Chapter LXXI: Introduction (71)

I am a young Woman of Beauty and Quality, and suitably married to a
Gentleman who doats on me. But this Person of mine is the Object of an
unjust Passion in a Nobleman who is very intimate with my Husband.
This Friendship gives him very easie Access, and frequent
Opportunities of entertaining me apart. My Heart is in the utmost
Anguish, and my Face is covered over with Confusion, when I impart to
you another Circumstance, which is, that my Mother, the most mercenary
of all Women, is gained by this false Friend of my Husband to sollicit
me for him. I am frequently chid by the poor believing Man my Husband,
for shewing an Impatience of his Friend's Company; and I am never
alone with my Mother, but she tells me Stories of the discretionary
Part of the World, and such a one, and such a one who are guilty of as
much as she advises me to. She laughs at my Astonishment; and seems to
hint to me, that as virtuous as she has always appeared, I am not the
Daughter of her Husband. It is possible that printing this Letter may
relieve me from the unnatural Importunity of my Mother, and the
perfidious Courtship of my Husband's Friend. I have an unfeigned Love
of Virtue, and am resolved to preserve my Innocence. The only Way I
can think of to avoid the fatal Consequences of the Discovery of this
Matter, is to fly away for ever; which I must do to avoid my Husband's
fatal Resentment against the Man who attempts to abuse him, and the
Shame of exposing the Parent to Infamy. The Persons concerned will
know these Circumstances relate to 'em; and though the Regard to
Virtue is dead in them, I have some Hopes from their Fear of Shame
upon reading this in your Paper; which I conjure you to do, if you
have any Compassion for Injured Virtue.

Sylvia.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I am the Husband of a Woman of Merit, but am fallen in Love, as they
call it, with a Lady of her Acquaintance, who is going to be married
to a Gentleman who deserves her. I am in a Trust relating to this
Lady's Fortune, which makes my Concurrence in this Matter necessary;
but I have so irresistible a Rage and Envy rise in me when I consider
his future Happiness, that against all Reason, Equity, and common
Justice, I am ever playing mean Tricks to suspend the Nuptials. I have
no manner of Hopes for my self; Emilia, for so I'll call her, is a
Woman of the most strict Virtue; her Lover is a Gentleman who of all
others I could wish my Friend; but Envy and Jealousie, though placed
so unjustly, waste my very Being, and with the Torment and Sense of a
Daemon, I am ever cursing what I cannot but approve. I wish it were
the Beginning of Repentance, that I sit down and describe my present
Disposition with so hellish an Aspect; but at present the Destruction
of these two excellent Persons would be more welcome to me than their
Happiness. Mr. SPECTATOR, pray let me have a Paper on these terrible
groundless Sufferings, and do all you can to exorcise Crowds who are
in some Degree possessed as I am.

Canniball.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I have no other Means but this to express my Thanks to one Man, and my
Resentment against another. My Circumstances are as follows. I have
been for five Years last past courted by a Gentleman of greater
Fortune than I ought to expect, as the Market for Women goes. You must
to be sure have observed People who live in that sort of Way, as all
their Friends reckon it will be a Match, and are marked out by all the
World for each other. In this View we have been regarded for some
Time, and I have above these three Years loved him tenderly. As he is
very careful of his Fortune, I always thought he lived in a near
Manner to lay up what he thought was wanting in my Fortune to make up
what he might expect in another. Within few Months I have observed his
Carriage very much altered, and he has affected a certain Air of
getting me alone, and talking with a mighty Profusion of passionate
Words, How I am not to be resisted longer, how irresistible his Wishes
are, and the like. As long as I have been acquainted with him, I could
not on such Occasions say down-right to him, You know you may make me
yours when you please. But the other Night he with great Frankness and
Impudence explained to me, that he thought of me only as a Mistress. I
answered this Declaration as it deserv'd; upon which he only doubled
the Terms on which he proposed my yielding. When my Anger heightned
upon him, he told me he was sorry he had made so little Use of the
unguarded Hours we had been together so remote from Company, as
indeed, continued he, so we are at present. I flew from him to a
neighbouring Gentlewoman's House, and tho' her Husband was in the
Room, threw my self on a Couch, and burst into a Passion of Tears. My
Friend desired her Husband to leave the Room. But, said he, there is
something so extraordinary in this, that I will partake in the
Affliction; and be it what it will, she is so much your Friend, that
she knows she may command what Services I can do her. The Man sate
down by me, and spoke so like a Brother, that I told him my whole
Affliction. He spoke of the Injury done me with so much Indignation,
and animated me against the Love he said he saw I had for the Wretch
who would have betrayed me, with so much Reason and Humanity to my
Weakness, that I doubt not of my Perseverance. His Wife and he are my
Comforters, and I am under no more Restraint in their Company than if
I were alone; and I doubt not but in a small time Contempt and Hatred
will take Place of the Remains of Affection to a Rascal.

I am

SIR,

Your affectionate Reader,

Dorinda.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I had the Misfortune to be an Uncle before I knew my Nephews from my
Nieces, and now we are grown up to better Acquaintance they deny me
the Respect they owe. One upbraids me with being their Familiar,
another will hardly be perswaded that I am an Uncle, a third calls me
Little Uncle, and a fourth tells me there is no Duty at all due to an
Uncle. I have a Brother-in-law whose Son will win all my Affection,
unless you shall think this worthy of your Cognizance, and will be
pleased to prescribe some Rules for our future reciprocal Behaviour.
It will be worthy the Particularity of your Genius to lay down Rules
for his Conduct who was as it were born an old Man, in which you will
much oblige,

Sir,

Your most obedient Servant,

Cornelius Nepos.

T.

[Footnote 1: No motto in the first issue.]

* * * * *

No. 403. Thursday, June 12, 1712. Addison

'Qui mores hominun multorum vidit?'

Hor.

When I consider this great City in its several Quarters and Divisions, I look upon it as an Aggregate of various Nations distinguished from each other by their respective Customs, Manners and Interests. The Courts of two Countries do not so much differ from one another, as the Court and City in their peculiar Ways of Life and Conversation. In short, the Inhabitants of St. James's, notwithstanding they live under the same Laws, and speak the same Language, are a distinct People from those of Cheapside, who are likewise removed from those of the Temple on the one side, and those of Smithfield on the other, by several Climates and Degrees in their way of Thinking and Conversing together.

For this Reason, when any publick Affair is upon the Anvil, I love to hear the Reflections that arise upon it in the several Districts and Parishes of London and Westminster, and to ramble up and down a whole Day together, in order to make my self acquainted with the Opinions of my Ingenious Countrymen. By this means I know the Faces of all the principal Politicians within the Bills of Mortality; and as every Coffee-house has some particular Statesman belonging to it, who is the Mouth of the Street where he lives, I always take care to place my self near him, in order to know his Judgment on the present Posture of Affairs. The last Progress that I made with this Intention, was about three Months ago, when we had a current Report of the King of France's Death. As I foresaw this would produce a new Face of things in Europe, and many curious Speculations in our British Coffee-houses, I was very desirous to learn the Thoughts of our most eminent Politicians on that Occasion.

That I might begin as near the Fountain Head as possible, I first of all called in at St James's, where I found the whole outward Room in a Buzz of Politics. The Speculations were but very indifferent towards the Door, but grew finer as you advanced to the upper end of the Room, and were so very much improved by a Knot of Theorists, who sat in the inner Room, within the Steams of the Coffee-Pot, that I there heard the whole Spanish Monarchy disposed of, and all the Line of Bourbon provided for in less than a Quarter of an Hour.

I afterwards called in at Giles's, where I saw a Board of French Gentlemen sitting upon the Life and Death of their Grand Monarque. Those among them who had espoused the Whig Interest, very positively affirmed, that he departed this Life about a Week since, and therefore proceeded without any further Delay to the Release of their Friends on the Gallies, and to their own Re-establishment; but finding they could not agree among themselves, I proceeded on my intended Progress.

Upon my Arrival at Jenny Man's, I saw an alerte young Fellow that cocked his Hat upon a Friend of his who entered just at the same time with my self, and accosted him after the following Manner. Well, Jack, the old Prig is dead at last. Sharp's the Word. Now or never, Boy. Up to the Walls of Paris directly. With several other deep Reflections of the same Nature.

I met with very little Variation in the Politics between Charing-Cross and Covent-Garden. And upon my going into Wills I found their Discourse was gone off from the Death of the French King to that of Monsieur Boileau, Racine, Corneile, and several other Poets, whom they regretted on this Occasion, as Persons who would have obliged the World with very noble Elegies on the Death of so great a Prince, and so eminent a Patron of Learning.

At a Coffee-house near the Temple, I found a couple of young Gentlemen engaged very smartly in a Dispute on the Succession to the Spanish Monarchy. One of them seemed to have been retained as Advocate for the Duke of Anjou, the other for his Imperial Majesty. They were both for regulating the Title to that Kingdom by the Statute Laws of England; but finding them going out of my Depth, I passed forward to Paul's Church-Yard, where I listen'd with great Attention to a learned Man, who gave the Company an Account of the deplorable State of France during the Minority of the deceased King. I then turned on my right Hand into Fish-street, where the chief Politician of that Quarter, upon hearing the News, (after having taken a Pipe of Tobacco, and ruminated for some time) If, says he, the King of France is certainly dead, we shall have Plenty of Mackerell this Season; our Fishery will not be disturbed by Privateers, as it has been for these ten Years past. He afterwards considered how the Death of this great Man would affect our Pilchards, and by several other Remarks infused a general Joy into his whole Audience.

I afterwards entered a By Coffee-house that stood at the upper end of a narrow Lane, where I met with a Nonjuror, engaged very warmly with a Laceman who was the great Support of a neighbouring Conventicle. The Matter in Debate was, whether the late French King was most like Augustus Cæsar, or Nero. The Controversie was carried on with great Heat on both Sides, and as each of them looked upon me very frequently during the Course of their Debate, I was under some Apprehension that they would appeal to me, and therefore laid down my Penny at the Bar, and made the best of my way to Cheapside.

I here gazed upon the Signs for some time before I found one to my Purpose. The first Object I met in the Coffeeroom was a Person who expressed a great Grief for the Death of the French King; but upon his explaining himself, I found his Sorrow did not arise from the Loss of the Monarch, but for his having sold out of the Bank about three Days before he heard the News of it: Upon which a Haberdasher, who was the Oracle of the Coffee-house, and had his Circle of Admirers about him, called several to witness that he had declared his Opinion above a Week before, that the French King was certainly dead; to which he added, that considering the late Advices we had received from France, it was impossible that it could be otherwise. As he was laying these together, and dictating to his Hearers with great Authority, there came in a Gentleman from Garraway's, who told us that there were several Letters from France just come in, with Advice that the King was in good Health, and was gone out a Hunting the very Morning the Post came away: Upon which the Haberdasher stole off his Hat that hung upon a wooden Pegg by him, and retired to his Shop with great Confusion. This Intelligence put a Stop to my Travels, which I had prosecuted with [much [1]] Satisfaction; not being a little pleased to hear so many different Opinions upon so great an Event, and to observe how naturally upon such a Piece of News every one is apt to consider it with a Regard to his own particular Interest and Advantage.

L.

[Footnote 1: [great]]

* * * * *

No. 404. Friday, June 13, 1712. Budgell

['--Non omnia possumus omnes.'

Virg. [1]]

Nature does nothing in vain: the Creator of the Universe has appointed every thing to a certain Use and Purpose, and determin'd it to a settled Course and Sphere of Action, from which, if it in the least deviates, it becomes unfit to answer those Ends for which it was designed. In like manner it is in the Dispositions of Society, the civil Oeconomy is formed in a Chain as well as the natural; and in either Case the Breach but of one Link puts the Whole into some Disorder. It is, I think, pretty plain, that most of the Absurdity and Ridicule we meet with in the World, is generally owing to the impertinent Affectation of excelling in Characters Men are not fit for, and for which Nature never designed them.

Every Man has one or more Qualities which may make him useful both to himself and others: Nature never fails of pointing them out, and while the Infant continues under her Guardianship, she brings him on in this Way; and then offers her self for a Guide in what remains of the Journey; if he proceeds in that Course, he can hardly miscarry: Nature makes good her Engagements; for as she never promises what she is not able to perform, so she never fails of performing what she promises. But the Misfortune is, Men despise what they may be Masters of, and affect what they are not fit for; they reckon themselves already possessed of what their Genius inclined them to, and so bend all their Ambition to excel in what is out of their Reach: Thus they destroy the Use of their natural Talents, in the same manner as covetous Men do their Quiet and Repose; they can enjoy no Satisfaction in what they have, because of the absurd Inclination they are possessed with for what they have not.

Cleanthes had good Sense, a great Memory, and a Constitution capable of the closest Application: In a Word, there was no Profession in which Cleanthes might not have made a very good Figure; but this won't satisfie him, he takes up an unaccountable Fondness for the Character of a fine Gentleman; all his Thoughts are bent upon this: instead of attending a Dissection, frequenting the Courts of Justice, or studying the Fathers, Cleanthes reads Plays, dances, dresses, and spends his Time in drawing-rooms; instead of being a good Lawyer, Divine, or Physician, Cleanthes is a downright Coxcomb, and will remain to all that knew him a contemptible Example of Talents misapplied. It is to this Affectation the World owes its whole Race of Coxcombs: Nature in her whole Drama never drew such a Part: she has sometimes made a Fool, but a Coxcomb is always of a Man's own making, by applying his Talents otherwise than Nature designed, who ever bears an high Resentment for being put out of her Course, and never fails of taking her Revenge on those that do so. Opposing her Tendency in the Application of a Man's Parts, has the same Success as declining from her Course in the Production of Vegetables; by the Assistance of Art and an hot Bed, we may possibly extort an unwilling Plant, or an untimely Sallad; but how weak, how tasteless and insipid? Just as insipid as the Poetry of Valerio: Valerio had an universal Character, was genteel, had Learning, thought justly, spoke correctly; 'twas believed there was nothing in which Valerio did not excel; and 'twas so far true, that there was but one; Valerio had no Genius for Poetry, yet he's resolved to be a Poet; he writes Verses, and takes great Pains to convince the Town, that Valerio is not that extraordinary Person he was taken for.

If Men would be content to graft upon Nature, and assist her Operations, what mighty Effects might we expect? Tully would not stand so much alone in Oratory, Virgil in Poetry, or Cæsar in War. To build upon Nature, is laying the Foundation upon a Rock; every thing disposes its self into Order as it were of Course, and the whole Work is half done as soon as undertaken. Cicero's Genius inclined him to Oratory, Virgil's to follow the Train of the Muses; they piously obeyed the Admonition, and were rewarded. Had Virgil attended the Bar, his modest and ingenious Virtue would surely have made but a very indifferent Figure; and Tully's declamatory Inclination would have been as useless in Poetry. Nature, if left to her self, leads us on in the best Course, but will do nothing by Compulsion and Constraint; and if we are not satisfied to go her Way, we are always the greatest Sufferers by it.

Wherever Nature designs a Production, she always disposes Seeds proper for it, which are as absolutely necessary to the Formation of any moral or intellectual Excellence, as they are to the Being and Growth of Plants; and I know not by what Fate and Folly it is, that Men are taught not to reckon him equally absurd that will write Verses in Spite of Nature, with that Gardener that should undertake to raise a Jonquil or Tulip without the Help of their respective Seeds.

As there is no Good or bad Quality that does not affect both Sexes, so it is not to be imagined but the fair Sex must have suffered by an Affectation of this Nature, at least as much as the other: The ill Effect of it is in none so conspicuous as in the two opposite Characters of Cælia and Iras; Cælia has all the Charms of Person, together with an abundant Sweetness of Nature, but wants Wit, and has a very ill Voice; Iras is ugly and ungenteel, but has Wit and good Sense: If Cælia would be silent, her Beholders would adore her; if Iras would talk, her Hearers would admire her; but Cælia's Tongue runs incessantly, while Iras gives her self silent Airs and soft Languors; so that 'tis difficult to persuade one's self that Cælia has Beauty and Iras Wit: Each neglects her own Excellence, and is ambitious of the other's Character; Iras would be thought to have as much Beauty as Cælia, and Cælia as much Wit as Iras.

The great Misfortune of this Affectation is, that Men not only lose a good Quality, but also contract a bad one: They not only are unfit for what they were designed, but they assign themselves to what they are not fit for; and instead of making a very good Figure one Way, make a very ridiculous one another. If Semanthe would have been satisfied with her natural Complexion, she might still have been celebrated by the Name of the Olive Beauty; but Semanthe has taken up an Affectation to White and Red, and is now distinguished by the Character of the Lady that paints so well. In a word, could the World be reformed to the Obedience of that famed Dictate, Follow Nature, which the Oracle of Delphos pronounced to Cicero when he consulted what Course of Studies he should pursue, we should see almost every Man as eminent in his proper Sphere as Tully was in his, and should in a very short time find Impertinence and Affectation banished from among the Women, and Coxcombs and false Characters from among the Men. For my Part, I could never consider this preposterous Repugnancy to Nature any otherwise, than not only as the greatest Folly, but also one of the most heinous Crimes, since it is a direct Opposition to the Disposition of Providence, and (as Tully expresses it) like the Sin of the Giants, an actual Rebellion against Heaven.

Z.

[Footnote 1:

Continuo has leges æternaque foedera certis
Imposuit natura locis.

Virg.]

* * * * *

No. 405. Saturday, June 14, 1712. Addison.

[Greek:
Oi dè panaemérioi molpàe theòn hiláskonto,
Kalòn aeídontes paiáeona kouroi Achaiôn,
Mélpontes Ekáergon. Ho dè phréna térpet akoúôn.]

Hom.

I am very sorry to find, by the Opera Bills for this Day, that we are likely to lose the greatest Performer in Dramatick Musick that is now living, or that perhaps ever appeared upon a Stage. I need not acquaint my Reader, that I am speaking of Signior Nicolini. [1] The Town is highly obliged to that Excellent Artist, for having shewn us the Italian Musick in its Perfection, as well as for that generous Approbation he lately gave to an Opera of our own Country, in which the Composer endeavoured to do Justice to the Beauty of the Words, by following that Noble Example, which has been set him by the greatest Foreign Masters in that Art.

I could heartily wish there was the same Application and Endeavours to cultivate and improve our Church-Musick, as have been lately bestowed on that of the Stage. Our Composers have one very great Incitement to it: They are sure to meet with Excellent Words, and, at the same time, a wonderful Variety of them. There is no Passion that is not finely expressed in those parts of the inspired Writings, which are proper for Divine Songs and Anthems.

There is a certain Coldness and Indifference in the Phrases of our European Languages, when they are compared with the Oriental Forms of Speech: and it happens very luckily, that the Hebrew Idioms run into the English Tongue with a particular Grace and Beauty. Our Language has received innumerable Elegancies and Improvements, from that Infusion of Hebraisms, which are derived to it out of the Poetical Passages in Holy Writ. They give a Force and Energy to our Expressions, warm and animate our Language, and convey our Thoughts in more ardent and intense Phrases, than any that are to be met with in our own Tongue. There is something so pathetick in this kind of Diction, that it often sets the Mind in a Flame, and makes our Hearts burn within us. How cold and dead does a Prayer appear, that is composed in the most Elegant and Polite Forms of Speech, which are natural to our Tongue, when it is not heightened by that Solemnity of Phrase, which may be drawn from the Sacred Writings. It has been said by some of the Ancients, that if the Gods were to talk with Men, they would certainly speak in Plato's Style; but I think we may say, with Justice, that when Mortals converse with their Creator, they cannot do it in so proper a Style as in that of the Holy Scriptures.

If any one would judge of the Beauties of Poetry that are to be met with in the Divine Writings, and examine how kindly the Hebrew Manners of Speech mix and incorporate with the English Language; after having perused the Book of Psalms, let him read a literal Translation of Horace or Pindar. He will find in these two last such an Absurdity and Confusion of Style, with such a Comparative Poverty of Imagination, as will make him very sensible of what I have been here advancing.

Since we have therefore such a Treasury of Words, so beautiful in themselves, and so proper for the Airs of Musick, I cannot but wonder that Persons of Distinction should give so little Attention and Encouragement to that Kind of Musick, which would have its Foundation in Reason, and which would improve our Virtue in proportion as it raised our Delight. The Passions that are excited by ordinary Compositions generally flow from such silly and absurd Occasions, that a Man is ashamed to reflect upon them seriously; but the Fear, the Love, the Sorrow, the Indignation that are awakened in the Mind by Hymns and Anthems, make the Heart better, and proceed from such Causes as are altogether reasonable and praise-worthy. Pleasure and Duty go hand in hand, and the greater our Satisfaction is, the greater is our Religion.

Musick among those who were styled the chosen People was a Religious Art. The Songs of Sion, which we have reason to believe were in high Repute among the Courts of the Eastern Monarchs, were nothing else but Psalms and Pieces of Poetry that adored or celebrated the Supreme Being. The greatest Conqueror in this Holy Nation, after the manner of the old Grecian Lyricks, did not only compose the Words of his Divine Odes, but generally set them to Musick himself: After which, his Works, tho' they were consecrated to the Tabernacle, became the National Entertainment, as well as the Devotion of his People.

The first Original of the Drama was a Religious Worship consisting only of a Chorus, which was nothing else but an Hymn to a Deity. As Luxury and Voluptuousness prevailed over Innocence and Religion, this Form of Worship degenerated into Tragedies; in which however the Chorus so far remembered its first Office, as to brand every thing that was vicious, and recommend every thing that was laudable, to intercede with Heaven for the Innocent, and to implore its Vengeance on the Criminal.

Homer and Hesiod intimate to us how this Art should be applied, when they represent the Muses as surrounding Jupiter, and warbling their Hymns about his Throne. I might shew from innumerable Passages in Ancient Writers, not only that Vocal and Instrumental Musick were made use of in their Religious Worship, but that their most favourite Diversions were filled with Songs and Hymns to their respective Deities. Had we frequent Entertainments of this Nature among us, they would not a little purifie and exalt our Passions, give our Thoughts a proper Turn, and cherish those Divine Impulses in the Soul, which every one feels that has not stifled them by sensual and immoderate Pleasures.

Musick, when thus applied, raises noble Hints in the Mind of the Hearer, and fills it with great Conceptions. It strengthens Devotion, and advances Praise into Rapture. It lengthens out every Act of Worship, and produces more lasting and permanent Impressions in the Mind, than those which accompany any transient Form of Words that are uttered in the ordinary Method of Religious Worship.

O.

[Footnote 1: See note on p. 51, vol. i [Footnote 1 of No. 13]. He took leave, June 14, in the Opera of Antiochus.]

* * * * *

No. 406. Monday, June 16, 1712. Steele.

'Hæc studia Adolescentiam alunt, Senectutem oblectant, secundas res
ornant, adversis solatium et perfugium præbet delectant domi, non
impediunt foris; Pernoctant nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur.'

Tull.

The following Letters bear a pleasing Image of the Joys and Satisfactions of private Life. The first is from a Gentleman to a Friend, for whom he has a very great Respect, and to whom he communicates the Satisfaction he takes in Retirement; the other is a Letter to me, occasioned by an Ode written by my Lapland Lover; this Correspondent is so kind as to translate another of Scheffer's Songs [1] in a very agreeable Manner. I publish them together, that the Young and Old may find something in the same Paper which may be suitable to their respective Taste in Solitude; for I know no Fault in the Description of ardent Desires, provided they are honourable.

Dear Sir,

You have obliged me with a very kind Letter; by which I find you shift
the Scene of your Life from the Town to the Country, and enjoy that
mixt State which wise Men both delight in, and are qualified for.
Methinks most of the Philosophers and Moralists have run too much into
Extreams, in praising entirely either Solitude or publick Life; in the
former Men generally grow useless by too much Rest, and in the latter
are destroyed by too much Precipitation: As Waters lying still,
putrifie and are good for nothing; and running violently on, do but
the more Mischief in their Passage to others, and are swallowed up and
lost the sooner themselves. Those who, like you, can make themselves
useful to all States, should be like gentle Streams, that not only
glide through lonely Vales and Forests amidst the Flocks and
Shepherds, but visit populous Towns in their Course, and are at once
of Ornament and Service to them. But there is another sort of People
who seem designed for Solitude, those I mean who have more to hide
than to shew: As for my own Part, I am one of those of whom Seneca
says, Tum Umbratiles sunt, ut putent in turbido esse quicquid in luce
est. Some Men, like Pictures, are fitter for a Corner than a full
Light; and I believe such as have a natural Bent to Solitude, are like
Waters which may be forced into Fountains, and exalted to a great
Height, may make a much nobler Figure, and a much louder Noise, but
after all run more smoothly, equally and plentifully, in their own
natural Course upon the Ground. The Consideration of this would make
me very well contented with the Possession only of that Quiet which
Cowley calls the Companion of Obscurity; but whoever has the Muses too
for his Companions, can never be idle enough to be uneasie. Thus, Sir,
you see I would flatter my self into a good Opinion of my own Way of
Living; Plutarch just now told me, that 'tis in human Life as in a
Game at Tables, one may wish he had the highest Cast, but if his
Chance be otherwise, he is even to play it as well as he can, and make
the best of it.

I am, SIR,
Your most obliged,
and most humble Servant.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

The Town being so well pleased with the fine Picture of artless Love,
which Nature inspired the Laplander to paint in the Ode you lately
printed; we were in Hopes that the ingenious Translator would have
obliged it with the other also which Scheffer has given us; but since
he has not, a much inferior Hand has ventured to send you this.

It is a Custom with the Northern Lovers to divert themselves with a
Song, whilst they Journey through the fenny Moors to pay a visit to
their Mistresses. This is addressed by the Lover to his Rain-Deer,
which is the Creature that in that Country supplies the Want of
Horses. The Circumstances which successively present themselves to him
in his Way, are, I believe you will think, naturally interwoven. The
Anxiety of Absence, the Gloominess of the Roads, and his Resolution of
frequenting only those, since those only can carry him to the Object
of his Desires; the Dissatisfaction he expresses even at the greatest
Swiftness with which he is carried, and his joyful Surprize at an
unexpected Sight of his Mistress as she is bathing, seems beautifully
described in the Original.

If all those pretty Images of Rural Nature are lost in the Imitation,
yet possibly you may think fit to let this supply the Place of a long
Letter, when Want of Leisure or Indisposition for Writing will not
permit our being entertained by your own Hand. I propose such a Time,
because tho it is natural to have a Fondness for what one does ones
self, yet I assure you I would not have any thing of mine displace a
single Line of yours.

I. Haste, my Rain-Deer, and let us nimbly go
Our am'rous Journey through this dreery Waste;
Haste, my Rain-Deer! still still thou art too slow;
Impetuous Love demands the Lightning's Haste.

II. Around us far the Rushy Moors are spread:
Soon will the Sun withdraw her chearful Ray:
Darkling and tir'd we shall the Marshes tread,
No Lay unsung to cheat the tedious Way.

III. The wat'ry Length of these unjoyous Moors
Does all the flow'ry Meadow's Pride excel,
Through these I fly to her my Soul adores;
Ye flowery Meadows, empty Pride, Farewel.

IV. Each Moment from the Charmer I'm confin'd,
My Breast is tortur'd with impatient Fires;
Fly, my Rain-Deer, fly swifter than the Wind,
Thy tardy Feet wing with my fierce Desires.

V. Our pleasing Toil will then be soon o'erpaid,
And thou, in Wonder lost, shalt view my Fair,
Admire each Feature of the lovely Maid,
Her artless Charms, her Bloom, her sprightly Air,

VI. But lo! with graceful Motion there she swims,
Gently moving each ambitious Wave;
The crowding Waves transported clasp her Limbs:
When, when, oh when, shall I such Freedoms have!

VII. In vain, you envious Streams, so fast you flow,
To hide her from a Lover's ardent Gaze:
From ev'ry Touch you more transparent grow,
And all reveal'd the beauteous Wanton plays.

T.

[Footnote 1: See No. 366 and note.]

* * * * *

No. 407. Tuesday, June 17, 1712. Addison.

'--abest facundis Gratia dictis.'

Ovid.

Most Foreign Writers who have given any Character of the English Nation, whatever Vices they ascribe to it, allow in general, that the People are naturally Modest. It proceeds perhaps from this our National Virtue, that our Orators are observed to make use of less Gesture or Action than those of other Countries. Our Preachers stand stock-still in the Pulpit, and will not so much as move a Finger to set off the best Sermons in the World. We meet with the same speaking Statues at our Bars, and in all publick Places of Debate. Our Words flow from us in a smooth continued Stream, without those Strainings of the Voice, Motions of the Body, and Majesty of the Hand, which are so much celebrated in the Orators of Greece and Rome. We can talk of Life and Death in cold Blood, and keep our Temper in a Discourse which turns upon every thing that is dear to us. Though our Zeal breaks out in the finest Tropes and Figures, it is not able to stir a Limb about us. I have heard it observed more than once by those who have seen Italy, that an untravelled Englishman cannot relish all the Beauties of Italian Pictures, because the Postures which are expressed in them are often such as are peculiar to that Country. One who has not seen an Italian in the Pulpit, will not know what to make of that noble Gesture in Raphael's Picture of St. Paul preaching at Athens, where the Apostle is represented as lifting up both his Arms, and pouring out the Thunder of his Rhetorick amidst an Audience of Pagan Philosophers.

It is certain that proper Gestures and vehement Exertions of the Voice cannot be too much studied by a publick Orator. They are a kind of Comment to what he utters, and enforce every thing he says, with weak Hearers, better than the strongest Argument he can make use of. They keep the Audience awake, and fix their Attention to what is delivered to them, at the same time that they shew the Speaker is in earnest, and affected himself with what he so passionately recommends to others. Violent Gesture and Vociferation naturally shake the Hearts of the Ignorant, and fill them with a kind of Religious Horror. Nothing is more frequent than to see Women weep and tremble at the Sight of a moving Preacher, though he is placed quite out of their Hearing; as in England we very frequently see People lulled asleep with solid and elaborate Discourses of Piety, who would be warmed and transported out of themselves by the Bellowings and Distortions of Enthusiasm.

If Nonsense, when accompanied with such an Emotion of Voice and Body, has such an Influence on Men's Minds, what might we not expect from many of those Admirable Discourses which are printed in our Tongue, were they delivered with a becoming Fervour, and with the most agreeable Graces of Voice and Gesture?

We are told that the great Latin Orator very much impaired his Health by this laterum contentio, this Vehemence of Action, with which he used to deliver himself. The Greek Orator was likewise so very Famous for this Particular in Rhetorick, that one of his Antagonists, whom he had banished from Athens, reading over the Oration which had procured his Banishment, and seeing his Friends admire it, could not forbear asking them, if they were so much affected by the bare reading of it, how much more they would have been alarmed, had they heard him actually throwing out such a Storm of Eloquence?

How cold and dead a Figure in Comparison of these two great Men, does an Orator often make at the British Bar, holding up his Head with the most insipid Serenity, and streaking the sides of a long Wigg that reaches down to his Middle? The truth of it is, there is often nothing more ridiculous than the Gestures of an English Speaker; you see some of them running their Hands into their Pockets as far as ever they can thrust them, and others looking with great Attention on a piece of Paper that has nothing written in it; you may see many a smart Rhetorician turning his Hat in his Hands, moulding it into several different Cocks, examining sometimes the Lining of it, and sometimes the Button, during the whole course of his Harangue. A deaf Man would think he was Cheap'ning a Beaver, when perhaps he is talking of the Fate of the British Nation. I remember, when I was a young Man, and used to frequent Westminster-Hall, there was a Counsellor who never pleaded without a Piece of Pack-thread in his Hand, which he used to twist about a Thumb, or a Finger, all the while he was speaking: The Waggs of those Days used to call it the Thread of his Discourse, for he was not able to utter a Word without it. One of his Clients, who was more merry than wise, stole it from him one Day in the midst of his Pleading; but he had better have let it alone, for he lost his Cause by his Jest.

I have all along acknowledged my self to be a Dumb Man, and therefore may be thought a very improper Person to give Rules for Oratory; but I believe every one will agree with me in this, that we ought either to lay aside all kinds of Gesture, (which seems to be very suitable to the Genius of our Nation) or at least to make use of such only as are graceful and expressive.

O.

* * * * *

No. 408. Wednesday, June 18, 1712. Pope.

'Decet affectus animi neque se nimium erigere, nec subjacere
serviliter.'

Tull. de Finibus.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I have always been a very great Lover of your Speculations, as well in
Regard to the Subject, as to your Manner of Treating it. Human Nature
I always thought the most useful Object of human Reason, and to make
the Consideration of it pleasant and entertaining, I always thought
the best Employment of human Wit: Other Parts of Philosophy may
perhaps make us wiser, but this not only answers that End, but makes
us better too. Hence it was that the Oracle pronounced Socrates the
wisest of all Men living, because he judiciously made Choice of human
Nature for the Object of his Thoughts; an Enquiry into which as much
exceeds all other Learning, as it is of more Consequence to adjust the
true Nature and Measures of Right and Wrong, than to settle the
Distance of the Planets, and compute the Times of their
Circumvolutions.

One good Effect that will immediately arise from a near Observation of
human Nature, is, that we shall cease to wonder at those Actions which
Men are used to reckon wholly unaccountable; for as nothing is
produced without a Cause, so by observing the Nature and Course of the
Passions, we shall be able to trace every Action from its first
Conception to its Death; We shall no more admire at the Proceedings of
Catiline or Tiberius, when we know the one was actuated by a cruel
Jealousie, the other by a furious Ambition; for the Actions of Men
follow their Passions as naturally as Light does Heat, or as any other
Effect flows from its Cause; Reason must be employed in adjusting the
Passions, but they must ever remain the Principles of Action.

The strange and absurd Variety that is so apparent in Men's Actions,
shews plainly they can never proceed immediately from Reason; so pure
a Fountain emits no such troubled Waters: They must necessarily arise
from the Passions, which are to the Mind as the Winds to a Ship, they
only can move it, and they too often destroy it; if fair and gentle,
they guide it into the Harbour; if contrary and furious, they overset
it in the Waves: In the same manner is the Mind assisted or endangered
by the Passions; Reason must then take the Place of Pilot, and can
never fail of securing her Charge if she be not wanting to her self:
The Strength of the Passions will never be accepted as an Excuse for
complying with them, they were designed for Subjection, and if a Man
suffers them to get the upper Hand, he then betrays the Liberty of his
own Soul.

As Nature has framed the several Species of Beings as it were in a
Chain, so Man seems to be placed as the middle Link between Angels and
Brutes: Hence he participates both of Flesh and Spirit by an admirable
Tie, which in him occasions perpetual War of Passions; and as a Man
inclines to the angelick or brute Part of his Constitution, he is then
denominated good or bad, virtuous or wicked; if Love, Mercy, and
Good-nature prevail, they speak him of the Angel; if Hatred, Cruelty,
and Envy predominate, they declare his Kindred to the Brute. Hence it
was that some of the Ancients imagined, that as Men in this Life
inclined more to the Angel or Brute, so after their Death they should
transmigrate into the one or the other: and it would be no unpleasant
Notion, to consider the several Species of Brutes, into which we may
imagine that Tyrants, Misers, the Proud, Malicious, and Ill-natured
might be changed.

As a Consequence of this Original, all Passions are in all Men, but
all appear not in all; Constitution, Education, Custom of the Country,
Reason, and the like Causes, may improve or abate the Strength of
them, but still the Seeds remain, which are ever ready to sprout forth
upon the least Encouragement. I have heard a Story of a good religious
Man, who, having been bred with the Milk of a Goat, was very modest in
Publick by a careful Reflection he made on his Actions, but he
frequently had an Hour in Secret, wherein he had his Frisks and
Capers; and if we had an Opportunity of examining the Retirement of
the strictest Philosophers, no doubt but we should find perpetual
Returns of those Passions they so artfully conceal from the Publick. I
remember Matchiavel observes, that every State should entertain a
perpetual jealousie of its Neighbours, that so it should never be
unprovided when an Emergency happens; [1] in like manner should the
Reason be perpetually on its Guard against the Passions, and never
suffer them to carry on any Design that may be destructive of its
Security; yet at the same Time it must be careful, that it don't so
far break their Strength as to render them contemptible, and
consequently it self unguarded.

The Understanding being of its self too slow and lazy to exert it self
into Action, its necessary it should be put in Motion by the gentle
Gales of the Passions, which may preserve it from stagnating and
Corruption; for they are as necessary to the Health of the Mind, as
the Circulation of the animal Spirits is to the Health of the Body;
they keep it in Life, and Strength, and Vigour; nor is it possible for
the Mind to perform its Offices without their Assistance: These
Motions are given us with our Being, they are little Spirits that are
born and dye with us; to some they are mild, easie, and gentle, to
others wayward and unruly, yet never too strong for the Reins of
Reason and the Guidance of Judgment.

We may generally observe a pretty nice Proportion between the Strength
of Reason and Passion; the greatest Genius's have commonly the
strongest Affections, as on the other hand, the weaker Understandings
have generally the weaker Passions; and 'tis fit the Fury of the
Coursers should not be too great for the Strength of the Charioteer.
Young Men whose Passions are not a little unruly, give small Hopes of
their ever being considerable; the Fire of Youth will of course abate,
and is a Fault, if it be a Fault, that mends every Day; but surely
unless a Man has Fire in Youth, he can hardly have Warmth in Old Age.
We must therefore be very cautious, lest while we think to regulate
the Passions, we should quite extinguish them, which is putting out
the Light of the Soul: for to be without Passion, or to be hurried
away with it, makes a Man equally blind. The extraordinary Severity
used in most of our Schools has this fatal Effect, it breaks the
Spring of the Mind, and most certainly destroys more good Genius's
than it can possibly improve. And surely 'tis a mighty Mistake that
the Passions should be so intirely subdued; for little Irregularities
are sometimes not only to be borne with, but to be cultivated too,
since they are frequently attended with the greatest Perfections. All
great Genius's have Faults mixed with their Virtues, and resemble the
flaming Bush which has Thorns amongst Lights.

Since, therefore the Passions are the Principles of human Actions, we
must endeavour to manage them so as to retain their Vigour, yet keep
them under strict Command; we must govern them rather like free
Subjects than Slaves, lest while we intend to make them obedient, they
become abject, and unfit for those great Purposes to which they were
designed. For my Part I must confess, I could never have any Regard to
that Sect of Philosophers, who so much insisted upon an absolute
Indifference and Vacancy from all Passion; for it seems to me a Thing
very inconsistent for a Man to divest himself of Humanity, in order to
acquire Tranquility of Mind, and to eradicate the very Principles of
Action, because its possible they may produce ill Effects.

I am, SIR,

Your Affectionate Admirer,

T. B.

Z.

[Footnote 1: The Prince, ch. xlv, at close.]

* * * * *

No. 409. Thursday, June 19, 1712. Addison.

'Musæo contingere cuncta lepore.'

Lucr.

Gratian very often recommends the Fine Taste, [1] as the utmost Perfection of an accomplished Man. As this Word arises very often in Conversation, I shall endeavour to give some Account of it, and to lay down Rules how we may know whether we are possessed of it, and how we may acquire that fine Taste of Writing, which is so much talked of among the Polite World.

Most Languages make use of this Metaphor, to express that Faculty of the Mind, which distinguishes all the most concealed Faults and nicest Perfections in Writing. We may be sure this Metaphor would not have been so general in all Tongues, had there not been a very great Conformity between that Mental Taste, which is the Subject of this Paper, and that Sensitive Taste which gives us a Relish of every different Flavour that affects the Palate. Accordingly we find, there are as many Degrees of Refinement in the intellectual Faculty, as in the Sense, which is marked out by this common Denomination.

I knew a Person who possessed the one in so great a Perfection, that after having tasted ten different Kinds of Tea, he would distinguish, without seeing the Colour of it, the particular Sort which was offered him; and not only so, but any two Sorts of them that were mixt together in an equal Proportion; nay he has carried the Experiment so far, as upon tasting the Composition of three different Sorts, to name the Parcels from whence the three several Ingredients were taken. A Man of a fine Taste in Writing will discern, after the same manner, not only the general Beauties and Imperfections of an Author, but discover the several Ways of thinking and expressing himself, which diversify him from all other Authors, with the several Foreign Infusions of Thought and Language, and the particular Authors from whom they were borrowed.

After having thus far explained what is generally meant by a fine Taste in Writing, and shewn the Propriety of the Metaphor which is used on this Occasion, I think I may define it to be that Faculty of the Soul, which discerns the Beauties of an Author with Pleasure, and the Imperfections with Dislike. If a Man would know whether he is possessed of this Faculty, I would have him read over the celebrated Works of Antiquity, which have stood the Test of so many different Ages and Countries, or those Works among the Moderns which have the Sanction of the Politer Part of our Contemporaries. If upon the Perusal of such Writings he does not find himself delighted in an extraordinary Manner, or if, upon reading the admired Passages in such Authors, he finds a Coldness and Indifference in his Thoughts, he ought to conclude, not (as is too usual among tasteless Readers) that the Author wants those Perfections which have been admired in him, but that he himself wants the Faculty of discovering them.

He should, in the second Place, be very careful to observe, whether he tastes the distinguishing Perfections, or, if I may be allowed to call them so, the Specifick Qualities of the Author whom he peruses; whether he is particularly pleased with Livy for his Manner of telling a Story, with Sallust for his entering into those internal Principles of Action which arise from the Characters and Manners of the Persons he describes, or with Tacitus for his displaying those outward Motives of Safety and Interest, which give Birth to the whole Series of Transactions which he relates.

He may likewise consider, how differently he is affected by the same Thought, which presents it self in a great Writer, from what he is when he finds it delivered by a Person of an ordinary Genius. For there is as much Difference in apprehending a Thought cloathed in Cicero's Language, and that of a common Author, as in seeing an Object by the Light of a Taper, or by the Light of the Sun.