pains to immortalize these trials of manhood. It was but what PINDAR
and HOMER himself, those ancient masters of romance, had done before
them. And how could it be otherwise? The shew itself, as I said,
had something very taking in it; whilst every graceful attitude of
person, with every generous movement of the mind, afforded the finest
materials for description. And I am even ready to believe, that
what we hear censured in their writings, as false, incredible, and
fantastic, was frequently but a just copy of life, and that there was
more of truth and reality[73] in their representations, than we are
apt to imagine. Their notions of honour and gallantry were carried to
an elevation[74], which, in these degenerate days, hurts the credit
of their story; just as I have met with men that have doubted whether
the virtues of the REGULI and the SCIPIOS of ancient fame were not the
offspring of pure fancy.
Nay now, Dr. ARBUTHNOT, said Mr. ADDISON, you grow quite extravagant.
What you, who are used to be so quick at espying all abuses in science,
and defects in good taste, turn advocate for these fopperies! Mr. DIGBY
and I shall begin to think you banter us, in this apology for the
ancient gymnastics, and are only preparing a chapter for the facetious
memoirs[75], you sometimes promise us.
Never more in earnest, assure you, replied the Doctor. I know what you
have to object to these pictures of life and manners. But, if they
will not bear examining as copies, they may deserve to be imitated as
models. And their use, methinks, might atone for some defects in the
article of probability.
For my part, I consider the legends of ancient chivalry in a very
serious light,
As _niches_, fill’d with statues to invite
Young valours forth—[76]
as BEN JONSON, a valorous hardy poet, and who, himself, would have made
a good knight-errant, justly says of them. For, it is certain, they had
this effect. The youth, in general, were fired with the love of martial
exercises. They were early formed to habits of fatigue and enterprise.
And, together with this warlike spirit, the profession of chivalry was
favourable to every other virtue. Affability, courtesy, generosity,
veracity, these were the qualifications most pretended to by the men of
arms, in the days of pure and uncorrupted chivalry. We do not perhaps,
ourselves, know, at this distance of time, how much we are indebted to
the force of this singular institution. But this I may presume to say,
that the men, among whom it arose and flourished most, had prodigious
obligations to it. No policy, even of an ancient legislator, could
have contrived a better expedient to cultivate the manners and tame
the spirits of a rude and ignorant people. I could almost fancy it
providentially introduced among the northern nations, to break the
fierceness of their natures, and prevent that brutal savageness and
ferocity of character, which must otherwise have grown upon them in the
darker ages.
Nay, the generous sentiments, it inspired, perhaps contributed very
much to awaken an emulation of a different kind; and to bring on
those days of light and knowledge which have disposed us, somewhat
unthankfully, to vilify and defame it. This is certain, that the first
essays of wit and poetry, those harbingers of returning day to every
species of good letters, were made in the bosom of chivalry, and amidst
the assemblies of noble dames, and courteous knights. And we may even
observe, that the best of our modern princes, such as have been most
admired for their personal virtues, and have been most concerned
in restoring all the arts of civility and politeness, have been
passionately addicted to the feats of ancient prowess. In the number
of these, need I remind you of the courts of FRANCIS I, and HENRY IV,
to say nothing of our own EDWARDS and HENRYS, and that mirrour of all
their virtues in one, our renowned and almost romantic ELIZABETH[77]?
But you think I push the argument too far. And less than this may
dispose you to conceive with reverence of the scene before us, which
must ever be regarded as a nursery of brave men, a very seed-plot
of warriors and heroes. I consider the successes at the barriers as
preludes to future conquests in the field. And, as whimsical a figure
as a young tilter may make in your eye, who will say that the virtue
was not formed here, that triumphed at AXELL, and bled at ZUTPHEN?
We shall very readily, replied Mr. ADDISON, acknowledge the bravery
and other virtues of the young hero, whose fortunes you hint at. He
was, in truth, to speak the language of that time, the very flower of
knighthood, and contributed more than any body else, by his pen, as
well as sword, to throw a lustre on the profession of chivalry. But
the thing itself, however adorned by his wit and recommended by his
manners, was barbarous; the offspring of _Gothic_ fierceness; and shews
the times, which favoured it so much, to have scarcely emerged from
their original rudeness and brutality. You may celebrate, as loudly
as you please, the deeds of these wonder-working knights. Alas, what
affinity have such prodigies to our life, and manners? The old poet,
you quoted just now with approbation, shall tell us the difference:
These were bold stories of our _Arthur’s_ age:
But here are other acts, another stage
And scene appears; it is not since as then;
No giants, dwarfs, or monsters here, but MEN[78].
Or, if you want a higher authority, we should not, methinks, on such an
occasion, forget the admirable CERVANTES, whose ridicule hath brought
eternal dishonour on the profession of knight-errantry.
With your leave, interrupted Dr. ARBUTHNOT, I have reason to except
against both your authorities. At best, they do but condemn the
_abuses_ of chivalry, and the madness of continuing the old romantic
spirit in times when, from a change of manners and policy, it was no
longer in season. Adventures, we will say, were of course to cease,
when giants and monsters disappeared. And yet have they totally
disappeared, and have giants and monsters been no where heard of out
of the castles and forests of our old romancers. ’Tis odds, methinks,
but, in the sense of ELIZABETH’S good subjects, PHILIP II. might be a
_giant_ at least: and, without a little of this adventurous spirit,
it may be a question whether all her enchanters, I mean her BURLEIGHS
and WALSINGHAMS, would have proved a match for him. I mention this the
rather to shew you, how little obligation his countrymen have to your
CERVANTES for laughing away the remains of that prowess, which was the
best support of the _Spanish_ monarchy.
As if, said Mr. ADDISON, the prowess of any people were only to be kept
alive by their running mad. But let the case of the _Spaniards_ be what
it will, surely we, of this country, have little obligation to the
spirit of chivalry, if it were only that it produced, or encouraged
at least, and hath now entailed upon us, the curse of duelling; which
even yet domineers in the fashionable world, in spite of all that
wit, and reason, and religion itself, have done to subdue it. ’Tis
true, at present this law of arms is appealed to only in the case some
high point of nice and mysterious honour. But in the happier days you
celebrate, it was called in aid, on common occasions. Even questions of
right and property, you know, were determined at the barriers[79]: and
brute force was allowed the most equitable, as well as shortest, way of
deciding all disputes both concerning a man’s estate and honour.
You might observe too, interposed Dr. ARBUTHNOT, that this was the way
in which those fiercer disputes concerning a mistress, or a kingdom,
were frequently decided. And, if this sort of decision, in such cases,
were still in use among Christian princes, you might call it perhaps
a barbarous custom: but would it be ever the worse, do you think, for
their good subjects?
Perhaps it would not, returned Mr. ADDISON, in some instances. And
yet will you affirm, that those _good subjects_ were in any enviable
situation, under their fighting masters? After all, allowing you to put
the best construction you can on these usages of our forefathers,
“all we find
Is, that they did their work and din’d.”
And though such feats may argue a sound athletic constitution, you must
excuse me, if I am not forward to entertain any high notions of their
civility.
Their civility, said Dr. ARBUTHNOT, is another consideration. The HALL
and TILT-YARD are certainly good proofs of what they are alleged for,
the hospitality and bravery of our ancestors. But it hath not been
maintained, that these were their only virtues. On the contrary, it
seems to me, that every flower of humanity, every elegance of art and
genius, was cultivated amongst them. For an instance, need we look any
further than the LAKE, which in the flourishing times of this castle
was so famous, and which we even now trace in the winding bed of that
fine meadow?
I do not understand you, replied Mr. ADDISON. I can easily imagine what
an embellishment that lake must have been to the castle; but am at a
loss to conceive what flowers of wit and ingenuity, to use your own
ænigmatical language, could be raised or so much as watered by it.
And, have you then, returned Dr. ARBUTHNOT, so soon forgotten the large
description, you gave us just now, of the shows and pageants displayed
on this lake? And can any thing better declare the art, invention, and
ingenuity, of their conductors? Is not this canal as good a memorial of
the ardour and success with which the finer exercises of the mind were
pursued in that time, as the tilt-yard, we have now left, is of the
address and dexterity shewn in those of the body?
I remember, said Mr. ADDISON, that many of the shows, intended for the
queen’s entertainment at this place, were exhibited on that canal. But
as to any art or beauty of contrivance—
“You see none, I suppose.”
Why truly none, resumed Mr. ADDISON. To me they seemed but well enough
suited to the other barbarities of the time. “The Lady of the Lake and
her train of Nereids,” was not that the principal? And can it pass for
any thing better than a jumble of _Gothic_ romance and pagan fable?
a barbarous modern conceit, varnished over with a little classical
pedantry?
And is that the best word you can afford, said Dr. ARBUTHNOT, to
these ingenious devices? The business was, to welcome the Queen
to this palace, and at the same time to celebrate the honours of
her government. And what more decent way of complimenting a great
Prince, than through the veil of fiction? or what so elegant way of
entertaining a learned Prince, as by working up that fiction out of the
old poetical story? And if something of the _Gothic_ romance adhered
to these classical fictions, it was not for any barbarous pleasure,
that was taken in this patchwork, but that the artist found means to
incorporate them with the highest grace and ingenuity. For what, in
other words, was the _Lady of the Lake_ (the particular that gives
most offence to your delicacy), but the presiding nymph of the stream,
on which these shews were presented? And, if the contrivance was to
give us this nymph under a name that romance had made familiar, what
was this but taking advantage of a popular prejudice to introduce his
fiction with more address and probability?
But see the propriety of the scene itself, for the designer’s purpose,
and the exact decorum with which these fanciful personages were brought
in upon it. It was not enough, that the pagan deities were summoned to
pay their homage to the queen. They were the deities of the fount and
ocean, the watery nymphs and demi-gods: and these were to play their
part in their own element. Could any preparation be more artful for
the panegyric designed on the naval glory of that reign? Or, could any
representation be more grateful to the queen of the ocean, as ELIZABETH
was then called, than such as expressed her sovereignty in those
regions? Hence the sea-green Nereids, the Tritons, and Neptune himself,
were the proper actors in the drama. And the opportunity of this
spacious lake gave the easiest introduction and most natural appearance
to the whole scenery. Let me add too, in further commendation of the
taste which was shewn in these agreeable fancies, that the attributes
and dresses of the deities themselves were studied with care; and the
most learned poets of the time employed to make them speak and act in
character. So that an old _Greek_ or _Roman_ might have applauded the
contrivance, and have almost fancied himself assisting at a religious
ceremony in his own country.
And, to shew you that all this propriety was intended by the designer
himself, and not imagined at pleasure by his encomiast; I remember,
that when, some years after, the earl of HERTFORD had the honour to
receive the queen at his seat in _Hampshire_, because he had no such
canal as this in readiness on the occasion, he set on a vast number of
hands to hollow a bason in his park for that purpose. With so great
diligence and so exact a decorum were these entertainments conducted!
Did not I tell you, interposed Mr. ADDISON, addressing himself to Mr.
DIGBY, to what an extravagance the Doctor’s admiration of the ancient
times would carry him? Could you have expected all this harangue
on the art, elegance, and decorum of THE PRINCELY PLEASURES OF
KENELWORTH[80]? And must not it divert you to see the unformed genius
of that age tricked out in the graces of _Roman_ or even _Attic_
politeness?
Mr. DIGBY acknowledged, it was very generous in the Doctor to represent
in so fair a light the amusements of the ruder ages. But I was
thinking, said he, to what cause it could possibly be owing, that these
pagan fancies had acquired so general a consideration in the days of
ELIZABETH.
The general passion for these fancies, returned Dr. ARBUTHNOT, was a
natural consequence of the revival of learning. The first books, that
came into vogue, were the poets. And nothing could be more amusing to
rude minds, just opening to a taste of letters, than the fabulous story
of the pagan gods, which is constantly interwoven in every piece of
ancient poetry. Hence the imitative arts of _sculpture_, _painting_,
and _poetry_, were immediately employed in these pagan exhibitions. But
this was not all. The first artists in every kind were of _Italy_; and
it was but natural for them to act these fables over again on the very
spot that had first produced them. These too were the masters to the
rest of _Europe_. So that _fashion_ concurred with the other prejudices
of the time, to recommend this practice to the learned.
From the men of art and literature the enthusiasm spread itself to
the great; whose supreme delight it was to see the wonders of the
old poetical story brought forth, and realized, as it were, before
them[81]. And what, in truth, could they do better? For, if I were not
a little afraid of your raillery, I should desire to know what courtly
amusements even of our time are comparable to the shows and masques,
which were the delight and improvement of the court of ELIZABETH.
I say, the _improvement_; for, besides that these shows were not
in the number of the INERUDITÆ VOLUPTATES, so justly characterized
and condemned by a wise ancient, they were even highly useful and
instructive. These devices, composed out of the poetical history, were
not only the vehicles of compliment to the great on certain solemn
occasions, but of the soundest moral lessons, which were artfully
thrown in, and recommended to them by the charm of poetry and numbers.
Nay, some of these masques were moral dramas in form, where the virtues
and vices were impersonated. We know the cast of their composition by
what we see of these fictions in the next reign; and have reason to
conceive of them with reverence when we find the names of FLETCHER and
JONSON[82] to some of them. I say nothing of JONES and LAWES, though
all the elegance of their respective arts was called in to assist the
poet in the contrivance and execution of these entertainments.
And, now the poets have fallen in my way, let me further observe,
that the manifest superiority of this class of writers in ELIZABETH’S
reign, and that of her successor, over all others who have succeeded to
them, is, among other reasons, to be ascribed to the taste which then
prevailed for these moral representations. This taught them to animate
and impersonate every thing. Rude minds, you will say, naturally give
into this practice. Without doubt. But art and genius do not disdain to
cultivate and improve it. Hence it is, that we find in the phraseology
and mode of thinking of that time, and of that time only, the essence
of the truest and sublimest poetry.
Without doubt, Mr. ADDISON said, the poetry of that time is of a better
taste than could well have been expected from its barbarism in other
instances. But such prodigies as SHAKESPEAR and SPENSER would do great
things in any age, and under every disadvantage.
Most certainly they would, returned Dr. ARBUTHNOT, but not the things
that you admire so much in these immortal writers. And, if you will
excuse the intermixture of a little philosophy in these ramblings, I
will attempt to account for it.
There is, I think, in the revolutions of taste and language, a certain
point, which is more favourable to the purposes of poetry, than any
other. It may be difficult to fix this point with exactness. But we
shall hardly mistake in supposing it lies somewhere between the rude
essays of uncorrected fancy, on the one hand, and the refinements of
reason and science, on the other.
And such appears to have been the condition of our language in the
age of ELIZABETH. It was pure, strong, and perspicuous, without
affectation. At the same time, the high figurative manner, which fits
a language so peculiarly for the uses of the poet, had not yet been
controlled by the prosaic genius of philosophy and logic. Indeed, this
character had been struck so deeply into the _English_ tongue, that
it was not to be removed by any ordinary improvements in either: the
reason of which might be, the delight which was taken by the _English_
very early in their old MYSTERIES and MORALITIES; and the continuance
of the same spirit in succeeding times, by means of their MASQUES and
TRIUMPHS. And something like this, I observe, attended the progress of
the _Greek_ and _Roman_ poetry; which was the _truest_ poetry, on the
clown’s maxim in SHAKESPEAR, because it was _the most feigning_[83]. It
had its rise, you know, like ours, from religion: and pagan religion,
of all others, was the properest to introduce and encourage a spirit of
allegory and moral fiction. Hence we easily account for the allegoric
cast of their old dramas, which have a great resemblance to our ancient
moralities. NECESSITY is brought in as a _person of the drama_, in one
of ÆSCHYLUS’S plays; and DEATH in one of EURIPIDES: to say nothing
of many shadowy persons in the comedies of ARISTOPHANES. The truth
is, the pagan religion _deified_ every thing, and delivered these
deities into the hand of their painters, sculptors, and poets. In like
manner, Christian superstition, or, if you will, modern barbarism,
_impersonated_ every thing; and these persons, in proper form,
subsisted for some time on the stage, and almost to our days, in the
masques. Hence the picturesque style of our old poetry; which looks so
fanciful in SPENSER, and which SHAKESPEAR’S genius hath carried to the
utmost sublimity.
I will not deny, said Mr. ADDISON, but there may be something in this
deduction of the causes, by which you account for the strength and
grandeur of the _English_ poetry, unpolished as it still was in the
hands of ELIZABETH’S great poets. But for the masques themselves—
You forget, I believe, _one_, interrupted Dr. ARBUTHNOT, which does
your favourite poet, MILTON, almost as much honour, as his _Paradise
Lost_.—But I have no mind to engage in a further vindication of
these fancies. I only conclude that the taste of the age, the state
of letters, the genius of the _English_ tongue, was such as gave a
manliness to their compositions of all sorts, and even an elegance to
those of the lighter forms, which we might do well to emulate, and not
deride, in this æra of politeness.
But I am aware, as you say, I have been transported too far. My design
was only to hint to you, in opposition to your invective against the
memory of the old times, awakened in us by the sight of this castle,
that what you object to is capable of a much fairer interpretation.
You have a proof of it, in two or three instances; in their festivals,
their exercises, and their poetical fictions: or, to express myself in
the classical forms, you have seen by this view of their CONVIVIAL,
GYMNASTIC, and MUSICAL character, that the times of ELIZABETH may pass
for golden, notwithstanding what a fondness for this age of baser metal
may incline us to represent it.
In the mean time, these smaller matters have drawn me aside from
my main purpose. What surprised me most, pursued he, was to hear
you speak so slightly, I would not call it by a worse name, of the
GOVERNMENT of ELIZABETH. Of the manners and tastes of different ages,
different persons, according to their views of things, will judge very
differently. But plain facts speak so strongly in favour of the policy
of that reign, and the superior talents of the sovereign, that I could
not but take it for the wantonness of opposition in you to espouse the
contrary opinion. And, now I am warmed by this slight skirmish, I am
even bold enough to dare you to a defence of it; if, indeed, you were
serious in advancing that strange paradox. At least, I could wish to
hear upon what grounds you would justify so severe an attack on the
reverend administration of that reign, supported by the wisdom of such
men as CECIL and WALSINGHAM, under the direction of so accomplished a
princess as our ELIZABETH. Your manner of defending even the wrong side
of the question will, at least, be entertaining. And, I think, I may
answer for our young friend, that his curiosity will lead him to join
me in this request to you.
Mr. ADDISON said, He did not expect to be called to so severe an
account for what had escaped him on this subject. But, though I was
ever so willing, continued he, to oblige you, this is no time or place
for entering on such a controversy. We have not yet compleated the
round of these buildings. And I would fain, methinks, make the circuit
of that pleasant meadow. Besides its having been once, in another
form, the scene of those shows you described so largely to us, it will
deserve to be visited for the sake of the many fine views which, as we
wind along it, we may promise to ourselves of these ruins.
You forget my bad legs, said Dr. ARBUTHNOT smiling; otherwise, I
suppose, we can neither of us have any dislike to your proposal. But,
as you please: let us descend from these heights. We may resume the
conversation, as we walk along: and especially, as you propose, when we
get down into that valley.
DIALOGUE IV.
ON THE
GOLDEN AGE OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.
BETWEEN
THE HON. ROBERT DIGBY,
DR. ARBUTHNOT,
AND
MR. ADDISON.
DIALOGUE IV.
ON THE AGE OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.
MR. DIGBY, DR. ARBUTHNOT, MR. ADDISON.
But do you consider, said Mr. ADDISON, as they descended into the
valley, what an invidious task you are going to impose upon me? One
cannot call in question a common opinion in any indifferent matter,
without the appearance of some degree of perverseness. But to do it in
a case of this importance, where the greatest authorities stand in the
way, and the glory of one of our princes is concerned, will, I doubt,
be liable to the imputation of something worse than singularity. For,
besides that you will be apt to upbraid me, in the words of the poet,
Nullum memorabile nomen
Fœmineâ in pœnâ est, nec habet victoria laudem,
such a liberty of censure is usually taken for an argument, not of
discourtesy or presumption only, but of ill-nature. At best, the
attempt to arraign the virtues and government of ELIZABETH will appear
but like the idleness of the old sophists, who, you know, were never so
well pleased as when they were controverting some acknowledged fact, or
assaulting some established character.
That censure might be just enough, Dr. ARBUTHNOT said, of the old
sophists, who had nothing in view but the credit of their own skill
in the arts of disputation. But in this friendly debate, which
means nothing more than private amusement, I see no colour for such
apprehensions.