The Tatler Volume Iii Part 39

"SIR, "Sheer Lane, _June 24._

"You have by the fine a plain right, in which none else of your family can be your compet.i.tor; for which reason, by all means demand va.s.salage upon that t.i.tle. The contrary advice can be given for no other purpose in nature but to betray you, and favour other pretenders, by making you place a right which is in you only, upon a level with a right which you have in common with others. I am,

"Sir, "Your most faithful "Servant till death, "I. B."

There is nothing so dangerous or so pleasing, as compliments made to us by our enemies: and my correspondent tells me, that though he knows several of those who give him this counsel were at first against pa.s.sing the fine in favour of him; yet is he so touched with their homage to him, that he can hardly believe they have a mind to set it aside, in order to introduce the heirs-general into his estate.

These are great evils; but since there is no proceeding with success in this world, without complying with the arts of it, I shall use the same method as my correspondent's tenants did with him, in relation to one whom I never had a kindness for; but shall, notwithstanding, presume to give him my advice.

"_Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., of Great Britain, to Lewis XIV. of France._

"SIR,

"Your Majesty will pardon me while I take the liberty to acquaint you, that some pa.s.sages written from your side of the water do very much obstruct your interests. We take it very unkindly that the prints of Paris are so very partial in favour of one set of men among us, and treat the others as irreconcilable to your interests.

Your writers are very large in recounting anything which relates to the figure and power of one party, but are dumb when they should represent the actions of the other. This is a trifling circ.u.mstance many here are apt to lay some stress upon; therefore I thought fit to offer it to your consideration before you despatch the next courier.

"I. B."[331]

[Footnote 327: Swift may have been among those who protested at the introduction of politics into the _Tatler_ (see No. 187), and Nichols thought that he was the writer of the letter signed "Aminadab" in this number. In June 1710, the fall of the Whigs was rapidly approaching.]

[Footnote 328: Pasquin. See Nos. 129, 130, 187.]

[Footnote 329: 2 Sam. xvi. 13.]

[Footnote 330: 1 Kings ii. 36.]

[Footnote 331: "The Tories happen now to have other work upon their hands, and are not at leisure to return the civilities that are paid them; however, having had the honour of a letter from the King of France ... they have sent in their answer to me, and desire me to forward it; but I am at a loss how to do this, unless my brother the _Tatler_ will convey it under his cover, for I protest I know no man in England but him that holds a correspondence with his Christian Majesty" (_Examiner_, No. 2, August 10, 1710).]

No. 191. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, June 27_, to _Thursday, June 29, 1710_.

----Propter vitam vivendi perdere causas.--JUV., Sat. viii. 84.

_From my own Apartment, June 28._

Of all the evils under the sun, that of making vice commendable is the greatest: for it seems to be the basis of society, that applause and contempt should be always given to proper objects. But in this age we behold things for which we ought to have an abhorrence, not only received without disdain, but even valued as motives of emulation. This is naturally the destruction of simplicity of manners, openness of heart, and generosity of temper. When one gives oneself the liberty to range, and run over in one's thoughts the different geniuses of men which one meets in the world, one cannot but observe, that most of the indirection and artifice which is used among men, does not proceed so much from a degeneracy in Nature, as an affectation of appearing men of consequence by such practices. By this means it is, that a cunning man is so far from being ashamed of being esteemed such, that he secretly rejoices in it. It has been a sort of maxim, that the greatest art is to conceal art; but I know not how, among some people we meet with, their greatest cunning is to appear cunning. There is Polypragmon[332] makes it the whole business of his life to be thought a cunning fellow, and thinks it a much greater character to be terrible than agreeable. When it has once entered into a man's head to have an ambition to be thought crafty, all other evils are necessary consequences. To deceive is the immediate endeavour of him who is proud of the capacity of doing it. It is certain, Polypragmon does all the ill he possibly can, but pretends to much more than he performs. He is contented in his own thoughts, and hugs himself in his closet, that though he is locked up there and doing nothing, the world does not know but that he is doing mischief. To favour this suspicion, he gives half-looks and shrugs in his general behaviour, to give you to understand that you don't know what he means.

He is also wonderfully adverbial in his expressions, and breaks off with a "perhaps" and a nod of the head, upon matters of the most indifferent nature. It is a mighty practice with men of this genius to avoid frequent appearance in public, and to be as mysterious as possible when they do come into company. There is nothing to be done, according to them, the common way; and let the matter in hand be what it will, it must be carried with an air of importance, and transacted, if we may so speak, with an ostentatious secrecy. These are your persons of long heads, who would fain make the world believe their thoughts and ideas are very much superior to their neighbours', and do not value what these their neighbours think of them, provided they do not reckon them fools.

These have such a romantic touch in business, that they hate to perform anything like other men. Were it in their choice, they had rather bring their purposes to bear by overreaching the persons they deal with, than by a plain and simple manner. They make difficulties for the honour of surmounting them. Polypragmon is eternally busied after this manner, with no other prospect, than that he is in hopes to be thought the most cunning of all men, and fears the imputation of want of understanding much more than that of the abuse of it. But alas! how contemptible is such an ambition, which is the very reverse of all that is truly laudable, and the very contradiction to the only means to a just reputation, simplicity of manners? Cunning can in no circ.u.mstance imaginable be a quality worthy a man except in his own defence, and merely to conceal himself from such as are so; and in such cases it is no longer craft, but wisdom. The monstrous affectation of being thought artful immediately kills all thoughts of humanity and goodness, and gives men a sense of the soft affections and impulses of the mind (which are imprinted in us for our mutual advantage and succour) as of mere weaknesses and follies. According to the men of cunning, you are to put off the nature of a man as fast as you can, and acquire that of a demon, as if it were a more eligible character to be a powerful enemy than an able friend. But it ought to be a mortification to men affected this way, that there wants but little more than instinct to be considerable in it; for when a man has arrived at being very bad in his inclination, he has not much more to do, but to conceal himself, and he may revenge, cheat, and deceive, without much employment for understanding, and go on with great cheerfulness with the high applause of being a prodigious cunning fellow. But indeed, when we arrive at that pitch of false taste, as not to think cunning a contemptible quality, it is, methinks, a very great injustice that pick-pockets are had in so little veneration, who must be admirably well turned, not only for the theoretic, but also the practical behaviour of cunning fellows. After all the endeavour of this family of men whom we call cunning, their whole work falls to pieces, if others will lay down all esteem for such artifices, and treat it as an unmanly quality, which they forbear to practise only because they abhor it. When the spider is ranging in the different apartments of his web, it is true that he only can weave so fine a thread; but it is in the power of the merest drone that has wings to fly through and destroy it.

_Will's Coffee-house, June 28._

Though the taste of wit and pleasure is at present but very low in this town, yet there are some that preserve their relish undebauched with common impressions, and can distinguish between reality and imposture. A gentleman was saying here this evening, that he would go to the play to-morrow night to see heroism, as it has been represented by some of our tragedians, represented in burlesque. It seems, the play of "Alexander" is to be then turned into ridicule for its bombast, and other false ornaments in the thought as well as the language.[333] The bl.u.s.ter Alexander makes, is as much inconsistent with the character of a hero, as the roughness of Clytus is an instance of the sincerity of a bold artless soldier. To be plain is not to be rude, but rather inclines a man to civility and deference; not indeed to show it in the gestures of the body, but in the sentiments of the mind. It is, among other things, from the impertinent figures unskilful dramatists draw of the characters of men, that youth are bewildered and prejudiced in their sense of the world, of which they have no notions but what they draw from books and such representations. Thus talk to a very young man, let him be of never so good sense, and he shall smile when you speak of sincerity in a courtier, good sense in a soldier, or honesty in a politician. The reason of this is, that you hardly see one play wherein each of these ways of life is not drawn by hands that know nothing of any one of them: and the truth is so far of the opposite side to what they paint, that it is more impracticable to live in esteem in Courts than anywhere else without sincerity. Good sense is the great requisite in a soldier, and honesty the only thing that can support a politician.

This way of thinking made the gentleman of whom I was just now speaking say, he was glad any one had taken upon him to depreciate such unnatural fustian as the tragedy of "Alexander." The character of that prince indeed was, that he was unequal, and given to intemperance; but in his sober moments, when he had warm in his imagination the precepts of his great instructor, he was a pattern of generous thoughts and dispositions, in opposition to the strongest desires which are incident to a youth and conqueror. But instead of representing that hero in the glorious character of generosity and chast.i.ty, in his treatment of the beauteous family of Darius, he is drawn all along as a monster of l.u.s.t, or of cruelty; as if the way to raise him to the degree of a hero were to make his character as little like that of a worthy man as possible.

Such rude and indigested draughts of things are the proper objects of ridicule and contempt, and depreciating Alexander, as we have him drawn, is the only way of restoring him to what he was in himself. It is well contrived of the players to let this part be followed by a true picture of life, in the comedy called, "The Chances,"[334] wherein Don John and Constantia are acted to the utmost perfection. There need not be a greater instance of the force of action than in many incidents of this play, where indifferent pa.s.sages, and such that conduce only to the tacking of the scenes together, are enlivened with such an agreeable gesture and behaviour, as apparently shows what a play might be, though it is not wholly what a play should be.

[Footnote 332: In reply to this suggestion that the character of Polypragmon was meant for Harley, Steele said, in the _Guardian_, No.

53: "I drew it as the most odious image I could paint of ambition....

Whoever seeks employment for his own private interest, vanity, or pride, and not for the good of his prince and country, has his share in the picture of Polypragmon; and let this be the rule in examining that description, and I believe the Examiner will find others to whom he would rather give a part of it, than to the person on whom I believe he bestows it, because he thinks he is the most capable of having his vengeance on me.... I have not, like him, fixed odious images on persons, but on vices." To this the _Examiner_ (vol. iv. No. 2) replied: "He would insinuate, that Timon and Polypragmon are general characters, and stand for a whole species, or, as he quaintly words it, for Knights of the Shire. If this be true, why did he not before now silence the industrious clamours of his party, who both in print and public conversation applied those characters to persons of the first rank, though without any regard to the rules of resemblance?" The writer of "Annotations on the _Tatler_," 1710, in the preface to the second part, regretted that Steele had become a politician, and said, in allusion to Steele's experiments in alchemy: "Turning statesman and drudging for the Philosopher's Stone, are toils not altogether unlike each other; buffeting with fire, labouring in smoke, wearing out of lungs, and tiring oneself with expectation, are misfortunes common to both these projects; 'tis converting real gold to dross, out of a prospect of converting dross into real gold."]

[Footnote 333: A burlesque of Lee's "Rival Queens; or, the Death of Alexander the Great," by Gibber, called "The Rival Queans; or, the Humours of Alexander the Great," was acted at Drury Lane in 1710, but not printed until 1729.]

[Footnote 334: An adaptation of Beaumont and Fletcher's comedy, by the Duke of Buckingham, 1682.]

No. 192. [ADDISON.

From _Thursday, June 29_, to _Sat.u.r.day, July 1, 1710_.

Tec.u.m vivere amem, tec.u.m obeam libens.--HOR., 3 Od. ix. 24.

_From my own Apartment, June 30._

Some years since I was engaged with a coachful of friends to take a journey as far as the Land's End. We were very well pleased with one another the first day, every one endeavouring to recommend himself by his good humour and complaisance to the rest of the company. This good correspondence did not last long; one of our party was soured the very first evening by a plate of b.u.t.ter which had not been melted to his mind, and which spoiled his temper to such a degree, that he continued upon the fret to the end of our journey. A second fell off from his good humour the next morning, for no other reason that I could imagine, but because I chanced to step into the coach before him, and place myself on the shady side. This however was but my own private guess, for he did not mention a word of it, nor indeed of anything else, for three days following. The rest of our company held out very near half the way, when of a sudden Mr. Sprightly fell asleep; and instead of endeavouring to divert and oblige us, as he had hitherto done, carried himself with an unconcerned, careless, drowsy behaviour, till we came to our last stage.

There were three of us who still held up our heads, and did all we could to make our journey agreeable; but, to my shame be it spoken, about three miles on this side Exeter, I was taken with an unaccountable fit of sullenness, that hung upon me for above three-score miles; whether it were for want of respect, or from an accidental tread upon my foot, or from a foolish maid's calling me "The old gentleman," I cannot tell.

In short, there was but one who kept his good humour to the Land's End.

There was another coach that went along with us, in which I likewise observed, that there were many secret jealousies, heartburnings, and animosities: for when we joined companies at night, I could not but take notice, that the pa.s.sengers neglected their own company, and studied how to make themselves esteemed by us, who were altogether strangers to them; till at length they grew so well acquainted with us, that they liked us as little as they did one another. When I reflect upon this journey, I often fancy it to be a picture of human life, in respect to the several friendships, contracts, and alliances that are made and dissolved in the several periods of it. The most delightful and most lasting engagements are generally those which pa.s.s between man and woman; and yet upon what trifles are they weakened, or entirely broken?

Sometimes the parties fly asunder, even in the midst of courtship, and sometimes grow cool in the very honey month. Some separate before the first child, and some after the fifth; others continue good till thirty, others till forty; while some few, whose souls are of a happier make, and better fitted to one another, travel on together to the end of their journey in a continual intercourse of kind offices and mutual endearments.

When we therefore choose our companions for life, if we hope to keep both them and ourselves in good humour to the last stage of it, we must be extremely careful in the choice we make, as well as in the conduct on our own part. When the persons to whom we join ourselves can stand an examination, and bear the scrutiny, when they mend upon our acquaintance with them, and discover new beauties the more we search into their characters, our love will naturally rise in proportion to their perfections.

But because there are very few possessed of such accomplishments of body and mind, we ought to look after those qualifications both in ourselves and others, which are indispensably necessary towards this happy union, and which are in the power of every one to acquire, or at least to cultivate and improve. These, in my opinion, are cheerfulness and constancy. A cheerful temper joined with innocence will make beauty attractive, knowledge delightful, and wit good-natured. It will lighten sickness, poverty, and affliction; convert ignorance into an amiable simplicity, and render deformity itself agreeable.

Constancy is natural to persons of even tempers and uniform dispositions, and may be acquired by those of the greatest fickleness, violence, and pa.s.sion, who consider seriously the terms of union upon which they come together, the mutual interest in which they are engaged, with all the motives that ought to incite their tenderness and compa.s.sion towards those who have their dependence upon them, and are embarked with them for life in the same state of happiness or misery.

Constancy, when it grows in the mind upon considerations of this nature, becomes a moral virtue, and a kind of good nature, that is not subject to any change of health, age, fortune, or any of those accidents which are apt to unsettle the best dispositions that are founded rather in const.i.tution than in reason. Where such a constancy as this is wanting, the most inflamed pa.s.sion may fall away into coldness and indifference, and the most melting tenderness degenerate into hatred and aversion. I shall conclude this paper with a story that is very well known in the North of England.

About thirty years ago, a packet-boat that had several pa.s.sengers on board was cast away upon a rock, and in so great danger of sinking, that all who were in it endeavoured to save themselves as well as they could, though only those who could swim well had a bare possibility of doing it. Among the pa.s.sengers there were two women of fashion, who seeing themselves in such a disconsolate condition, begged of their husbands not to leave them. One of them chose rather to die with his wife than to forsake her; the other, though he was moved with the utmost compa.s.sion for his wife, told her, that for the good of their children it was better one of them should live, than both perish. By a great piece of good luck, next to a miracle, when one of our good men had taken the last and long farewell in order to save himself, and the other held in his arms the person that was dearer to him than life, the ship was preserved. It is with a secret sorrow and vexation of mind that I must tell the sequel of the story, and let my reader know, that this faithful pair who were ready to have died in each other's arms, about three years after their escape, upon some trifling disgust, grew to a coldness at first, and at length fell out to such a degree, that they left one another and parted for ever. The other couple lived together in an uninterrupted friendship and felicity; and what was remarkable, the husband whom the shipwreck had like to have separated from his wife, died a few months after her, not being able to survive the loss of her.

I must confess, there is something in the changeableness and inconstancy of human nature, that very often both dejects and terrifies me. Whatever I am at present, I tremble to think what I may be. While I find this principle in me, how can I a.s.sure myself that I shall be always true to my G.o.d, my friend, or myself? In short, without constancy there is neither love, friendship, nor virtue in the world.