Chapter LX: Introduction (60)

It is very natural to take for our whole Lives a light Impression of a thing which at first fell into Contempt with us for want of Consideration. The real Use of a certain Qualification (which the wiser Part of Mankind look upon as at best an indifferent thing, and generally a frivolous Circumstance) shews the ill Consequence of such Prepossessions. What I mean, is the Art, Skill, Accomplishment, or whatever you will call it, of Dancing. I knew a Gentleman of great Abilities, who bewail'd the Want of this Part of his Education to the End of a very honourable Life. He observ'd that there was not occasion for the common Use of great Talents; that they are but seldom in Demand; and that these very great Talents were often render'd useless to a Man for want of small Attainments. A good Mein (a becoming Motion, Gesture and Aspect) is natural to some Men; but even these would be highly more graceful in their Carriage, if what they do from the Force of Nature were confirm'd and heightned from the Force of Reason. To one who has not at all considered it, to mention the Force of Reason on such a Subject, will appear fantastical; but when you have a little attended to it, an Assembly of Men will have quite another View: and they will tell you, it is evident from plain and infallible Rules, why this Man with those beautiful Features, and well fashion'd Person, is not so agreeable as he who sits by him without any of those Advantages. When we read, we do it without any exerted Act of Memory that presents the Shape of the Letters; but Habit makes us do it mechanically, without staying, like Children, to recollect and join those Letters. A Man who has not had the Regard of his Gesture in any part of his Education, will find himself unable to act with Freedom before new Company, as a Child that is but now learning would be to read without Hesitation. It is for the Advancement of the Pleasure we receive in being agreeable to each other in ordinary Life, that one would wish Dancing were generally understood as conducive as it really is to a proper Deportment in Matters that appear the most remote from it. A Man of Learning and Sense is distinguished from others as he is such, tho he never runs upon Points too difficult for the rest of the World; in like Manner the reaching out of the Arm, and the most ordinary Motion, discovers whether a Man ever learnt to know what is the true Harmony and Composure of his Limbs and Countenance. Whoever has seen Booth in the Character of Pyrrhus, march to his Throne to receive Orestes, is convinced that majestick and great Conceptions are expressed in the very Step; but perhaps, tho no other Man could perform that Incident as well as he does, he himself would do it with a yet greater Elevation were he a Dancer. This is so dangerous a Subject to treat with Gravity, that I shall not at present enter into it any further; but the Author of the following Letter [1] has treated it in the Essay he speaks of in such a Manner, that I am beholden to him for a Resolution, that I will never hereafter think meanly of any thing, till I have heard what they who have another Opinion of it have to say in its Defence.

Mr. SPECTATOR,
Since there are scarce any of the Arts or Sciences that have not been
recommended to the World by the Pens of some of the Professors,
Masters, or Lovers of them, whereby the Usefulness, Excellence, and
Benefit arising from them, both as to the Speculative and practical
Part, have been made publick, to the great Advantage and Improvement
of such Arts and Sciences; why should Dancing, an Art celebrated by
the Ancients in so extraordinary a Manner, be totally neglected by the
Moderns, and left destitute of any Pen to recommend its various
Excellencies and substantial Merit to Mankind?

The low Ebb to which Dancing is now fallen, is altogether owing to
this Silence. The Art is esteem'd only as an amusing Trifle; it lies
altogether uncultivated, and is unhappily fallen under the Imputation
of Illiterate and Mechanick: And as Terence in one of his Prologues,
complains of the Rope-dancers drawing all the Spectators from his
Play, so may we well say, that Capering and Tumbling is now preferred
to, and supplies the Place of just and regular Dancing on our
Theatres. It is therefore, in my opinion, high time that some one
should come in to its Assistance, and relieve it from the many gross
and growing Errors that have crept into it, and over-cast its real
Beauties; and to set Dancing in its true light, would shew the
Usefulness and Elegancy of it, with the Pleasure and Instruction
produc'd from it; and also lay down some fundamental Rules, that might
so tend to the Improvement of its Professors, and Information of the
Spectators, that the first might be the better enabled to perform, and
the latter render'd more capable of judging, what is (if there be any
thing) valuable in this Art.

To encourage therefore some ingenious Pen capable of so generous an
Undertaking, and in some measure to relieve Dancing from the
Disadvantages it at present lies under, I, who teach to dance, have
attempted a small Treatise as an Essay towards an History of Dancing;
in which I have enquired into its Antiquity, Original, and Use, and
shewn what Esteem the Ancients had for it: I have likewise considered
the Nature and Perfection of all its several Parts, and how beneficial
and delightful it is, both as a Qualification and an Exercise; and
endeavoured to answer all Objections that have been maliciously rais'd
against it. I have proceeded to give an Account of the particular
Dances of the Greeks and Romans, whether religious, warlike, or civil;
and taken particular notice of that Part of Dancing relating to the
ancient Stage, and in which the Pantomimes had so great a share: Nor
have I been wanting in giving an historical Account of some particular
Masters excellent in that surprising Art. After which, I have advanced
some Observations on the modern Dancing, both as to the Stage, and
that Part of it so absolutely necessary for the Qualification of
Gentlemen and Ladies; and have concluded with some short Remarks on
the Origin and Progress of the Character by which Dances are writ
down, and communicated to one Master from another. If some great
Genius after this would arise, and advance this Art to that Perfection
it seems capable of receiving, what might not be expected from it? For
if we consider the Origin of Arts and Sciences, we shall find that
some of them took rise from Beginnings so mean and unpromising, that
it is very wonderful to think that ever such surprizing Structures
should have been raised upon such ordinary Foundations. But what
cannot a great Genius effect? Who would have thought that the
clangorous Noise of a Smiths Hammers should have given the first rise
to Musick? Yet Macrobius in his second Book relates, that Pythagoras,
in passing by a Smiths Shop, found that the Sounds proceeding from
the Hammers were either more grave or acute, according to the
different Weights of the Hammers. The Philosopher, to improve this
Hint, suspends different Weights by Strings of the same Bigness, and
found in like manner that the Sounds answered to the Weights. This
being discover'd, he finds out those Numbers which produc'd Sounds
that were Consonants: As, that two Strings of the same Substance and
Tension, the one being double the Length, of the other, give that
Interval which is called Diapason, or an Eighth; the same was also
effected from two Strings of the same Length and Size, the one having
four times the Tension of the other. By these Steps, from so mean a
Beginning, did this great Man reduce, what was only before Noise, to
one of the most delightful Sciences, by marrying it to the
Mathematicks; and by that means caused it to be one of the most
abstract and demonstrative of Sciences. Who knows therefore but
Motion, whether Decorous or Representative, may not (as it seems
highly probable it may) be taken into consideration by some Person
capable of reducing it into a regular Science, tho not so
demonstrative as that proceeding from Sounds, yet sufficient to
entitle it to a Place among the magnify'd Arts.

Now, Mr. SPECTATOR, as you have declared your self Visitor of
Dancing-Schools, and this being an Undertaking which more immediately
respects them, I think my self indispensably obliged, before I proceed
to the Publication of this my Essay, to ask your Advice, and hold it
absolutely necessary to have your Approbation; and in order to
recommend my Treatise to the Perusal of the Parents of such as learn
to dance, as well as to the young Ladies, to whom, as Visitor, you
ought to be Guardian.

I am, SIR,

Your most humble Servant.

Salop, March 19, 1711-12.

T.

[Footnote 1: John Weaver.]

* * * * *

No. 335. Tuesday, March 25, 1712. Addison.

Respicere exemplar vitæ morumque jubebo
Doctum imitatorem, et veras hinc ducere voces.

Hor.

My Friend Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY, when we last met together at the Club, told me, that he had a great mind to see the new Tragedy [1] with me, assuring me at the same time, that he had not been at a Play these twenty Years. The last I saw, said Sir ROGER, was the Committee, which I should not have gone to neither, had not I been told before-hand that it was a good Church-of-England Comedy. [2] He then proceeded to enquire of me who this Distrest Mother was; and upon hearing that she was Hectors Widow, he told me that her Husband was a brave Man, and that when he was a Schoolboy he had read his Life at the end of the Dictionary. My Friend asked me, in the next place, if there would not be some danger in coming home late, in case the Mohocks should be Abroad. I assure you, says he, I thought I had fallen into their Hands last Night; for I observed two or three lusty black Men that follow'd me half way up Fleet-street, and mended their pace behind me, in proportion as I put on to get away from them. You must know, continu'd the Knight with a Smile, I fancied they had a mind to hunt me; for I remember an honest Gentleman in my Neighbourhood, who was served such a trick in King Charles the Seconds time; for which reason he has not ventured himself in Town ever since. I might have shown them very good Sport, had this been their Design; for as I am an old Fox-hunter, I should have turned and dodg'd, and have play'd them a thousand tricks they had never seen in their Lives before. Sir ROGER added, that if these Gentlemen had any such Intention, they did not succeed very well in it: for I threw them out, says he, at the End of Norfolk street, where I doubled the Corner, and got shelter in my Lodgings before they could imagine what was become of me. However, says the Knight, if Captain SENTRY will make one with us to-morrow night, and if you will both of you call upon me about four a-Clock, that we may be at the House before it is full, I will have my own Coach in readiness to attend you, for John tells me he has got the Fore-Wheels mended.

The Captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the appointed Hour, bid Sir ROGER fear nothing, for that he had put on the same Sword which he made use of at the Battel of Steenkirk. Sir ROGERS Servants, and among the rest my old Friend the Butler, had, I found, provided themselves with good Oaken Plants, to attend their Master upon this occasion. When he had placed him in his Coach, with my self at his Left-Hand, the Captain before him, and his Butler at the Head of his Footmen in the Rear, we convoy'd him in safety to the Play-house, where, after having marched up the Entry in good order, the Captain and I went in with him, and seated him betwixt us in the Pit. As soon as the House was full, and the Candles lighted, my old Friend stood up and looked about him with that Pleasure, which a Mind seasoned with Humanity naturally feels in its self, at the sight of a Multitude of People who seem pleased with one another, and partake of the same common Entertainment. I could not but fancy to myself, as the old Man stood up in the middle of the Pit, that he made a very proper Center to a Tragick Audience. Upon the entring of Pyrrhus, the Knight told me, that he did not believe the King of France himself had a better Strut. I was indeed very attentive to my old Friends Remarks, because I looked upon them as a Piece of natural Criticism, and was well pleased to hear him at the Conclusion of almost every Scene, telling me that he could not imagine how the Play would end. One while he appeared much concerned for Andromache; and a little while after as much for Hermione: and was extremely puzzled to think what would become of Pyrrhus.

When Sir ROGER saw Andromache's obstinate Refusal to her Lovers Importunities, he whisper'd me in the Ear, that he was sure she would never have him; to which he added, with a more than ordinary Vehemence, you cant imagine, Sir, what tis to have to do with a Widow. Upon Pyrrhus his threatning afterwards to leave her, the Knight shook his Head, and muttered to himself, Ay, do if you can. This Part dwelt so much upon my Friends Imagination, that at the close of the Third Act, as I was thinking of something else, he whispered in my Ear, These Widows, Sir, are the most perverse Creatures in the World. But pray, says he, you that are a Critick, is this Play according to your Dramatick Rules, as you call them? Should your People in Tragedy always talk to be understood? Why, there is not a single Sentence in this Play that I do not know the Meaning of.

The Fourth Act very luckily begun before I had time to give the old Gentleman an Answer: Well, says the Knight, sitting down with great Satisfaction, I suppose we are now to see Hectors Ghost. He then renewed his Attention, and, from time to time, fell a praising the Widow. He made, indeed, a little Mistake as to one of her Pages, whom at his first entering, he took for Astyanax; but he quickly set himself right in that Particular, though, at the same time, he owned he should have been very glad to have seen the little Boy, who, says he, must needs be a very fine Child by the Account that is given of him. Upon Hermione's going off with a Menace to Pyrrhus, the Audience gave a loud Clap; to which Sir ROGER added, On my Word, a notable young Baggage!

As there was a very remarkable Silence and Stillness in the Audience during the whole Action, it was natural for them to take the Opportunity of these Intervals between the Acts, to express their Opinion of the Players, and of their respective Parts. Sir ROGER hearing a Cluster of them praise Orestes, struck in with them, and told them, that he thought his Friend Pylades was a very sensible Man; as they were afterwards applauding Pyrrhus, Sir ROGER put in a second time; And let me tell you, says he, though he speaks but little, I like the old Fellow in Whiskers as well as any of them. Captain SENTRY seeing two or three Waggs who sat near us, lean with an attentive Ear towards Sir ROGER, and fearing lest they should Smoke the Knight, pluck'd him by the Elbow, and whisper'd something in his Ear. that lasted till the Opening of the Fifth Act. The Knight was wonderfully attentive to the Account which Orestes gives of Pyrrhus his Death, and at the Conclusion of it, told me it was such a bloody Piece of Work, that he was glad it was not done upon the Stage. Seeing afterwards Orestes in his raving Fit, he grew more than ordinary serious, and took occasion to moralize (in his way) upon an Evil Conscience, adding, that Orestes, in his Madness, looked as if he saw something.

As we were the first that came into the House, so we were the last that went out of it; being resolved to have a clear Passage for our old Friend, whom we did not care to venture among the justling of the Crowd. Sir ROGER went out fully satisfied with his Entertainment, and we guarded him to his Lodgings in the same manner that we brought him to the Playhouse; being highly pleased, for my own part, not only with the Performance of the excellent Piece which had been presented, but with the Satisfaction which it had given to the good old Man.

L.

[Footnote 1: This is a fourth puff (see Nos. 223, 229, 290) of Addison's friend Ambrose Philips. The art of packing a house to secure applause was also practised on the first night of the acting of this version of Andromaque.]

[Footnote 2: The Committee, or the Faithful Irishman, was written by Sir Robert Howard soon after the Restoration, with for its heroes two Cavalier colonels, whose estates are sequestered, and their man Teg (Teague), an honest blundering Irishman. The Cavaliers defy the Roundhead Committee, and the day may come says one of them, when those that suffer for their consciences and honour may be rewarded. Nobody who heard this from the stage in the days of Charles II. could feel that the day had come. Its comic Irishman kept the Committee on the stage, and in Queen Anne's time the thorough Tory still relished the stage caricature of the maintainers of the Commonwealth in Mr. Day with his greed, hypocrisy, and private incontinence; his wife, who had been cookmaid to a gentleman, but takes all the State matters on herself; and their empty son Abel, who knows Parliament-men and Sequestrators, and whose profound contemplations are caused by the constervation of his spirits for the nations good.]

* * * * *

No. 336. Wednesday, March 26, 1712. Steele.

--Clament periisse pudorem
Cuncti penè patres, ea cum reprehendere coner,
Quæ gravis Æsopus, quæ doctus Roscius egit:
Vel quia nil rectum, nisi quod placuit sibi, ducunt;
Vel quia turpe putant parere minoribus, et, quæ
Imberbes didicere, senes perdenda fateri.

Hor.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

As you are the daily Endeavourer to promote Learning and good Sense,
I think myself obliged to suggest to your Consideration whatever may
promote or prejudice them.. There is an Evil which has prevailed from
Generation to Generation, which grey Hairs and tyrannical Custom
continue to support; I hope your Spectatorial Authority will give a
seasonable Check to the Spread of the Infection; I mean old Mens
overbearing the strongest Sense of their Juniors by the mere Force of
Seniority; so that for a young Man in the Bloom of Life and Vigour of
Age to give a reasonable Contradiction to his Elders, is esteemed an
unpardonable Insolence, and regarded as a reversing the Decrees of
Nature. I am a young Man, I confess, yet I honour the grey Head as
much as any one; however, when in Company with old Men, I hear them
speak obscurely, or reason preposterously (into which Absurdities,
Prejudice, Pride, or Interest, will sometimes throw the wisest) I
count it no Crime to rectifie their Reasoning, unless Conscience must
truckle to Ceremony, and Truth fall a Sacrifice to Complaisance. The
strongest Arguments are enervated, and the brightest Evidence
disappears, before those tremendous Reasonings and dazling Discoveries
of venerable old Age: You are young giddy-headed Fellows, you have not
yet had Experience of the World. Thus we young Folks find our Ambition
cramp'd, and our Laziness indulged, since, while young, we have little
room to display our selves; and, when old, the Weakness of Nature must
pass for Strength of Sense, and we hope that hoary Heads will raise us
above the Attacks of Contradiction. Now, Sir, as you would enliven our
Activity in the pursuit of Learning, take our Case into Consideration;
and, with a Gloss on brave Elihus Sentiments, assert the Rights of
Youth, and prevent the pernicious Incroachments of Age. The generous
Reasonings of that gallant Youth would adorn your Paper; and I beg you
would insert them, not doubting but that they will give good
Entertainment to the most intelligent of your Readers.

So these three Men ceased to answer Job, because he was righteous
in his own Eyes. Then was kindled the Wrath of Elihu the Son of
Barachel the Buzite, of the Kindred of Ram: Against Job was his
Wrath kindled, because he justified himself rather than God. Also
against his three Friends was his Wrath kindled, because they had
found no Answer, and yet had condemned Job. Now Elihu had waited
till Job had spoken, because they were elder than he. When Elihu saw
there was no Answer in the Mouth of these three Men, then his Wrath
was kindled. And Elihu the Son of Barachel the Buzite answered and
said, I am young, and ye are very old, wherefore I was afraid, and
durst not shew you mine Opinion. I said, Days should speak, and
Multitude of Years should teach Wisdom. But there is a Spirit in
Man; and the Inspiration of the Almighty giveth them Understanding.
Great Men are not always wise: Neither do the Aged understand
Judgment. Therefore I said, hearken to me, I also will shew mine
Opinion. Behold, I waited for your Words; I gave ear to your
Reasons, whilst you searched out what to say. Yea, I attended unto
you: And behold there was none of you that convinced Job, or that
answered his Words; lest ye should say, we have found out Wisdom:
God thrusteth him down, not Man. Now he hath not directed his Words
against me: Neither will I answer him with your Speeches. They were
amazed, they answered no more: They left off speaking. When I had
waited (for they spake not, but stood still and answered no more) I
said, I will answer also my Part, I also will shew mine Opinion. For
I am full of Matter, the Spirit within me constraineth me. Behold my
Belly is as Wine which hath no vent, it is ready to burst like new
Bottles. I will speak that I may be refreshed: I will open my Lips,
and answer. Let me not, I pray you, accept any Man's Person, neither
let me give flattering Titles unto Man. For I know not to give
flattering Titles; in so doing my Maker would soon take me away. [1]

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I have formerly read with great Satisfaction your Papers about Idols,
and the Behaviour of Gentlemen in those Coffee-houses where Women
officiate, and impatiently waited to see you take India and China
Shops into Consideration: But since you have pass'd us over in
silence, either that you have not as yet thought us worth your Notice,
or that the Grievances we lie under have escaped your discerning Eye,
I must make my Complaints to you, and am encouraged to do it because
you seem a little at leisure at this present Writing. I am, dear Sir,
one of the top China-Women about Town; and though I say it, keep as
good Things, and receive as fine Company as any o this End of the
Town, let the other be who she will: In short, I am in a fair Way to
be easy, were it not for a Club of Female Rakes, who under pretence of
taking their innocent Rambles, forsooth, and diverting the Spleen,
seldom fail to plague me twice or thrice a-day to cheapen Tea, or buy
a Skreen; What else should they mean? as they often repeat it. These
Rakes are your idle Ladies of Fashion, who having nothing to do,
employ themselves in tumbling over my Ware. One of these No-Customers
(for by the way they seldom or never buy any thing) calls for a Set of
Tea-Dishes, another for a Bason, a third for my best Green-Tea, and
even to the Punch Bowl, there's scarce a piece in my Shop but must be
displaced, and the whole agreeable Architecture disordered; so that I
can compare em to nothing but to the Night-Goblins that take a
Pleasure to over-turn the Disposition of Plates and Dishes in the
Kitchens of your housewifely Maids. Well, after all this Racket and
Clutter, this is too dear, that is their Aversion; another thing is
charming, but not wanted: The Ladies are cured of the Spleen, but I am
not a Shilling the better for it. Lord! what signifies one poor Pot of
Tea, considering the Trouble they put me to? Vapours, Mr. SPECTATOR,
are terrible Things; for though I am not possess'd by them my self, I
suffer more from em than if I were. Now I must beg you to admonish
all such Day-Goblins to make fewer Visits, or to be less troublesome
when they come to ones Shop; and to convince em, that we honest
Shop-keepers have something better to do, than to cure Folks of the
Vapours gratis. A young Son of mine, a School-Boy, is my Secretary, so
I hope you'll make Allowances.
I am, SIR,
Your constant Reader, and very humble Servant,
Rebecca the Distress'd.

March the 22nd.

T.

[Footnote 1: Job, ch. xii.]

* * * * *

No. 337. Thursday, March 27, 1712. Budgell.

Fingit equum tenerâ docilem cervice Magister,
Ire viam quam monstrat eques--

Hor.

I have lately received a third Letter from the Gentleman, who has already given the Publick two Essays upon Education. As his Thoughts seem to be very just and new upon this Subject, I shall communicate them to the Reader.

SIR,

If I had not been hindered by some extraordinary Business, I should
have sent you sooner my further Thoughts upon Education. You may
please to remember, that in my last Letter I endeavoured to give the
best Reasons that could be urged in favour of a private or publick
Education. Upon the whole it may perhaps be thought that I seemed
rather enclined to the latter, though at the same time I confessed
that Virtue, which ought to be our first and principal Care, was more
usually acquired in the former.

I intend therefore, in this Letter, to offer at Methods, by which I
conceive Boys might be made to improve in Virtue, as they advance in
Letters.

I know that in most of our public Schools Vice is punished and
discouraged whenever it is found out; but this is far from being
sufficient, unless our Youth are at the same time taught to form a
right Judgment of Things, and to know what is properly Virtue.

To this end, whenever they read the Lives and Actions of such Men as
have been famous in their Generation, it should not be thought enough
to make them barely understand so many Greek or Latin Sentences, but
they should be asked their Opinion of such an Action or Saying, and
obliged to give their Reasons why they take it to be good or bad. By
this means they would insensibly arrive at proper Notions of Courage,
Temperance, Honour and Justice.

There must be great Care taken how the Example of any particular
Person is recommended to them in gross; instead of which, they ought
to be taught wherein such a Man, though great in some respects, was
weak and faulty in others. For want of this Caution, a Boy is often so
dazzled with the Lustre of a great Character, that he confounds its
Beauties with its Blemishes, and looks even upon the faulty Parts of
it with an Eye of Admiration.

I have often wondered how Alexander, who was naturally of a generous
and merciful Disposition, came to be guilty of so barbarous an Action
as that of dragging the Governour of a Town after his Chariot. I know
this is generally ascribed to his Passion for Homer; but I lately met
with a Passage in Plutarch, which, if I am not very much mistaken,
still gives us a clearer Light into the Motives of this Action.
Plutarch tells us, that Alexander in his Youth had a Master named
Lysimachus, who, tho he was a Man destitute of all Politeness,
ingratiated himself both with Philip and his Pupil, and became the
second Man at Court, by calling the King Peleus, the Prince Achilles,
and himself Phoenix. It is no wonder if Alexander having been thus
used not only to admire, but to personate Achilles, should think it
glorious to imitate him in this piece of Cruelty and Extravagance.

To carry this Thought yet further, I shall submit it to your
Consideration, whether instead of a Theme or Copy of Verses, which are
the usual Exercises, as they are called in the School-phrase, it
would not be more proper that a Boy should be tasked once or twice a
Week to write down his Opinion of such Persons and Things as occur to
him in his Reading; that he should descant upon the Actions of Turnus
and Æneas, shew wherein they excelled or were defective, censure or
approve any particular Action, observe how it might have been carried
to a greater Degree of Perfection, and how it exceeded or fell short
of another. He might at the same time mark what was moral in any
Speech, and how far it agreed with the Character of the Person
speaking. This Exercise would soon strengthen his Judgment in what is
blameable or praiseworthy, and give him an early Seasoning of
Morality.

Next to those Examples which may be met with in Books, I very much
approve Horace's Way of setting before Youth the infamous or
honourable Characters of their Contemporaries: That Poet tells us,
this was the Method his Father made use of to incline him to any
particular Virtue, or give him an Aversion to any particular Vice. If,
says Horace, my Father advised me to live within Bounds, and be
contented with the Fortune he should leave me; Do not you see (says
he) the miserable Condition of Burr, and the Son of Albus? Let the
Misfortunes of those two Wretches teach you to avoid Luxury and
Extravagance. If he would inspire me with an Abhorrence to Debauchery,
do not (says he) make your self like Sectanus, when you may be happy
in the Enjoyment of lawful Pleasures. How scandalous (says he) is the
Character of Trebonius, who was lately caught in Bed with another
Man's Wife? To illustrate the Force of this Method, the Poet adds,
That as a headstrong Patient, who will not at first follow his
Physicians Prescriptions, grows orderly when he hears that his
Neighbours die all about him; so Youth is often frighted from Vice, by
hearing the ill Report it brings upon others.

Xenophon's Schools of Equity, in his Life of Cyrus the Great, are
sufficiently famous: He tells us, that the Persian Children went to
School, and employed their Time as diligently in learning the
Principles of Justice and Sobriety, as the Youth in other Countries
did to acquire the most difficult Arts and Sciences: their Governors
spent most part of the Day in hearing their mutual Accusations one
against the other, whether for Violence, Cheating, Slander, or
Ingratitude; and taught them how to give Judgment against those who
were found to be any ways guilty of these Crimes. I omit the Story of
the long and short Coat, for which Cyrus himself was punished, as a
Case equally known with any in Littleton.

The Method, which Apuleius tells us the Indian Gymnosophists took to
educate their Disciples, is still more curious and remarkable. His
Words are as follow: When their Dinner is ready, before it is served
up, the Masters enquire of every particular Scholar how he has
employed his Time since Sun-rising; some of them answer, that having
been chosen as Arbiters between two Persons they have composed their
Differences, and made them Friends; some, that they have been
executing the Orders of their Parents; and others, that they have
either found out something new by their own Application, or learnt it
from the Instruction of their Fellows: But if there happens to be any
one among them, who cannot make it appear that he has employed the
Morning to advantage, he is immediately excluded from the Company, and
obliged to work, while the rest are at Dinner.

It is not impossible, that from these several Ways of producing
Virtue in the Minds of Boys, some general Method might be invented.
What I would endeavour to inculcate, is, that our Youth cannot be too
soon taught the Principles of Virtue, seeing the first Impressions
which are made on the Mind are always the strongest.

The Archbishop of Cambray makes Telemachus say, that though he was
young in Years, he was old in the Art of knowing how to keep both his
own and his Friends Secrets. When my Father, says the Prince, went to
the Siege of Troy, he took me on his Knees, and after having embraced
and blessed me, as he was surrounded by the Nobles of Ithaca, O my
Friends, says he, into your Hands I commit the Education of my Son; if
ever you lov'd his Father, shew it in your Care towards him; but above
all, do not omit to form him just, sincere, and faithful in keeping a
Secret. These Words of my Father, says Telemachus, were continually
repeated to me by his Friends in his Absence; who made no scruple of
communicating to me in their Uneasiness to see my Mother surrounded
with Lovers, and the Measures they designed to take on that Occasion.
He adds, that he was so ravished at being thus treated like a Man, and
at the Confidence reposed in him, that he never once abused it; nor
could all the Insinuations of his Fathers Rivals ever get him to
betray what was committed to him under the Seal of Secrecy.

There is hardly any Virtue which a Lad might not thus learn by
Practice and Example.

I have heard of a good Man, who used at certain times to give his
Scholars Six Pence apiece, that they might tell him the next day how
they had employ'd it. The third part was always to be laid out in
Charity, and every Boy was blamed or commended as he could make it
appear that he had chosen a fit Object.

In short, nothing is more wanting to our publick Schools, than that
the Masters of them should use the same care in fashioning the Manners
of their Scholars, as in forming their Tongues to the learned
Languages. Where-ever the former is omitted, I cannot help agreeing
with Mr. Locke, That a Man must have a very strange Value for Words,
when preferring the Languages of the Greeks and Romans to that which
made them such brave Men, he can think it worth while to hazard the
Innocence and Virtue of his Son for a little Greek and Latin.

As the Subject of this Essay is of the highest Importance, and what I
do not remember to have yet seen treated by any Author, I have sent
you what occurr'd to me on it from my own Observation or Reading, and
which you may either suppress or publish as you think fit.

I am, SIR, Yours, &c.

X.

* * * * *

No. 338. Friday, March 28, 1712.

[--Nil fuit unquam
Tam dispar sibi.

Hor. [1]]

I find the Tragedy of the Distrest Mother is publish'd today: The Author of the Prologue, I suppose, pleads an old Excuse I have read somewhere, of being dull with Design; and the Gentleman who writ the Epilogue [2] has, to my knowledge, so much of greater moment to value himself upon, that he will easily forgive me for publishing the Exceptions made against Gayety at the end of serious Entertainments, in the following Letter: I should be more unwilling to pardon him than any body, a Practice which cannot have any ill Consequence, but from the Abilities of the Person who is guilty of it.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I had the Happiness the other Night of sitting very near you, and your
worthy Friend Sir ROGER, at the acting of the new Tragedy, which you
have in a late Paper or two so justly recommended. I was highly
pleased with the advantageous Situation Fortune had given me in
placing me so near two Gentlemen, from one of which I was sure to hear
such Reflections on the several Incidents of the Play, as pure Nature
suggested, and from the other such as flowed from the exactest Art and
Judgment: Tho I must confess that my Curiosity led me so much to
observe the Knights Reflections, that I was not so well at leisure to
improve my self by yours. Nature, I found, play'd her Part in the
Knight pretty well, till at the last concluding Lines she entirely
forsook him. You must know, Sir, that it is always my Custom, when I
have been well entertained at a new Tragedy, to make my Retreat before
the facetious Epilogue enters; not but that those Pieces are often
very well writ, but having paid down my Half Crown, and made a fair
Purchase of as much of the pleasing Melancholy as the Poets Art can
afford me, or my own Nature admit of, I am willing to carry some of it
home with me; and cant endure to be at once trick'd out of all, tho
by the wittiest Dexterity in the World. However, I kept my Seat
tother Night, in hopes of finding my own Sentiments of this Matter
favour'd by your Friends; when, to my great Surprize, I found the
Knight entering with equal Pleasure into both Parts, and as much
satisfied with Mrs. Oldfield's Gaiety, as he had been before with
Andromache's Greatness. Whether this were no other than an Effect of
the Knights peculiar Humanity, pleas'd to find at last, that after
all the tragical Doings every thing was safe and well, I don't know.
But for my own part, I must confess, I was so dissatisfied, that I was
sorry the Poet had saved Andromache, and could heartily have wished
that he had left her stone-dead upon the Stage. For you cannot
imagine, Mr. SPECTATOR, the Mischief she was reserv'd to do me. I
found my Soul, during the Action, gradually work'd up to the highest
Pitch; and felt the exalted Passion which all generous Minds conceive
at the Sight of Virtue in Distress. The Impression, believe me, Sir,
was so strong upon me, that I am persuaded, if I had been let alone in
it, I could at an Extremity have ventured to defend your self and Sir
ROGER against half a Score of the fiercest Mohocks: But the ludicrous
Epilogue in the Close extinguish'd all my Ardour, and made me look
upon all such noble Atchievements, as downright silly and romantick.
What the rest of the Audience felt, I cant so well tell: For my self,
I must declare, that at the end of the Play I found my Soul uniform,
and all of a Piece; but at the End of the Epilogue it was so jumbled
together, and divided between Jest and Earnest, that if you will
forgive me an extravagant Fancy, I will here set it down. I could not
but fancy, if my Soul had at that Moment quitted my Body, and
descended to the poetical Shades in the Posture it was then in, what a
strange Figure it would have made among them. They would not have
known what to have made of my motley Spectre, half Comick and half
Tragick, all over resembling a ridiculous Face, that at the same time
laughs on one side and cries o tother. The only Defence, I think, I
have ever heard made for this, as it seems to me, most unnatural Tack
of the Comick Tail to the Tragick Head, is this, that the Minds of the
Audience must be refreshed, and Gentlemen and Ladies not sent away to
their own Homes with too dismal and melancholy Thoughts about them:
For who knows the Consequence of this? We are much obliged indeed to
the Poets for the great Tenderness they express for the Safety of our
Persons, and heartily thank them for it. But if that be all, pray,
good Sir, assure them, that we are none of us like to come to any
great Harm; and that, let them do their best, we shall in all
probability live out the Length of our Days, and frequent the Theatres
more than ever. What makes me more desirous to have some Reformation
of this matter, is because of an ill Consequence or two attending it:
For a great many of our Church-Musicians being related to the Theatre,
they have, in Imitation of these Epilogues, introduced in their
farewell Voluntaries a sort of Musick quite foreign to the design of
Church-Services, to the great Prejudice of well-disposed People. Those
fingering Gentlemen should be informed, that they ought to suit their
Airs to the Place and Business; and that the Musician is obliged to
keep to the Text as much as the Preacher. For want of this, I have
found by Experience a great deal of Mischief: For when the Preacher
has often, with great Piety and Art enough, handled his Subject, and
the judicious Clark has with utmost Diligence culled out two Staves
proper to the Discourse, and I have found in my self and in the rest
of the Pew good Thoughts and Dispositions, they have been all in a
moment dissipated by a merry Jigg from the Organ-Loft. One knows not
what further ill Effects the Epilogues I have been speaking of may in
time produce: But this I am credibly informed of, that Paul Lorrain
[3]--has resolv'd upon a very sudden Reformation in his tragical
Dramas; and that at the next monthly Performance, he designs, instead
of a Penitential Psalm, to dismiss his Audience with an excellent new
Ballad of his own composing. Pray, Sir, do what you can to put a stop
to those growing Evils, and you will very much oblige

Your Humble Servant,
Physibulus.

[Footnote 1:

[--Servetur ad imum
Qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet.

Hor. ]

[Footnote 2: The Prologue was by Steele. Of the Epilogue Dr. Johnson said (in his Lives of the Poets, when telling of Ambrose Philips),

It was known in Tonson's family and told to Garrick, that Addison was
himself the author of it, and that when it had been at first printed
with his name, he came early in the morning, before the copies were
distributed, and ordered it to be given to Budgell, that it might add
weight to the solicitation which he was then making for a place.

Johnson calls it

the most successful Epilogue that was ever yet spoken on the English
theatre.

The three first nights it was recited twice, and whenever afterwards the play was acted the Epilogue was still expected and was spoken. This is a fifth paper for the benefit of Ambrose Philips, inserted, perhaps, to make occasion for a sixth (No. 341) in the form of a reply to Physibulus.]

[Footnote 3: Paul Lorrain was the Ordinary of Newgate. He died in 1719. He always represented his convicts as dying Penitents, wherefore in No. 63 of the Tatler they had been called Paul Lorrains Saints. ]

* * * * *

No. 339 Saturday, March 29, 1712. Addison

[--Ut his exordia primis
Omnia, et ipse tener Mundi concreverit orbis.
Tum durare solum et discludere Nerea ponto
Coeperit, et rerum pauliatim sumere formas.

Virg. [1]]

Longinus has observed, [2] that there may be a Loftiness in Sentiments, where there is no Passion, and brings Instances out of ancient Authors to support this his Opinion. The Pathetick, as that great Critick observes, may animate and inflame the Sublime, but is not essential to it. Accordingly, as he further remarks, we very often find that those who excel most in stirring up the Passions, very often want the Talent of writing in the great and sublime manner, and so on the contrary. Milton has shewn himself a Master in both these ways of Writing. The Seventh Book, which we are now entring upon, is an Instance of that Sublime which is not mixed and worked up with Passion. The Author appears in a kind of composed and sedate Majesty; and tho the Sentiments do not give so great an Emotion as those in the former Book, they abound with as magnificent Ideas. The Sixth Book, like a troubled Ocean, represents Greatness in Confusion; the seventh Affects the Imagination like the Ocean in a Calm, and fills the Mind of the Reader, without producing in it any thing like Tumult or Agitation.

The Critick above mentioned, among the Rules which he lays down for succeeding in the sublime way of writing, proposes to his Reader, that he should imitate the most celebrated Authors who have gone before him, and been engaged in Works of the same nature; [3] as in particular, that if he writes on a poetical Subject, he should consider how Homer would have spoken on such an Occasion. By this means one great Genius often catches the Flame from another, and writes in his Spirit, without copying servilely after him. There are a thousand shining Passages in Virgil, which have been lighted up by Homer.

Milton, tho his own natural Strength of Genius was capable of furnishing out a perfect Work, has doubtless very much raised and ennobled his Conceptions, by such an Imitation as that which Longinus has recommended.

In this Book, which gives us an Account of the six Days Works, the Poet received but very few Assistances from Heathen Writers, who were Strangers to the Wonders of Creation. But as there are many glorious strokes of Poetry upon this Subject in Holy Writ, the Author has numberless Allusions to them through the whole course of this Book. The great Critick I have before mentioned, though an Heathen, has taken notice of the sublime Manner in which the Lawgiver of the Jews has describ'd the Creation in the first Chapter of Genesis; [4] and there are many other Passages in Scripture, which rise up to the same Majesty, where this Subject is touched upon. Milton has shewn his Judgment very remarkably, in making use of such of these as were proper for his Poem, and in duly qualifying those high Strains of Eastern Poetry, which were suited to Readers whose Imaginations were set to an higher pitch than those of colder Climates.

Adams Speech to the Angel, wherein he desires an Account of what had passed within the Regions of Nature before the Creation, is very great and solemn. The following Lines, in which he tells him, that the Day is not too far spent for him to enter upon such a subject, are exquisite in their kind.

And the great Light of Day yet wants to run
Much of his Race, though steep, suspense in Heavn
Held by thy Voice; thy potent Voice he hears,
And longer will delay, to hear thee tell
His Generation, &c.

The Angels encouraging our first Parent[s] in a modest pursuit after Knowledge, with the Causes which he assigns for the Creation of the World, are very just and beautiful. The Messiah, by whom, as we are told in Scripture, the Worlds were made, comes forth in the Power of his Father, surrounded with an Host of Angels, and cloathed with such a Majesty as becomes his entring upon a Work, which, according to our Conceptions, [appears [5]] the utmost Exertion of Omnipotence. What a beautiful Description has our Author raised upon that Hint in one of the Prophets. And behold there came four Chariots out from between two Mountains, and the Mountains were Mountains of Brass. [6]

About his Chariot numberless were pour
Cherub and Seraph, Potentates and Thrones,
And Virtues, winged Spirits, and Chariots wing'd,
From th' Armoury of Gold, where stand of old
Myriads between two brazen Mountains lodg'd
Against a solemn Day, harness'd at hand;
Celestial Equipage! and now came forth
Spontaneous, for within them Spirit liv'd,
Attendant on their Lord: Heavn open'd wide
Her ever-during Gates, Harmonious Sound!
On golden Hinges moving--

I have before taken notice of these Chariots of God, and of these Gates of Heaven; and shall here only add, that Homer gives us the same Idea of the latter, as opening of themselves; tho he afterwards takes off from it, by telling us, that the Hours first of all removed those prodigious Heaps of Clouds which lay as a Barrier before them.

I do not know any thing in the whole Poem more sublime than the Description which follows, where the Messiah is represented at the head of his Angels, as looking down into the Chaos, calming its Confusion, riding into the midst of it, and drawing the first Out-Line of the Creation.

On Heavenly Ground they stood, and from the Shore
They view'd the vast immeasurable Abyss,
Outrageous as a Sea, dark, wasteful, wild;
Up from the bottom turned by furious Winds
And surging Waves, as Mountains to assault
Heavens height, and with the Center mix the Pole.

Silence, ye troubled Waves, and thou Deep, Peace!
Said then th' Omnific Word, your Discord end:

Nor staid; but, on the Wings of Cherubim
Up-lifted, in Paternal Glory rode
Far into Chaos, and the World unborn;
For Chaos heard his Voice. Him all His Train
Follow'd in bright Procession, to behold
Creation, and the Wonders, of his Might.
Then staid the fervid Wheels, and in his Hand
He took the Golden Compasses, prepar'd
In Gods eternal Store, to circumscribe
This Universe, and all created Things:
One Foot he center'd, and the other turn'd
Round, through the vast Profundity obscure;
And said, Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds,
This be thy just Circumference, O World!

The Thought of the Golden Compasses is conceived altogether in Homers Spirit, and is a very noble Incident in this wonderful Description. Homer, when he speaks of the Gods, ascribes to them several Arms and Instruments with the same greatness of Imagination. Let the Reader only peruse the Description of Minerva's Ægis, or Buckler, in the Fifth Book, with her Spear, which would overturn whole Squadrons, and her Helmet, that was sufficient to cover an Army drawn out of an hundred Cities: The Golden Compasses in the above-mentioned Passage appear a very natural Instrument in the Hand of him, whom Plato somewhere calls the Divine Geometrician. As Poetry delights in cloathing abstracted Ideas in Allegories and sensible Images, we find a magnificent Description of the Creation form'd after the same manner in one of the Prophets, wherein he describes the Almighty Architect as measuring the Waters in the Hollow of his Hand, meting out the Heavens with his Span, comprehending the Dust of the Earth in a Measure, weighing the Mountains in Scales, and the Hills in a Balance. Another of them describing the Supreme Being in this great Work of Creation, represents him as laying the Foundations of the Earth, and stretching a Line upon it: And in another place as garnishing the Heavens, stretching out the North over the empty Place, and hanging the Earth upon nothing. This last noble Thought Milton has express'd in the following Verse:

And Earth self-ballanc'd on her Center hung.

The Beauties of Description in this Book lie so very thick, that it is impossible to enumerate them in this Paper. The Poet has employ'd on them the whole Energy of our Tongue. The several great Scenes of the Creation rise up to view one after another, in such a manner, that the Reader seems present at this wonderful Work, and to assist among the Choirs of Angels, who are the Spectators of it. How glorious is the Conclusion of the first Day.

--Thus was the first Day Ev'n and Morn
Nor past uncelebrated nor unsung
By the Celestial Quires, when Orient Light
Exhaling first from Darkness they beheld;
Birth-day of Heavn and Earth! with Joy and Shout
The hollow universal Orb they fill'd.

We have the same elevation of Thought in the third Day, when the Mountains were brought forth, and the Deep was made.

Immediately the Mountains huge appear
Emergent, and their broad bare Backs up-heave
Into the Clouds, their Tops ascend the Sky:
So high as heav'd the tumid Hills, so low
Down sunk a hollow Bottom, broad and deep,
Capacious Bed of Waters--

We have also the rising of the whole vegetable World described in this Days Work, which is filled with all the Graces that other Poets have lavish'd on their Descriptions of the Spring, and leads the Readers Imagination into a Theatre equally surprising and beautiful.