Chapter II (6)

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 bluster 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 chastity, in his treatment of the beauteous family of Darius, he is drawn all along as a monster of lust, 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 passages, 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 _Saturday, July 1, 1710_.

Tecum vivere amem, tecum 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 butter 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 passengers 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 pass 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 passion, 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 compassion 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 constitution than in reason. Where such a constancy as this is wanting, the most inflamed passion 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 passengers 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 passengers 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 compassion 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 assure myself that I shall be always true to my God, my friend, or myself? In short, without constancy there is neither love, friendship, nor virtue in the world.

No. 193. [STEELE.[335]

From _Saturday, July 1_, to _Tuesday, July 4, 1710_.

Qui didicit, patriae quid debeat et quid amicis,
Quo sit amore parens, quo frater amandus, et hospes ...
Scribere[336] personae scit convenientia cuique.
HOR., Ars Poet. 312.

* * * * *

_Will's Coffee-house, July 3._

I have of late received many epistles, wherein the writers treat me as a mercenary person, for some late hints concerning matters which they think I should not have touched upon but for sordid considerations. It is apparent, that my motive could not be of that kind; for when a man declares himself openly on one side, that party will take no more notice of him, because he is sure; and the set of men whom he declares against, for the same reason are violent against him. Thus it is folly in a plain-dealer to expect, that either his friends will reward him, or his enemies forgive him. For which reason, I thought it was the shortest way to impartiality, to put myself beyond further hopes or fears, by declaring myself, at a time when the dispute is not about persons and parties, but things and causes. To relieve myself from the vexation which naturally attends such reflections, I came hither this evening to give my thoughts quite a new turn, and converse with men of pleasure and wit, rather than those of business and intrigue. I had hardly entered the room, when I was accosted by Mr. Thomas Doggett, who desired my favour in relation to the play which was to be acted for his benefit on Thursday. He pleased me in saying it was "The Old Bachelor,"[337] in which comedy there is a necessary circumstance observed by the author, which most other poets either overlook or do not understand, that is to say, the distinction of characters. It is very ordinary with writers to indulge a certain modesty of believing all men as witty as themselves, and making all the persons of the play speak the sentiments of the author, without any manner of respect to the age, fortune, or quality of him that is on the stage. Ladies talk like rakes, and footmen make similes: but this writer knows men, which makes his plays reasonable entertainments, while the scenes of most others are like the tunes between the acts. They are perhaps agreeable sounds, but they have no ideas affixed to them. Doggett thanked me for my visit to him in the winter,[338] and, after his comical manner, spoke his request with so arch a leer, that I promised the droll I would speak to all my acquaintance to be at his play.

Whatever the world may think of the actors, whether it be that their parts have an effect on their lives, or whatever it is, you see a wonderful benevolence among them towards the interests and necessities of each other. Doggett therefore would not let me go, without delivering me a letter from poor old Downes the prompter,[339] wherein that retainer to the theatre desires my advice and assistance in a matter of concern to him. I have sent him my private opinion for his conduct; but the stage and the State affairs being so much canvassed by parties and factions, I shall for some time hereafter take leave of subjects which relate to either of them, and employ my care in consideration of matters which regard that part of mankind who live without interesting themselves with the troubles or pleasures of either. However, for a mere notion of the present posture of the stage, I shall give you the letter at large as follows:

"HONOURED SIR, _July 1, 1710._

"Finding by divers of your late papers, that you are a friend to
the profession of which I was many years an unworthy member, I the
rather make bold to crave your advice, touching a proposal that has
been lately made me of coming into business, and the
sub-administration of stage affairs. I have, from my youth, been
bred up behind the curtain, and been a prompter from the time of
the Restoration.[340] I have seen many changes, as well of scenes
as of actors, and have known men within my remembrance arrive to
the highest dignities of the theatre, who made their entrance in
the quality of mutes, joint-stools, flowerpots, and tapestry
hangings. It cannot be unknown to the nobility and gentry, that a
gentleman of the Inns of Court, and a deep intriguer, had some time
since worked himself into the sole management and direction of the
theatre.[341] Nor is it less notorious, that his restless ambition,
and subtle machinations, did manifestly tend to the extirpation of
the good old British actors, and the introduction of foreign
pretenders; such as harlequins, French dancers, and Roman singers;
which, though they impoverished the proprietors, and imposed on the
audience, were for some time tolerated, by reason of his dexterous
insinuations, which prevailed upon a few deluded women, especially
the vizard masks, to believe that the stage was in danger. But his
schemes were soon exposed, and the great ones that supported him
withdrawing their favour, he made his exit, and remained for a
season in obscurity. During this retreat the Machiavelian was not
idle, but secretly fomented divisions, and wrought over to his
side some of the inferior actors, reserving a trap-door to himself,
to which only he had a key. This entrance secured, this cunning
person, to complete his company, bethought himself of calling in
the most eminent of strollers from all parts of the kingdom. I have
seen them all ranged together behind the scenes; but they are many
of them persons that never trod the stage before, and so very
awkward and ungainly, that it is impossible to believe the audience
will bear them. He was looking over his catalogue of plays, and
indeed picked up a good tolerable set of grave faces for
counsellors, to appear in the famous scene of 'Venice Preserved,'
when the danger is over; but they being but mere outsides, and the
actors having a great mind to play 'The Tempest,' there is not a
man of them, when he is to perform anything above dumb show, is
capable of acting with a good grace so much as the part of
Trinculo. However, the master persists in his design, and is
fitting up the old 'storm'; but I am afraid he will not be able to
procure able sailors or experienced officers for love or money.

"Besides all this, when he comes to cast the parts, there is so
great a confusion amongst them for want of proper actors, that for
my part I am wholly discouraged. The play with which they design to
open is, 'The Duke and No Duke';[342] and they are so put to it,
that the master himself is to act the conjurer, and they have no
one for the general but honest George Powell.[343]

"Now, sir, they being so much at a loss for the _dramatis personae_,
viz., the persons to enact, and the whole frame of the house being
designed to be altered, I desire your opinion, whether you think it
advisable for me to undertake to prompt them? For though I can
clash swords when they represent a battle, and have yet lungs
enough to huzza their victories, I question, if I should prompt
them right, whether they would act accordingly. I am

"Your Honour's most humble Servant,
"J. Downes.

"P.S. Sir, since I writ this, I am credibly informed, that they
design a new house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, near the Popish
chapel,[344] to be ready by Michaelmas next; which indeed is but
repairing an old one that has already failed. You know the honest
man who kept the office is gone already."

[Footnote 335: The authorship of the greater part of this paper is uncertain; see note on next page.]

[Footnote 336: "Reddere" (Horace).]

[Footnote 337: See No. 9.]

[Footnote 338: See Nos. 120, 122. In the continuation of the Tatler which Swift and Harrison conducted (No. 28, March 24, 1710-11) there is this passage: "The person produced as mine in the playhouse, last winter, did in no wise appertain to me. It was such a one, however, as agreed well with the impression my writings had made, and served the purpose I intended it for: which was to continue the awe and reverence due to the character I was vested with, and at the same time to let my enemies see how much I was the delight and favourite of this town," &c.]

[Footnote 339: This letter, in ridicule of Harley's newly formed Ministry, has been attributed to the joint authorship of Anthony Henley (see No. 11) and Temple Stanyan. Harley is supposed to be the gentleman referred to in the letter, and Downes, it has been suggested, is Thomas Osborne, first Duke of Leeds. Steele expressly disavowed responsibility for the letter from Downes the prompter. In No. 53 of the _Guardian_ he wrote: "Old Downes is a fine piece of raillery, of which I wish I had been author. All I had to do in it, was to strike out what related to a gentlewoman about the Queen, whom I thought a woman free from ambition, and I did it out of regard to innocence." And in the Preface to the _Tatler_, he said that this letter was by an unknown correspondent. A writer in the _Examiner_ (vol. iv. No. 2) mentions Old Downes among the sufferers of figure under our author's satire. The same writer, or another in the same paper, expresses himself in the following words: "Steele broke his own maxim for trifles in which his country had no manner of concern; and by entering into party disputes, violated the most solemn repeated promises and that perfect neutrality he had engaged to maintain. As a proof that I did not wrong him, he now openly takes upon himself Downes' letter, by wishing the raillery (as he calls it) were his own." In the "Essays Divine, Moral, and Political" (1714), p. 42, Swift is made to say, "I advised him [Steele] to the publishing that letter from Downes the prompter, which was the beginning of his ruin, though I here declare I did not write it." Forster ("Biographical Essays," 3rd ed.) concludes that this fictitious letter was certainly by Mainwaring himself. In the "Journal to Stella" (Oct. 22, 1710), Swift wrote: "He [Steele] has lost his place of Gazetteer, three hundred pounds a year, for writing a _Tatler_, some months ago, against Mr. Harley, who gave it him at first, and raised the salary from sixty to three hundred pounds." See also Swift's "The Importance of the _Guardian_ considered."]

[Footnote 340: John Downes was prompter to "The Duke's Servants" until 1706. In 1708 he published his valuable "Roscius Anglicanus, or an Historical Review of the Stage."]

[Footnote 341: Christopher Rich, who began life as an attorney. See Nos. 12, 99.]

[Footnote 342: A farce by Nahum Tate, 1685.]

[Footnote 343: See No. 3.]

[Footnote 344: The theatre built by Betterton and his friends in 1695, in Portugal Row, Lincoln's Inn Fields, was pulled down and rebuilt by Christopher Rich in 1714. The Roman Catholic Church here referred to was in Duke (now Sardinia) Street, on the west side of the square.]

END OF VOL. III.

Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. London & Edinburgh

+-------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's Notes: | |Standardized Punctuation. | |Page 163: Changed I must confess, where to | | I must confess, were | |Page 301: Changed Ho Nec to Ho Nee | |Footnote 18: Changed I. 137. to i. 137. | +-------------------------------------------+