the judgment of our age, his critical papers. Yet his critical papers
are always luminous, and often ingenious. The very worst of them must be
regarded as creditable to him, when the character of the school in which
he had been trained is fairly considered. The best of them were much too
good for his readers. In truth, he was not so far behind our generation
as he was before his own. No essays in the Spectator were more censured
and derided than those in which he raised his voice against the contempt
with which our fine old ballads were regarded, and showed the scoffers
that the same gold which, burnished and polished, gives lustre to the
Æneid and the Odes of Horace, is mingled with the rude dross of Chevy
Chace.
It is not strange that the success of the Spectator should have been
such as no similar work has ever obtained. The number of copies daily
distributed was at first three thousand. It subsequently increased, and
bad risen to near four thousand when the stamp tax was imposed. That
tax was fatal to a crowd of journals. The Spectator, however, stood its
ground, doubled its price, and, though its circulation fell off,
(1) Nos. 26, 329, 69, 317, 159, 343, 517. These papers are
all in the first seven volumes. The eighth must be
considered as a separate work.
{389}still yielded a large revenue both to the state and to the authors.
For particular papers, the demand was immense; of some, it is said,
twenty thousand copies were required. But this was not all. To have the
Spectator served up every morning with the butter and rolls was a luxury
for the few. The majority were content to wait till essays enough had
appeared to form a volume. Ten thousand copies of each volume were
immediately taken off, and new editions were called for It must be
remembered, that the population of England was then hardly a third
of what it now is. The number of Englishmen who were in the habit of
reading, was probably not a sixth of what it now is. A shopkeeper or a
farmer who found any pleasure in literature, was a rarity. Nay, there
was doubtless more than one knight of the shire whose country seat did
not contain ten books, receipt books and books on farriery included.
In these circumstances, the sale of the Spectator must be considered as
indicating a popularity quite as great as that of the most successful
works of Sir Walter Scott and Mr. Dickens in our own time.
At the close of 1712 the Spectator ceased to appear. It was probably
felt that the shortfaced gentleman and his club had been long enough
before the town: and that it was time to withdraw them, and to replace
them by a new set of characters. In a few weeks the first number of the
Guardian was published. But the Guardian was unfortunate both in its
birth and in its death. It began in dulness and disappeared in a tempest
of faction. The original plan was bad. Addison contributed nothing till
sixty-six numbers had appeared; and it was then impossible to make
the Guardian what the Spectator had been. Nestor Ironside and the Miss
Lizards were people to whom even he could impart no {390}interest. He
could only furnish some excellent little essays, both serious and comic;
and this he did.
Why Addison gave no assistance to the Guardian, during the first two
months of its existence, is a question which has puzzled the editors and
biographers, but which seems to us to admit of a very easy solution. He
was then engaged in bringing his Cato on the stage.
The first four acts of this drama had been lying in his desk since his
return from Italy. His modest and sensitive nature shrank from the risk
of a public and shameful failure; and, though all who saw the manuscript
were loud in praise, some thought it possible that an audience might
become impatient even of very good rhetoric, and advised Addison to
print the play without hazarding a representation. At length, after many
fits of apprehension, the poet yielded to the urgency of his political
friends, who hoped that the public would discover some analogy between
the followers of Cæsar and the Tories, between Sempronius and the
apostate Whigs, between Cato, struggling to the last for the liberties
of Rome, and the band of patriots who still stood firm round Halifax and
Wharton.
Addison gave the play to the managers of Drury Lane theatre, without
stipulating for any advantage to himself. They, therefore, thought
themselves bound to spare no cost in scenery and dresses. The
decorations, it is true, would not have pleased the skilful eye of Mr.
Macready. Juba’s waistcoat blazed with gold lace: Marcia’s hoop was
worthy of a Duchess on the birthday; and Cato wore a wig worth fifty
guineas. The prologue was written by Pope, and is undoubtedly a
dignified and spirited composition. The part of the hero was excellently
played by Booth. Steele undertook {391}to pack a house. The boxes
were in a blaze with the stars of the Peers in Opposition. The pit was
crowded with attentive and friendly listeners from the Inns of Court and
the literary coffee-houses. Sir Gilbert Heathcote, Governor of the Bank
of England, was at the head of a powerful body of auxiliaries from
the city, warm men and true Whigs, but better known at Jonathan’s and
Garraway’s than in the haunts of wits and critics.
These precautions were quite superfluous. The Tories, as a body,
regarded Addison with no unkind feelings. Nor was it for their interest,
professing, as they did, profound reverence for law and prescription,
and abhorrence both of popular insurrections and of standing armies, to
appropriate to themselves reflections thrown on the great military chief
and demagogue, who, with the support of the legions and of the
common people, subverted all the ancient institutions of his country.
Accordingly, every shout that was raised by the members of the Kit Cat
was echoed by the High Churchmen of the October; and the curtain at
length fell amidst thunders of unanimous applause.
The delight and admiration of the town were de scribed by the Guardian
in terms which we might attribute to partiality, were it not that the
Examiner, the organ of the Ministry, held similar language. The Tories,
indeed, found much to sneer at in the conduct of their opponents.
Steele had on this, as on other occasions, shown more zeal than taste or
judgment. The honest citizens who marched under the orders of Sir Gibby,
as he was facetiously called, probably knew better when to buy and when
to sell stock than when to clap and when to hiss at a play, and
incurred some ridicule by making the hypocritical Sempronius their
{392}favourite, and by giving to his insincere rants louder plaudits
than they bestowed on the temperate eloquence of Cato. Wharton, too,
who had the incredible effrontery to applaud the lines about flying from
prosperous vice and from the power of impious men to a private station,
did not escape the sarcasms of those who justly thought that he could
fly from nothing more vicious or impious than himself. The epilogue,
which was written by Garth, a zealous Whig, was severely and not
unreasonably censured as ignoble and out of place. But Addison was
described, even by the bitterest Tory writers, as a gentleman of wit and
virtue, in whose friendship many persons of both parties were happy, and
whose name ought not to be mixed up with factious squabbles.
Of the jests by which the triumph of the Whig party was disturbed, the
most severe and happy was Boling-broke’s. Between two acts, he sent for
Booth to his box, and presented him, before the whole theatre, with
a purse of fifty guineas for defending the cause of liberty so well
against a perpetual Dictator. This was a pungent allusion to the attempt
which Marlborough had made, not long before his fall, to obtain a patent
creating him Captain General for life.
It was April; and in April, a hundred and thirty years ago, the London
season was thought to be far advanced. During a whole month, however,
Cato was performed to overflowing houses, and brought into the treasury
of the theatre twice the gains of an ordinary spring. In the summer the
Drury Lane company went down to the Act at Oxford, and there, before
an audience which retained an affectionate remembrance of Addison’s
accomplishments and virtues, his tragedy was enacted during several
days. The gownsmen began {393}to besiege the theatre in the forenoon,
and by one in the afternoon all the seats were filled.
About the merits of the piece which had so extraordinary an effect,
the public, we suppose, has made up its mind. To compare it with the
masterpieces of the Attic state, with the great English dramas of the
time of Elizabeth, or even with the productions of Schiller’s manhood,
would be absurd indeed. Yet it contains excellent dialogue and
declamation, and, among plays fashioned on the French model, must be
allowed to rank high; not indeed with Athalie or Saul; but, we think,
not below China, and certainly above any other English tragedy of the
same school, above many of the plays of Corneille, above many of the
plays of Voltaire and Alfieri, and above some plays of Racine. Be this
as it may, we have little doubt that Cato did as much as the Tatlers,
Spectators, and Freeholders united, to raise Addison’s fame among his
contemporaries.
The modesty and good nature of the successful dramatist had tamed
even the malignity of faction. But literary envy, it should seem, is
a fiercer passion than party spirit. It was by a zealous Whig that the
fiercest attack on the Whig tragedy was made. John Dennis published
Remarks on Cato, which were written with some acuteness and with
much coarseness and asperity. Addison neither defended himself nor
retaliated. On many points he had an excellent defence; and nothing
would have been easier than to retaliate; for Dennis had written bad
odes, bad tragedies, bad comedies: he had, moreover, a larger share than
most men of those infirmities and eccentricities which excite laughter;
and Addison’s power of turning either an absurd book or an absurd man
into ridicule was unrivalled. Addison, however, serenely conscious of
his superiority, looked {394}with pity on his assailant, whose temper,
naturally irritable and gloomy, had been soured by want, by controversy,
and by literary failures.
But among the young candidates for Addison’s favour there was one
distinguished by talents from the rest, and distinguished, we fear, not
less by malignity and insincerity. Pope was only twenty-five. But his
powers had expanded to their full maturity; and his best poem, the Rape
of the Lock, had recently been published. Of his genius, Addison had
always expressed high admiration. But Addison had early discerned, what
might indeed have been discerned by an eye less penetrating than his,
that the diminutive, crooked, sickly boy was eager to revenge himself
on society for the unkindness of nature. In the Spectator, the Essay on
Criticism had been praised with cordial warmth; but a gentle hint had
been added, that the writer of so excellent a poem would have done well
to avoid illnatured personalities. Pope, though evidently more galled
by the censure than gratified by the praise, returned thanks for the
admonition, and promised to profit by it. The two writers continued to
exchange civilities, counsel, and small good offices. Addison publicly
extolled Pope’s miscellaneous pieces; and Pope furnished Addison with a
prologue. This did not last long. Pope hated Dennis, whom he had injured
without provocation. The appearance of the Remarks on Cato gave the
irritable poet an opportunity of venting his malice under the show
of friendship; and such an opportunity could not but be welcomed to a
nature which was implacable in enmity, and which always preferred the
tortuous to the straight path. He published, accordingly, the Narrative
of the Frenzy of John Dennis. But Pope had mistaken his powers. He was a
great master of invective and {395}sarcasm: he could dissect a character
in terse and sonorous couplets, brilliant with antithesis: but of
dramatic talent he was altogether destitute. If he had written a lampoon
on Dennis, such as that on Atticus, or that on Sporus, the old grumbler
would have been crushed. But Pope writing Dialogue resembled--to borrow
Horace’s imagery and his own--a wolf, which, instead of biting, should
take to kicking, or a monkey which should try to sting. The Narrative
is utterly contemptible. Of argument there is not even the show; and
the jests are such as, if they were introduced into a farce, would call
forth the hisses of the shilling gallery. Dennis raves about the drama;
and the nurse thinks that he is calling for a dram. “There is,” he
cries, “no peripetia in the tragedy, no change of fortune, no change at
all.”
“Pray, good Sir, be not angry,” says the old woman; “I’ll fetch change.”
This is not exactly the pleasantry of Addison.
There can be no doubt that Addison saw through this officious zeal, and
felt himself deeply aggrieved by it. So foolish and spiteful a pamphlet
could do him no good, and, if he were thought to have any hand in it,
must do him harm. Gifted with incomparable powers of ridicule, he
had never, even in self defence, used those powers inhumanly or
uncourteously; and he was not disposed to let others make his fame and
his interests a pretext under which they might commit outrages from
which he had himself constantly abstained. He accordingly declared that
he had no concern in the Narrative, that he disapproved of it, and that
if he answered the Remarks, he would answer them like a gentleman; and
he took care to communicate this to Dennis. Pope was bitterly mortified;
and to this transaction we are inclined to ascribe the hatred with which
he ever after regarded Addison. {396}In September 1713 the Guardian
ceased to appear. Steele had gone mad about polities. A general election
had just taken place: he had been chosen member for Stockbridge; and he
fully expected to play a first part in Parliament. The immense success
of the Tatler and Spectator had turned his head. He had been the editor
of both those papers, and was not aware how entirely they owed their
influence and popularity to the genius of his friend. His spirits,
always violent, were now excited by vanity, ambition, and faction, to
such a pitch that he every day committed some offence against good sense
and good taste. All the discreet and moderate members of his own party
regretted and condemned his folly. “I am in a thousand troubles,”
Addison wrote, “about poor Dick, and wish that his zeal for the public
may not be ruinous to himself. But he has sent me word that he is
determined to go on, and that any advice I may give him in this
particular will have no weight with him.”
Steele set up a political paper called the Englishman, which, as it was
not supported by contributions from Addison, completely failed. By this
work, by some other writings of the same kind, and by the airs which
he gave himself at the first meeting of the new Parliament, he made the
Tories so angry that they determined to expel him. The Whigs stood by
him gallantly, but were unable to save him. The vote of expulsion was
regarded by all dispassionate men as a tyrannical exercise of the power
of the majority. But Steele’s violence and folly, though they by
no means justified the steps which his enemies took, had completely
disgusted his friends; nor did he ever regain the place which he had
held in the public estimation.
Addison about this time conceived the design of {397}adding an eighth
volume to the Spectator. In June 1711, the first number of the new
series appeared, and during about six months three papers were published
weekly. Nothing can be more striking than the contrast between the
Englishman and the eighth volume of the Spectator, between Steele
without Addison and Addison without Steele. The Englishman is forgotten;
the eighth volume of the Spectator contains, perhaps, the finest essays,
both serious and playful, in the English language.
Before this volume was completed, the death of Anne produced an entire
change in the administration of public affairs. The blow fell suddenly.
It found the Tory party distracted by internal feuds, and unprepared for
any great effort. Harley had just been disgraced. Bolingbroke, it
was supposed, would be the chief minister. But the Queen was on her
death-bed before the white staff had been given, and her last public
act was to deliver it with a feeble hand to the Duke of Shrewsbury. The
emergency produced a coalition between all sections of public men
who were attached to the Protestant succession. George the First was
proclaimed without opposition. A Council, in which the leading Whigs had
seats, took the direction of affairs till the new King should arrive.
The first act of the Lords Justices was to appoint Addison their
secretary.
There is an idle tradition that he was directed to prepare a letter
to the King, that he could not satisfy himself as to the style of this
composition, and that the Lords Justices called in a clerk who at once
did what was wanted. It is not strange that a story so flattering to
mediocrity should be popular; and we are sorry to deprive dunces of
their consolation. But the truth must be told. It was well observed
by Sir {398}James Mackintosh, whose knowledge of these times was
unequalled, that Addison never, in any official document, affected wit
or eloquence, and that his despatches are, without exception, remarkable
for unpretending simplicity. Everybody who knows with what ease
Addison’s finest essays were produced must be convinced that, if well
turned phrases had been wanted, he would have had no difficulty in
finding them.. We are, however, inclined to believe, that the story is
not absolutely without a foundation. It may well be that Addison did not
know, till he had consulted experienced clerks who remembered the times
when William the Third was absent on the continent, in what form a
letter from the Council of Regency to the King ought to be drawn. We
think it very likely that the ablest statesmen of our time, Lord John
Russell, Sir Robert Peel, Lord Palmerston, for example, would, in
similar circumstances, be found quite as ignorant. Every office has
some little mysteries which the dullest man may learn with a little
attention, and which the greatest man cannot possibly know by intuition.
One paper must be signed by the chief of the department; another by his
deputy: to a third the royal sign manual is necessary. One communication
is to be registered, and another is not. One sentence must be in black
ink, and another in red ink. If the ablest Secretary for Ireland were
moved to the India Board, if the ablest President of the India Board
were moved to the War Office, he would require instruction on points
like these; and we do not doubt that Addison required such instruction
when he became, for the first time, Secretary to the Lords Justices.
George the First took possession of his kingdom without opposition. A
new ministry was formed, and {399}a new Parliament favourable to the
Whigs chosen. Sunderland was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland; and
Addison again went to Dublin as Chief Secretary.
At Dublin Swift resided; and there was much speculation about the way
in which the Dean and the Secretary would behave towards each other. The
relations which existed between these remarkable men form an interesting
and pleasing portion of literary history. They had early attached
themselves to the same political party and to the same patrons. While
Anne’s Whig ministry was in power, the visits of Swift to London and the
official residence of Addison in Ireland had given them opportunities of
knowing each other. They were the two shrewdest observers of their
age. But their observations on each other had led them to favourable
conclusions. Swift did full justice to the rare powers of conversation
which were latent under the bashful deportment of Addison. Addison, on
the other hand, discerned much good nature under the severe look and
manner of Swift; and, indeed, the Swift of 1708 and the Swift of 1738
were two very different men.
But the paths of the two friends diverged widely. The Whig statesmen
loaded Addison with solid benefits. They praised Swift, asked him to
dinner, and did nothing more for him. His profession laid them under a
difficulty. In the state they could not promote him; and they had reason
to fear that, by bestowing preferment in the church on the author of the
Tale of a Tub, they might give scandal to the public, which had no
high opinion of their orthodoxy. He did not make fair allowance for
the difficulties which prevented Halifax and Somers from serving him,
thought himself an {400}ill used man, sacrificed honour and consistency
to revenge, joined the Tories, and became their most formidable
champion. He soon found, however, that his old friends were less to
blame than he had supposed. The dislike with which the Queen and the
heads of the Church regarded him was insurmountable; and it was with
the greatest difficulty that he obtained an ecclesiastical dignity of no
great value, on condition of fixing his residence in a country which he
detested.
Difference of political opinion had produced, not indeed a quarrel, but
a coolness between Swift and Addison. They at length ceased altogether
to see each other. Yet there was between them a tacit compact like that
between the hereditary guests in the Iliad.
[Illustration: 0414]
It is not strange that Addison, who calumniated and insulted nobody,
should not have calumniated or insulted Swift. But it is remarkable that
Swift, to whom neither genius nor virtue was sacred, and who generally
seemed to find, like most other renegades, a peculiar pleasure in
attacking old friends, should have shown so much respect and tenderness
to Addison.
Fortune had now changed. The accession of the House of Hanover had
secured in England the liberties of the people, and in Ireland the
dominion of the Protestant caste. To that caste Swift was more odious
than any other man. He was hooted and even pelted in the streets of
Dublin; and could not venture to ride along the strand for his health
without the attendance of armed servants. Many whom he had formerly
{401}served now libelled and insulted him. At this time Addison arrived.
He had been advised not to show the smallest civility to the Dean of
St. Patrick’s. He had answered, with admirable spirit, that it might be
necessary for men whose fidelity to their party was suspected, to hold
no intercourse with political opponents; but that one who had been a
steady Whig in the worst times might venture, when the good cause
was triumphant, to shake hands with an old friend who was one of the
vanquished Tories. His kindness was soothing to the proud and cruelly
wounded spirit of Swift; and the two great satirists resumed their
habits of friendly intercourse.
Those associates of Addison whose political opinions agreed with
his shared his good fortune. He took Tickell with him to Ireland. He
procured for Budgell a lucrative place in the same kingdom. Ambrose
Phillipps was provided for in England. Steele had injured himself so
much by his eccentricity and perverseness, that he obtained but a very
small part of what he thought his due. He was, however, knighted; he had
a place in the household; and he subsequently received other marks of
favour from the court.
Addison did not remain long in Ireland. In 1715 he quitted his
secretaryship for a seat at the Board of Trade. In the same year his
comedy of the Drummer was brought on the stage. The name of the author
was not announced; the piece was coldly received; and some critics have
expressed a doubt whether it were really Addison’s. To us the evidence,
both external and internal, seems decisive. It is not in Addison’s best
manner; but it contains numerous pas-rages which no other writer known
to us could have {402}produced. It was again performed after Addison’s
death, and, being known to be his, was loudly applauded.