Contents
|
Thursday, November 22, 1711 |
Addison |
—Spirat adhuc amor,
Vivuntque commissi calores
Æoliæ fidibus puellæ.
Hor.
translation
the many famous Pieces of Antiquity which are still to be seen at
Rome
, there is the Trunk of a Statue
which has lost the Arms,
Legs, and Head; but discovers such an exquisite Workmanship in what
remains of it, that
Michael Angelo
declared he had learned his whole
Art from it. Indeed he studied it so attentively, that he made most of
his Statues, and even his Pictures in that
Gusto
, to make use of the
Italian
Phrase; for which Reason this maimed Statue is still called
Michael Angelo's
School.
A
of
Sappho
, which I design for the Subject of this Paper
, is in as great Reputation among the Poets and Criticks, as the
mutilated Figure above-mentioned is among the Statuaries and Painters.
Several of our Countrymen, and Mr.
Dryden
in particular, seem very
often to have copied after it in their Dramatick Writings; and in their
Poems upon Love.
Whatever might have been the Occasion of this Ode, the English Reader
will enter into the Beauties of it, if he supposes it to have been
written in the Person of a Lover sitting by his Mistress. I shall set to
View three different Copies of this beautiful Original: The first is a
Translation by
Catullus
, the second by Monsieur
Boileau
, and the
last by a Gentleman whose Translation of the
Hymn to Venus
has been so
deservedly admired.
Ad Lesbiam
Ille mî par esse deo videtur,
Ille, si fas est, superare divos,
Qui sedens adversus identidem te,
Spectat, et audit.
Dulce ridentem, misero quod omnis
Eripit sensus mihi: nam simul te,
Lesbia, adspexi, nihil est super mî
Quod loquar amens.
Lingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artus
Flamnia dimanat, sonitu suopte
Tinniunt aures, gemina teguntur
Lumina nocte.
learned Reader will know very well the Reason why one of these Verses
is printed in
Roman
Letter
; and if he compares this Translation
with the Original, will find that the three first Stanzas are rendred
almost Word for Word, and not only with the same Elegance, but with the
same short Turn of Expression which is so remarkable in the
Greek
, and
so peculiar to the
Sapphick
Ode. I cannot imagine for what Reason
Madam
Dacier
has told us, that this Ode of
Sappho
is preserved
entire in
Longinus
, since it is manifest to any one who looks into
that Author's Quotation of it, that there must at least have been
another Stanza, which is not transmitted to us.
The second Translation of this Fragment which I shall here cite, is that
of Monsieur
Boileau
.
Heureux! qui prés de toi, pour toi seule soûpire:
Qui jouït du plaisir de t'entendre parler:
Qui te voit quelquefois doucement lui soûrire.
Les Dieux, dans son bonheur, peuvent-ils l'égaler?
Je sens de veine en veine une subtile flamme
Courir par tout mon corps, si-tost que je te vois:
Et dans les doux transports, où s'egare mon ame,
Je ne sçaurois trouver de langue, ni de voix.
Un nuage confus se répand sùr ma vuë,
Je n'entens plus, je tombe en de douces langueurs;
Et pâle, sans haleine, interdite, esperduë,
Un frisson me saisit, je tremble, je me meurs.
The Reader will see that this is rather an Imitation than a Translation.
The Circumstances do not lie so thick together, and follow one another
with that Vehemence and Emotion as in the Original. In short, Monsieur
Boileau
has given us all the Poetry, but not all the Passion of this
famous Fragment. I shall, in the last Place, present my Reader with the
English
Translation.
| I |
Blest as th'immortal Gods is he,
The Youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while
Softly speak and sweetly smile. |
| II |
'Twas this deprived my Soul of Rest,
And raised such Tumults in my Breast;
For while I gaz'd, in Transport tost,
My Breath was gone, my Voice was lost: |
| III |
My Bosom glowed; the subtle Flame
Ran quick through all my vital Frame;
O'er my dim Eyes a Darkness hung;
My Ears with hollow Murmurs rung. |
| IV |
In dewy Damps my Limbs were chil'd;
My Blood with gentle Horrors thrill'd;
My feeble Pulse forgot to play;
I fainted, sunk, and dy'd away. |
Instead of giving any Character of this last Translation, I shall desire
my learned Reader to look into the Criticisms which
Longinus
has made
upon the Original. By that means he will know to which of the
Translations he ought to give the Preference. I shall only add, that
this Translation is written in the very Spirit of
Sappho
, and as near
the
Greek
as the Genius of our Language will possibly suffer.
Longinus
has observed, that this Description of Love in
Sappho
is an
exact Copy of Nature, and that all the Circumstances which follow one
another in such an Hurry of Sentiments, notwithstanding they appear
repugnant to each other, are really such as happen in the Phrenzies of
Love.
I wonder, that not one of the Criticks or Editors, through whose Hands
this Ode has passed, has taken Occasion from it to mention a
Circumstance related by
Plutarch
.
Author in the famous Story of
Antiochus
, who fell in Love with
Stratonice
, his Mother-in-law, and
(not daring to discover his Passion) pretended to be confined to his Bed
by Sickness, tells us, that
Erasistratus
, the Physician, found out the
Nature of his Distemper by those Symptoms of Love which he had learnt
from
Sappho's
Writings
.
Stratonice
was in the Room of the Love-sick Prince, when these
Symptoms discovered themselves to his Physician; and it is probable,
that they were not very different from those which
Sappho
here
describes in a Lover sitting by his Mistress. This Story of
Antiochus
is so well known, that I need not add the Sequel of it, which has no
Relation to my present Subject.
C.
The Belvidere Torso.
The other translation by Ambrose Philips. See note to No.
.
Wanting in copies then known, it is here supplied by
conjecture.
In Plutarch's
Life of Demetrius.
'When others entered Antiochus was entirely unaffected. But when
Stratonice came in, as she often did, he shewed all the symptoms
described by Sappho, the faltering voice, the burning blush, the
languid eye, the sudden sweat, the tumultuous pulse; and at length,
the passion overcoming his spirits, a swoon and mortal paleness.'
Contents
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Friday, November 23, 1711 |
Steele |
Homines ad Deos nullâ re propiùs accedunt, quam salutem Hominibus dando.
Tull.
translation
Human Nature appears a very deformed, or a very beautiful Object,
according to the different Lights in which it is viewed. When we see Men
of inflamed Passions, or of wicked Designs, tearing one another to
pieces by open Violence, or undermining each other by secret Treachery;
when we observe base and narrow Ends pursued by ignominious and
dishonest Means; when we behold Men mixed in Society as if it were for
the Destruction of it; we are even ashamed of our Species, and out of
Humour with our own Being:
in another Light, when we behold them
mild, good, and benevolent, full of a generous Regard for the publick
Prosperity, compassionating
each
other's
Distresses, and relieving each other's Wants, we can hardly believe they
are Creatures of the same Kind. In this View they appear Gods to each
other, in the Exercise of the noblest Power, that of doing Good; and the
greatest Compliment we have ever been able to make to our own Being, has
been by calling this Disposition of Mind Humanity. We cannot but observe
a Pleasure arising in our own Breast upon the seeing or hearing of a
generous Action, even when we are wholly disinterested in it. I cannot
give a more proper Instance of this, than by a Letter from
Pliny
, in
which he recommends a Friend in the most handsome manner, and, methinks,
it would be a great Pleasure to know the Success of this Epistle, though
each Party concerned in it has been so many hundred Years in his Grave.
To MAXIMUS.
What I should gladly do for any Friend of yours, I think I may now
with Confidence request for a Friend of mine.
Arrianus Maturius is
the most considerable Man of his Country; when I call him so, I do not
speak with Relation to his Fortune, though that is very plentiful, but
to his Integrity, Justice, Gravity, and Prudence; his Advice is useful
to me in Business, and his Judgment in Matters of Learning: His
Fidelity, Truth, and good Understanding, are very great; besides this,
he loves me as you do, than which I cannot say any thing that
signifies a warmer Affection. He has nothing that's aspiring; and
though he might rise to the highest Order of Nobility, he keeps
himself in an inferior Rank; yet I think my self bound to use my
Endeavours to serve and promote him; and would therefore find the
Means of adding something to his Honours while he neither expects nor
knows it, nay, though he should refuse it.
Something, in short, I
would have for him that may be honourable, but not troublesome; and I
entreat that you will procure him the first thing of this kind that
offers, by which you will not only oblige me, but him also; for though
he does not covet it, I know he will be as grateful in acknowledging
your Favour as if he had asked it
2.
Mr. Spectator,
The Reflections in some of your Papers on the servile manner of
Education now in Use, have given Birth to an Ambition, which, unless
you discountenance it, will, I doubt, engage me in a very difficult,
tho not ungrateful Adventure. I am about to undertake, for the sake of
the
British Youth, to instruct them in such a manner, that the most
dangerous Page in
Virgil or
Homer may be read by them with much
Pleasure, and with perfect Safety to their Persons.
Could I prevail so far as to be honoured with the Protection of some
few of them, (for I am not Hero enough to rescue many) my Design is to
retire with them to an agreeable Solitude; though within the
Neighbourhood of a City, for the Convenience of their being instructed
in Musick, Dancing, Drawing, Designing, or any other such
Accomplishments, which it is conceived may make as proper Diversions
for them, and almost as pleasant, as the little sordid Games which
dirty School-boys are so much delighted with. It may easily be
imagined, how such a pretty Society, conversing with none beneath
themselves, and sometimes admitted as perhaps not unentertaining
Parties amongst better Company, commended and caressed for their
little Performances, and turned by such Conversations to a certain
Gallantry of Soul, might be brought early acquainted with some of the
most polite
English Writers. This having given them some tolerable
Taste of Books, they would make themselves Masters of the
Latin
Tongue by Methods far easier than those in
Lilly, with as little
Difficulty or Reluctance as young Ladies learn to speak
French, or
to sing
Italian Operas. When they had advanced thus far, it would be
time to form their Taste something more exactly: One that had any true
Relish of fine Writing, might, with great Pleasure both to himself and
them, run over together with them the best
Roman Historians, Poets,
and Orators, and point out their more remarkable Beauties; give them a
short Scheme of Chronology, a little View of Geography, Medals,
Astronomy, or what else might best feed the busy inquisitive Humour so
natural to that Age. Such of them as had the least Spark of Genius,
when it was once awakened by the shining Thoughts and great Sentiments
of those admired Writers, could not, I believe, be easily withheld
from attempting that more difficult Sister Language, whose exalted
Beauties they would have heard so often celebrated as the Pride and
Wonder of the whole Learned World. In the mean while, it would be
requisite to exercise their Style in Writing any light Pieces that ask
more of Fancy than of Judgment: and that frequently in their Native
Language, which every one methinks should be most concerned to
cultivate, especially Letters, in which a Gentleman must have so
frequent Occasions to distinguish himself. A Set of genteel
good-natured Youths fallen into such a Manner of Life, would form
almost a little Academy, and doubtless prove no such contemptible
Companions, as might not often tempt a wiser Man to mingle himself in
their Diversions, and draw them into such serious Sports as might
prove nothing less instructing than the gravest Lessons. I doubt not
but it might be made some of their Favourite Plays, to contend which
of them should recite a beautiful Part of a Poem or Oration most
gracefully, or sometimes to join in acting a Scene of
Terence,
Sophocles, or our own
Shakespear. The Cause of
Milo might again
be pleaded before more favourable Judges,
Cæsar a second time be
taught to tremble, and another Race of
Athenians be afresh enraged
at the Ambition of another
Philip. Amidst these noble Amusements, we
could hope to see the early Dawnings of their Imagination daily
brighten into Sense, their Innocence improve into Virtue, and their
unexperienced Good-nature directed to a generous Love of their
Country.
I am, &c.
T.
of each
Pliny, Jun, Epist. Bk. II. Ep. 2. Thus far the paper is by
John Hughes.
Contents
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Saturday, November 24, 1711 |
Addison |
Looking over the Letters which I have lately received from from my
Correspondents, I met with the following one, which is written with such
a Spirit of Politeness, that I could not but be very much pleased with
it my self, and question not but it will be as acceptable to the Reader.
Mr. Spectator
1,
You, who are no Stranger to Publick Assemblies, cannot but have
observed the Awe they often strike on such as are obliged to exert any
Talent before them. This is a sort of elegant Distress, to which
ingenuous Minds are the most liable, and may therefore deserve some
remarks in your Paper. Many a brave Fellow, who has put his Enemy to
Flight in the Field, has been in the utmost Disorder upon making a
Speech before a Body of his Friends at home: One would think there was
some kind of Fascination in the Eyes of a large Circle of People, when
darting altogether upon one Person. I have seen a new Actor in a
Tragedy so bound up by it as to be scarce able to speak or move, and
have expected he would have died above three Acts before the Dagger or
Cup of Poison were brought in. It would not be amiss, if such an one
were at first introduced as a Ghost or a Statue, till he recovered his
Spirits, and grew fit for some living Part.
As this sudden Desertion of one's self shews a Diffidence, which is not
displeasing, it implies at the same time the greatest Respect to an
Audience that can be. It is a sort of mute Eloquence, which pleads for
their Favour much better than Words could do; and we find their
Generosity naturally moved to support those who are in so much
Perplexity to entertain them. I
was extremely pleased with a late
Instance of this Kind at the Opera of
Almahide, in the Encouragement
given to a young Singer
2, whose more than ordinary Concern on her
first Appearance, recommended her no less than her agreeable Voice,
and just Performance. Meer Bashfulness without Merit is awkward; and
Merit without Modesty, insolent. But modest Merit has a double Claim
to Acceptance, and generally meets with as many Patrons as Beholders.
I am, &c.
It is impossible that a Person should exert himself to Advantage in an
Assembly, whether it be his Part either to sing or speak, who lies under
too great Oppressions of Modesty. I remember, upon talking with a Friend
of mine concerning the Force of Pronunciation, our Discourse led us into
the Enumeration of the several Organs of Speech which an Orator ought to
have in Perfection, as the Tongue, the Teeth
the Lips
, the Nose, the
Palate, and the Wind-pipe. Upon which, says my Friend, you have omitted
the most material Organ of them all, and that is the Forehead.
But notwithstanding an Excess of Modesty obstructs the Tongue, and
renders it unfit for its Offices, a due Proportion of it is thought so
requisite to an Orator, that Rhetoricians have recommended it to their
Disciples as a Particular in their Art.
Cicero
tells us that he never
liked an Orator who did not appear in some little Confusion at the
Beginning of his Speech, and confesses that he himself never entered
upon an Oration without Trembling and Concern. It is indeed a kind of
Deference which is due to a great Assembly, and seldom fails to raise a
Benevolence in the Audience towards the Person who speaks. My
Correspondent has taken notice that the bravest Men often appear
timorous on these Occasions, as indeed we may observe, that there is
generally no Creature more impudent than a Coward.
—Linguá melior, sedfrigida bello
Dextera—
A
Tongue and a feeble Arm are the Qualifications of
Drances
in
Virgil
; as
Homer
, to express a Man both timorous and sawcy, makes
use of a kind of Point, which is very rarely to be met with in his
Writings; namely, that he had the Eyes of a Dog, but the Heart of a
Deer
.
A just and reasonable Modesty does not only recommend Eloquence, but
sets off every great Talent which a Man can be possessed of. It
heightens all the Virtues which it accompanies like the Shades in
Paintings, it raises and rounds every Figure, and makes the Colours more
beautiful, though not so glaring as they would be without it.
Modesty is not only an Ornament, but also a Guard to Virtue. It is a
kind of quick and delicate
Feeling
in the Soul, which makes her shrink
and withdraw her self from every thing that has Danger in it. It is such
an exquisite Sensibility, as warns her to shun the first Appearance of
every thing which is hurtful.
I cannot at present recollect either the Place or Time of what I am
going to mention; but I have read somewhere in the History of Ancient
Greece
, that the Women of the Country were seized with an
unaccountable Melancholy, which disposed several of them to make away
with themselves. The Senate, after having tried many Expedients to
prevent this Self-Murder, which was so frequent among them, published an
Edict, That if any Woman whatever should lay violent Hands upon her
self, her Corps should be exposed naked in the Street, and dragged about
the City in the most publick Manner. This Edict immediately put a Stop
to the Practice which was before so common. We may see in this Instance
the Strength of Female Modesty, which was able to overcome the Violence
even of Madness and Despair. The Fear of Shame in the Fair Sex, was in
those Days more prevalent than that of Death.
If Modesty has so great an Influence over our Actions, and is in many
Cases so impregnable a Fence to Virtue; what can more undermine Morality
than that Politeness which reigns among the unthinking Part of Mankind,
and treats as unfashionable the most ingenuous Part of our Behaviour;
which recommends Impudence as good Breeding, and keeps a Man always in
Countenance, not because he is Innocent, but because he is Shameless?
Seneca
thought Modesty so great a Check to Vice, that he prescribes to
us the Practice of it in Secret, and advises us to raise it in ourselves
upon imaginary Occasions, when such as are real do not offer themselves;
for this is the Meaning of his Precept, that when we are by ourselves,
and in our greatest Solitudes, we should fancy that
Cato
stands before
us, and sees every thing we do. In short, if you banish Modesty out of
the World, she carries away with her half the Virtue that is in it.
After these Reflections on Modesty, as it is a Virtue; I must observe,
that there is a vicious Modesty, which justly deserves to be ridiculed,
and which those Persons very often discover, who value themselves most
upon a well-bred Confidence. This happens when a Man is ashamed to act
up to his Reason, and would not upon any Consideration be surprized in
the Practice of those Duties, for the Performance of which he was sent
into the World. Many an impudent Libertine would blush to be caught in a
serious Discourse, and would scarce be able to show his Head, after
having disclosed a religious Thought. Decency of Behaviour, all outward
Show of Virtue, and Abhorrence of Vice, are carefully avoided by this
Set of Shame-faced People, as what would disparage their Gayety of
Temper, and infallibly bring them to Dishonour. This is such a Poorness
of Spirit, such a despicable Cowardice, such a degenerate abject State
of Mind, as one would think Human Nature incapable of, did we not meet
with frequent Instances of it in ordinary Conversation.
There is another Kind of vicious Modesty which makes a Man ashamed of
his Person, his Birth, his Profession, his Poverty, or the like
Misfortunes, which it was not in his Choice to prevent, and is not in
his Power to rectify. If a Man appears ridiculous by any of the
afore-mentioned Circumstances, he becomes much more so by being out of
Countenance for them. They should rather give him Occasion to exert a
noble Spirit, and to palliate those Imperfections which are not in his
Power, by those Perfections which are; or to use a very witty Allusion
of an eminent Author, he should imitate
Cæsar
, who, because his Head
was bald, cover'd that Defect with Laurels.
C.
This letter is by John Hughes.
Mrs. Barbier
Iliad
, i. 225.