 |
I have somewhere met with a Fable that made Wealth the Father of Love. It is certain a Mind ought, at least, to be free from the Apprehensions of Want and Poverty, before it can fully attend to all the Softnesses and Endearments of this Passion. Notwithstanding we see Multitudes of married People, who are utter Strangers to this delightful Passion amidst all the Affluence of the most plentiful Fortunes.
It is not sufficient to make a Marriage happy, that the Humours of two People should be alike; I could instance an hundred Pair, who have not the least Sentiment of Love remaining for one another, yet are so like in their Humours, that if they were not already married, the whole World would design them for Man and Wife.
The Spirit of Love has something so extremely fine in it, that it is very often disturbed and lost, by some little Accidents which the Careless and Unpolite never attend to, till it is gone past Recovery.
Nothing has more contributed to banish it from a married State, than too great a Familiarity, and laying aside the common Rules of Decency. Tho' I could give Instances of this in several Particulars, I shall only mention that of Dress. The Beaus and Belles about Town, who dress purely to catch one another, think there is no further occasion for the Bait, when their first Design has succeeded. But besides the too common Fault in point of Neatness, there are several others which I do not remember to have seen touched upon, but in one of our modern Comedies, [1] where a French Woman offering to undress and dress herself before the Lover of the Play, and assuring his Mistress that it was very useful in France, the Lady tells her that's a Secret in Dress she never knew before, and that she was so unpolish'd an English Woman, as to resolve never to learn even to dress before her Husband.
There is something so gross in the Carriage of some Wives, that they lose their Husbands Hearts for Faults, which, if a Man has either Good-Nature or Good-Breeding, he knows not how to tell them of. I am afraid, indeed, the Ladies are generally most faulty in this Particular, who, at their first giving into Love, find the Way so smooth and pleasant, that they fancy 'tis scarce possible to be tired in it.
There is so much Nicety and Discretion requir'd to keep Love alive after Marriage, and make Conversation still new and agreeable after twenty or thirty years, that I know nothing which seems readily to promise it, but an earnest endeavour to please on both sides, and superior good Sense on the part of Man.
By a Man of Sense, I mean one acquainted with Business and Letters.
A Woman very much settles her Esteem for a Man, according to the Figure he makes in the World, and the Character he bears among his own Sex. As Learning is the chief Advantage we have over them, it is, methinks, as scandalous and inexcusable for a Man of Fortune to be illiterate, as for a Woman not to know how to behave her self on the most ordinary Occasions. It is this which sets the two Sexes at the greatest Distance; a Woman is vexed and surpriz'd, to find nothing more in the Conversation of a Man, than in the common Tattle of her own Sex.
Some small Engagement at least in Business, not only sets a Man's Talents in the fairest Light, and allots him a Part to act, in which a Wife cannot well intermeddle; but gives frequent occasions for those little Absences, which, whatever seeming Uneasiness they may give, are some of the best Preservatives of Love and Desire.
The Fair Sex are so conscious to themselves, that they have nothing in them which can deserve entirely to engross the whole Man, that they heartily despise one, who, to use their own Expression, is always hanging at their Apron-Strings.
Laetitia is pretty, modest, tender, and has Sense enough; she married Erastus, who is in a Post of some Business, and has a general Taste in most Parts of polite Learning. Laetitia, where ever she visits, has the pleasure to hear of something which was handsomely said or done by Erastus. Erastus, since his Marriage, is more gay in his Dress than ever, and in all Companies is as complaisant to Laetitia as to any other Lady. I have seen him give her her Fan, when it has dropped, with all the Gallantry of a Lover. When they take the Air together, Erastus is continually improving her Thoughts, and with a Turn of Wit and Spirit which is peculiar to him, giving her an Insight into things she had no notion of before. Laetitia is transported at having a new World thus open'd to her, and hangs upon the Man that gives her such agreeable Informations. Erastus has carried this Point still further, as he makes her daily not only more fond of him, but infinitely more satisfied with herself. Erastus finds a Justness or Beauty in whatever she says or observes, that Laetitia herself was not aware of; and, by his Assistance, she has discovered an hundred good Qualities and Accomplishments in herself, which she never before once dreamed of. Erastus, with the most artful Complaisance in the World, by several remote Hints, finds the means to make her say or propose almost whatever he has a mind to, which he always receives as her own Discovery, and gives her all the Reputation of it.
Erastus has a perfect Taste in Painting, and carried Laetitia with him the other day to see a Collection of Pictures. I sometimes visit this happy Couple. As we were last Week walking in the long Gallery before Dinner, I have lately laid out some Mony in Paintings, says Erastus; I bought that Venus and Adonis purely upon Laetitia's Judgment; it cost me three-score Guineas, and I was this morning offer'd [a [2]] hundred for it. I turned towards Laetitia, and saw her Cheeks glow with Pleasure, while at the same time she cast a look upon Erastus, the most tender and affectionate I ever beheld.
Flavilla married Tom Tawdry; she was taken with his laced Coat and rich Sword-knot; she has the mortification to see Tom despised by all the worthy Part of his own Sex. Tom has nothing to do after Dinner, but to determine whether he will pare his Nails at St. James's, White's, or his own House. He has said nothing to Flavilla since they were married, which she might not have heard as well from her own Woman. He however takes great care to keep up the saucy ill-natur'd Authority of a Husband. Whatever Flavilla happens to assert, Tom immediately contradicts with an Oath, by way of Preface, and, My Dear, I must tell you, you talk most confoundedly silly. Flavilla had a Heart naturally as well dispos'd for all the Tenderness of Love as that of Laetitia; but as Love seldom continues long after Esteem, it is difficult to determine, at present, whether the unhappy Flavilla hates or despises the Person most, whom she is obliged to lead her whole Life with.
X
[Footnote 1: Steele's Funeral, or Grief a la Mode, Act III.]
[Footnote 2: [an] and in first reprint.]
* * * * *
No. 507. Saturday, October 11, 1712. Addison.
'Defendit numerus, junctaeque umbone Phalanges.'
Juv.
There is something very Sublime, tho' very fanciful, in Plato's Description of the Supreme Being, That Truth is his Body, and Light his Shadow. According to this Definition, there is nothing so contradictory to his Nature, as Error and Falshood. The Platonists have so just a Notion of the Almighty's Aversion to every thing which is false and erroneous, that they looked upon Truth as no less necessary than Virtue, to qualifie an human Soul for the Enjoyment of a separate State. For this reason as they recommended Moral Duties to qualifie and season the Will for a future Life, so they prescribed several Contemplations and Sciences to rectifie the Understanding. Thus Plato has called Mathematical Demonstrations the Catharticks or Purgatives of the Soul, as being the most proper Means to cleanse it from Error, and to give it a Relish of Truth; which is the natural Food and Nourishment of the Understanding, as Virtue is the Perfection and Happiness of the Will.
There are many Authors who have shewn wherein the Malignity of a Lie consists, and set forth in proper Colours, the Heinousness of the Offence. I shall here consider one Particular Kind of this Crime, which has not been so much spoken to; I mean that abominable Practice of Party-lying. This Vice is so very predominant among us at present, that a Man is thought of no Principles, who does not propagate a certain System of Lies. The Coffee-Houses are supported by them, the Press is choaked with them, eminent Authors live upon them. Our Bottle-Conversation is so infected with them, that a Party-Lie is grown as fashionable an Entertainment, as a lively Catch or a merry Story: The Truth of it is, half the great Talkers in the Nation would be struck dumb, were this Fountain of Discourse dried up. There is however one Advantage resulting from this detestable Practice; the very Appearances of Truth are so little regarded, that Lies are at present discharg'd in the Air, and begin to hurt no Body. When we hear a Party-story from a Stranger, we consider whether he is a Whig or a Tory that relates it, and immediately conclude they are Words of course, in which the honest Gentleman designs to recommend his Zeal, without any Concern for his Veracity. A Man is looked upon as bereft of common Sense, that gives Credit to the Relations of Party-Writers; [nay] his own Friends shake their Heads at him, and consider him in no other Light than as an officious Tool or a well-meaning Ideot. When it was formerly the Fashion to husband a Lie, and trump it up in some extraordinary Emergency, it generally did Execution, and was not a little serviceable to the Faction that made use of it; but at present every Man is upon his Guard, the Artifice has been too often repeated to take Effect.
I have frequently wonder'd to see Men of Probity, who would scorn to utter a Falshood for their own particular Advantage, give so readily into a Lie when it becomes the Voice of their Faction, notwithstanding they are thoroughly sensible of it as such. How is it possible for those who are Men of Honour in their Persons, thus to become notorious Liars in their Party? If we look into the Bottom of this Matter, we may find, I think, three Reasons for it, and at the same time discover the Insufficiency of these Reasons to justify so Criminal a Practice.
In the first place, Men are apt to think that the Guilt of a Lie, and consequently the Punishment, may be very much diminish'd, if not wholly worn out, by the Multitudes of those who partake in it. Tho' the Weight of a Falshood would be too heavy for one to bear, it grows light in their Imaginations, when it is shared among many. But in this Case a Man very much deceives himself; Guilt, when it spreads thro' numbers, is not so properly divided as multiplied: Every one is criminal in proportion to the Offence which he commits, not to the Number of those who are his Companions in it. Both the Crime and the Penalty lie as heavy upon every Individual of an offending Multitude, as they would upon any single Person had none shared with him in the Offence. In a word, the Division of Guilt is like that of Matter; tho' it may be separated into infinite Portions, every Portion shall have the whole Essence of Matter in it, and consist of as many Parts as the Whole did before it was divided.
But in the second place, tho' Multitudes, who join in a Lie, cannot exempt themselves from the Guilt, they may from the Shame of it. The Scandal of a Lie is in a manner lost and annihilated, when diffused among several Thousands; as a Drop of the blackest Tincture wears away and vanishes, when mixed and confused in a considerable Body of Water; the Blot is still in it, but is not able to discover it self. This is certainly a very great Motive to several Party-Offenders, who avoid Crimes, not as they are prejudicial to their Virtue, but to their Reputation. It is enough to shew the Weakness of this Reason, which palliates Guilt without removing it, that every Man who is influenced by it declares himself in effect an infamous Hypocrite, prefers the Appearance of Virtue to its Reality, and is determined in his Conduct neither by the Dictates of his own Conscience, the Suggestions of true Honour, nor the Principles of Religion.
The third and last great Motive for Mens joining in a popular Falshood, or, as I have hitherto called it, a Party-Lie, notwithstanding they are convinced of it as such, is the doing Good to a Cause which every Party may be supposed to look upon as the most meritorious. The Unsoundness of this Principle has been so often exposed, and is so universally acknowledged, that a Man must be an utter Stranger to the Principles, either of natural Religion or Christianity, who suffers himself to be guided by it. If a Man might promote the supposed Good of his Country by the blackest Calumnies and Falshoods, our Nation abounds more in Patriots than any other of the Christian World. When Pompey was desired not to set Sail in a Tempest that would hazard his Life, It is necessary for me, says he, to Sail, but it is not necessary for me to Live: [1] Every Man should say to himself, with the same Spirit, It is my Duty to speak Truth, tho' it is not my Duty to be in an Office. One of the Fathers hath carried this Point so high, as to declare, He would not tell a Lie, tho' he were sure to gain Heaven by it. However extravagant such a Protestation may appear, every one will own, that a Man may say very reasonably, He would not tell a Lie, if he were sure to gain Hell by it; or, if you have a mind to soften the Expression, that he would not tell a Lie to gain any Temporal Reward by it, when he should run the hazard of losing much more than it was possible for him to gain.
O.
[Footnote 1: Quoted from Plutarch's Life, Sec. 50. Terser in the original:—'[Greek: Plein anagkae, zaen ouk anagkae.]']
* * * * *
No. 508. Monday, October 13, 1712. Steele.
'Omnes autem et habentur et dicuntur Tyranni, qui potestate sunt perpetua, in ea Civitate quae libertate usa est.'
Corn. Nepos.
The following Letters complain of what I have frequently observed with very much Indignation; therefore I shall give them to the Publick in the Words with which my Correspondents, who suffer under the Hardships mention'd in them, describe them.
Mr. SPECTATOR,
'In former Ages all Pretensions to Dominion have been supported and submitted to, either upon Account of Inheritance, Conquest or Election; and all such Persons who have taken upon 'em any Soveraignty over their Fellow-Creatures upon any other Account, have been always called Tyrants, not so much because they were guilty of any particular Barbarities, as because every Attempt to such a Superiority was in its Nature tyrannical. But there is another sort of Potentates, who may with greater Propriety be call'd Tyrants, than those last mention'd, both as they assume a despotick Dominion over those as free as themselves, and as they support it by Acts of notable Oppression and Injustice; and these are the Rulers in all Clubs and Meetings. In other Governments, the Punishments of some have been alleviated by the Reward of others; but what makes the Reign of these Potentates so particularly grievous, is, that they are exquisite in punishing their Subjects, at the same time they have it not in their power to reward 'em. That the Reader may the better comprehend the Nature of these Monarchs, as well as the miserable State of those that are their Vassals, I shall give an Account of the King of the Company I am fallen into, whom for his particular Tyranny I shall call Dionysius; as also of the Seeds that sprung up to this odd sort of Empire.
'Upon all Meetings at Taverns, 'tis necessary some one of the Company should take it upon him to get all things in such order and readiness, as may contribute as much as possible to the Felicity of the Convention; such as hastening the Fire, getting a sufficient number of Candles, tasting the Wine with a judicious Smack, fixing the Supper, and being brisk for the Dispatch of it. Know then, that Dionysius went thro' these Offices with an Air that seem'd to express a Satisfaction rather in serving the Publick, than in gratifying any particular Inclination of his own. We thought him a Person of an exquisite Palate, and therefore by consent beseeched him to be always our Proveditor; which Post, after he had handsomely denied, he could do no otherwise than accept. At first he made no other use of his Power, than in recommending such and such things to the Company, ever allowing these Points to be disputable; insomuch that I have often carried the Debate for Partridge, when his Majesty has given Intimation of the high Relish of Duck, but at the same time has chearfully submitted, and devour'd his Partridge with most gracious Resignation. This Submission on his side naturally produc'd the like on ours; of which he in a little time made such barbarous Advantage, as in all those Matters, which before seem'd indifferent to him, to issue out certain Edicts as uncontroulable and unalterable as the Laws of the Medes and Persians. He is by turns outragious, peevish, froward and jovial. He thinks it our Duty for the little Offices, as Proveditor, that in Return all Conversation is to be interrupted or promoted by his Inclination for or against the present Humour of the Company. We feel, at present, in the utmost Extremity, the Insolence of Office; however, I being naturally warm, ventur'd to oppose him in a Dispute about a Haunch of Venison. I was altogether for roasting, but Dionysius declar'd himself for boiling with so much Prowess and Resolution, that the Cook thought it necessary to consult his own Safety rather than the Luxury of my Proposition. With the same Authority that he orders what we shall eat and drink, he also commands us where to do it, and we change our Taverns according as he suspects any Treasonable Practices in the settling the Bill by the Master, or sees any bold Rebellion in point of Attendance by the Waiters. Another Reason for changing the Seat of Empire, I conceive to be the Pride he takes in the Promulgation of our Slavery, tho' we pay our Club for our Entertainments even in these Palaces of our grand Monarch. When he has a mind to take the Air, a Party of us are commanded out by way of Life-Guard, and we march under as great Restrictions as they do. If we meet a neighbouring King, we give or keep the Way according as we are outnumber'd or not; and if the Train of each is equal in number, rather than give Battle, the Superiority is soon adjusted by a Desertion from one of 'em.
'Now, the Expulsion of these unjust Rulers out of all Societies, would gain a Man as everlasting a Reputation, as either of the Brutus's got from their Endeavours to extirpate Tyranny from among the Romans. I confess my self to be in a Conspiracy against the Usurper of our Club; and to shew my Reading, as well as my merciful Disposition, shall allow him till the Ides of March to dethrone himself. If he seems to affect Empire till that time, and does not gradually recede from the Incursions he has made upon our Liberties, he shall find a Dinner dress'd which he has no Hand in, and shall be treated with an Order, Magnificence and Luxury as shall break his proud Heart; at the same time that he shall be convinc'd in his Stomach he was unfit for his Post, and a more mild and skilful Prince receive the Acclamations of the People, and be set up in his Room: but, as Milton says,
'—These Thoughts Full Counsel must mature. Peace is despair'd, And who can think Submission? War, then War Open, or understood, must be resolved.' [1]
'I am, Sir, Your most obedient humble Servant.
Mr. SPECTATOR,
'I am a young Woman at a Gentleman's Seat in the Country, who is a particular Friend of my Father's, and came hither to pass away a Month or two with his Daughters. I have been entertained with the utmost Civility by the whole Family, and nothing has been omitted which can make my Stay easy and agreeable on the Part of the Family; but there is a Gentleman here, a Visitant as I am, whose Behaviour has given me great Uneasinesses. When I first arrived here, he used me with the utmost Complaisance; but, forsooth, that was not with regard to my Sex, and since he has no Designs upon me, he does not know why he should distinguish me from a Man in things indifferent. He is, you must know, one of those familiar Coxcombs, who have observed some well-bred Men with a good Grace converse with Women, and say no fine things, but yet treat them with that sort of Respect which flows from the Heart and the Understanding, but is exerted in no Professions or Compliments. This Puppy, to imitate this Excellence, or avoid the contrary Fault of being troublesome in Complaisance, takes upon him to try his Talent upon me, insomuch that he contradicts me upon all Occasions, and one day told me I lied. If I had stuck him with my Bodkin, and behaved my self like a Man, since he won't treat me as a Woman, I had, I think, served him right. I wish, Sir, you would please to give him some Maxims of Behaviour in these Points, and resolve me if all Maids are not in point of Conversation to be treated by all Batchelors as their Mistresses? if not so, are they not to be used as gently as their Sisters? Is it sufferable, that the Fop of whom I complain should say, as he would rather have such a-one without a Groat, than me with the Indies? What right has any Man to make Suppositions of things not in his Power, and then declare his Will to the dislike of one that has never offended him? I assure you these are things worthy your Consideration, and I hope we shall have your Thoughts upon them. I am, tho' a Woman justly offended, ready to forgive all this, because I have no Remedy but leaving very agreeable Company sooner than I desire. This also is an heinous Aggravation of his Offence, that he is inflicting Banishment upon me. Your printing this Letter may perhaps be an Admonition to reform him: As soon as it appears I will write my Name at the End of it, and lay it in his Way; the making which just Reprimand, I hope you will put in the Power of,
SIR, Your constant Reader, and humble Servant.
T.
[Footnote 1: Paradise Lost, i. 659-662.]
* * * * *
No. 509. Tuesday, October 14, 1712. Steele.
'Hominis frugi et temperantis functus officium.'
Ter.
The useful Knowledge in the following Letter shall have a Place in my Paper, tho' there is nothing in it which immediately regards the Polite or the Learned World; I say immediately, for upon Reflection every Man will find there is a remote Influence upon his own Affairs, in the Prosperity or Decay of the Trading Part of Mankind. My present Correspondent, I believe, was never in Print before; but what he says well deserves a general Attention, tho' delivered in his own homely Maxims, and a Kind of Proverbial Simplicity; which Sort of Learning has rais'd more Estates than ever were, or will be, from attention to Virgil, Horace, Tully, Seneca, Plutarch, or any of the rest, whom, I dare say, this worthy Citizen would hold to be indeed ingenious, but unprofitable Writers. But to the Letter.
Broadstreet, Oct. 10, 1712.
Mr. WILLIAM SPECTATOR,
SIR,
'I accuse you of many Discourses on the Subject of Money, which you have heretofore promis'd the Publick, but have not discharg'd your self thereof. But, forasmuch as you seem to depend upon Advice from others what to do in that Point, have sate down to write you the Needful upon that Subject. But, before I enter thereupon, I shall take this Opportunity to observe to you, that the thriving frugal Man shews it in every Part of his Expence, Dress, Servants, and House; and I must in the first place, complain to you, as SPECTATOR, that in these Particulars there is at this Time, throughout the City of London, a lamentable Change from that Simplicity of Manners, which is the true Source of Wealth and Prosperity. I just now said, the Man of Thrift shews Regularity in every thing; but you may, perhaps, laugh that I take Notice of such a Particular as I am going to do, for an Instance that this City is declining, if their antient Oeconomy is not restor'd. The Thing which gives me this Prospect, and so much Offence, is the Neglect of the Royal-Exchange, I mean the Edifice so called, and the Walks appertaining thereunto. The Royal-Exchange is a Fabrick that well deserves to be so called, as well to express that our Monarch's highest Glory and Advantage consists in being the Patrons of Trade, as that it is commodious for Business, and an Instance of the Grandeur both of Prince and People. But alas! at present it hardly seems to be set apart for any such Use or Purpose. Instead of the Assembly of honourable Merchants, substantial Tradesmen, and knowing Masters of Ships; the Mumpers, the Halt, the Blind, and the Lame; your Venders of Trash, Apples, Plumbs; your Ragamuffins, Rakeshames, and Wenches, have justled the greater Number of the former out of that Place. Thus it is, especially on the Evening-Change; so that what with the Din of Squalings, Oaths and Cries of Beggars, Men of the greatest Consequence in our City absent themselves from the Place. This Particular, by the way, is of evil Consequence; for if the Change be no Place for Men of the highest Credit to frequent, it will not be a Disgrace to those of less Abilities to absent. I remember the time when Rascally Company were kept out, and the unlucky Boys with Toys and Balls were whipped away by a Beadle. I have seen this done indeed of late, but then it has been only to chase the Lads from Chuck, that the Beadle might seize their Copper.
I must repeat the Abomination, that the Walnut Trade is carry'd on by old Women within the Walks, which makes the Place impassable by reason of Shells and Trash. The Benches around are so filthy, that no one can sit down, yet the Beadles and Officers have the Impudence at Christmas to ask for their Box, though they deserve the Strapado. I do not think it impertinent to have mentioned this, because it speaks a neglect in the Domestick Care of the City, and the Domestick is the truest Picture of a Man every where else.
But I designed to speak on the Business of Money and Advancement of Gain. The Man proper for this, speaking in the general, is of a sedate, plain, good Understanding, not apt to go out of his way, but so behaving himself at home, that Business may come to him. Sir William Turner, that valuable Citizen, has left behind him a most excellent Rule, and couched it in very few Words, suited to the meanest Capacity. He would say, Keep your Shop and your Shop will keep you. It must be confessed, that if a Man of a great Genius could add Steadiness to his Vivacities, or substitute slower Men of Fidelity to transact the methodical part of his Affairs, such a one would outstrip the rest of the World: But Business and Trade is not to be managed by the same Heads which write Poetry, and make Plans for the Conduct of Life in general. So tho' we are at this day beholden to the late witty and inventive Duke of Buckingham for the whole Trade and Manufacture of Glass, yet I suppose there is no one will aver, that, were his Grace yet living, they would not rather deal with my diligent Friend and Neighbour, Mr. Gumley, for any Goods to be prepared and delivered on such a Day, than he would with that illustrious Mechanick abovementioned.
'No, no, Mr. SPECTATOR, you Wits must not pretend to be rich; and it is possible the Reason may be, in some Measure, because you despise, or at least you do not value it enough to let it take up your chief Attention; which the Trader must do, or lose his Credit, which is to him what Honour, Reputation, Fame, or Glory is to other sort of Men.
'I shall not speak to the Point of Cash it self, till I see how you approve of these my Maxims in general: But, I think, a Speculation upon Many a Little makes a Mickle, A Penny sav'd is a Penny got, Penny wise and Pound foolish, It is Need that makes the old Wife trot, would be very useful to the World, and if you treated them with Knowledge would be useful to your self, for it would make Demands for your Paper among those who have no Notion of it at present. But of these Matters more hereafter. If you did this, as you excel many Writers of the present Age for Politeness, so you would outgo the Author of the true Strops of Razors for Use.
'I shall conclude this Discourse with an Explanation of a Proverb, which by vulgar Errour is taken and used when a Man is reduced to an Extremity, whereas the Propriety of the Maxim is to use it when you would say, there is Plenty, but you must make such a Choice, as not to hurt another who is to come after you.
'Mr. Tobias Hobson, from whom we have the Expression, was a very honourable Man, for I shall ever call the Man so who gets an Estate honestly. Mr. Tobias Hobson was a Carrier, and being a Man of great Abilities and Invention, and one that saw where there might good Profit arise, though the duller Men overlooked it; this ingenious Man was the first in this Island who let out Hackney-Horses. He lived in Cambridge, and observing that the Scholars rid hard, his manner was to keep a large Stable of Horses, with Boots, Bridles, and Whips to furnish the Gentlemen at once, without going from College to College to borrow, as they have done since the Death of this worthy Man: I say, Mr. Hobson kept a Stable of forty good Cattle, always ready and fit for travelling; but when a Man came for a Horse, he was led into the Stable, where there was great Choice, but he obliged him to take the Horse which stood next to the Stable-Door; so that every Customer was alike well served according to his Chance, and every Horse ridden with the same Justice: From whence it became a Proverb, when what ought to be your Election was forced upon you, to say, Hobson's Choice. This memorable Man stands drawn in Fresco at an Inn (which he used) in Bishopsgate-street, with an hundred Pound Bag under his Arm, with this Inscription upon the said Bag,
'The fruitful Mother of an Hundred more.'
'Whatever Tradesman will try the Experiment, and begin the day after you publish this my Discourse to treat his Customers all alike, and all reasonably and honestly, I will ensure him the same Success.
I am, Sir, Your loving Friend,
Hezekiah Thrift
T.
* * * * *
No. 510. Wednesday, October 15, 1712. Steele.
'—Si sapis Neque praeterquam quas ipse amor molestias Habet addas; et illas, quas habet, recte feras.'
Ter.
I was the other day driving in [a [1]] Hack thro' Gerrard-street, when my Eye was immediately catch'd with the prettiest Object imaginable, the Face of a very fair Girl, between Thirteen and Fourteen, fixed at the Chin to a painted Sash, and made part of the Landskip. It seemed admirably done, and upon throwing my self eagerly out of the Coach to look at it, it laugh'd and flung from the Window. This amiable Figure dwelt upon me; and I was considering the Vanity of the Girl, and her pleasant Coquettry in acting a Picture till she was taken Notice of, and raised the Admiration of her Beholders. This little Circumstance made me run into Reflections upon the Force of Beauty, and the wonderful Influence the Female Sex has upon the other part of the Species. Our Hearts are seized with their Enchantments, and there are few of us, but brutal Men, who by that Hardness lose the chief Pleasure in them, can resist their Insinuations, tho' never so much against our own Interest and Opinion. It is common with Women to destroy the good Effects a Man's following his own Way and Inclination might have upon his Honour and Fortune, by interposing their Power over him in matters wherein they cannot influence him, but to his Loss and Disparagement. I do not know therefore a Task so difficult in human Life, as to be proof against the Importunities of a Woman a Man loves. There is certainly no Armour against Tears, sullen Looks, or at best constrained Familiarities, in her whom you usually meet with Transport and Alacrity. Sir Walter Rawleigh was quoted in a Letter (of a very ingenious Correspondent of mine) on this Subject. That Author, who had lived in Courts, Camps, travelled through many Countries, and seen many Men under several Climates, and of as various Complections, speaks of our Impotence to resist the Wiles of Women, in very severe Terms. His words are as follows: [2]
What Means did the Devil find out, or what Instruments did his own Subtlety present him, as fittest and aptest to work his Mischief by? Even the unquiet Vanity of the Woman; so as by Adam's hearkening to the Voice of his Wife, contrary to the express Commandment of the living God, Mankind by that her Incantation became the subject of Labour, Sorrow, and Death; the Woman being given to Man for a Comforter and Companion, but not for a Counsellor. It is also to be noted by whom the Woman was tempted; even by the most ugly and unworthy of all Beasts, into whom the Devil entered and persuaded. Secondly, What was the Motive of her Disobedience? Even a desire to know what was most unfitting her Knowledge; an Affection which has ever since remained in all the Posterity of her Sex. Thirdly, What was it that moved the Man to yield to her Persuasions; even the same Cause which hath moved all Men since to the like Consent, namely, an Unwillingness to grieve her or make her sad, lest she should pine, and be overcome with Sorrow. But if Adam in the state of Perfection, and Solomon the Son of David, God's chosen Servant, and himself a Man endued with the greatest Wisdom, did both of them disobey their Creator by the Persuasion and for the Love they bare to a Woman, it is not so wonderful as lamentable, that other Men in succeeding Ages have been allured to so many inconvenient and wicked Practices by the Persuasion of their Wives, or other beloved Darlings, who cover over and shadow many malicious Purposes with a counterfeit Passion of dissimulate Sorrow and Unquietness.
The Motions of the Minds of Lovers are no where so well described, as in the Works of skillful Writers for the Stage. The Scene between Fulvia and Curius, in the second Act of Johnson's Catiline, is an excellent Picture of the Power of a Lady over her Gallant. The Wench plays with his Affections; and as a Man of all Places in the World wishes to make a good Figure with his Mistress, upon her upbraiding him with Want of Spirit, he alludes to Enterprizes which he cannot reveal but with the Hazard of his Life. When he is worked thus far, with a little Flattery of her Opinion of his Gallantry, and desire to know more of it out of her overflowing Fondness to him, he brags to her till his Life is in her Disposal.
When a Man is thus liable to be vanquished by the Charms of her he loves, the safest Way is to determine what is proper to be done, but to avoid all Expostulation with her before he executes what he has resolved. Women are ever too hard for us upon a Treaty, and one must consider how senseless a thing it is to argue with one whose Looks and Gestures are more prevalent with you, than your Reason and Arguments can be with her. It is a most miserable Slavery to submit to what you disapprove, and give up a Truth for no other Reason, but that you had not Fortitude to support you in asserting it. A Man has enough to do to conquer his own unreasonable Wishes and Desires; but he does that in vain, if he has those of another to gratify. Let his Pride be in his Wife and Family, let him give them all the Conveniences of Life in such a manner as if he were proud of them; but let it be his own innocent Pride, and not their exorbitant Desires, which are indulged by him. In this case all the little Arts imaginable are used to soften a Man's Heart, and raise his Passion above his Understanding; but in all Concessions of this Kind, a Man should consider whether the Present he makes flows from his own Love, or the Importunity of his Beloved: If from the latter, he is her Slave; if from the former, her Friend. We laugh it off, and do not weigh this Subjection to Women with that Seriousness which so important a Circumstance deserves. Why was Courage given to Man, if his Wife's Fears are to frustrate it? When this is once indulged, you are no longer her Guardian and Protector, as you were designed by Nature; but, in Compliance to her Weaknesses, you have disabled your self from avoiding the Misfortunes into which they will lead you both, and you are to see the Hour in which you are to be reproached by her self for that very Complaisance to her. It is indeed the most difficult Mastery over our selves we can possibly attain, to resist the Grief of her who charms us; but let the Heart ake, be the Anguish never so quick and painful, it is what must be suffered and passed through, if you think to live like a Gentleman, or be conscious to your self that you are a Man of Honesty. The old Argument, that You do not love me if you deny me this, which first was used to obtain a Trifle, by habitual Success will oblige the unhappy Man who gives Way to it, to resign the Cause even of his Country and his Honour.
T.
[Footnote 1: [an] and in first reprint.]
[Footnote 2: History of the World, Bk. i. ch. 4, sect. 4.]
* * * * *
No. 511. Thursday, October 16, 1712. Addison.
'Quis non invenit turba quod amaret in illa?'
Ovid,
Dear SPEC.
'Finding that my last Letter took, I do intend to continue my epistolary Correspondence with thee, on those dear confounded Creatures, Women. Thou knowest, all the little Learning I am Master of is upon that Subject; I never looked in a Book, but for their sakes. I have lately met with two pure Stories for a Spectator, which I am sure will please mightily, if they pass through thy Hands. The first of them I found by chance in a English Book called Herodotus, that lay in my Friend Dapperwit's Window, as I visited him one Morning. It luckily opened in the Place where I met with the following Account. He tells us that it was the Manner among the Persians to have several Fairs in the Kingdom, at which all the young unmarried Women were annually exposed to Sale. The Men who wanted Wives came hither to provide themselves: Every Woman was given to the highest Bidder, and the Mony which she fetched laid aside for the publick Use, to be employed as thou shalt hear by and by. By this means the richest People had the Choice of the Market, and culled out all the most extraordinary Beauties. As soon as the Fair was thus picked, the Refuse was to be distributed among the Poor, and among those who could not go to the Price of a Beauty Several of these married the Agreeables, without paying a Farthing for them, unless somebody chanced to think it worth his while to bid for them, in which Case the best Bidder was always the Purchaser. But now you must know, SPEC. it happened in Persia as it does in our own Country, that there were as many ugly Women, as Beauties or Agreeables; so that by Consequence, after the Magistrates had put off a great many, there were still a great many that stuck upon their Hands. In order therefore to clear the Market, the Money which the Beauties had sold for, was disposed of among the Ugly; so that a poor Man, who could not afford to have a Beauty for his Wife, was forced to take up with a Fortune; the greatest Portion being always given to the most Deformed. To this the Author adds, that every poor Man was forced to live kindly with his Wife, or in case he repented of his Bargain, to return her Portion with her to the next publick Sale.
What I would recommend to thee on this Occasion is, to establish such an imaginary Fair in Great Britain: Thou couldst make it very pleasant, by matching Women of Quality with Coblers and Carmen, or describing Titles and Garters leading off in great Ceremony Shop-keepers and Farmers Daughters. Tho' to tell thee the Truth, I am confoundedly afraid that as the love of Mony prevails in our Island more than it did in Persia, we should find that some of our greatest Men would chuse out the Portions, and rival one another for the richest Piece of Deformity; and that on the contrary, the Toasts and Belles would be bought up by extravagant Heirs, Gamesters and Spendthrifts. Thou couldst make very pretty Reflections upon this Occasion in Honour of the Persian Politicks, who took care, by such Marriages, to beautify the upper part of the Species, and to make the greatest Persons in the Government the most graceful. But this I shall leave to thy judicious Pen.
'I have another Story to tell thee, which I likewise met with in a Book. It seems the General of the Tartars, after having laid siege to a strong Town in China, and taken it by Storm, would set to Sale all the Women that were found in it. Accordingly, he put each of them into a Sack, and after having thoroughly considered the Value of the Woman who was inclosed, marked the Price that was demanded for her upon the Sack. There were a great Confluence of Chapmen, that resorted from every Part, with a Design to purchase, which they were to do unsight unseen. The Book mentions a Merchant in particular, who observing one of the Sacks to be marked pretty high, bargained for it, and carried it off with him to his House. As he was resting with it upon a half-way Bridge, he was resolved to take a Survey of his Purchase: Upon opening the Sack, a little old Woman popped her Head out of it; at which the Adventurer was in so great a Rage, that he was going to shoot her out into the River. The old Lady, however, begged him first of all to hear her Story, by which he learned that she was sister to a great Mandarin, who would infallibly make the Fortune of his Brother-in-Law as soon as he should know to whose Lot she fell. Upon which the Merchant again tied her up in his Sack, and carried her to his House, where she proved an excellent Wife, and procured him all the Riches from her Brother that she had promised him.
'I fancy, if I was disposed to dream a second time, I could make a tolerable Vision upon this Plan. I would suppose all the unmarried Women in London and Westminster brought to Market in Sacks, with their respective Prices on each Sack. The first Sack that is sold is marked with five thousand Pound: Upon the opening of it, I find it filled with an admirable Housewife, of an agreeable Countenance: The Purchaser, upon hearing her good Qualities, pays down her Price very chearfully. The second I would open, should be a five hundred Pound Sack: The Lady in it, to our surprize, has the Face and Person of a Toast: As we are wondering how she came to be set at so low a Price, we hear that she would have been valued at ten thousand Pound, but that the Publick had made those Abatements for her being a Scold. I would afterwards find some beautiful, modest, and discreet Woman, that should be the top of the Market; and perhaps discover half a dozen Romps tyed up together in the same Sack, at one hundred Pound an Head. The Prude and the Coquet should be valued at the same Price, tho' the first should go off the better of the two. I fancy thou wouldst like such a Vision, had I time to finish it; because, to talk in thy own way, there is a Moral in it. Whatever thou may'st think of it, pr'ythee do not make any of thy queer Apologies for this Letter, as thou didst for my last. The Women love a gay lively Fellow, and are never angry at the Railleries of one who is their known Admirer. I am always bitter upon them, but well with them.
Thine,
HONEYCOMB.
O.
* * * * *
No. 512. Friday, October 17, 1712. Addison.
'Lectorem delectando pariterque monendo.'
Hor.
There is nothing which we receive with so much Reluctance as Advice. We look upon the Man who gives it us as offering an Affront to our Understanding, and treating us like Children or Ideots. We consider the Instruction as an implicit Censure, and the Zeal which any one shews for our Good on such an Occasion as a Piece of Presumption or Impertinence. The Truth of it is, the Person who pretends to advise, does, in that particular, exercise a Superiority over us, and can have no other Reason for it, but that in comparing us with himself, he thinks us defective either in our Conduct or our Understanding. For these Reasons, there is nothing so difficult as the Art of making Advice agreeable; and indeed all the Writers, both Ancient and Modern, have distinguished themselves among one another, according to the Perfection at which they have arrived in this Art. How many Devices have been made use of, to render this bitter Potion palatable? Some convey their Instructions to us in the best chosen Words, others in the most harmonious Numbers, some in Points of Wit, and others in short Proverbs.
In the next place, if we look into human Nature, we shall find that the Mind is never so much pleased, as when she exerts her self in any Action that gives her an Idea of her own Perfections and Abilities. This natural Pride and Ambition of the Soul is very much gratified in the reading of a Fable: for in Writings of this kind, the Reader comes in for half of the Performance; every thing appears to him like a Discovery of his own; he is busied all the while in applying Characters and Circumstances, and is in this respect both a Reader and a Composer. It is no wonder therefore that on such Occasions, when the Mind is thus pleased with it self, and amused with its own Discoveries, that it is highly delighted with the Writing which is the occasion of it. For this reason the Absalom and Achitophel [1] was one of the most popular Poems that ever appeared in English. The poetry is indeed very fine, but had it been much finer, it would not have so much pleased, without a plan which gave the Reader an Opportunity of exerting his own Talents.
This oblique manner of giving Advice is so inoffensive, that if we look into ancient Histories, we find the wise Men of old very often chose to give Counsel to their Kings in Fables. To omit many which will occur to every one's Memory, there is a pretty Instance of this Nature in a Turkish Tale, which I do not like the worse for that little Oriental Extravagance which is mixed with it.
We are told that the Sultan Mahmoud, by his perpetual Wars abroad, and his Tyranny at home, had filled his Dominions with Ruin and Desolation, and half unpeopled the Persian Empire. The Visier to this great Sultan (whether an Humourist or an Enthusiast, we are not informed) pretended to have learned of a certain Dervise to understand the Language of Birds, so that there was not a Bird that could open his Mouth, but the Visier knew what it was he said. As he was one Evening with the Emperor, in their return from Hunting, they saw a couple of Owls upon a Tree that grew near an old Wall out of an Heap of Rubbish. I would fain know, says the Sultan, what those two Owls are saying to one another; listen to their Discourse, and give me an account of it. The Visier approached the Tree, pretending to be very attentive to the two Owls. Upon his return to the Sultan, Sir, says he, I have heard part of their Conversation, but dare not tell you what it is. The Sultan would not be satisfied with such an Answer, but forced him to repeat word for word every thing the Owls had said. You must know then, said the Visier, that one of these Owls has a Son, and the other a Daughter, between whom they are now upon a Treaty of Marriage. The Father of the Son said to the Father of the Daughter, in my hearing, Brother, I consent to this Marriage, provided you will settle upon your Daughter fifty ruined Villages for her Portion. To which the Father of the Daughter replied, Instead of fifty I will give her five hundred, if you please. God grant a long Life to Sultan Mahmoud; whilst he reigns over us, we shall never want ruined Villages.
The Story says, the Sultan was so touched with the Fable, that he rebuilt the Towns and Villages which had been destroyed, and from that time forward consulted the Good of his People. [2]
To fill up my Paper, I shall add a most ridiculous piece of natural Magic, which was taught by no less a Philosopher than Democritus, namely, that if the Blood of certain Birds, which he mentioned, were mixed together, it would produce a Serpent of such a wonderful Virtue, that whoever did eat it should be skill'd in the Language of Birds, and understand every thing they said to one another. Whether the Dervise abovementioned might not have eaten such a Serpent, I shall leave to the Determinations of the Learned.
O.
[Footnote 1: Dryden's satire on the intrigues of the Duke of Monmouth and Lord Shaftesbury to exclude the King's brother from the Throne. Monmouth was Absalom, and Shaftesbury Achitophel.]
[Footnote 2: Pilpay's Fables.]
* * * * *
No. 513. Saturday, October 18, 1712. Addison.
'—Afflata est numine quando Jam propiore Dei—'
Virg.
The following Letter comes to me from that excellent Man in Holy Orders, whom I have mentioned more than once as one of that Society who assist me in my Speculations. It is a Thought in Sickness, and of a very serious Nature, for which Reason I give it a place in the Paper of this Day.
SIR,
'The Indisposition which has long hung upon me, is at last grown to such [a [1]] Head, that it must quickly make an End of me, or of it self. You may imagine, that whilst I am in this bad state of Health, there are none of your Works which I read with greater Pleasure than your Saturday's Papers. I should be very glad if I could furnish you with any Hints for that Day's Entertainment. Were I able to dress up several Thoughts of a serious nature, which have made great Impressions on my Mind during a long Fit of Sickness, they might not be an improper Entertainment for that Occasion.
'Among all the Reflections which usually rise in the Mind of a sick Man, who has Time and Inclination to consider his approaching End, there is none more natural than that of his going to appear Naked and Unbodied before Him who made him. When a Man considers, that as soon as the vital Union is dissolved, he shall see that Supreme Being, whom he now contemplates at a Distance, and only in his Works; or, to speak more philosophically, when by some Faculty in the Soul he shall apprehend the Divine Being, and be more sensible of his Presence, than we are now of the Presence of any Object which the Eye beholds, a Man must be lost in Carelessness and Stupidity, who is not alarmed at such a Thought. Dr. Sherlock, in his excellent Treatise upon Death, has represented, in very strong and lively Colours, the State of the Soul in its first Separation from the Body, with regard to that invisible World which every where surrounds us, tho' we are not able to discover it through this grosser World of Matter, which is accommodated to our Senses in this Life. His Words are as follow.
'That Death, which is our leaving this World, is nothing else but our putting off these Bodies, teaches us, that it is only our Union to these Bodies, which intercepts the sight of the other World: The other World is not at such a distance from us, as we may imagine; the Throne of God indeed is at a great remove from this Earth, above the third Heavens, where he displays his Glory to those blessed Spirits which encompass his Throne; but as soon as we step out of these Bodies, we step into the other World, which is not so properly another World, (for there is the same Heaven and Earth still) as a new state of Life. To live in these Bodies is to live in this World; to live out of them is to remove into the next: For while our Souls are confined to these Bodies, and can look only thro' these material Casements, nothing but what is material can affect us; nay, nothing but what is so gross, that it can reflect Light, and convey the Shapes and Colours of Things with it to the Eye: So that though within this visible World, there be a more glorious Scene of Things than what appears to us, we perceive nothing at all of it; for this Veil of Flesh parts the visible and invisible World: But when we put off these Bodies, there are new and surprizing Wonders present themselves to our Views; when these material Spectacles are taken off, the Soul, with its own naked Eyes, sees what was invisible before: And then we are in the other World, when we can see it, and converse with it: Thus St. Paul tell us, That when we are at home in the Body, we are absent from the Lord; but when we are absent from the Body, we are present with the Lord, 2 Cor. 5. 6, 8. And methinks this is enough to cure us of our Fondness for these Bodies, unless we think it more desirable to be confined to a Prison, and to look through a Grate all our Lives, which gives us but a very narrow prospect, and that none of the best neither, than to be set at liberty to view all the Glories of the World. What would we give now for the least Glimpse of that invisible World, which the first step we take out of these Bodies will present us with? There are such things as Eye hath not seen, nor Ear heard, neither hath it entered into the Heart of Man to conceive: Death opens our Eyes, enlarges our Prospect, presents us with a new and more glorious World, which we can never see while we are shut up in Flesh; which should make us as willing to part with this Veil, as to take the Film off of our Eyes, which hinders our Sight.
'As a thinking Man cannot but be very much affected with the Idea of his appearing in the presence of that Being whom none can see and live; he must be much more affected when he considers that this Being whom he appears before, will examine all the Actions of his past Life, and reward or punish him accordingly. I must confess that I think there is no Scheme of Religion, besides that of Christianity, which can possibly support the most virtuous Person under this Thought. Let a Man's Innocence be what it will, let his Virtues rise to the highest pitch of Perfection attainable in this Life, there will be still in him so many secret Sins, so many human Frailties, so many Offences of Ignorance, Passion and Prejudice, so many unguarded Words and Thoughts, and in short, so many Defects in his best Actions, that, without the Advantages of such an Expiation and Atonement as Christianity has revealed to us, it is impossible that he should be cleared before his Sovereign Judge, or that he should be able to stand in his Sight. Our Holy Religion suggests to us the only Means whereby our Guilt may be taken away, and our imperfect Obedience accepted.
'It is this Series of Thought that I have endeavoured to express in the following Hymn, which I have composed during this my Sickness.
I. When rising from the Bed of Death, O'erwhelm'd with Guilt and Fear, I see my Maker, Face to Face, O how shall I appear!
II. If yet, while Pardon may be found, And Mercy may be sought, My Heart with inward Horrour shrinks, And trembles at the Thought;
III. When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos'd In Majesty severe, And sit in Judgment on my Soul, O how shall I appear!
IV. But thou hast told the troubled Mind, Who does her Sins lament, The timely Tribute of her Tears Shall endless Woe prevent.
V. Then see the Sorrows of my Heart, Ere yet it be too late; And hear my Saviour's dying Groans, To give those Sorrows Weight.
VI. For never shall my Soul despair Her Pardon to procure, Who knows thine only Son has dy'd To make her Pardon sure.
'There is a noble Hymn in French, which Monsieur Bayle has celebrated for a very fine one, and which the famous Author of the Art of Speaking calls an Admirable one, that turns upon a Thought of the same Nature. If I could have done it Justice in English, I would have sent it you translated; it was written by Monsieur Des Barreaux; who had been one of the greatest Wits and Libertines in France, but in his last Years was as remarkable a Penitent. [2]
'Grand Dieu, tes jugemens sont remplis d'equite; Toujours tu prens plaisir a nous etre propice: Mais j'ai tant fait de mal, que jamais ta bonte Ne me pardonnera sans choquer ta Justice. Ouy, mon Dieu, la grandeur de mon impiete Ne laisse a ton pouvoir que le choix du suplice: Ton interest s' oppose a ma felicite; Et ta clemence meme attend que je perisse. Contente ton desir puis qu'il t'est glorieux; Offense toy des pleurs qui coulent de mes yeux; Tonne, frappe, il est temps, rens moi guerre pour guerre. J'adore en perissant la raison qui t'aigrit: Mais dessus quel endroit tombera ton tonnerre, Qui ne soit tout convert du sang de_ JESUS CHRIST.'
'If these Thoughts may be serviceable to you, I desire you would place them in a proper Light, and am ever, with great Sincerity,'
SIR,
Yours, &c.
O.
[Footnote 1: an in first reprint.]
[Footnote 2: Jacques Vallee Seigneur des Barreaux, born in Paris in 1602, was Counsellor of the Parliament of Paris, and gave up his charge to devote himself to pleasure. He was famous for his songs and verses, for his affability and generosity and irreligion. A few years before his death he was converted, and wrote the pious sonnet given above, which had been very widely praised and quoted. In his religious days he lived secluded at Chalon sur Saone, where he died, in 1673.]
* * * * *
No. 514. Monday, October 20, [1] 1712. Steele.
'Me Parnassi deserta per ardua, dulcis Raptat Amor; juvat ire jugis qua nulla priorum Castaliam molle divertitur Orbita Clivo.'
Virg.
Mr. SPECTATOR,
'I came home a little later than usual the other Night, and not finding my self inclined to sleep, I took up Virgil to divert me till I should be more disposed to Rest. He is the Author whom I always chuse on such Occasions, no one writing in so divine, so harmonious, nor so equal a Strain, which leaves the Mind composed, and softened into an agreeable Melancholy; the Temper in which, of all others, I chuse to close the Day. The Passages I turned to were those beautiful Raptures in his Georgicks, where he professes himself entirely given up to the Muses, and smit with the Love of Poetry, passionately wishing to be transported to the cool Shades and Retirements of the Mountain Haemus. I clos'd the Book and went to Bed. What I had just before been reading made so strong an Impression on my Mind, that Fancy seemed almost to fulfil to me the Wish of Virgil, in presenting to me the following Vision.
'Methought I was on a sudden plac'd in the Plains of Boeotia, where at the end of the Horizon I saw the Mountain Parnassus rising before me. The Prospect was of so large an Extent, that I had long wander'd about to find a Path which should directly lead me to it, had I not seen at some distance a Grove of Trees, which in a Plain that had nothing else remarkable enough in it to fix my Sight, immediately determined me to go thither. When I arrived at it, I found it parted out into a great Number of Walks and Alleys, which often widened into beautiful Openings, as Circles or Ovals, set round with Yews and Cypresses, with Niches, Grotto's, and Caves placed on the Sides, encompassed with Ivy. There was no Sound to be heard in the whole Place, but only that of a gentle Breeze passing over the Leaves of the Forest, every thing beside was buried in a profound Silence. I was captivated with the Beauty and Retirement of the Place, and never so much, before that Hour, was pleased with the Enjoyment of my self. I indulged the Humour, and suffered my self to wander without Choice or Design. At length, at the end of a Range of Trees, I saw three Figures seated on a Bank of Moss, with a silent Brook creeping at their Feet. I ador'd them as the tutelar Divinities of the Place, and stood still to take a particular View of each of them. The Middlemost, whose Name was Solitude, sat with her Arms across each other, and seemed rather pensive and wholly taken up with her own Thoughts, than any ways grieved or displeased. The only Companions which she admitted into that Retirement, was the Goddess Silence, who sat on her right Hand with her Finger on her Mouth, and on her left Contemplation, with her Eyes fixed upon the Heavens. Before her lay a celestial Globe, with several Schemes of Mathematical Theorems. She prevented my Speech with the greatest Affability in the World: Fear not, said she, I know your Request before you speak it; you would be led to the Mountain of the Muses; the only way to it lies thro' this Place, and no one is so often employ'd in conducting Persons thither as my self. When she had thus spoken, she rose from her Seat, and I immediately placed my self under her Direction; but whilst I passed through the Grove, I could not help enquiring of her who were the Persons admitted into that sweet Retirement. Surely, said I, there can nothing enter here but Virtue and virtuous Thoughts: The whole Wood seems design'd for the Reception and Reward of such Persons as have spent their Lives according to the Dictates of their Conscience and the Commands of the Gods. You imagine right, said she; assure your self this Place was at first designed for no other: Such it continued to be in the Reign of Saturn, when none entered here but holy Priests, Deliverers of their Country from Oppression and Tyranny, who repos'd themselves here after their Labours, and those whom the Study and Love of Wisdom had fitted for divine Conversation. But now it is become no less dangerous than it was before desirable: Vice has learned so to mimick Virtue, that it often creeps in hither under its Disguise. See there! just before you, Revenge stalking by, habited in the Robe of Honour. Observe not far from him Ambition standing alone; if you ask him his Name, he will tell you it is Emulation or Glory. But the most frequent Intruder we have is Lust, who succeeds now the Deity to whom in better Days this Grove was entirely devoted. Virtuous Love, with Hymen, and the Graces attending him, once reign'd over this happy Place; a whole Train of Virtues waited on him, and no dishonourable Thought durst presume for Admittance: But now! how is the whole Prospect changed? and how seldom renewed by some few who dare despise sordid Wealth, and imagine themselves fit Companions for so charming a Divinity?
'The Goddess had no sooner said thus, but we were arriv'd at the utmost Boundaries of the Wood, which lay contiguous to a Plain that ended at the Foot of the Mountain. Here I kept close to my Guide, being sollicited by several Phantomes, who assured me they would shew me a nearer Way to the Mountain of the Muses. Among the rest Vanity was extremely importunate, having deluded infinite Numbers, whom I saw wandering at the Foot of the Hill. I turned away from this despicable Troop with Disdain, and addressing my self to my Guide, told her, that as I had some Hopes I should be able to reach up part of the Ascent, so I despaired of having Strength enough to attain the Plain on the Top. But being informed by her that it was impossible to stand upon the Sides, and that if I did not proceed onwards, I should irrecoverably fall down to the lowest Verge, I resolved to hazard any Labour and Hardship in the Attempt: So great a desire had I of enjoying the Satisfaction I hoped to meet with at the End of my Enterprize!
'There were two Paths, which led up by different Ways to the Summit of the Mountain; the one was guarded by the Genius which presides over the Moment of our Births. He had it in charge to examine the several Pretensions of those who desired a Pass that Way, but to admit none excepting those only on whom Melpomene had look'd with a propitious Eye at the Hour of their Nativity. The other Way was guarded by Diligence, to whom many of those Persons apply'd who had met with a Denial the other Way; but he was so tedious in granting their Request, and indeed after Admittance the Way was so very intricate and laborious, that many after they had made some Progress, chose rather to return back than proceed, and very few persisted so long as to arrive at the End they proposed. Besides these two Paths, which at length severally led to the Top of the Mountain, there was a third made up of these two, which a little after the Entrance joined in one. This carried those happy Few, whose good Fortune it was to find it, directly to the Throne of Apollo. I don't know whether I should even now have had the Resolution to have demanded Entrance at either of these Doors, had I not seen a Peasant-like Man (followed by a numerous and lovely Train of Youths of both Sexes) insist upon Entrance for all whom he led up. He put me in mind of the Country Clown who is painted in the Map for leading Prince Eugene over the Alps. He had a Bundle of Papers in his Hand, and producing several, which he said, were given to him by Hands which he knew Apollo would allow as Passes; among which, methoughts, I saw some of my own Writing; the whole Assembly was admitted, and gave, by their Presence, a new Beauty and Pleasure to these happy Mansions. I found the Man did not pretend to enter himself, but served as a kind of Forester in the Lawns to direct Passengers, who by their own Merit, or Instructions he procured for them, had Virtue enough to travel that way. I looked very attentively upon this kind homely Benefactor, and forgive me, Mr. SPECTATOR, if I own to you I took him for your self. We were no sooner entered, but we were sprinkled three times with the Water of the Fountain Aganippe, which had Power to deliver us from all Harms, but only Envy, which reached even to the End of our Journey. We had not proceeded far in the middle Path when we arrived at the Summit of the Hill, where there immediately appeared to us two Figures, which extremely engaged my Attention: the one was a young Nymph in the Prime of her Youth and Beauty; she had Wings on her Shoulders and Feet, and was able to transport herself to the most distant Regions in the smallest Space of Time. She was continually varying her Dress, sometimes into the most natural and becoming Habits in the World, and at others into the most wild and freakish Garb that can be imagined. There stood by her a Man full-aged, and of great Gravity, who corrected her Inconsistences, by shewing them in his Mirror, and still flung her affected and unbecoming Ornaments down the Mountain, which fell in the Plain below, and were gathered up and wore with great Satisfaction by those that inhabited it. The Name of the Nymph was Fancy, the Daughter of Liberty, the most beautiful of all the Mountain-Nymphs. The other was Judgment, the Off-spring of Time, and the only Child he acknowledged to be his. A Youth, who sat upon a Throne just between them, was their genuine Offspring; his Name was Wit, and his Seat was composed of the Works of the most celebrated Authors. I could not but see with a secret Joy, that though the Greeks and Romans made the Majority, yet our own Countrymen were the next both in Number and Dignity. I was now at Liberty to take a full Prospect of that delightful Region. I was inspired with new Vigour and Life, and saw every thing in nobler and more pleasing Views than before; I breathed a purer AEther in a Sky which was a continued Azure, gilded with perpetual Sunshine. The two Summits of the Mountain rose on each Side, and formed in the midst a most delicious Vale, the Habitation of the Muses, and of such as had composed Works worthy of Immortality. Apollo was seated upon a Throne of Gold, and for a Canopy an aged Laurel spread its Boughs and its Shade over his Head. His Bow and Quiver lay at his Feet. He held his Harp in his Hand, whilst the Muses round about him celebrated with Hymns his Victory over the Serpent Python, and sometimes sung in softer Notes the Loves of Leucothoe and Daphnis. Homer, Virgil, and Milton were seated the next to them. Behind were a great Number of others, among whom I was surprized to see some in the Habit of Laplanders, who, notwithstanding the Uncouthness of their Dress, had lately obtained a Place upon the Mountain. I saw Pindar walking all alone, no one daring to accost him, till Cowley join'd himself to him; but growing weary of one who almost walked him out of breath, he left him for Horace and Anacreon, with whom he seemed infinitely delighted.
'A little further I saw another Groupe of Figures; I made up to them, and found it was Socrates dictating to Xenophon, and the Spirit of Plato; but most of all, Musoeus had the greatest Audience about him. I was at too great a Distance to hear what he said, or to discover the Faces of his Hearers; only I thought I now perceived Virgil, who had joined them, and stood in a Posture full of Admiration at the Harmony of his Words.
'Lastly, At the very Brink of the Hill I saw Boccalini sending Dispatches to the World below of what happened upon Parnassus; but I perceived he did it without leave of the Muses, and by stealth, and was unwilling to have them revised by Apollo. I could now from this Height and serene Sky behold the infinite Cares and Anxieties with which Mortals below sought out their way through the Maze of Life. I saw the Path of Virtue lie strait before them, whilst Interest, or some malicious Demon, still hurry'd them out of the Way. I was at once touched with Pleasure at my own Happiness, and Compassion at the sight of their inextricable Errors. Here the two contending Passions rose so high, that they were inconsistent with the sweet Repose I enjoy'd, and awaking with a sudden start, the only Consolation I could admit of for my Loss, was the Hopes that this Relation of my Dream will not displease you.' [2]
T.
[Footnote 1: Room is made for this paper, in the original issue, by printing it in smaller type.]
[Footnote 2: This Advertisement follows:
A Letter written October 14, dated Middle Temple, has been overlooked, by reason it was not directed to the SPECTATOR at the usual Places; and the Letter of the 18th, dated from the same Place, is groundless, the Author of the Paper of Friday last not having ever seen the Letter of the 14th. In all circumstances except the Place of Birth of the Person to whom the Letters were written, the Writer of them is misinformed.]
* * * * *
No. 515. Tuesday, October 21, 1712. Steele.
'Pudet me et miseret qui harum mores contabat mihi Monuisse frustra—'
Ter.
Mr. SPECTATOR,
'I am obliged to you for printing the Account I lately sent you of a Coquet who disturbed a sober Congregation in the City of London. That Intelligence ended at her taking Coach, and bidding the Driver go where he knew. I could not leave her so, but dogged her, as hard as she drove, to Paul's Church-Yard, where there was a Stop of Coaches attending Company coming out of the Cathedral. This gave me opportunity to hold up a Crown to her Coachman, who gave me the Signal, that he would hurry on, and make no Haste, as you know the Way is when they favour a Chase. By his many kind Blunders, driving against other Coaches, and slipping off some of his Tackle, I could keep up with him, and lodged my fine Lady in the Parish of St. James's. As I guessed when I first saw her at Church, her Business is to win Hearts and throw 'em away, regarding nothing but the Triumph. I have had the Happiness, by tracing her through all with whom I heard she was acquainted, to find one who was intimate with a Friend of mine, and to be introduced to her Notice. I have made so good use of my Time, as to procure from that Intimate of hers one of her Letters, which she writ to her when in the Country. This Epistle of her own may serve to alarm the World against her in ordinary Life, as mine, I hope, did those, who shall behold her at Church. The Letter was written last Winter to the Lady who gave it me; and I doubt not but you will find it the Soul of an happy self-loving Dame, that takes all the Admiration she can meet with, and returns none of it in Love to her Admirers.'
Dear Jenny,
"I am glad to find you are likely to be dispos'd of in Marriage so much to your Approbation as you tell me. You say you are afraid only of me, for I shall laugh at your Spouse's Airs. I beg of you not to fear it, for I am too nice a Discerner to laugh at any, but whom most other People think fine Fellows; so that your Dear may bring you hither as soon as his Horses are in Case enough to appear in Town, and you be very safe against any Raillery you may apprehend from me; for I am surrounded with Coxcombs of my own making, who are all ridiculous in a manner: your Good-man, I presume, can't exert himself. As Men who cannot raise their Fortunes, and are uneasy under the Incapacity of shining in Courts, rail at Ambition; so do [awkard [1]] and insipid Women, who cannot warm the Hearts and charm the Eyes of Men, rail at Affectation: But she that has the Joy of seeing a Man's Heart leap into his Eyes at beholding her, is in no Pain for want of Esteem among a Crew of that Part of her own Sex, who have no Spirit but that of Envy, and no Language but that of Malice. I do not in this, I hope, express my self insensible of the Merit of Leodacia, who lowers her Beauty to all but her Husband, and never spreads her Charms but to gladden him who has a Right in them: I say, I do Honour to those who can be Coquets, and are not such; but I despise all who would be so, and in Despair of arriving at it themselves, hate and vilify all those who can. But, be that as it will, in Answer to your Desire of knowing my History: One of my chief present Pleasures is in Country-Dances: and, in Obedience to me, as well as the Pleasure of coming up to me with a good Grace, shewing themselves in their Address to others in my Presence, and the like Opportunities, they are all Proficients that Way: And I had the Happiness of being the other Night where we made six Couple, and every Woman's Partner a profess'd Lover of mine. The wildest Imagination cannot form to it self on any Occasion, higher Delight than I acknowledge my self to have been in all that Evening. I chose out of my Admirers a Set of Men who most love me, and gave them Partners of such of my own Sex who most envy'd me.
"My way is, when any Man who is my Admirer pretends to give himself Airs of Merit, as at this Time a certain Gentleman you know did, to mortify him by favouring in his Presence the most insignificant Creature I can find. At this Ball I was led into the Company by pretty Mr. Fanfly, who, you know, is the most obsequious, well-shaped, well-bred Woman's Man in Town. I at first Entrance declared him my Partner if I danced at all; which put the whole Assembly into a Grin, as forming no Terrours from such a Rival. But we had not been long in the Room, before I overheard the meritorious Gentleman above-mention'd say with an Oath, There is no Raillery in the Thing, she certainly loves the Puppy. My Gentleman, when we were dancing, took an Occasion to be very soft in his Oglings upon a Lady he danced with, and whom he knew of all Women I love most to outshine. The Contest began who should plague the other most. I, who do not care a Farthing for him, had no hard Task to out-vex him. I made Fanfly, with a very little Encouragement, cut Capers Coupee, and then sink with all the Air and Tenderness imaginable. When he perform'd this, I observed the Gentleman you know of fall into the same way, and imitate as well as he could the despised Fanfly. I cannot well give you, who are so grave a Country Lady, the Idea of the Joy we have when we see a stubborn Heart breaking, or a Man of Sense turning Fool for our sakes; but this happened to our Friend, and I expect his Attendance whenever I go to Church, to Court, to the Play, or the Park. This is a Sacrifice due to us Women of Genius, who have the Eloquence of Beauty, an easie Mein. I mean by an easie Mein, one which can be on Occasion easily affected: For I must tell you, dear Jenny, I hold one Maxim, which is an uncommon one, to wit, That our greatest Charms are owing to Affectation. 'Tis to That that our Arms can lodge so quietly just over our Hips, and the Fan can play without any Force or Motion but just of the Wrist. 'Tis to Affectation we owe the pensive Attention of Deidamia at a Tragedy, the scornful Approbation of Dulciamara at a Comedy, and the lowly Aspect of Lanquicelsa at a Sermon.
"To tell you the plain Truth, I know no Pleasure but in being admir'd, and have yet never failed of attaining the Approbation of the Man whose Regard I had a Mind to. You see all the Men who make a Figure in the World (as wise a Look as they are pleased to put upon the Matter) are moved by the same Vanity as I am. What is there in Ambition, but to make other People's Wills depend upon yours? This indeed is not to be aim'd at by one who has a Genius no higher than to think of being a very good Housewife in a Country Gentleman's Family. The Care of Poultrey and Piggs are great Enemies to the Countenance: The vacant Look of a fine Lady is not to be preserved, if she admits any thing to take up her Thoughts but her own dear Person. But I interrupt you too long from your Cares, and my self from my Conquests."
I am, Madam, Your most humble Servant.
'Give me leave, Mr. SPECTATOR, to add her Friend's Answer to this Epistle, who is a very discreet ingenious Woman.'
Dear Gatty,
"I take your Raillery in very good Part, and am obliged to you for the free Air with which you speak of your own Gayeties. But this is but a barren superficial Pleasure; [indeed, [2]] Gatty, we are made for Man, and in serious Sadness I must tell you, whether you yourself know it or no, all these Gallantries tend to no other End but to be a Wife and Mother as fast as you can."
I am, Madam, Your most [humble [3]] Servant.
T.
[Footnote 1: Spelt generally in the first issue awkard, in the first reprint aukward.]
[Footnote 2: [for indeed,]]
[Footnote 3: obedient]
* * * * *
No. 516. Wednesday, October 22, 1712. Steele.
'Immortale odium et nunquam sanabile vulnus. Inde furor vulgo, quod Numina vicinorum Odit uterque locus, quum solos credit habendos Esse Deos quos ipse colat.'
Juv.
Of all the monstrous Passions and Opinions which have crept into the World, there is none so wonderful as that those who profess the common Name of Christians, should pursue each other with Rancour and Hatred for Differences in their Way of following the Example of their Saviour. It seems so natural that all who pursue the Steps of any Leader should form themselves after his Manners, that it is impossible to account for Effects so different from what we might expect from those who profess themselves Followers of the highest Pattern of Meekness and Charity, but by ascribing such Effects to the Ambition and Corruption of those who are so audacious, with Souls full of Fury, to serve at the Altars of the God of Peace.
The Massacres to which the Church of Rome has animated the ordinary People, are dreadful Instances of the Truth of this Observation; and whoever reads the History of the Irish Rebellion, and the Cruelties which ensued thereupon, will be sufficiently convinced to what Rage poor Ignorants may be worked up by those who profess Holiness, and become Incendiaries, and under the Dispensation of Grace, promote Evils abhorrent to Nature.
This Subject and Catastrophe, which deserve so well to be remarked by the Protestant World, will, I doubt not, be considered by the Reverend and Learned Prelate that Preaches to-morrow before many of the Descendants, of those who perished on that lamentable Day, in a manner suitable to the Occasion, and worthy his own great Virtue and Eloquence.
I shall not dwell upon it any further, but only transcribe out of a little Tract, called, The Christian Hero, published in 1701, what I find there in Honour of the renowned Hero William III. who rescued that Nation from the Repetition of the same Disasters. His late Majesty, of glorious Memory, and the most Christian King, are considered at the Conclusion of that Treatise as Heads of the Protestant and Roman Catholick World in the following Manner.
'There were not ever, before the Entrance of the Christian Name into the World, Men who have maintained a more renowned Carriage, than the two great Rivals who possess the full Fame of the present Age, and will be the Theme and Examination of the future. They are exactly form'd by Nature for those Ends to which Heaven seems to have sent them amongst us: Both animated with a restless Desire of Glory, but pursue it by different Means, and with different Motives. To one it consists in an extensive undisputed Empire over his Subjects, to the other in their rational and voluntary Obedience: One's Happiness is founded in their want of Power, the other's in their want of Desire to oppose him. The one enjoys the Summit of Fortune with the Luxury of a Persian, the other with the Moderation of a Spartan: One is made to oppress, the other to relieve the Oppressed: The one is satisfy'd with the Pomp and Ostentation of Power to prefer and debase his Inferiours, the other delighted only with the Cause and Foundation of it to cherish and protect 'em. To one therefore Religion is but a convenient Disguise, to the other a vigorous Motive of Action.
'For without such Ties of real and solid Honour, there is no way of forming a Monarch, but after the Machiavillian Scheme, by which a Prince must ever seem to have all Virtues, but really to be Master of none, but is to be liberal, merciful and just, only as they serve his Interests; while, with the noble Art of Hypocrisy, Empire would be to be extended, and new Conquests be made by new Devices, by which prompt Address his Creatures might insensibly give Law in the Business of Life, by leading Men in the Entertainment of it. [1]
'Thus when Words and Show are apt to pass for the substantial things they are only to express, there would need no more to enslave a Country but to adorn a Court; for while every Man's Vanity makes him believe himself capable of becoming Luxury, Enjoyments are a ready Bait for Sufferings, and the Hopes of Preferment Invitations to Servitude; which Slavery would be colour'd with all the Agreements, as they call it, imaginable. The noblest Arts and Artists, the finest Pens and most elegant Minds, jointly employ'd to set it off, with the various Embellishments of sumptuous Entertainments, charming Assemblies, and polished Discourses; and those apostate Abilities of Men, the adored Monarch might profusely and skilfully encourage, while they flatter his Virtue, and gild his Vice at so high a rate, that he, without Scorn of the one, or Love of the other, would alternately and occasionally use both: So that his Bounty should support him in his Rapines, his Mercy in his Cruelties.
'Nor is it to give things a more severe Look than is natural, to suppose such must be the Consequences of a Prince's having no other Pursuit than that of his own Glory; for, if we consider an Infant born into the World, and beholding it self the mightiest thing in it, it self the present Admiration and future Prospect of a fawning People, who profess themselves great or mean, according to the Figure he is to make amongst them, what Fancy would not be debauched to believe they were but what they professed themselves, his mere Creatures, and use them as such by purchasing with their Lives a boundless Renown, which he, for want of a more just Prospect, would place in the Number of his Slaves, and the Extent of his Territories? Such undoubtedly would be the tragical Effects of a Prince's living with no Religion, which are not to be surpassed but by his having a false one.
'If Ambition were spirited with Zeal, what would follow, but that his People should be converted into an Army, whose Swords can make Right in Power, and solve Controversy in Belief? And if Men should be stiff-neck'd to the Doctrine of that visible Church, let them be contented with an Oar and a Chain, in the midst of Stripes and Anguish, to contemplate on him, whose Yoke is easy, and whose Burthen is light.
'With a Tyranny begun on his own Subjects, and Indignation that others draw their Breath independent of his Frown or Smile, why should he not proceed to the Seizure of the World? And if nothing but the Thirst of Sway were the Motive of his Actions, why should Treaties be other than mere Words, or solemn national Compacts be any thing but an Halt in the March of that Army, who are never to lay down their Arms, till all Men are reduc'd to the necessity of hanging their Lives on his wayward Will; who might supinely, and at leisure, expiate his own Sins by other Mens Sufferings, while he daily meditates new Slaughter, and new Conquest? |
|
