The Rape of the Lock and Other Poems Part 35

'Epistle to Augustus, II'. 215-220.

If Pope was unjust to Addison the man, he at least made amends to Addison the moralist.

The second pa.s.sage that may have had an independent existence before the 'Epistle' was conceived is the portrait of Bufo, ll. 229-247. There is reason to believe that this attack was first aimed at Bubb Doddington, a courtier of Hervey's cla.s.s, though hardly of so finished a type, to whom Pope alludes as Bubo in l. 278. When Pope was working on the 'Epistle', however, he saw an opportunity to vindicate his own independence of patronage by a satiric portrait of the great Maecenas of his younger days, Lord Halifax, who had ventured some foolish criticisms on Pope's translation of the 'Iliad', and seems to have expected that the poet should dedicate the great work to him in return for an offer of a pension which he made and Pope declined. There is no reason to believe that Pope cherished any very bitter resentment toward Halifax. On the contrary, in a poem published some years after the 'Epistle' he boasted of his friendship with Halifax, naming him outright, and adding in a note that the n.o.ble lord was no less distinguished by his love of letters than his abilities in Parliament.

The third pa.s.sage, a tender reference to his mother's age and weakness, was written at least as early as 1731,--Mrs. Pope died in 1733,--and was incorporated in the 'Epistle' to round it off with a picture of the poet absorbed in his filial duties at the very time that Hervey and Lady Mary were heaping abuse upon him, as a monster devoid of all good qualities.

And now having discussed the various insertions in the 'Epistle', let us look for a moment at the poem as a whole, and see what is the nature of Pope's defense of himself and of his reply to his enemies.

It is cast in the form of a dialogue between the poet himself and Arbuthnot. Pope begins by complaining of the misfortunes which his reputation as a successful man of letters has brought upon him. He is a mark for all the starving scribblers of the town who besiege him for advice, recommendations, and hard cash. Is it not enough to make a man write 'Dunciads?' Arbuthnot warns him against the danger of making foes (ll. 101- 104), but Pope replies that his flatterers are even more intolerable than his open enemies. And with a little outburst of impatience, such as we may well imagine him to have indulged in during his later years, he cries:

Why did I write? What sin to me unknown Dipt me in ink, my parents' or my own?

and begins with l. 125 his poetical autobiography. He tells of his first childish efforts, of poetry taken up "to help me thro' this long disease my life," and then goes on to speak of the n.o.ble and famous friends who had praised his early work and urged him to try his fortune in the open field of letters. He speaks of his first poems, the 'Pastorals' and 'Windsor Forest', harmless as Hervey's own verses, and tells how even then critics like Dennis fell foul of him. Rival authors hated him, too, especially such pilfering bards as Philips. This he could endure, but the coldness and even jealousy of such a man as Addison--and here appears the famous portrait of Atticus--was another matter, serious enough to draw tears from all lovers of mankind.

Pa.s.sing on (l. 213) to the days of his great success when his 'Homer'

was the talk of the town, he a.s.serts his ignorance of all the arts of puffery and his independence of mutual admiration societies. He left those who wished a patron to the tender mercies of Halifax, who fed fat on flattery and repaid his flatterers merely with a good word or a seat at his table. After all, the poet could afford to lose the society of Bufo's toadies while such a friend as Gay was left him (l. 254).

After an eloquent expression of his wish for independence (ll. 261-270), he goes on to speak of the babbling friends who insist that he is always meditating some new satire, and persist in recognizing some wretched poetaster's lampoon as his. And so by a natural transition Pope comes to speak of his own satiric poems and their aims. He says, and rightly, that he has never attacked virtue or innocence. He reserves his lash for those who trample on their neighbors and insult "fallen worth," for cold or treacherous friends, liars, and babbling blockheads. Let Sporus (Hervey) tremble (l. 303). Arbuthnot interposes herewith an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of contemptuous pity; is it really worth the poet's while to castigate such a slight thing as Hervey, that "mere white curd"? But Pope has suffered too much from Hervey's insolence to stay his hand, and he now proceeds to lay on the lash with equal fury and precision, drawing blood at every stroke, until we seem to see the wretched fop writhing and shrieking beneath the whip. And then with a magnificent transition he goes on (ll. 332-337) to draw a portrait of himself. Here, he says in effect, is the real man that Sporus has so maligned. The portrait is idealized, of course; one could hardly expect a poet speaking in his own defense in reply to venomous attacks to dissect his own character with the stern impartiality of the critics of the succeeding century, but it is in all essentials a portrait at once impressive and true.

Arbuthnot again interrupts (l. 358) to ask why he spares neither the poor nor the great in his satire, and Pope replies that he hates knaves in every rank of life. Yet by nature, he insists, he is of an easy temper, more readily deceived than angered, and in a long catalogue of instances he ill.u.s.trates his own patience and good nature (ll. 366-385).

It must be frankly confessed that these lines do not ring true. Pope might in the heat of argument convince himself that he was humble and slow to wrath, but he has never succeeded in convincing his readers.

With l. 382 Pope turns to the defense of his family, which, as we have seen, his enemies had abused as base and obscure. He draws a n.o.ble picture of his dead father, "by nature honest, by experience wise"

simple, modest, and temperate, and pa.s.ses to the description of himself watching over the last years of his old mother, his sole care to

Explore the thought, explain the asking eye And keep a while one parent from the sky.

If the length of days which Heaven has promised those who honor father and mother fall to his lot, may Heaven preserve him such a friend as Arbuthnot to bless those days. And Arbuthnot closes the dialogue with a word which is meant, I think, to sum up the whole discussion and to p.r.o.nounce the verdict that Pope's life had been good and honorable.

Whether that blessing [1] be deny'd or giv'n, Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heav'n.

It seems hardly necessary to point out the merits of so patent a masterpiece as the 'Epistle to Arbuthnot'. In order to enjoy it to the full, indeed, one must know something of the life of the author, of the circ.u.mstances under which it was written, and, in general, of the social and political life of the time. But even without this special knowledge no reader can fail to appreciate the marvelous ease, fluency, and poignancy of this admirable satire. There is nothing like it in our language except Pope's other satires, and of all his satires it is, by common consent, easily the first. It surpa.s.ses the satiric poetry of Dryden in pungency and depth of feeling as easily as it does that of Byron in polish and artistic restraint. Its range of tone is remarkable.

At times it reads like glorified conversation, as in the opening lines; at times it flames and quivers with emotion, as in the a.s.sault on Hervey, or in the defense of his parents. Even in the limited field of satiric portraiture there is a wide difference between the manner in which Pope has drawn the portrait of Atticus and that of Sporus. The latter is a masterpiece of pure invective; no allowances are made, no lights relieve the darkness of the shadows, the portrait is frankly inhuman. It is the product of an unrestrained outburst of bitter pa.s.sion. The portrait of Atticus, on the other hand, was, as we know, the work of years. It is the product not of an outburst of fury, but of a slowly growing and intense dislike, which, while recognizing the merits of its object, fastened with peculiar power upon his faults and weaknesses. The studious restraint which controls the satirist's hand makes it only the more effective. We know well enough that the portrait is not a fair one, but we are forced to remind ourselves of this at every step to avoid the spell which Pope's apparent impartiality casts over our judgments. The whole pa.s.sage reads not so much like the heated plea of an advocate as the measured summing-up of a judge, and the last couplet falls on our ears with the inevitability of a final sentence.

But the peculiar merit of the 'Epistle to Arbuthnot' consists neither in the ease and polish of its style, nor in the vigor and effectiveness of its satire, but in the insight it gives us into the heart and mind of the poet himself. It presents an ideal picture of Pope, the man and the author, of his life, his friendships, his love of his parents, his literary relationships and aims. And it is quite futile to object, as some critics have done, that this picture is not exactly in accordance with the known facts of Pope's life. No great man can be tried and judged on the mere record of his acts. We must know the circ.u.mstances that shaped these, and the motives that inspired them. A man's ideals, if genuinely held and honestly followed, are perhaps even more valuable contributions to our final estimate of the man himself than all he did or left undone.

All I could never be, All, men ignored in me, This, I was worth to G.o.d, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.

And in the 'Epistle to Arbuthnot' we recognize in Pope ideals of independence, of devotion to his art, of simple living, of loyal friendship, and of filial piety which shine in splendid contrast with the gross, servile, and cynically immoral tone of the age and society in which he lived.

[Footnote 1: i. e. the blessing of Arbuthnot's future companionship, for which Pope (l. 413) had just prayed.]

ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT

Dr. John Arbuthnot, one of Pope's most intimate friends, had been physician to Queen Anne, and was a man of letters as well as a doctor.

Arbuthnot, Pope, and Swift had combined to get out a volume of Miscellanies in 1737. His health was failing rapidly at this time, and he died a month or so after the appearance of this 'Epistle'.

EPISTLE

'1 John:'

John Searle, Pope's faithful servant.

'4 Bedlam:'

a lunatic asylum in London in Pope's day. Notice how Pope mentions, in the same breath, Bedlam and Parna.s.sus, the hill of the Muses which poets might well be supposed to haunt.

'8 thickets:'

the groves surrounding Pope's villa.

'Grot:'

see Introduction [grotto].

'10 the chariot:'

the coach in which Pope drove.

'the barge:'

the boat in which Pope was rowed upon the Thames.

'13 the Mint:'

a district in London where debtors were free from arrest. As they could not be arrested anywhere on Sunday, Pope represents them as taking that day to inflict their visits on him.

'15 Parson:'

probably a certain Eusden, who had some pretensions to letters, but who ruined himself by drink.

'17 Clerk:'

a law clerk.

'18 engross:'