested which can only
be soothed with the songs of flattery. It is impossible to supply wants
as fast as an idle imagination may be able to form them, or to remove
all inconveniencies by which elegance refined into impatience may be
offended. None are so hard to please, as those whom satiety of pleasure
makes weary of themselves; nor any so readily provoked as those who have
been always courted with an emulation of civility.
There are, indeed, some strokes which the envy of fate aims immediately
at the fair. The mistress of Catullus wept for her sparrow many
centuries ago, and lapdogs will be sometimes sick in the present age.
The most fashionable brocade is subject to stains; a pinner, the pride
of Brussels, may be torn by a careless washer; a picture may drop from a
watch; or the triumph of a new suit may be interrupted on the first day
of its enjoyment, and all distinctions of dress unexpectedly obliterated
by a general mourning.
Such is the state of every age, every sex, and every condition: all have
their cares, either from nature or from folly: and whoever therefore
finds himself inclined to envy another, should remember that he knows
not the real condition which he desires to obtain, but is certain that
by indulging a vicious passion, he must lessen that happiness which he
thinks already too sparingly bestowed.
No. 129. TUESDAY, JUNE 11. 1751.
_--Nunc, O nunc, Daedale, dixit,
Materiam, qua sis ingeniosus, habes.
Possidet en terras, et possidet aequara, Minos:
Nec tellus nostrae, nec patet undo fugae.
Restat iter coelo: tentabimus ire.
Da veniam caepto, Jupiter alte, meo. OVID. Ar. Am. Lib. ii. 33_.
Now, Daedalus, behold, by fate assign'd,
A task proportion'd to thy mighty mind!
Unconquer'd bars on earth and sea withstand;
Thine, Minos, is the main, and thine the land.
The skies are open--let us try the skies:
Forgive, great Jove, the daring enterprize.
Moralists, like other writers, instead of casting their eyes abroad in
the living world, and endeavouring to form maxims of practice and new
hints of theory, content their curiosity with that secondary knowledge
which books afford, and think themselves entitled to reverence by a new
arrangement of an ancient system, or new illustration of established
principles[e]. The sage precepts of the first instructors of the world
are transmitted from age to age with little variation, and echoed from
one author to another, not perhaps without some loss of their original
force at every repercussion.
I know not whether any other reason than this idleness of imitation can
be assigned for that uniform and constant partiality, by which some
vices have hitherto escaped censure, and some virtues wanted
recommendation; nor can I discover why else we have been warned only
against part of our enemies, while the rest have been suffered to steal
upon us without notice; why the heart has on one side been doubly
fortified, and laid open on the other to the incursions of errour, and
the ravages of vice.
Among the favourite topicks of moral declamation, may be numbered the
miscarriages of imprudent boldness, and the folly of attempts beyond our
power. Every page of every philosopher is crowded with examples of
temerity that sunk under burdens which she laid upon herself, and called
out enemies to battle by whom she was destroyed.
Their remarks are too just to be disputed, and too salutary to be
rejected; but there is likewise some danger lest timorous prudence
should be inculcated, till courage and enterprise are wholly repressed,
and the mind congealed in perpetual inactivity by the fatal influence of
frigorifick wisdom.
Every man should, indeed, carefully compare his force with his
undertaking; for though we ought not to live only for our own sakes, and
though therefore danger or difficulty should not be avoided merely
because we may expose ourselves to misery or disgrace; yet it may be
justly required of us, not to throw away our lives upon inadequate and
hopeless designs, since we might, by a just estimate of our abilities,
become more useful to mankind.
There is an irrational contempt of danger, which approaches nearly to
the folly, if not the guilt of suicide; there is a ridiculous
perseverance in impracticable schemes, which is justly punished with
ignominy and reproach. But in the wide regions of probability, which are
the proper province of prudence and election, there is always room to
deviate on either side of rectitude without rushing against apparent
absurdity; and according to the inclinations of nature, or the
impressions of precept, the daring and the cautious may move in
different directions without touching upon rashness or cowardice.
That there is a middle path which it is every man's duty to find, and to
keep, is unanimously confessed: but it is likewise acknowledged that
this middle path is so narrow, that it cannot easily be discovered, and
so little beaten, that there are no certain marks by which it can be
followed: the care, therefore, of all those who conduct others has been,
that whenever they decline into obliquities, they should tend towards
the side of safety.
It can, indeed, raise no wonder that temerity has been generally
censured; for it is one of the vices with which few can be charged, and
which therefore, great numbers are ready to condemn. It is the vice of
noble and generous minds, the exuberance of magnanimity, and the
ebullition of genius; and is therefore not regarded with much
tenderness, because it never flatters us by that appearance of softness
and imbecility which is commonly necessary to conciliate compassion. But
if the same attention had been applied to the search of arguments
against the folly of pre-supposing impossibilities, and anticipating
frustration, I know not whether many would not have been roused to
usefulness, who, having been taught to confound prudence with timidity,
never ventured to excel, lest they should unfortunately fail.
It is necessary to distinguish our own interest from that of others, and
that distinction will perhaps assist us in fixing the just limits of
caution and adventurousness. In an undertaking that involves the
happiness or the safety of many, we have certainly no right to hazard
more than is allowed by those who partake the danger; but where only
ourselves can suffer by miscarriage, we are not confined within such
narrow limits; and still less is the reproach of temerity, when numbers
will receive advantage by success, and only one be incommoded by
failure.
Men are generally willing to hear precepts by which ease is favoured;
and as no resentment is raised by general representations of human
folly, even in those who are most eminently jealous of comparative
reputation, we confess, without reluctance, that vain man is ignorant of
his own weakness, and therefore frequently presumes to attempt what he
can never accomplish; but it ought likewise to be remembered, that man
is no less ignorant of his own powers, and might perhaps have
accomplished a thousand designs, which the prejudices of cowardice
restrained him from attempting.
It is observed in the golden verses of Pythagoras, that "Power is never
far from necessity." The vigour of the human mind quickly appears, when
there is no longer any place for doubt and hesitation, when diffidence
is absorbed in the sense of danger, or overwhelmed by some resistless
passion. We then soon discover, that difficulty is, for the most part,
the daughter of idleness, that the obstacles with which our way seemed
to be obstructed were only phantoms, which we believed real, because we
durst not advance to a close examination; and we learn that it is
impossible to determine without experience how much constancy may
endure, or perseverance perform.
But whatever pleasure may be found in the review of distresses when art
or courage has surmounted them, few will be persuaded to wish that they
may be awakened by want, or terrour, to the conviction of their own
abilities. Every one should therefore endeavour to invigorate himself by
reason and reflection, and determine to exert the latent force that
nature may have reposed in him, before the hour of exigence comes upon
him, and compulsion shall torture him to diligence. It is below the
dignity of a reasonable being to owe that strength to necessity which
ought always to act at the call of choice, or to need any other motive
to industry than the desire of performing his duty.
Reflections that may drive away despair, cannot be wanting to him who
considers how much life is now advanced beyond the state of naked,
undisciplined, uninstructed nature. Whatever has been effected for
convenience or elegance, while it was yet unknown, was believed
impossible; and therefore would never have been attempted, had not some,
more daring than the rest, adventured to bid defiance to prejudice and
censure. Nor is there yet any reason to doubt that the same labour would
be rewarded with the same success. There are qualities in the products
of nature yet undiscovered, and combinations in the powers of art yet
untried. It is the duty of every man to endeavour that something may be
added by his industry to the hereditary aggregate of knowledge and
happiness. To add much can indeed be the lot of few, but to add
something, however little, every one may hope; and of every honest
endeavour, it is certain, that, however unsuccessful, it will be at last
rewarded.
[Footnote e: Johnson gained _his_ knowledge from actual experience. He
told Boswell that before he wrote the Rambler he had been running about
the world more than almost any body. Boswell's Life of Johnson, vol. i.
p. 196.; and vol. iii. pp. 20, 21.]
No. 130. SATURDAY, JUNE 15, 1751.
Non sic prata novo vere decentia
Æstatis calidtæ dispoliat vapor:
Sævit solstitio cum medius dies;--
Ut fulgor teneris qui radiat genis
Momento rapitur! nullaque non dies
Formosi spolium corporis abstulit.
Res est forma fugax: quis sapiens bono
Confidat fragili? SENECA, Hippol. act. ii. 764.
Not faster in the summer's ray
The spring's frail beauty fades away,
Than anguish and decay consume
The smiling virgin's rosy bloom.
Some beauty's snatch'd each day, each hour;
For beauty is a fleeting flow'r:
Then how can wisdom e'er confide
In beauty's momentary pride? ELPHINSTON
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
You have very lately observed that in the numerous subdivisions of the
world, every class and order of mankind have joys and sorrows of their
own; we all feel hourly pain and pleasure from events which pass
unheeded before other eyes, but can scarcely communicate our perceptions
to minds pre-occupied by different objects, any more than the delight of
well-disposed colours or harmonious sounds can be imparted to such as
want the senses of hearing or of sight.
I am so strongly convinced of the justness of this remark, and have on
so many occasions discovered with how little attention pride looks upon
calamity of which she thinks herself not in danger, and indolence
listens to complaint when it is not echoed by her own remembrance, that
though I am about to lay the occurrences of my life before you, I
question whether you will condescend to peruse my narrative, or, without
the help of some female speculatists, to be able to understand it.
I was born a beauty. From the dawn of reason I had my regard turned
wholly upon myself, nor can recollect any thing earlier than praise and
admiration. My mother, whose face had luckily advanced her to a
condition above her birth, thought no evil so great as deformity. She
had not the power of imagining any other defect than a cloudy
complexion, or disproportionate features; and therefore contemplated me
as an assemblage of all that could raise envy or desire, and predicted
with triumphant fondness the extent of my conquests, and the number of
my slaves.
She never mentioned any of my young acquaintance before me, but to
remark how much they fell below my perfection; how one would have had a
fine face, but that her eyes were without lustre; how another struck the
sight at a distance, but wanted my hair and teeth at a nearer view;
another disgraced an elegant shape with a brown skin; some had short
fingers, and others dimples in a wrong place.
As she expected no happiness nor advantage but from beauty, she thought
nothing but beauty worthy of her care; and her maternal kindness was
chiefly exercised in contrivances to protect me from any accident that
might deface me with a scar, or stain me with a freckle: she never
thought me sufficiently shaded from the sun, or screened from the fire.
She was severe or indulgent with no other intention than the
preservation of my form; she excused me from work, lest I should learn
to hang down my head, or harden my finger with a needle; she snatched
away my book, because a young lady in the neighbourhood had made her
eyes red with reading by a candle; but she would scarcely suffer me to
eat, lest I should spoil my shape, nor to walk lest I should swell my
ancle with a sprain. At night I was accurately surveyed from head to
foot, lest I should have suffered any diminution of my charms in the
adventures of the day; and was never permitted to sleep, till I had
passed through the cosmetick discipline, part of which was a regular
lustration performed with bean-flower water and May-dews; my hair was
perfumed with variety of unguents, by some of which it was to be
thickened, and by others to be curled. The softness of my hands was
secured by medicated gloves, and my bosom rubbed with a pomade prepared
by my mother, of virtue to discuss pimples, and clear discolorations.
I was always called up early, because the morning air gives a freshness
to the cheeks; but I was placed behind a curtain in my mother's chamber,
because the neck is easily tanned by the rising sun. I was then dressed
with a thousand precautions, and again heard my own praises, and
triumphed in the compliments and prognostications of all that approached
me.
My mother was not so much prepossessed with an opinion of my natural
excellencies as not to think some cultivation necessary to their
completion. She took care that I should want none of the accomplishments
included in female education, or considered necessary in fashionable
life. I was looked upon in my ninth year as the chief ornament of the
dancing-master's ball; and Mr. Ariet used to reproach his other scholars
with my performances on the harpsichord. At twelve I was remarkable for
playing my cards with great elegance of manner, and accuracy of
judgment.
At last the time came when my mother thought me perfect in my exercises,
and qualified to display in the open world those accomplishments which
had yet only been discovered in select parties, or domestick assemblies.
Preparations were therefore made for my appearance on a publick night,
which she considered as the most important and critical moment of my
life. She cannot be charged with neglecting any means of recommendation,
or leaving any thing to chance which prudence could ascertain. Every
ornament was tried in every position, every friend was consulted about
the colour of my dress, and the mantua-makers were harassed with
directions and alterations.
At last the night arrived from which my future life was to be reckoned.
I was dressed and sent out to conquer, with a heart beating like that of
an old knight-errant at his first sally. Scholars have told me of a
Spartan matron, who, when she armed her son for battle, bade him bring
back his shield, or be brought upon it. My venerable parent dismissed me
to a field, in her opinion of equal glory, with a command to shew that I
was her daughter, and not to return without a lover.
I went, and was received like other pleasing novelties with a tumult of
applause. Every man who valued himself upon the graces of his person, or
the elegance of his address, crowded about me, and wit and splendour
contended for my notice. I was delightfully fatigued with incessant
civilities, which were made more pleasing by the apparent envy of those
whom my presence exposed to neglect, and returned with an attendant
equal in rank and wealth to my utmost wishes, and from this time stood
in the first rank of beauty, was followed by gazers in the Mall,
celebrated in the papers of the day, imitated by all who endeavoured to
rise into fashion, and censured by those whom age or disappointment
forced to retire.
My mother, who pleased herself with the hopes of seeing my exaltation,
dressed me with all the exuberance of finery; and when I represented to
her that a fortune might be expected proportionate to my appearance,
told me that she should scorn the reptile who could inquire after the
fortune of a girl like me. She advised me to prosecute my victories, and
time would certainly bring me a captive who might deserve the honour of
being enchained for ever.