English
cannot be too clear in their Narrative of those Actions,
which have raised their Country to a higher Pitch of Glory than it ever
yet arrived at, and which will be still the more admired the better they
are explained.
For my part, by that time a Siege is carried on two or three Days, I am
altogether lost and bewildered in it, and meet with so many inexplicable
Difficulties, that I scarce know what Side has the better of it, till I
am informed by the Tower Guns that the Place is surrendered.
do indeed
make some Allowances for this Part of the War, Fortifications having
been foreign Inventions, and upon that Account abounding in foreign
Terms. But when we have won Battels
which
may be described in our
own Language, why are our Papers filled with so many unintelligible
Exploits, and the
French
obliged to lend us a Part of their
Tongue before we can know how they are Conquered? They must be made
accessory to their own Disgrace, as the
Britons
were formerly so
artificially wrought in the Curtain of the
Roman
Theatre, that
they seemed to draw it up in order to give the Spectators an Opportunity
of seeing their own Defeat celebrated upon the Stage: For so Mr.
Dryden
has translated that
in
Virgil
.
Purpurea intexti3 tollunt aulœa Britanni.
Georg. 3, v. 25.
Which interwoven Britains
seem to raise,
And shew the Triumph that their Shame displays.
Histories of all our former Wars are transmitted to us in our
Vernacular Idiom, to use the Phrase of a great Modern Critick
. I do
not find in any of our Chronicles, that
Edward
the Third ever
reconnoitred the Enemy, tho' he often discovered the Posture of the
French
, and as often vanquished them in Battel. The
Black
Prince
passed many a River without the help of Pontoons, and filled
a Ditch with Faggots as successfully as the Generals of our Times do it
with Fascines. Our Commanders lose half their Praise, and our People
half their Joy, by means of those hard Words and dark Expressions in
which our News Papers do so much abound. I have seen many a prudent
Citizen, after having read every Article, inquire of his next Neighbour
what News the Mail had brought.
I remember in that remarkable Year when our Country was delivered from
the greatest Fears and Apprehensions, and raised to the greatest Height
of Gladness it had ever felt since it was a Nation, I mean the Year of
Blenheim
, I had the Copy of a Letter sent me out of the Country,
which was written from a young Gentleman in the Army to his Father, a
Man of a good Estate and plain Sense: As the Letter was very modishly
chequered with this Modern Military Eloquence, I shall present my Reader
with a Copy of it.
Sir,
Upon the Junction of the
French and
Bavarian Armies they
took Post behind a great Morass which they thought impracticable.
Our
General the next Day sent a Party of Horse to reconnoitre them from a
little Hauteur, at about a
Quarter of an Hour's5 distance from
the Army, who returned again to the Camp unobserved through several
Defiles, in one of which they met with a Party of
French that
had been Marauding, and made them all Prisoners at Discretion. The Day
after a Drum arrived at our Camp, with a Message which he would
communicate to none but the General; he was followed by a Trumpet, who
they say behaved himself very saucily, with a Message from the Duke of
Bavaria. The next Morning our Army being divided into two
Corps, made a Movement towards the Enemy: You will hear in the Publick
Prints how we treated them, with the other Circumstances of that
glorious Day. I had the good Fortune to be in that Regiment that
pushed the
Gens d'Arms. Several
French Battalions, who
some say were a Corps de Reserve, made a Show of Resistance; but it
only proved a Gasconade, for upon our preparing to fill up a little
Fossé, in order to attack them, they beat the Chamade, and sent us
Charte Blanche. Their Commandant, with a great many other
General Officers, and Troops without number, are made Prisoners of
War, and will I believe give you a Visit in
England, the Cartel
not being yet settled. Not questioning but these Particulars will be
very welcome to you, I congratulate you upon them, and am your most
dutiful Son, &c.'
The Father of the young Gentleman upon the Perusal of the Letter found
it contained great News, but could not guess what it was. He immediately
communicated it to the Curate of the Parish, who upon the reading of it,
being vexed to see any thing he could not understand, fell into a kind
of a Passion, and told him that his Son had sent him a Letter that was
neither Fish, nor Flesh, nor good Red-Herring. I wish, says he, the
Captain may be
Compos Mentis
, he talks of a saucy Trumpet, and a
Drum that carries Messages; then who is this
Charte Blanche
? He
must either banter us or he is out of his Senses. The Father, who always
looked upon the Curate as a learned Man, began to fret inwardly at his
Son's Usage, and producing a Letter which he had written to him about
three Posts afore, You see here, says he, when he writes for Mony he
knows how to speak intelligibly enough; there is no Man in England can
express himself clearer, when he wants a new Furniture for his Horse. In
short, the old Man was so puzzled upon the Point, that it might have
fared ill with his Son, had he not seen all the Prints about three Days
after filled with the same Terms of Art, and that
Charles
only
writ like other Men.
L.
The motto in the original edition was
Semivirumque bovem Semibovemque virum.
Ovid.
that
Atique
Dr Richard Bentley
Mile
Contents
|
Monday,
September 10, 1711 |
Addison |
... Quod nec Jovis ira, nec ignis,
Nec poterit ferrum, nec edax abolere vetustas.
Ovid.
translation
Aristotle tells us that the World is a Copy or Transcript of those Ideas
which are in the Mind of the first Being, and that those Ideas, which
are in the Mind of Man, are a Transcript of the World: To this we may
add, that Words are the Transcript of those Ideas which are in the Mind
of Man, and that Writing or Printing are the Transcript of words.
As the Supreme Being has expressed, and as it were printed his Ideas in
the Creation, Men express their Ideas in Books, which by this great
Invention of these latter Ages may last as long as the Sun and Moon, and
perish only in the general Wreck of Nature. Thus
Cowley
in his
Poem on the Resurrection, mentioning the Destruction of the Universe,
has those admirable Lines.
Now all the wide extended Sky,
And all th' harmonious Worlds on high,
And Virgil's sacred Work shall die.
There is no other Method of fixing those Thoughts which arise and
disappear in the Mind of Man, and transmitting them to the last Periods
of Time; no other Method of giving a Permanency to our Ideas, and
preserving the Knowledge of any particular Person, when his Body is
mixed with the common Mass of Matter, and his Soul retired into the
World of Spirits. Books are the Legacies that a great Genius leaves to
Mankind, which are delivered down from Generation to Generation, as
Presents to the Posterity of those who are yet unborn.
All other Arts of perpetuating our Ideas continue but a short Time:
Statues can last but a few Thousands of Years, Edifices fewer, and
Colours still fewer than Edifices.
Michael Angelo
,
Fontana
, and
Raphael
, will hereafter be what
Phidias
,
Vitruvius
, and
Apelles
are at present; the
Names of great Statuaries, Architects and Painters, whose Works are
lost. The several Arts are expressed in mouldring Materials: Nature
sinks under them, and is not able to support the Ideas which are imprest
upon it.
The Circumstance which gives Authors an Advantage above all these great
Masters, is this, that they can multiply their Originals; or rather can
make Copies of their Works, to what Number they please, which shall be
as valuable as the Originals themselves. This gives a great Author
something like a Prospect of Eternity, but at the same time deprives him
of those other Advantages which Artists meet with. The Artist finds
greater Returns in Profit, as the Author in Fame. What an Inestimable
Price would a
Virgil
or a
Homer
, a
Cicero
or an
Aristotle
bear, were their Works like a Statue, a Building, or a
Picture, to be confined only in one Place and made the Property of a
single Person?
If Writings are thus durable, and may pass from Age to Age throughout
the whole Course of Time, how careful should an Author be of committing
any thing to Print that may corrupt Posterity, and poison the Minds of
Men with Vice and Error? Writers of great Talents, who employ their
Parts in propagating Immorality, and seasoning vicious Sentiments with
Wit and Humour, are to be looked upon as the Pests of Society, and the
Enemies of Mankind: They leave Books behind them (as it is said of those
who die in Distempers which breed an Ill-will towards their own Species)
to scatter Infection and destroy their Posterity. They act the
Counterparts of a
Confucius
or a
Socrates
; and seem to
have been sent into the World to deprave human Nature, and sink it into
the Condition of Brutality.
I have seen some Roman-Catholick Authors, who tell us that vicious
Writers continue in Purgatory so long as the Influence of their Writings
continues upon Posterity: For Purgatory, say they, is nothing else but a
cleansing us of our Sins, which cannot be said to be done away, so long
as they continue to operate and corrupt Mankind. The vicious Author, say
they, sins after Death, and so long as he continues to sin, so long must
he expect to be punished. Tho' the Roman Catholick Notion of Purgatory
be indeed very ridiculous, one cannot but think that if the Soul after
Death has any Knowledge of what passes in this World, that of an immoral
Writer would receive much more Regret from the Sense of corrupting, than
Satisfaction from the Thought of pleasing his surviving Admirers.
To take off from the Severity of this Speculation, I shall conclude this
Paper with a Story of an Atheistical Author, who at a time when he lay
dangerously sick, and desired the Assistance of a neighbouring Curate,
confessed to him with great Contrition, that nothing sat more heavy at
his Heart than the Sense of his having seduced the Age by his Writings,
and that their evil Influence was likely to continue even after his
Death. The Curate upon further Examination finding the Penitent in the
utmost Agonies of Despair, and being himself a Man of Learning, told
him, that he hoped his Case was not so desperate as he apprehended,
since he found that he was so very sensible of his Fault, and so
sincerely repented of it. The Penitent still urged the evil Tendency of
his Book to subvert all Religion, and the little Ground of Hope there
could be for one whose Writings would continue to do Mischief when his
Body was laid in Ashes. The Curate, finding no other Way to comfort him,
told him, that he did well in being afflicted for the evil Design with
which he published his Book; but that he ought to be very thankful that
there was no danger of its doing any Hurt: That his Cause was so very
bad, and his Arguments so weak, that he did not apprehend any ill
Effects of it: In short, that he might rest satisfied his Book could do
no more Mischief after his Death, than it had done whilst he was living.
To which he added, for his farther Satisfaction, that he did not believe
any besides his particular Friends and Acquaintance had ever been at the
pains of reading it, or that any Body after his Death would ever enquire
after it. The dying Man had still so much the Frailty of an Author in
him, as to be cut to the Heart with these Consolations; and without
answering the good Man, asked his Friends about him (with a Peevishness
that is natural to a sick Person) where they had picked up such a
Blockhead? And whether they thought him a proper Person to attend one in
his Condition? The Curate finding that the Author did not expect to be
dealt with as a real and sincere Penitent, but as a Penitent of
Importance, after a short Admonition withdrew; not questioning but he
should be again sent for if the Sickness grew desperate. The Author
however recovered, and has since written two or three other Tracts with
the same Spirit, and very luckily for his poor Soul with the same
Success.
C.
Contents
|
Tuesday,
September 11, 1711 |
Steele |
Fuit haud ignobilis Argis,
Qui se credebat miros audire tragœdos,
In vacuo lætus sessor plausorque theatro;
Cætera qui vitæ servaret munia recto
More; bonus sanè vicinus, amabilis hospes,
Comis in uxorem; posset qui ignoscere servis,
Et signo læso non insanire lagenæ;
Posset qui rupem et puteum vitare patentem.
Hic ubi cognatorum opibus curisque refectus
Expulit elleboro morbum bilemque meraco,
Et redit ad sese: Pol me occidistis, amici,
Non servastis, ait; cui sic extorta valuptas,
Et demptus per vim mentis gratissimus Error.
Hor.
translation
The unhappy Force of an Imagination, unguided by the Check of Reason and
Judgment, was the Subject of a former Speculation. My Reader may
remember that he has seen in one of my Papers a Complaint of an
Unfortunate Gentleman, who was unable to contain himself, (when any
ordinary matter was laid before him) from adding a few Circumstances to
enliven plain Narrative. That Correspondent was a Person of too warm a
Complexion to be satisfied with things merely as they stood in Nature,
and therefore formed Incidents which should have happened to have
pleased him in the Story. The same ungoverned Fancy which pushed that
Correspondent on, in spite of himself, to relate publick and notorious
Falsehoods, makes the Author of the following Letter do the same in
Private; one is a Prating, the other a Silent Liar.
There is little pursued in the Errors of either of these Worthies, but
mere present Amusement: But the Folly of him who lets his Fancy place
him in distant Scenes untroubled and uninterrupted, is very much
preferable to that of him who is ever forcing a Belief, and defending
his Untruths with new Inventions. But I shall hasten to let this Liar in
Soliloquy, who calls himself a
Castle-builder
, describe himself with the
same Unreservedness as formerly appeared in my Correspondent
above-mentioned. If a Man were to be serious on this Subject, he might
give very grave Admonitions to those who are following any thing in this
Life, on which they think to place their Hearts, and tell them that they
are really
Castle-builders
. Fame, Glory, Wealth, Honour, have in the
Prospect pleasing Illusions; but they who come to possess any of them
will find they are Ingredients towards Happiness, to be regarded only in
the second Place; and that when they are valued in the first Degree,
they are as dis-appointing as any of the Phantoms in the following
Letter.
Sept. 6, 1711.
Mr. Spectator,
'I am a Fellow of a very odd Frame of Mind, as you will find by the
Sequel; and think myself Fool enough to deserve a Place in your Paper.
I am unhappily far gone in Building, and am one of that Species of Men
who are properly denominated Castle-Builders, who scorn to be beholden
to the Earth for a Foundation, or dig in the Bowels of it for
Materials; but erect their Structures in the most unstable of
Elements, the Air, Fancy alone laying the Line, marking the Extent,
and shaping the Model. It would be difficult to enumerate what august
Palaces and stately Porticoes have grown under my forming Imagination,
or what verdant Meadows and shady Groves have started into Being, by
the powerful Feat of a warm Fancy. A Castle-builder is even just what
he pleases, and as such I have grasped imaginary Scepters, and
delivered uncontroulable Edicts, from a Throne to which conquered
Nations yielded Obeysance. I have made I know not how many Inroads
into
France, and ravaged the very Heart of that Kingdom; I have
dined in the
Louvre, and drank Champaign at
Versailles;
and I would have you take Notice, I am not only able to vanquish a
People already cowed and accustomed to Flight,
but I could,
Almanzor-like
1, drive the
British General from the
Field, were I less a Protestant, or had ever been affronted by the
Confederates. There is no Art or Profession, whose most celebrated
Masters I have not eclipsed. Where-ever I have afforded my Salutary
Preference, Fevers have ceased to burn, and Agues to shake the Human
Fabrick. When an Eloquent Fit has been upon me, an apt Gesture and
proper Cadence has animated each Sentence, and gazing Crowds have
found their Passions work'd up into Rage, or soothed into a Calm. I am
short, and not very well made; yet upon Sight of a fine Woman, I have
stretched into proper Stature, and killed with a good Air and Mein.
These are the gay Phantoms that dance before my waking Eyes and
compose my Day-Dreams. I should be the most contented happy Man alive,
were the Chimerical Happiness which springs from the Paintings of the
Fancy less fleeting and transitory. But alas! it is with Grief of Mind
I tell you, the least Breath of Wind has often demolished my
magnificent Edifices, swept away my Groves, and left no more Trace of
them than if they had never been. My Exchequer has sunk and vanished
by a Rap on my Door, the Salutation of a Friend has cost me a whole
Continent, and in the same Moment I have been pulled by the Sleeve, my
Crown has fallen from my Head. The ill Consequence of these Reveries
is inconceivably great, seeing the loss of imaginary Possessions makes
Impressions of real Woe. Besides, bad Œconomy is visible and apparent
in Builders of invisible Mansions. My Tenant's Advertisements of Ruins
and Dilapidations often cast a Damp on my Spirits, even in the Instant
when the Sun, in all his Splendor, gilds my Eastern Palaces. Add to
this the pensive Drudgery in Building, and constant grasping Aerial
Trowels, distracts and shatters the Mind, and the fond Builder of
Babells is often cursed with an incoherent Diversity and
Confusion of Thoughts. I do not know to whom I can more properly apply
my self for Relief from this Fantastical Evil, than to your self; whom
I earnestly implore to accommodate me with a Method how to settle my
Head and cool my Brain-pan. A Dissertation on Castle-Building may not
only be serviceable to my self, but all Architects, who display their
Skill in the thin Element. Such a Favour would oblige me to make my
next Soliloquy not contain the Praises of my dear Self but of the
Spectator, who shall, by complying with this, make me.'
His Obliged, Humble Servant.
Vitruvius.
"(unreadable on original page) in Dryden's
Conquest of Granada
."
Contents
|
Wednesday,
September 12, 1711 |
Steele |
It would be Arrogance to neglect the Application of my Correspondents so
far as not sometimes to insert their Animadversions upon my Paper; that
of this Day shall be therefore wholly composed of the Hints which they
have sent me.
Mr.
Spectator,
I Send you this to congratulate your late Choice of a Subject, for
treating on which you deserve publick Thanks; I mean that on those
licensed Tyrants the Schoolmasters. If you can disarm them of their
Rods, you will certainly have your old Age reverenced by all the young
Gentlemen of
Great-Britain who are now between seven and seventeen
Years. You may boast that the incomparably wise
Quintilian and you
are of one Mind in this Particular.
'
Si cui est (says he)
mens tam illiberalis ut objurgatione non
corrigatur, is etiam ad plagas, ut pessimo quæque mancipia,
durabitur1.
If any Child be of so disingenuous a Nature, as not to stand
corrected by Reproof, he, like the very worst of Slaves, will be
hardned even against Blows themselves.'
And afterwards,
'Pudet dicere in quæ probra nefandi homines isto cædendi jure
abutantur,
i. e. I blush to say how shamefully those wicked Men abuse the
Power of Correction.'
I was bred myself, Sir, in a very great School, of which the Master
was a
Welchman, but certainly descended from a
Spanish Family, as
plainly appeared from his Temper as well as his Name
2. I leave you
to judge what sort of a Schoolmaster a
Welchman ingrafted on a
Spaniard would make. So very dreadful had he made himself to me,
that altho' it is above twenty Years since I felt his heavy Hand, yet
still once a Month at least I dream of him, so strong an Impression
did he make on my Mind. 'Tis a Sign he has fully terrified me waking,
who still continues to haunt me sleeping.
And yet I may say without Vanity, that the Business of the School was
what I did without great Difficulty; and I was not remarkably unlucky;
and yet such was the Master's Severity that once a Month, or oftner, I
suffered as much as would have satisfied the Law of the Land for a
Petty Larceny.
Many a white and tender Hand, which the fond Mother has passionately
kissed a thousand and a thousand times, have I seen whipped till it
was covered with Blood: perhaps for smiling, or for going a Yard and
half out of a Gate, or for writing an O for an A, or an A for an O:
These were our great Faults! Many a brave and noble Spirit has been
there broken; others have run from thence and were never heard of
afterwards.
It is a worthy Attempt to undertake the Cause of distrest Youth; and
it is a noble Piece of
Knight-Errantry to enter the Lists
against so many armed Pedagogues. 'Tis pity but we had a Set of Men,
polite in their Behaviour and Method of Teaching, who should be put
into a Condition of being above flattering or fearing the Parents of
those they instruct. We might then possibly see Learning become a
Pleasure, and Children delighting themselves in that which now they
abhor for coming upon such hard Terms to them: What would be a still
greater Happiness arising from the Care of such Instructors, would be,
that we should have no more Pedants, nor any bred to Learning who had
not Genius for it. I am, with the utmost Sincerity,
Sir,
Your most
affectionate humble Servant.
Richmond, Sept. 5
th, 1711.
Mr.
Spectator,
I am a Boy of fourteen Years of Age, and have for this last Year been
under the Tuition of a Doctor of Divinity, who has taken the School of
this Place under his Care
3. From the Gentleman's great Tenderness
to me and Friendship to my Father, I am very happy in learning my Book
with Pleasure. We never leave off our Diversions any farther than to
salute him at Hours of Play when he pleases to look on. It is
impossible for any of us to love our own Parents better than we do
him. He never gives any of us an harsh Word, and we think it the
greatest Punishment in the World when he will not speak to any of us.
My Brother and I are both together inditing this Letter: He is a Year
older than I am, but is now ready to break his Heart that the Doctor
has not taken any Notice of him these three Days. If you please to
print this he will see it, and, we hope, taking it for my Brother's
earnest Desire to be restored to his Favour, he will again smile upon
him.
Your most obedient Servant,
T. S.
Mr.
Spectator,
You have represented several sorts of
Impertinents singly, I
wish you would now proceed, and describe some of them in Sets. It
often happens in publick Assemblies, that a Party who came thither
together, or whose Impertinencies are of an equal Pitch, act in
Concert, and are so full of themselves as to give Disturbance to all
that are about them. Sometimes you have a Set of Whisperers, who lay
their Heads together in order to sacrifice every Body within their
Observation; sometimes a Set of Laughers, that keep up an insipid
Mirth in their own Corner, and by their Noise and Gestures shew they
have no Respect for the rest of the Company.
You frequently meet with
these Sets at the Opera, the Play, the Water-works
4, and other
publick Meetings, where their whole Business is to draw off the
Attention of the Spectators from the Entertainment, and to fix it upon
themselves; and it is to be observed that the Impertinence is ever
loudest, when the Set happens to be made up of three or four Females
who have got what you call a Woman's Man among them.
I am at a loss to know from whom People of Fortune should learn this
Behaviour, unless it be from the Footmen who keep their Places at a
new Play, and are often seen passing away their Time in Sets at
All-fours in the Face of a full House, and with a perfect
Disregard to People of Quality sitting on each Side of them.
For preserving therefore the Decency of publick Assemblies, methinks
it would be but reasonable that those who Disturb others should pay at
least a double Price for their Places; or rather Women of Birth and
Distinction should be informed that a Levity of Behaviour in the Eyes
of People of Understanding degrades them below their meanest
Attendants; and Gentlemen should know that a fine Coat is a Livery,
when the Person who wears it discovers no higher Sense than that of a
Footman.
I am
Sir,
Your most humble Servant.
Bedfordshire, Sept.. 1, 1711
Mr.
Spectator,
I am one of those whom every Body calls a Pocher, and sometimes go out
to course with a Brace of Greyhounds, a Mastiff, and a Spaniel or two;
and when I am weary with Coursing, and have killed Hares enough, go to
an Ale-house to refresh my self. I beg the Favour of you (as you set
up for a Reformer) to send us Word how many Dogs you will allow us to
go with, how many Full-Pots of Ale to drink, and how many Hares to
kill in a Day, and you will do a great Piece of Service to all the
Sportsmen: Be quick then, for the Time of Coursing is come on.
Yours in Haste,
T. Isaac Hedgeditch.
Instit. Orat.
Bk. I. ch. 3.
Dr. Charles Roderick, Head Master of Eton.
Dr. Nicholas Brady, Tate's colleague in versification of
the Psalms. He was Rector of Clapham and Minister of Richmond, where he
had the school. He died in 1726, aged 67.
The Water Theatre, invented by Mr. Winstanley, and
exhibited by his widow at the lower end of Piccadilly.
Contents
|
Thursday,
September 13, 1711 |
Addison |
Sic vita erat: facile omnes perferre ac pati:
Cum quibus erat cunque una, his sese dedere,
Eorum obsequi studiis: advorsus nemini;
Nunquam præponens se aliis: Ita facillime
Sine invidia invenias laudem.
Ter.
And.translation
Man is subject to innumerable Pains and Sorrows by the very Condition of
Humanity, and yet, as if Nature had not sown Evils enough in Life, we
are continually adding Grief to Grief, and aggravating the common
Calamity by our cruel Treatment of one another. Every Man's natural
Weight of Afflictions is still made more heavy by the Envy, Malice,
Treachery, or Injustice of his Neighbour. At the same time that the
Storm beats upon the whole Species, we are falling foul upon one
another.