Chapter XLI: Introduction (41)

There are many more shining Qualities in the Mind of Man, but there is none so useful as Discretion; it is this indeed which gives a Value to all the rest, which sets them at work in their proper Times and Places, and turns them to the Advantage of the Person who is possessed of them. Without it Learning is Pedantry, and Wit Impertinence; Virtue itself looks like Weakness; the best Parts only qualify a Man to be more sprightly in Errors, and active to his own Prejudice.

Nor does Discretion only make a Man the Master of his own Parts, but of other Mens. The discreet Man finds out the Talents of those he Converses with, and knows how to apply them to proper Uses. Accordingly if we look into particular Communities and Divisions of Men, we may observe that it is the discreet Man, not the Witty, nor the Learned, nor the Brave, who guides the Conversation, and gives Measures to the Society. A Man with great Talents, but void of Discretion, is like _Polyphemus_ in the Fable, Strong and Blind, endued with an irresistible Force, which for want of Sight is of no Use to him.

Though a Man has all other Perfections, and wants Discretion, he will be of no great Consequence in the World; but if he has this single Talent in Perfection, and but a common Share of others, he may do what he pleases in his particular Station of Life.

At the same time that I think Discretion the most useful Talent a Man can be Master of, I look upon Cunning to be the Accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous Minds. Discretion points out the noblest Ends to us, and pursues the most proper and laudable Methods of attaining them: Cunning has only private selfish Aims, and sticks at nothing which may make them succeed. Discretion has large and extended Views, and, like a well-formed Eye, commands a whole Horizon: Cunning is a Kind of Short-sightedness, that discovers the minutest Objects which are near at hand, but is not able to discern things at a distance. Discretion, the more it is discovered, gives a greater Authority to the Person who possesses it: Cunning, when it is once detected, loses its Force, and makes a Man incapable of bringing about even those Events which he might have done, had he passed only for a plain Man. Discretion is the Perfection of Reason, and a Guide to us in all the Duties of Life; Cunning is a kind of Instinct, that only looks out after our immediate Interest and Welfare. Discretion is only found in Men of strong Sense and good Understandings: Cunning is often to be met with in Brutes themselves, and in Persons who are but the fewest Removes from them. In short Cunning is only the Mimick of Discretion, and may pass upon weak Men, in the same manner as Vivacity is often mistaken for Wit, and Gravity for Wisdom.

The Cast of Mind which is natural to a discreet Man, makes him look forward into Futurity, and consider what will be his Condition Millions of Ages hence, as well as what it is at present. He knows that the Misery or Happiness which are reserv'd for him in another World, lose nothing of their Reality by being placed at so great Distance from him. The Objects do not appear little to him because they are remote. He considers that those Pleasures and Pains which lie hid in Eternity, approach nearer to him every Moment, and will be present with him in their full Weight and Measure, as much as those Pains and Pleasures which he feels at this very Instant. For this Reason he is careful to secure to himself that which is the proper Happiness of his Nature, and the ultimate Design of his Being. He carries his Thoughts to the End of every Action, and considers the most distant as well as the most immediate Effects of it. He supersedes every little Prospect of Gain and Advantage which offers itself here, if he does not find it consistent with his Views of an Hereafter. In a word, his Hopes are full of Immortality, his Schemes are large and glorious, and his Conduct suitable to one who knows his true Interest, and how to pursue it by proper Methods.

I have, in this Essay upon Discretion, considered it both as an Accomplishment and as a Virtue, and have therefore described it in its full Extent; not only as it is conversant about worldly Affairs, but as it regards our whole Existence; not only as it is the Guide of a mortal Creature, but as it is in general the Director of a reasonable Being. It is in this Light that Discretion is represented by the Wise Man, who sometimes mentions it under the Name of Discretion, and sometimes under that of Wisdom. It is indeed (as described in the latter Part of this Paper) the greatest Wisdom, but at the same time in the Power of every one to attain. Its Advantages are infinite, but its Acquisition easy; or to speak of her in the Words of the Apocryphal Writer whom I quoted in my last _Saturdays_ Paper, _Wisdom is glorious, and never fadeth away, yet she is easily seen of them that love her, and found of such as seek her. She preventeth them that desire her, in making herself first known unto them. He that seeketh her early, shall have no great Travel: for he shall find her sitting at his Doors. To think therefore upon her is Perfection of Wisdom, and whoso watcheth for her shall quickly be without Care. For she goeth about seeking such as are worthy of her, sheweth her self favourably unto them in the Ways, and meeteth them in every Thought_. [1]

C.

[Footnote 1: Wisdom vi. 12-16.]

* * * * *

No. 226 Monday, November 19, 1711. [1] Steele.

--Mutum est pictura poema.

Hor. [2]

I have very often lamented and hinted my Sorrow in several Speculations, that the Art of Painting is made so little Use of to the Improvement of our Manners. When we consider that it places the Action of the Person represented in the most agreeable Aspect imaginable, that it does not only express the Passion or Concern as it sits upon him who is drawn, but has under those Features the Height of the Painters Imagination. What strong Images of Virtue and Humanity might we not expect would be instilled into the Mind from the Labours of the Pencil? This is a Poetry which would be understood with much less Capacity, and less Expence of Time, than what is taught by Writings; but the Use of it is generally perverted, and that admirable Skill prostituted to the basest and most unworthy Ends. Who is the better Man for beholding the most beautiful _Venus_, the best wrought _Bacchanal_, the Images of sleeping _Cupids_, languishing Nymphs, or any of the Representations of Gods, Goddesses, Demy-gods, Satyrs, _Polyphemes_, Sphinxes, or Fauns? But if the Virtues and Vices, which are sometimes pretended to be represented under such Draughts, were given us by the Painter in the Characters of real Life, and the Persons of Men and Women whose Actions have rendered them laudable or infamous; we should not see a good History-Piece without receiving an instructive Lecture. There needs no other Proof of this Truth, than the Testimony of every reasonable Creature who has seen the Cartons in Her Majesty's Gallery at _Hampton--Court_: These are Representations of no less Actions than those of our Blessed Saviour and his Apostles. As I now sit and recollect the warm Images which the admirable _Raphael_ has raised, it is impossible even from the faint Traces in ones Memory of what one has not seen these two Years, to be unmoved at the Horror and Reverence which appear in the whole Assembly when the mercenary Man fell down dead; at the Amazement of the Man born blind, when he first receives Sight; or at the graceless Indignation of the Sorcerer, when he is struck blind. The Lame, when they first find Strength in their Feet, stand doubtful of their new Vigour. The heavenly Apostles appear acting these great Things, with a deep Sense of the Infirmities which they relieve, but no Value of themselves who administer to their Weakness. They know themselves to be but Instruments; and the generous Distress they are painted in when divine Honours are offered to them, is a Representation in the most exquisite Degree of the Beauty of Holiness. When St. _Paul_ is preaching to the _Athenians_, with what wonderful Art are almost all the different Tempers of Mankind represented in that elegant Audience? You see one credulous of all that is said, another wrapt up in deep Suspence, another saying there is some Reason in what he says, another angry that the Apostle destroys a favourite Opinion which he is unwilling to give up, another wholly convinced and holding out his Hands in Rapture; while the Generality attend, and wait for the Opinion of those who are of leading Characters in the Assembly. I will not pretend so much as to mention that Chart on which is drawn the Appearance of our Blessed Lord after his Resurrection. Present Authority, late Suffering, Humility and Majesty, Despotick Command, and [Divine] [3] Love, are at once seated in his celestial Aspect. The Figures of the Eleven Apostles are all in the same Passion of Admiration, but discover it differently according to their Characters. _Peter_ receives his Masters Orders on his Knees with an Admiration mixed with a more particular Attention: The two next with a more open Ecstasy, though still constrained by the Awe of the Divine [4] Presence: The beloved Disciple, whom I take to be the Right of the two first Figures, has in his Countenance Wonder drowned in Love; and the last Personage, whose Back is towards the Spectator[s], and his Side towards the Presence, one would fancy to be St. _Thomas_, as abashed by the Conscience of his former Diffidence; which perplexed Concern it is possible _Raphael_ thought too hard a Task to draw but by this Acknowledgment of the Difficulty to describe it.

The whole Work is an Exercise of the highest Piety in the Painter; and all the Touches of a religious Mind are expressed in a Manner much more forcible than can possibly be performed by the most moving Eloquence. These invaluable Pieces are very justly in the Hands of the greatest and most pious Sovereign in the World; and cannot be the frequent Object of every one at their own Leisure: But as an Engraver is to the Painter what a Printer is to an Author, it is worthy Her Majesty's Name, that she has encouraged that Noble Artist, Monsieur _Dorigny_, [5] to publish these Works of _Raphael_. We have of this Gentleman a Piece of the Transfiguration, which, I think, is held a Work second to none in the World.

Methinks it would be ridiculous in our People of Condition, after their large Bounties to Foreigners of no Name or Merit, should they overlook this Occasion of having, for a trifling Subscription, a Work which it is impossible for a Man of Sense to behold, without being warmed with the noblest Sentiments that can be inspired by Love, Admiration, Compassion, Contempt of this World, and Expectation of a better.

It is certainly the greatest Honour we can do our Country, to distinguish Strangers of Merit who apply to us with Modesty and Diffidence, which generally accompanies Merit. No Opportunity of this Kind ought to be neglected; and a modest Behaviour should alarm us to examine whether we do not lose something excellent under that Disadvantage in the Possessor of that Quality. My Skill in Paintings, where one is not directed by the Passion of the Pictures, is so inconsiderable, that I am in very great Perplexity when I offer to speak of any Performances of Painters of Landskips, Buildings, or single Figures. This makes me at a loss how to mention the Pieces which Mr. _Boul_ exposes to Sale by Auction on _Wednesday_ next in _Shandois-street_: But having heard him commended by those who have bought of him heretofore for great Integrity in his Dealing, and overheard him himself (tho a laudable Painter) say, nothing of his own was fit to come into the Room with those he had to sell, I fear'd I should lose an Occasion of serving a Man of Worth, in omitting to speak of his Auction.

T.

[Footnote 1: Swift to Stella, Nov. 18, 1711.

Do you ever read the SPECTATORS? I never do; they never come in my
way; I go to no coffee-houses. They say abundance of them are very
pretty; they are going to be printed in small volumes; Ill bring them
over with me.]

[Footnote 2:

_Pictura Poesis erit_.

Hor.]

[Footnote 3: Brotherly]

[Footnote 4: coelestial]

[Footnote 5: Michel Dorigny, painter and engraver, native of St. Quentin, pupil and son-in-law of Simon Vouet, whose style he adopted, was Professor in the Paris Academy of Painting, and died at the age of 48, in 1665. His son and Vouet's grandson, Nicolo Dorigny, in aid of whose undertaking Steele wrote this paper in the Spectator, had been invited from Rome by several of the nobility, to produce, with licence from the Queen, engravings from Raphael's Cartoons, at Hampton Court. He offered eight plates 19 inches high, and from 25 to 30 inches long, for four guineas subscription, although, he said in his Prospectus, the five prints of Alexanders Battles after Lebrun were often sold for twenty guineas.]

* * * * *

ADVERTISEMENT.

_There is arrived from_ Italy
_a Painter
who acknowledges himself the greatest Person of the Age in that Art,
and is willing to be as renowned in this Island
as he declares he is in Foreign Parts_.

The Doctor paints the Poor for nothing.

* * * * *

No. 227. Tuesday, November 20, 1711. Addison.

[Greek: Ô moi egô tí páthô; ti ho dússuos; ouch hypakoúeis;
Tàn Baítan apodùs eis kúmata tàena aleumai
Hômer tôs thúnnôs skopiázetai Olpis ho gripéus.
Káeka màe pothánô, tó ge màn teòn hadù tétuktai.

Theoc.]

In my last _Thursday's_ Paper I made mention of a Place called _The Lovers' Leap_, which I find has raised a great Curiosity among several of my Correspondents. I there told them that this Leap was used to be taken from a Promontory of _Leucas_. This _Leucas_ was formerly a Part of _Acarnania_, being [joined to[1]] it by a narrow Neck of Land, which the Sea has by length of Time overflowed and washed away; so that at present _Leucas_ is divided from the Continent, and is a little Island in the _Ionian_ Sea. The Promontory of this Island, from whence the Lover took his Leap, was formerly called _Leucate_. If the Reader has a mind to know both the Island and the Promontory by their modern Titles, he will find in his Map the ancient Island of _Leucas_ under the Name of St. _Mauro_, and the ancient Promontory of _Leucate_ under the Name of _The Cape of St._ Mauro.

Since I am engaged thus far in Antiquity, I must observe that _Theocritus_ in the Motto prefixed to my Paper, describes one of his despairing Shepherds addressing himself to his Mistress after the following manner, _Alas! What will become of me! Wretch that I am! Will you not hear me? Ill throw off my Cloaths, and take a Leap into that Part of the Sea which is so much frequented by_ Olphis _the Fisherman. And tho I should escape with my Life, I know you will be pleased with it_. I shall leave it with the Criticks to determine whether the Place, which this Shepherd so particularly points out, was not the above-mentioned _Leucate_, or at least some other Lovers Leap, which was supposed to have had the same Effect. I cannot believe, as all the Interpreters do, that the Shepherd means nothing farther here than that he would drown himself, since he represents the Issue of his Leap as doubtful, by adding, That if he should escape with [Life,[2]] he knows his Mistress would be pleased with it; which is, according to our Interpretation, that she would rejoice any way to get rid of a Lover who was so troublesome to her.

After this short Preface, I shall present my Reader with some Letters which I have received upon this Subject. The first is sent me by a Physician.

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

The Lovers Leap, which you mention in your 223d Paper, was
generally, I believe, a very effectual Cure for Love, and not only for
Love, but for all other Evils. In short, Sir, I am afraid it was such
a Leap as that which _Hero_ took to get rid of her Passion for
_Leander_. A Man is in no Danger of breaking his Heart, who breaks his
Neck to prevent it. I know very well the Wonders which ancient Authors
relate concerning this Leap; and in particular, that very many Persons
who tried it, escaped not only with their Lives but their Limbs. If by
this Means they got rid of their Love, tho it may in part be ascribed
to the Reasons you give for it; why may not we suppose that the cold
Bath into which they plunged themselves, had also some Share in their
Cure? A Leap into the Sea or into any Creek of Salt Waters, very often
gives a new Motion to the Spirits, and a new Turn to the Blood; for
which Reason we prescribe it in Distempers which no other Medicine
will reach. I could produce a Quotation out of a very venerable
Author, in which the Frenzy produced by Love, is compared to that
which is produced by the Biting of a mad Dog. But as this Comparison
is a little too coarse for your Paper, and might look as if it were
cited to ridicule the Author who has made use of it; I shall only hint
at it, and desire you to consider whether, if the Frenzy produced by
these two different Causes be of the same Nature, it may not very
properly be cured by the same Means.

_I am, SIR,

Your most humble Servant, and Well-wisher,_

ESCULAPIUS.

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

I am a young Woman crossed in Love. My Story is very long and
melancholy. To give you the heads of it: A young Gentleman, after
having made his Applications to me for three Years together, and
filled my Head with a thousand Dreams of Happiness, some few Days
since married another. Pray tell me in what Part of the World your
Promontory lies, which you call _The Lovers Leap_, and whether one
may go to it by Land? But, alas, I am afraid it has lost its Virtue,
and that a Woman of our Times would find no more Relief in taking such
a Leap, than in singing an Hymn to _Venus_. So that I must cry out
with _Dido_ in _Dryden's Virgil_,

_Ah! cruel Heaven, that made no Cure for Love!

Your disconsolate Servant,_

ATHENAIS.

MISTER SPICTATUR,

My Heart is so full of Lofes and Passions for Mrs. _Gwinifrid_, and
she is so pettish and overrun with Cholers against me, that if I had
the good Happiness to have my Dwelling (which is placed by my
Creat-Cranfather upon the Pottom of an Hill) no farther Distance but
twenty Mile from the Lofers Leap, I would indeed indeafour to preak
my Neck upon it on Purpose. Now, good Mister SPICTATUR of _Crete
Prittain_, you must know it there is in _Caernaruanshire_ a fery pig
Mountain, the Glory of all _Wales_, which is named _Penmainmaure_, and
you must also know, it iss no great Journey on Foot from me; but the
Road is stony and bad for Shooes. Now, there is upon the Forehead of
this Mountain a very high Rock, (like a Parish Steeple) that cometh a
huge deal over the Sea; so when I am in my Melancholies, and I do
throw myself from it, I do desire my fery good Friend to tell me in
his _Spictatur_, if I shall be cure of my grefous Lofes; for there is
the Sea clear as Glass, and as creen as the Leek: Then likewise if I
be drown, and preak my Neck, if Mrs. _Gwinifrid_ will not lose me
afterwards. Pray be speedy in your Answers, for I am in crete Haste,
and it is my Tesires to do my Pusiness without Loss of Time. I remain
with cordial Affections, your ever lofing Friend, _Davyth ap
Shenkyn_.

P. S. My Law-suits have brought me to _London_, but I have lost my
Causes; and so have made my Resolutions to go down and leap before the
Frosts begin; for I am apt to take Colds.

Ridicule, perhaps, is a better Expedient against Love than sober Advice, and I am of Opinion, that _Hudibras_ and _Don Quixote_ may be as effectual to cure the Extravagancies of this Passion, as any of the old Philosophers. I shall therefore publish, very speedily, the Translation of a little _Greek_ Manuscript, which is sent me by a learned Friend. It appears to have been a Piece of those Records which were kept in the little Temple of _Apollo_, that stood upon the Promontory of _Leucate_. The Reader will find it to be a Summary Account of several Persons who tried the Lovers Leap, and of the Success they found in it. As there seem to be in it some Anachronisms and Deviations from the ancient Orthography, I am not wholly satisfied myself that it is authentick, and not rather the Production of one of those _Grecian_ Sophisters, who have imposed upon the World several spurious Works of this Nature. I speak this by way of Precaution, because I know there are several Writers, of uncommon Erudition, who would not fail to expose my Ignorance, if they caught me tripping in a Matter of so great Moment. [3]

C.

[Footnote 1: [divided from]]

[Footnote 2: [his Life,]]

[Footnote 3: The following Advertisement appeared in Nos. 227-234, 237, 247 and 248, with the word certainly before be ready after the first insertion:

There is now Printing by Subscription two Volumes of the SPECTATORS on
a large Character in Octavo; the Price of the two Vols. well Bound and
Gilt two Guineas. Those who are inclined to Subscribe, are desired to
make their first Payments to Jacob Tonson, Bookseller in the Strand,
the Books being so near finished, that they will be ready for the
Subscribers at or before Christmas next.

The Third and Fourth Volumes of the LUCUBRATIONS of Isaac Bickerstaff,
Esq., are ready to be delivered at the same Place.

N.B. The Author desires that such Gentlemen who have not received
their Books for which they have Subscribed, would be pleased to
signify the same to Mr. Tonson.]

* * * * *

No. 228. Wednesday, November 21, 1711. Steele.

Percunctatorem fugito, nam Garrulus idem est.

Hor.

There is a Creature who has all the Organs of Speech, a tolerable good Capacity for conceiving what is said to it, together with a pretty proper Behaviour in all the Occurrences of common Life; but naturally very vacant of Thought in it self, and therefore forced to apply it self to foreign Assistances. Of this Make is that Man who is very inquisitive. You may often observe, that tho he speaks as good Sense as any Man upon any thing with which he is well acquainted, he cannot trust to the Range of his own Fancy to entertain himself upon that Foundation, but goes on to still new Enquiries. Thus, tho you know he is fit for the most polite Conversation, you shall see him very well contented to sit by a Jockey, giving an Account of the many Revolutions in his Horses Health, what Potion he made him take, how that agreed with him, how afterwards he came to his Stomach and his Exercise, or any the like Impertinence; and be as well pleased as if you talked to him on the most important Truths. This Humour is far from making a Man unhappy, tho it may subject him to Raillery; for he generally falls in with a Person who seems to be born for him, which is your talkative Fellow. It is so ordered, that there is a secret Bent, as natural as the Meeting of different Sexes, in these two Characters, to supply each others Wants. I had the Honour the other Day to sit in a publick Room, and saw an inquisitive Man look with an Air of Satisfaction upon the Approach of one of these Talkers.

The Man of ready Utterance sat down by him, and rubbing his Head, leaning on his Arm, and making an uneasy Countenance, he began; There is no manner of News To-day. I cannot tell what is the Matter with me, but I slept very ill last Night; whether I caught Cold or no, I know not, but I fancy I do not wear Shoes thick enough for the Weather, and I have coughed all this Week: It must be so, for the Custom of washing my Head Winter and Summer with cold Water, prevents any Injury from the Season entering that Way; so it must come in at my Feet; But I take no notice of it: as it comes so it goes. Most of our Evils proceed from too much Tenderness; and our Faces are naturally as little able to resist the Cold as other Parts. The _Indian_ answered very well to an _European_, who asked him how he could go naked; I am all Face.

I observed this Discourse was as welcome to my general Enquirer as any other of more Consequence could have been; but some Body calling our Talker to another Part of the Room, the Enquirer told the next Man who sat by him, that Mr. such a one, who was just gone from him, used to wash his Head in cold Water every Morning; and so repeated almost _verbatim_ all that had been said to him. The Truth is, the Inquisitive are the Funnels of Conversation; they do not take in any thing for their own Use, but merely to pass it to another: They are the Channels through which all the Good and Evil that is spoken in Town are conveyed. Such as are offended at them, or think they suffer by their Behaviour, may themselves mend that Inconvenience; for they are not a malicious People, and if you will supply them, you may contradict any thing they have said before by their own Mouths. A farther Account of a thing is one of the gratefullest Goods that can arrive to them; and it is seldom that they are more particular than to say, The Town will have it, or I have it from a good Hand: So that there is room for the Town to know the Matter more particularly, and for a better Hand to contradict what was said by a good one.

I have not known this Humour more ridiculous than in a Father, who has been earnestly solicitous to have an Account how his Son has passed his leisure Hours; if it be in a Way thoroughly insignificant, there cannot be a greater Joy than an Enquirer discovers in seeing him follow so hopefully his own Steps: But this Humour among Men is most pleasant when they are saying something which is not wholly proper for a third Person to hear, and yet is in itself indifferent. The other Day there came in a well-dressed young Fellow, and two Gentlemen of this Species immediately fell a whispering his Pedigree. I could overhear, by Breaks, She was his Aunt; then an Answer, Ay, she was of the Mothers Side: Then again in a little lower Voice, His Father wore generally a darker Wig; Answer, Not much. But this Gentleman wears higher Heels to his Shoes.

As the Inquisitive, in my Opinion, are such merely from a Vacancy in their own Imaginations, there is nothing, methinks, so dangerous as to communicate Secrets to them; for the same Temper of Enquiry makes them as impertinently communicative: But no Man, though he converses with them, need put himself in their Power, for they will be contented with Matters of less Moment as well. When there is Fuel enough, no matter what it is--Thus the Ends of Sentences in the News Papers, as, _This wants Confirmation, This occasions many Speculations_, and _Time will discover the Event_, are read by them, and considered not as mere Expletives.

One may see now and then this Humour accompanied with an insatiable Desire of knowing what passes, without turning it to any Use in the world but merely their own Entertainment. A Mind which is gratified this Way is adapted to Humour and Pleasantry, and formed for an unconcerned Character in the World; and, like my self, to be a mere Spectator. This Curiosity, without Malice or Self-interest, lays up in the Imagination a Magazine of Circumstances which cannot but entertain when they are produced in Conversation. If one were to know, from the Man of the first Quality to the meanest Servant, the different Intrigues, Sentiments, Pleasures, and Interests of Mankind, would it not be the most pleasing Entertainment imaginable to enjoy so constant a Farce, as the observing Mankind much more different from themselves in their secret Thoughts and publick Actions, than in their Night-caps and long Periwigs?

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

_Plutarch_ tells us, that _Caius Gracchus_, the _Roman_, was
frequently hurried by his Passion into so loud and tumultuous a way of
Speaking, and so strained his Voice as not to be able to proceed. To
remedy this Excess, he had an ingenious Servant, by Name _Licinius_,
always attended him with a Pitch-pipe, or Instrument to regulate the
Voice; who, whenever he heard his Master begin to be high, immediately
touched a soft Note; at which, 'tis said, _Caius_ would presently
abate and grow calm.

Upon recollecting this Story, I have frequently wondered that this
useful Instrument should have been so long discontinued; especially
since we find that this good Office of _Licinius_ has preserved his
Memory for many hundred Years, which, methinks, should have encouraged
some one to have revived it, if not for the publick Good, yet for his
own Credit. It may be objected, that our loud Talkers are so fond of
their own Noise, that they would not take it well to be check'd by
their Servants: But granting this to be true, surely any of their
Hearers have a very good Title to play a soft Note in their own
Defence. To be short, no _Licinius_ appearing and the Noise
increasing, I was resolved to give this late long Vacation to the Good
of my Country; and I have at length, by the Assistance of an ingenious
Artist, (who works to the Royal Society) almost compleated my Design,
and shall be ready in a short Time to furnish the Publick with what
Number of these Instruments they please, either to lodge at
Coffee-houses, or carry for their own private Use. In the mean time I
shall pay that Respect to several Gentlemen, who I know will be in
Danger of offending against this Instrument, to give them notice of it
by private Letters, in which I shall only write, _Get a_ Licinius.

I should now trouble you no longer, but that I must not conclude
without desiring you to accept one of these Pipes, which shall be left
for you with _Buckley_; and which I hope will be serviceable to you,
since as you are silent yourself you are most open to the Insults of
the Noisy.

_I am, SIR_, &c.

W.B.

I had almost forgot to inform you, that as an Improvement in this
Instrument, there will be a particular Note, which I call a Hush-Note;
and this is to be made use of against a long Story, Swearing,
Obsceneness, and the like.

* * * * *

No. 229. Thursday, Nov. 22, 1711. Addison.

--Spirat adhuc amor,
Vivuntque commissi calores
Æoliæ fidibus puellæ.

Hor.

Among the many famous Pieces of Antiquity which are still to be seen at _Rome_, there is the Trunk of a Statue [1] which has lost the Arms, Legs, and Head; but discovers such an exquisite Workmanship in what remains of it, that _Michael Angelo_ declared he had learned his whole Art from it. Indeed he studied it so attentively, that he made most of his Statues, and even his Pictures in that _Gusto_, to make use of the _Italian_ Phrase; for which Reason this maimed Statue is still called _Michael Angelo's_ School.

A Fragment of _Sappho_, which I design for the Subject of this Paper, [2] is in as great Reputation among the Poets and Criticks, as the mutilated Figure above-mentioned is among the Statuaries and Painters. Several of our Countrymen, and Mr. _Dryden_ in particular, seem very often to have copied after it in their Dramatick Writings; and in their Poems upon Love.

Whatever might have been the Occasion of this Ode, the English Reader will enter into the Beauties of it, if he supposes it to have been written in the Person of a Lover sitting by his Mistress. I shall set to View three different Copies of this beautiful Original: The first is a Translation by _Catullus_, the second by Monsieur _Boileau_, and the last by a Gentleman whose Translation of the _Hymn to Venus_ has been so deservedly admired.

Ad LESBIAM.

_Ille mî par esse deo videtur,
Ille, si fas est, superare divos,
Qui sedens adversus identidem te,
Spectat, et audit.

Dulce ridentem, misero quod omnis
Eripit sensus mihi: nam simul te,
Lesbia, adspexi, nihil est super mî_
Quod loquar amens.

_Lingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artus
Flamnia dimanat, sonitu suopte
Tinniunt aures, gemina teguntur
Lumina nocte_.

My learned Reader will know very well the Reason why one of these Verses is printed in _Roman_ Letter; [3] and if he compares this Translation with the Original, will find that the three first Stanzas are rendred almost Word for Word, and not only with the same Elegance, but with the same short Turn of Expression which is so remarkable in the _Greek_, and so peculiar to the _Sapphick_ Ode. I cannot imagine for what Reason Madam _Dacier_ has told us, that this Ode of _Sappho_ is preserved entire in _Longinus_, since it is manifest to any one who looks into that Authors Quotation of it, that there must at least have been another Stanza, which is not transmitted to us.

The second Translation of this Fragment which I shall here cite, is that of Monsieur _Boileau_.

Heureux! qui prés de toi, pour toi seule soûpire:
Qui jouït du plaisir de tentendre parler:
Qui te voit quelquefois doucement lui soûrire.
Les Dieux, dans son bonheur, peuvent-ils légaler?

Je sens de veine en veine une subtile flamme
Courir par tout mon corps, si-tost que je te vois:
Et dans les doux transports, où segare mon ame,
Je ne sçaurois trouver de langue, ni de voix.

Un nuage confus se répand sùr ma vuë,
Je nentens plus, je tombe en de douces langueurs;
Et pâle, sans haleine, interdite, esperduë,
Un frisson me saisit, je tremble, je me meurs.

The Reader will see that this is rather an Imitation than a Translation. The Circumstances do not lie so thick together, and follow one another with that Vehemence and Emotion as in the Original. In short, Monsieur _Boileau_ has given us all the Poetry, but not all the Passion of this famous Fragment. I shall, in the last Place, present my Reader with the _English_ Translation.

I. Blest as th'immortal Gods is he,
The Youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while
Softly speak and sweetly smile.

II. Twas this deprived my Soul of Rest,
And raised such Tumults in my Breast;
For while I gaz'd, in Transport tost,
My Breath was gone, my Voice was lost:

III. My Bosom glowed; the subtle Flame
Ran quick through all my vital Frame;
O'er my dim Eyes a Darkness hung;
My Ears with hollow Murmurs rung.

IV. In dewy Damps my Limbs were child;
My Blood with gentle Horrors thrill'd;
My feeble Pulse forgot to play;
I fainted, sunk, and dy'd away.

Instead of giving any Character of this last Translation, I shall desire my learned Reader to look into the Criticisms which _Longinus_ has made upon the Original. By that means he will know to which of the Translations he ought to give the Preference. I shall only add, that this Translation is written in the very Spirit of _Sappho_, and as near the _Greek_ as the Genius of our Language will possibly suffer.

_Longinus_ has observed, that this Description of Love in _Sappho_ is an exact Copy of Nature, and that all the Circumstances which follow one another in such an Hurry of Sentiments, notwithstanding they appear repugnant to each other, are really such as happen in the Phrenzies of Love.

I wonder, that not one of the Criticks or Editors, through whose Hands this Ode has passed, has taken Occasion from it to mention a Circumstance related by _Plutarch_. That Author in the famous Story of _Antiochus_, who fell in Love with _Stratonice_, his Mother-in-law, and (not daring to discover his Passion) pretended to be confined to his Bed by Sickness, tells us, that _Erasistratus_, the Physician, found out the Nature of his Distemper by those Symptoms of Love which he had learnt from _Sappho's_ Writings. [4] _Stratonice_ was in the Room of the Love-sick Prince, when these Symptoms discovered themselves to his Physician; and it is probable, that they were not very different from those which _Sappho_ here describes in a Lover sitting by his Mistress. This Story of _Antiochus_ is so well known, that I need not add the Sequel of it, which has no Relation to my present Subject.

C.

[Footnote 1: The Belvidere Torso.]

[Footnote 2: The other translation by Ambrose Philips. See note to No. 223.]

[Footnote 3: Wanting in copies then known, it is here supplied by conjecture.]

[Footnote 4: In Plutarch's Life of Demetrius.

When others entered Antiochus was entirely unaffected. But when
Stratonice came in, as she often did, he shewed all the symptoms
described by Sappho, the faltering voice, the burning blush, the
languid eye, the sudden sweat, the tumultuous pulse; and at length,
the passion overcoming his spirits, a swoon and mortal paleness.]

* * * * *

No. 230. Friday, Nov. 23, 1711. Steele.

Homines ad Deos nullâ re propiùs accedunt, quam salutem Hominibus
dando.

Tull.

Human Nature appears a very deformed, or a very beautiful Object, according to the different Lights in which it is viewed. When we see Men of inflamed Passions, or of wicked Designs, tearing one another to pieces by open Violence, or undermining each other by secret Treachery; when we observe base and narrow Ends pursued by ignominious and dishonest Means; when we behold Men mixed in Society as if it were for the Destruction of it; we are even ashamed of our Species, and out of Humour with our own Being: But in another Light, when we behold them mild, good, and benevolent, full of a generous Regard for the publick Prosperity, compassionating [each [1]] others Distresses, and relieving each others Wants, we can hardly believe they are Creatures of the same Kind. In this View they appear Gods to each other, in the Exercise of the noblest Power, that of doing Good; and the greatest Compliment we have ever been able to make to our own Being, has been by calling this Disposition of Mind Humanity. We cannot but observe a Pleasure arising in our own Breast upon the seeing or hearing of a generous Action, even when we are wholly disinterested in it. I cannot give a more proper Instance of this, than by a Letter from _Pliny_, in which he recommends a Friend in the most handsome manner, and, methinks, it would be a great Pleasure to know the Success of this Epistle, though each Party concerned in it has been so many hundred Years in his Grave.

_To MAXIMUS._

What I should gladly do for any Friend of yours, I think I may now
with Confidence request for a Friend of mine. _Arrianus Maturius_ is
the most considerable Man of his Country; when I call him so, I do not
speak with Relation to his Fortune, though that is very plentiful, but
to his Integrity, Justice, Gravity, and Prudence; his Advice is useful
to me in Business, and his Judgment in Matters of Learning: His
Fidelity, Truth, and good Understanding, are very great; besides this,
he loves me as you do, than which I cannot say any thing that
signifies a warmer Affection. He has nothing that's aspiring; and
though he might rise to the highest Order of Nobility, he keeps
himself in an inferior Rank; yet I think my self bound to use my
Endeavours to serve and promote him; and would therefore find the
Means of adding something to his Honours while he neither expects nor
knows it, nay, though he should refuse it. Something, in short, I
would have for him that may be honourable, but not troublesome; and I
entreat that you will procure him the first thing of this kind that
offers, by which you will not only oblige me, but him also; for though
he does not covet it, I know he will be as grateful in acknowledging
your Favour as if he had asked it. [2]

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

The Reflections in some of your Papers on the servile manner of
Education now in Use, have given Birth to an Ambition, which, unless
you discountenance it, will, I doubt, engage me in a very difficult,
tho not ungrateful Adventure. I am about to undertake, for the sake of
the _British_ Youth, to instruct them in such a manner, that the most
dangerous Page in _Virgil_ or _Homer_ may be read by them with much
Pleasure, and with perfect Safety to their Persons.

Could I prevail so far as to be honoured with the Protection of some
few of them, (for I am not Hero enough to rescue many) my Design is to
retire with them to an agreeable Solitude; though within the
Neighbourhood of a City, for the Convenience of their being instructed
in Musick, Dancing, Drawing, Designing, or any other such
Accomplishments, which it is conceived may make as proper Diversions
for them, and almost as pleasant, as the little sordid Games which
dirty School-boys are so much delighted with. It may easily be
imagined, how such a pretty Society, conversing with none beneath
themselves, and sometimes admitted as perhaps not unentertaining
Parties amongst better Company, commended and caressed for their
little Performances, and turned by such Conversations to a certain
Gallantry of Soul, might be brought early acquainted with some of the
most polite _English_ Writers. This having given them some tolerable
Taste of Books, they would make themselves Masters of the _Latin_
Tongue by Methods far easier than those in _Lilly_, with as little
Difficulty or Reluctance as young Ladies learn to speak _French_, or
to sing _Italian_ Operas. When they had advanced thus far, it would be
time to form their Taste something more exactly: One that had any true
Relish of fine Writing, might, with great Pleasure both to himself and
them, run over together with them the best _Roman_ Historians, Poets,
and Orators, and point out their more remarkable Beauties; give them a
short Scheme of Chronology, a little View of Geography, Medals,
Astronomy, or what else might best feed the busy inquisitive Humour so
natural to that Age. Such of them as had the least Spark of Genius,
when it was once awakened by the shining Thoughts and great Sentiments
of those admired Writers, could not, I believe, be easily withheld
from attempting that more difficult Sister Language, whose exalted
Beauties they would have heard so often celebrated as the Pride and
Wonder of the whole Learned World. In the mean while, it would be
requisite to exercise their Style in Writing any light Pieces that ask
more of Fancy than of Judgment: and that frequently in their Native
Language, which every one methinks should be most concerned to
cultivate, especially Letters, in which a Gentleman must have so
frequent Occasions to distinguish himself. A Set of genteel
good-natured Youths fallen into such a Manner of Life, would form
almost a little Academy, and doubtless prove no such contemptible
Companions, as might not often tempt a wiser Man to mingle himself in
their Diversions, and draw them into such serious Sports as might
prove nothing less instructing than the gravest Lessons. I doubt not
but it might be made some of their Favourite Plays, to contend which
of them should recite a beautiful Part of a Poem or Oration most
gracefully, or sometimes to join in acting a Scene of _Terence,
Sophocles,_ or our own _Shakespear_. The Cause of _Milo_ might again
be pleaded before more favourable Judges, _Caesar_ a second time be
taught to tremble, and another Race of _Athenians_ be afresh enraged
at the Ambition of another _Philip_. Amidst these noble Amusements, we
could hope to see the early Dawnings of their Imagination daily
brighten into Sense, their Innocence improve into Virtue, and their
unexperienced Good-nature directed to a generous Love of their
Country.

_I am_, &c.

T.

[Footnote 1: of each]

[Footnote 2: Pliny, Jun, Epist. Bk. II. Ep. 2. Thus far the paper is by John Hughes.]

* * * * *

No. 231. Saturday, November 24, 1711. Addison.

O Pudor! O Pietas!

Mart.

Looking over the Letters which I have lately received from from my Correspondents, I met with the following one, which is written with such a Spirit of Politeness, that I could not but be very much pleased with it my self, and question not but it will be as acceptable to the Reader.

Mr. Spectator, [1]

You, who are no Stranger to Publick Assemblies, cannot but have
observed the Awe they often strike on such as are obliged to exert any
Talent before them. This is a sort of elegant Distress, to which
ingenuous Minds are the most liable, and may therefore deserve some
remarks in your Paper. Many a brave Fellow, who has put his Enemy to
Flight in the Field, has been in the utmost Disorder upon making a
Speech before a Body of his Friends at home: One would think there was
some kind of Fascination in the Eyes of a large Circle of People, when
darting altogether upon one Person. I have seen a new Actor in a
Tragedy so bound up by it as to be scarce able to speak or move, and
have expected he would have died above three Acts before the Dagger or
Cup of Poison were brought in. It would not be amiss, if such an one
were at first introduced as a Ghost or a Statue, till he recovered his
Spirits, and grew fit for some living Part.

As this sudden Desertion of ones self shews a Diffidence, which is
not displeasing, it implies at the same time the greatest Respect to
an Audience that can be. It is a sort of mute Eloquence, which pleads
for their Favour much better than Words could do; and we find their
Generosity naturally moved to support those who are in so much
Perplexity to entertain them. I was extremely pleased with a late
Instance of this Kind at the Opera of _Almahide_, in the Encouragement
given to a young Singer, [2] whose more than ordinary Concern on her
first Appearance, recommended her no less than her agreeable Voice,
and just Performance. Meer Bashfulness without Merit is awkward; and
Merit without Modesty, insolent. But modest Merit has a double Claim
to Acceptance, and generally meets with as many Patrons as Beholders.
_I am_, &c.

It is impossible that a Person should exert himself to Advantage in an Assembly, whether it be his Part either to sing or speak, who lies under too great Oppressions of Modesty. I remember, upon talking with a Friend of mine concerning the Force of Pronunciation, our Discourse led us into the Enumeration of the several Organs of Speech which an Orator ought to have in Perfection, as the Tongue, the Teeth [the Lips,] the Nose, the Palate, and the Wind-pipe. Upon which, says my Friend, you have omitted the most material Organ of them all, and that is the Forehead.

But notwithstanding an Excess of Modesty obstructs the Tongue, and renders it unfit for its Offices, a due Proportion of it is thought so requisite to an Orator, that Rhetoricians have recommended it to their Disciples as a Particular in their Art. _Cicero_ tells us that he never liked an Orator who did not appear in some little Confusion at the Beginning of his Speech, and confesses that he himself never entered upon an Oration without Trembling and Concern. It is indeed a kind of Deference which is due to a great Assembly, and seldom fails to raise a Benevolence in the Audience towards the Person who speaks. My Correspondent has taken notice that the bravest Men often appear timorous on these Occasions, as indeed we may observe, that there is generally no Creature more impudent than a Coward.

--_Linguá melior, sedfrigida bello
Dextera_--

A bold Tongue and a feeble Arm are the Qualifications of _Drances_ in _Virgil_; as _Homer_, to express a Man both timorous and sawcy, makes use of a kind of Point, which is very rarely to be met with in his Writings; namely, that he had the Eyes of a Dog, but the Heart of a Deer. [3]

A just and reasonable Modesty does not only recommend Eloquence, but sets off every great Talent which a Man can be possessed of. It heightens all the Virtues which it accompanies like the Shades in Paintings, it raises and rounds every Figure, and makes the Colours more beautiful, though not so glaring as they would be without it.

Modesty is not only an Ornament, but also a Guard to Virtue. It is a kind of quick and delicate _Feeling_ in the Soul, which makes her shrink and withdraw her self from every thing that has Danger in it. It is such an exquisite Sensibility, as warns her to shun the first Appearance of every thing which is hurtful.

I cannot at present recollect either the Place or Time of what I am going to mention; but I have read somewhere in the History of Ancient _Greece_, that the Women of the Country were seized with an unaccountable Melancholy, which disposed several of them to make away with themselves. The Senate, after having tried many Expedients to prevent this Self-Murder, which was so frequent among them, published an Edict, That if any Woman whatever should lay violent Hands upon her self, her Corps should be exposed naked in the Street, and dragged about the City in the most publick Manner. This Edict immediately put a Stop to the Practice which was before so common. We may see in this Instance the Strength of Female Modesty, which was able to overcome the Violence even of Madness and Despair. The Fear of Shame in the Fair Sex, was in those Days more prevalent than that of Death.

If Modesty has so great an Influence over our Actions, and is in many Cases so impregnable a Fence to Virtue; what can more undermine Morality than that Politeness which reigns among the unthinking Part of Mankind, and treats as unfashionable the most ingenuous Part of our Behaviour; which recommends Impudence as good Breeding, and keeps a Man always in Countenance, not because he is Innocent, but because he is Shameless?

_Seneca_ thought Modesty so great a Check to Vice, that he prescribes to us the Practice of it in Secret, and advises us to raise it in ourselves upon imaginary Occasions, when such as are real do not offer themselves; for this is the Meaning of his Precept, that when we are by ourselves, and in our greatest Solitudes, we should fancy that _Cato_ stands before us, and sees every thing we do. In short, if you banish Modesty out of the World, she carries away with her half the Virtue that is in it.

After these Reflections on Modesty, as it is a Virtue; I must observe, that there is a vicious Modesty, which justly deserves to be ridiculed, and which those Persons very often discover, who value themselves most upon a well-bred Confidence. This happens when a Man is ashamed to act up to his Reason, and would not upon any Consideration be surprized in the Practice of those Duties, for the Performance of which he was sent into the World. Many an impudent Libertine would blush to be caught in a serious Discourse, and would scarce be able to show his Head, after having disclosed a religious Thought. Decency of Behaviour, all outward Show of Virtue, and Abhorrence of Vice, are carefully avoided by this Set of Shame-faced People, as what would disparage their Gayety of Temper, and infallibly bring them to Dishonour. This is such a Poorness of Spirit, such a despicable Cowardice, such a degenerate abject State of Mind, as one would think Human Nature incapable of, did we not meet with frequent Instances of it in ordinary Conversation.