Hill addresses the Lord Chancellor, Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Speaker, on Sir Hans Sloane’s Collection of Natural History, proposing himself as a candidate for nomination in the principal office, by whatever name that shall be called:—“I deliver myself with humility; but conscious also that I possess the liberties of a British subject, I shall speak with freedom.” He says that the only means left for a Briton is to address his sovereign and the public. “That foreigners will resort to this collection is certain, for it is the most considerable in the world; and that our own people will often visit it is as sure, because it may be made the means of much useful as well as curious knowledge. One and the other will expect a person in that office who has sufficient knowledge: he must be able to give account of every article, freely and fluently, not only in his own, but in the Latin and French languages.
“This the world, and none in it better than your lordship, sees is not a place that any one can execute: it requires knowledge in a peculiar and uncommon kind of study—knowledge which very few possess; and in which, my lord, the bitterest of my enemies (and I have thousands, although neither myself nor they know why) will not say I am deficient——.
“My lord, the eyes of all Europe are upon this transaction. What title I have to your lordship’s favour, those books which I have published, and with which (pardon the necessary boast) all Europe is acquainted, declare. Many may dispute by interest with me; but if there be one who would prefer himself, by his abilities, I beg the matter may be brought to trial. The collection is at hand; and I request, my lord, such person and myself may be examined by that test, together. It is an amazing store of knowledge; and he has most, in this way, who shall show himself most acquainted with it.
“What are my own abilities it very ill becomes me thus to boast; but did they not qualify me for the trust, my lord, I would not ask it. As to those of any other, unless a man be conjured from the dead, I shall not fear to say there is not any one whoever that is able so much as to call the parts of the collection by their names.
“I know I shall be accused of ostentation in giving to myself this preference; and I am sorry for it: but those who have candour will know it could not be avoided.
“Many excel, my lord, in other studies: it is my chance to have bestowed the labour of my life on this: those labours may be of some use to others. This appears the only instance in which it is possible that they should be rewarded——.”
In a subsequent Inspector, he treated on the improvement of botany by raising plants, and reading lectures on them at the British Museum, with the living plants before the lecturer and his auditors. Poor Sir John! he was born half a century too early!—He would, in this day, have made his lectures fashionable; and might have secured at the opera every night an elegant audience for the next morning in the gardens of the Museum.
It would be difficult to form a list of his anonymous works or compilations, among which many are curious. Tradition has preserved his name as the writer of Mrs. Glasse’s Cookery, and of several novels. There is a very curious work, entitled “Travels in the East,” 2 vols. 8vo, of which the author has been frequently and in vain inquired after. These travels are attributed to a noble lord; but it now appears that they are a very entertaining narrative manufactured by Hill. Whiston, the bookseller, had placed this work in his MS. catalogue of Hill’s books.
There is still another production of considerable merit, entitled “Observations on the Greek and Roman Classics,” 1753. A learned friend recollects, when young, that this critical work was said to be written by Hill. It excels Blackwell and Fenton; and aspires to the numerous composition of prose. The sentimental critic enters into the feelings of the great authors whom he describes with spirit, delicacy of taste, and sometimes with beautiful illustration. It only wants a chastening hand to become a manual for the young classical student, by which he might acquire those vivid emotions, which many college tutors may not be capable of communicating.
I suspect, too, he is the author of this work, from a passage which Smart quotes, as a specimen of Hill’s puffing himself, and of those smart short periods which look like wit, without being witty. In a letter to himself, as we are told, Hill writes:—“You have discovered many of the beauties of the ancients—they are obliged to you; we are obliged to you: were they alive, they would thank you; we who are alive do thank you.” If Hill could discriminate the most hidden beauties of the ancients, the tact must have been formed at his leisure—in his busy hours he never copied them; but when had he leisure?
Two other works, of the most contrasted character, display the versatility and dispositions of this singular genius, at different eras. When “The Inspector” was rolling in his chariot about the town, appeared “Letters from the Inspector to a Lady,” 1752. It is a pamphlet, containing the amorous correspondence of Hill with a reigning beauty, whom he first saw at Ranelagh. On his first ardent professions he is contemptuously rejected; he perseveres in high passion, and is coldly encouraged; at length he triumphs; and this proud and sullen beauty, in her turn, presents a horrid picture of the passions. Hill then becomes the reverse of what he was; weary of her jealousy, sated with the intercourse, he studiously avoids, and at length rejects her; assigning for his final argument his approaching marriage. The work may produce a moral effect, while it exhibits a striking picture of all the misery of illicit connexions: but the scenes are coloured with Ovidian warmth. The original letters were shown at the bookseller’s: Hill’s were in his own handwriting, and the lady’s in a female hand. But whether Hill was the publisher, as an attempt at notoriety—or the lady admired her own correspondence, which is often exquisitely wrought, is not known.
Hill, in his serious hours, published a large quarto volume, entitled “Thoughts Concerning God and Nature,” 1755. This work, the result of his scientific knowledge and his moral reasoning, was never undertaken for the purpose of profit. He printed it with the certainty of a considerable loss, from its abstract topics, not obvious to general readers; at a time, too, when a guinea quarto was a very hazardous enterprise. He published it purely from conscientious and religious motives; a circumstance mentioned in that Apology of his Life which we have noticed. The more closely the character of Hill is scrutinised, the more extraordinary appears this man, so often justly contemned, and so often unjustly depreciated.
Through the influence of Lord Bute he became connected with the Royal Gardens at Kew; and his lordship also assisted him in publishing his botanical works. See note, p. 363.
It would occupy pages to transcribe epigrams on Hill. One of them alludes to his philosophical as well as his literary character:—
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“Hill puffs himself; forbear to chide! |
Garrick’s happy lines are well known on his farces:—
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“For physic and farces his equal there scarce is— |
Another said—
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“The worse that we wish thee, for all thy vile crimes, |
The rejoinder would reverse the wish—
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“For, if he takes his physic first, |
Hill says, in his pamphlet on the “Virtues of British Herbs”:—“It will be happy if, by the same means, the knowledge of plants also becomes more general. The study of them is pleasant, and the exercise of it healthful. He who seeks the herb for its cure, will find it half effected by the walk; and when he is acquainted with the useful kinds, he may be more people’s, besides his own, physician.”
Haughtiness was the marking feature of Bentley’s literary character; and his Wolseyan style and air have been played on by the wits. Bentley happened to express himself on the King’s MS. of Phalaris in a manner their witty malice turned against him. “’Twas a surprise (he said) to find that OUR MS. was not perused.”—“Our MS. (they proceed) that is, his Majesty’s and mine! He speaks out now; ’tis no longer the King’s, but OUR MS., i.e. Dr. Bentley’s and the King’s in common, Ego et Rex meus—much too familiar for a library-keeper!”—It has been said that Bentley used the same Wolseyan egotism on Pope’s publications:—“This man is always abusing me or the King!”
Bentley, in one place, having to give a positive contradiction to the statement of the bookseller, rising in all his dignity and energy, exclaims, “What can be done in this case? Here are two contrary affirmations; and the matter being done in private, neither of us have any witness. I might plead, as Æmilius Scaurus did against one Varius, of Sucro. Varius Sucronensis ait, Æmilius Scaurus negat. Utri creditis Quirites?” p. 21.—The story is told by Valerius Maximus, lib. iii. c. 7. Scaurus was insolently accused by one Varius, a Sucronian, that he had taken bribes from Mithridates: Scaurus addressed the Roman people. “He did not think it just that a man of his age should defend himself against accusations, and before those who were not born when he filled the offices of the republic, nor witnessed the actions he had performed. Varius, the Sucronian, says that Scaurus, corrupted by gold, would have betrayed the republic; Scaurus replies, It is not true. Whom will you believe, fellow-Romans?”—This appeal to the people produced all the effect imaginable, and the ridiculous accuser was silenced.
Bentley points the same application, with even more self-consciousness of his worth, in another part of his preface. It became necessary to praise himself, to remove the odium Boyle and his friends had raised on him—it was a difficulty overcome. “I will once more borrow the form of argument that Æmilius Scaurus used against Varius Sucronensis. Mr. Spanheim and Mr. Grævius give a high character of Dr. B.’s learning: Mr. Boyle gives the meanest that malice can furnish himself with. Utri creditis, Quirites? Whether of the characters will the present age or posterity believe?”—p. 82. It was only a truly great mind which could bring itself so close to posterity.
It was the fashion then to appear very unconcerned about one’s literary reputation; but then to be so tenacious about it when once obtained as not to suffer, with common patience, even the little finger of criticism to touch it. Boyle, after defending what he calls his “honesty,” adds, “the rest only touches my learning. This will give me no concern, though it may put me to some little trouble. I shall enter upon this with the indifference of a gamester who plays but for a trifle.” On this affected indifference, Bentley keenly observes:—“This was entering on his work a little ominously; for a gamester who plays with indifference never plays his game well. Besides that, by this odd comparison, he seems to give warning, and is as good as his word, that he will put the dice upon his readers as often as he can. But what is worse than all, this comparison puts one in mind of a general rumour, that there’s another set of gamesters who play him in his dispute while themselves are safe behind the curtain.”—Bentley’s Dissertation on Phalaris, p. 2.
Rumours and conjectures are the lot of contemporaries; truth seems reserved only for posterity; and, like the fabled Minerva, she is born of age at once. The secret history of this volume, which partially appeared, has been more particularly opened in one of Warburton’s letters, who received it from Pope, who had been “let into the secret.” Boyle wrote the Narrative, “which, too, was corrected for him.” Freind, who wrote the entire Dissertation on Æsop in that volume, wrote also, with Atterbury, the body of the Criticisms; King, the droll argument, proving that Bentley was not the author of his own Dissertation, and the extraordinary index which I shall shortly notice. In Atterbury’s “Epistolary Correspondence” is a letter, where, with equal anger and dignity, Atterbury avows his having written about half, and planned the whole of Boyle’s attack upon Bentley! With these facts before us, can we read without surprise, if not without indignation, the passage I shall now quote from the book to which the name of Boyle is prefixed. In raising an artful charge against Bentley, of appropriating to himself some MS. notes of Sir Edward Sherburn, Boyle, replying to the argument of Bentley, that “Phalaris” was the work of some sophist, says:—“The sophists are everywhere pelted by Dr. Bentley, for putting out what they wrote in other men’s names; but I did not expect to hear so loudly of it from one that has so far outdone them; for I think ’tis much worse to take the honour of another man’s book to one’s self, than to entitle one’s own book to another man.”—p. 16.
I am surprised Bentley did not turn the point of his antagonist’s sword on himself, for this flourish was a most unguarded one. But Bentley could not then know so much of the book, “made up by contributions,” as ourselves.
Partial truths flew about in rumours at the time; but the friends of a young nobleman, and even his fellow-workmen, seemed concerned that his glory should not be diminished by a ruinous division. Rymer, in his “Essay concerning Curious and Critical Learning,” judiciously surmised its true origin. “I fancy this book was written (as most public compositions in that college are) by a select club. Every one seems to have thrown in a repartee or so in his turn; and the most ingenious Dr. Aldrich (he does not deserve the epithet in its most friendly sense) no doubt at their head, smoked and punned plentifully on this occasion.” The arrogance of Aldrich exceeded even that of Bentley. Rymer tells further, that Aldrich was notorious for thus employing his “young inexperienced students;” that he “betrayed Mr. Boyle into the controversy, and is still involving others in the quarrel.” Thus he points at the rival chieftains; one of whom never appeared in public, but was the great mover behind the curtain. These lively wits, so deeply busied among the obscurest writers of antiquity, so much against their will, making up a show of learning against the formidable array of Bentley, exhilarated themselves in their dusty labours by a perpetual stimulus of keen humour, playful wit, and angry invective. No doubt they were often enraged at bearing the yoke about their luxuriant manes, ploughing the darkest and heaviest soil of antiquity. They had been reared—
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“Insultare solo, et gressus glomerare superbos.” “Georg.” Lib. iii. 117. |
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“To insult the ground, and proudly pace the plain.” Trapp. |
Swift, in “The Battle of the Books,” who, under his patron, Sir William Temple, was naturally in alliance with “the Bees,” with ingenious ambiguity alludes to the glorious manufacture. “Boyle, clad in a suit of armour, which had been given him by all the Gods.” Still the truth was only floating in rumours and surmises; and the little that Boyle had done was not yet known. Lord Orrery, his son, had a difficulty to overcome to pass lightly over this allusion. The literary honour of the family was at stake, and his filial piety was exemplary to a father, who had unfortunately, in passion, deprived his lordship of the family library—a stroke from which his sensibility never recovered, and which his enemies ungenerously pointed against him. Lord Orrery, with all the tenderness of a son, and the caution of a politician, observes on “the armour given by the Gods”—“I shall not dispute about the gift of the armour. The Gods never bestowed celestial armour except upon heroes, whose courage and superior strength distinguished them from the rest of mankind.” Most ingeniously he would seem to convert into a classical fable what was designed as a plain matter of fact!
It does credit to the discernment of Bentley, whose taste was not very lively in English composition, that he pronounced Boyle was not the author of the “Examination,” from the variety of styles in it.—p. 107.
This short and pointed satire of Horace is merely a pleasant story about a low wretch of the name of King; and Brutus, under whose command he was, is entreated to get rid of him, from his hereditary hatred to all kings. I suppose this pun must be considered legitimate, otherwise Horace was an indifferent punster.
A keen repartee! Yet King could read this mighty volume as “a vain confused performance,” but the learned Dodwell declared to “the Bees of Christchurch,” who looked up to him, that “he had never learned so much from any book of the size in his life.” King was as unjust to Bentley, as Bentley to King. Men of genius are more subject to “unnatural civil war” than even the blockheads whom Pope sarcastically reproaches with it. The great critic’s own notion of his volume seems equally modest and just. “To undervalue this dispute about ‘Phalaris,’ because it does not suit one’s own studies, is to quarrel with a circle because it is not a square. If the question be not of vulgar use, it was writ therefore for a few; for even the greatest performances, upon the most important subjects, are no entertainment at all to the many of the world.”—p. 107.
This index, a very original morsel of literary pleasantry, is at once a satirical character of the great critic, and what it professes to be. I preserve a specimen among the curiosities I am collecting. It is entitled—
“A Short Account of Dr. Bentley, by way of Index.
“Dr. Bentley’s true story proved false, by the testimonies of, &c., p. —
“His civil language, p. —
“His nice taste,
in wit, p. —
in style, p. —
in Greek, p. —
in Latin, p. —
in English, p. —
“His modesty and decency in contradicting great men”—a very long list of authors, concluding with ‘Everybody,’ p. —
“His familiar acquaintance with books he never saw,” p. —
And lastly, “his profound skill in criticism—from beginning to The End.”
Which thus terminates the volume.
No doubt this idea was the origin of that satirical Capriccio, which closed in a most fortunate pun—a literary caricature, where the doctor is represented in the hands of Phalaris’s attendants, who are putting him into the tyrant’s bull, while Bentley exclaims, “I had rather be roasted than Boyled.”
Sir Richard Blackmore, in his bold attempt at writing “A Satire against Wit,” in utter defiance of it, without any, however, conveys some opinions of the times. He there paints the great critic, “crowned with applause,” seated amidst “the spoils of ruined wits:”
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“Till his rude strokes had thresh’d the empty sheaf, |
Boyle, not satisfied with the undeserved celebrity conceded to his volume, ventured to write poetry, in which no one appears to have suspected the aid of “The Bees”—
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“See a fine scholar sunk by wit in Boyle! A Satire against Wit. |
Swift certainly admired, if he did not imitate Marvell: for in his “Tale of a Tub” he says, “We still read Marvell’s answer to Parker with pleasure, though the book it answers be sunk long ago.”
This is a curious remark of Wood’s: How came raillery and satire to be considered as “a newly-refined art?” Has it not, at all periods, been prevalent among every literary people? The remark is, however, more founded on truth than it appears, and arose from Wood’s own feelings. Wit and Raillery had been so strange to us during the gloomy period of the fanatic Commonwealth, that honest Anthony, whose prejudices did not run in favour of Marvell, not only considers him as the “restorer of this newly-refined art,” but as one “hugely versed in it,” and acknowledges all its efficacy in the complete discomfiture of his haughty rival. Besides this, a small book of controversy, such as Marvell’s usually are, was another novelty—the “aureoli libelli,” as one fondly calls his precious books, were in the wretched taste of the times, rhapsodies in folio. The reader has doubtless heard of Caryll’s endless “Commentary on Job,” consisting of 2400 folio pages! in small type. Of that monument of human perseverance, which commenting on Job’s patience, inspired what few works do to whoever read them, the exercise of the virtue it inculcated, the publisher, in his advertisement in Clavel’s Catalogue of Books, 1681, announces the two folios in 600 sheets each! these were a republication of the first edition, in twelve volumes quarto! he apologises “that it hath been so long a doing, to the great vexation and loss of the proposer.” He adds, “indeed, some few lines, no more than what may be contained in a quarto page, are expunged, they not relating to the Exposition, which nevertheless some, by malicious prejudice, have so unjustly aggravated, as if the whole work had been disordered.” He apologises for curtailing a few lines from 2400 folio pages! and he considered that these few lines were the only ones that did not relate to the Exposition! At such a time, the little books of Marvell must have been considered as relishing morsels after such indigestible surfeits.
The severity of his satire on Charles’s court may be well understood by the following lines:—
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“A colony of French possess the court, |
“The Historical Poem,” given in the poems on State affairs, is so personal in its attacks on the vices of Charles, that it is marvellous how its author escaped punishment. “Hodge’s Vision from the Monument” is equally strong, while the “Dialogue between two Horses” (that of the statue of Charles I. at Charing-cross, and Charles II., then in the city), has these two strong lines of regret:—
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“——to see Deo Gratias writ on the throne, |
The satire ends with the question:—
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“But canst thou devise when things will be mended?” |
Which is thus answered:—
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“When the reign of the line of the Stuarts is ended!”.—Ed. |
One of the canting terms used by the saints of those days, and not obsolete in the dialect of those who still give themselves out to be saints in the present.
Marvell admirably describes Parker’s journey to London at the Restoration, where “he spent a considerable time in creeping into all corners and companies, horoscoping up and down concerning the duration of the government.” This term, so expressive of his political doubts, is from “Judicial Astrology,” then a prevalent study. “Not considering anything as best, but as most lasting and most profitable; and after having many times cast a figure, he at last satisfied himself that the episcopal government would endure as long as this king lived, and from thenceforwards cast about to find the highway to preferment. To do this, he daily enlarged not only his conversation but his conscience, and was made free of some of the town vices; imagining, like Muleasses, King of Tunis (for I take witness that on all occasions I treat him rather above his quality than otherwise), that by hiding himself among the onions he should escape being traced by his perfumes.” The narrative proceeds with a curious detail of all his sycophantic attempts at seducing useful patrons, among whom was the Archbishop of Canterbury. Then began “those pernicious books,” says Marvell, “in which he first makes all that he will to be law, and then whatsoever is law, to be divinity.” Parker, in his “Ecclesiastical Polity,” came at length to promulgate such violent principles as these, “He openly declares his submission to the government of a Nero and a Caligula, rather than suffer a dissolution of it.” He says, “it is absolutely necessary to set up a more severe government over men’s consciences and religious persuasions than over their vices and immoralities;” and that “men’s vices and debaucheries may lie more safely indulged than their consciences.” Is it not difficult to imagine that this man had once been an Independent, the advocate for every congregation being independent of a bishop or a synod?
Parker’s father was a lawyer, and one of Oliver’s most submissive sub-committee men, who so long pillaged the nation and spilled its blood, “not in the hot and military way (which diminishes always the offence), but in the cooler blood and sedentary execution of an high court of justice.” He wrote a very remarkable book (after he had been petitioned against for a misdemeanour) in defence of that usurped irregular state called “The Government of the People of England.” It had “a most hieroglyphical title” of several emblems: two hands joined, and beneath a sheaf of arrows, stuffed about with half-a-dozen mottoes, “enough,” says Marvell, “to have supplied the mantlings and achievement of this (godly) family.” An anecdote in this secret history of Parker is probably true. “He shortly afterwards did inveigh against his father’s memory, and in his mother’s presence, before witnesses, for a couple of whining fanatics.”—Rehearsal Transprosed, second part, p. 75.
This preface was prefixed to Bishop Bramball’s “Vindication of the Bishops from the Presbyterian Charge of Popery.”
As a specimen of what old Anthony calls “a jerking flirting way of writing,” I transcribe the titles of these answers which Marvell received. As Marvell had nicknamed Parker, Bayes, the quaint humour of one entitled his reply, “Rosemary and Bayes;” another, “The Transproser Rehearsed, or the Fifth Act of Mr. Bayes’s Play;” another, “Gregory Father Greybeard, with his Vizard off;” another formed “a Commonplace Book out of the Rehearsal, digested under heads;” and lastly, “Stoo him Bayes, or some Animadversions on the Humour of writing Rehearsals.”—Biog. Brit. p. 3055.
This was the very Bartlemy-fair of wit!
The title will convey some notion of its intolerant principles: “A Discourse of Ecclesiastical Polity, wherein the authority of the Civil Magistrate over the Consciences of Subjects, in matters of external Religion, is asserted.”
Milton had become acquainted with Marvell when travelling in Italy, where he had gone to perfect his studies. He returned to England in 1653, and was connected with the Cromwellian party, through the introduction of Milton, in 1657. The great poet was at that time secretary to Cromwell, and he became his assistant-secretary. He afterwards represented his native town of Hull in Parliament.—Ed.
Vanus, pannosus, et famelicus poetaster œnopolis quovis vapulans, fuste et calce indies petulantiæ pœnas tulit—are the words in Parker’s “De Rebus sui Temporis Commentariorum,” p. 275.
D’Avenant commenced his poem during his exile at Paris. The preface is dated from the Louvre; the postscript from Cowes Castle, in the Isle of Wight, where he was then confined, expecting his immediate execution. The poem, in the first edition, 1651, is therefore abruptly concluded. There is something very affecting and great in his style on this occasion. “I am here arrived at the middle of the third book. But it is high time to strike sail and cast anchor, though I have run but half my course, when at the helm I am threatened with death; who, though he can visit us but once, seems troublesome; and even in the innocent may beget such a gravity, as diverts the music of verse. Even in a worthy design, I shall ask leave to desist, when I am interrupted by so great an experiment as dying;—and ’tis an experiment to the most experienced; for no man (though his mortifications may be much greater than mine) can say he has already died.”—D’Avenant is said to have written a letter to Hobbes about this time, giving some account of his progress in the third book. “But why (said he) should I trouble you or myself with these thoughts, when I am pretty certain I shall be hanged next week?”—A stroke of the gaiety of temper of a very thoughtful mind; for D’Avenant, with all his wit and fancy, has made the profoundest reflections on human life.
The reader may be interested to know, that after D’Avenant’s removal from Cowes to the Tower, to be tried, his life was saved by the gratitude of two aldermen of York, whom he had obliged. It is delightful to believe the story told by Bishop Newton, that D’Avenant owed his life to Milton; Wood, indeed, attributes our poet’s escape to both; at the Restoration D’Avenant interposed, and saved Milton. Poets, after all, envious as they are to a brother, are the most generously-tempered of men: they libel, but they never hang; they will indeed throw out a sarcasm on the man whom they saved from being hanged. “Please your Majesty,” said Sir John Denham, “do not hang George Withers—that it may not be said I am the worst poet alive.”
It would form a very curious piece of comparative criticism, were the opinions and the arguments of all the critics—those of the time and of the present day—thrown into the smelting-pot. The massiness of some opinions of great authority would be reduced to a thread of wire; and even what is accepted as standard ore might shrink into “a gilt sixpence.” On one side, the condemners of D’Avenant would be Rymer, Blackwall, Granger, Knox, Hurd, and Hayley; and the advocates would be Hobbes, Waller, Cowley, Dr. Aikin, Headley, &c. Rymer opened his Aristotelian text-book. He discovers that the poet’s first lines do not give any light into his design (it is probable D’Avenant would have found it hard to have told it to Mr. Rymer); that it has neither proposition nor invocation—(Rymer might have filled these up himself); so that “he chooses to enter into the top of the house, because the mortals of mean and satisfied minds go in at the door;” and then “he has no hero or action so illustrious that the name of the poem prepared the reader for its reception.” D’Avenant had rejected the marvellous from his poem—that is, the machinery of the epic: he had resolved to compose a tale of human beings for men. “This was,” says Blackwall, another of the classical flock, “like lopping off a man’s limb, and then putting him upon running races.” Our formal critics are quite lively in their dulness on our “adventurer.” But poets, in the crisis of a poetical revolution, are more legitimate judges than all such critics. Waller and Cowley applaud D’Avenant for this very omission of the epical machinery in this new vein of invention:—
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“Here no bold tales of gods or monsters swell, Waller. |
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“Methinks heroic poesy, till now, Cowley. |
Hurd’s discussion on “Gondibert,” in his “Commentaries,” is the most important piece of criticism; subtle, ingenious, and exquisitely analytical. But he holds out the fetter of authority, and he decides as a judge who expounds laws; not the best decision, when new laws are required to abrogate obsolete ones. And what laws invented by man can be immutable? D’Avenant was thus tried by the laws of a country, that of Greece or Rome, of which, it is said, he was not even a denizen.
It is remarkable that all the critics who condemn D’Avenant could not but be struck by his excellences, and are very particular in expressing their admiration of his genius. I mean all the critics who have read the poem: some assuredly have criticised with little trouble.
It is written in the long four-lined stanzas, which Dryden adopted for his Annus Mirabilis; nearly 2000 of such stanzas are severe trials for the critical reader.—Ed.
I select some of these lines as examples.
Of Care, who only “seals her eyes in cloisters,” he says,
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“She visits cities, but she dwells in thrones.” |
Of learned Curiosity, eager, but not to be hurried—the student is
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“Hasty to know, though not by haste beguiled.” |
He calls a library, with sublime energy,
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“The monument of vanish’d minds.” |
Never has a politician conveyed with such force a most important precept:
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——————“The laws, |
Of the Court he says,
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“There prosperous power sleeps long, though suitors wake.” |
And these lines, taken as they occur:
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“Truth’s a discovery made by travelling minds.” |
I conclude with one complete stanza, of the same cast of reflection. It may be inscribed in the library of the student, in the studio of the artist, in every place where excellence can only be obtained by knowledge.
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“Rich are the diligent, who can command |
Can one read such passages as these without catching some of the sympathies of a great genius that knows itself?
“He who writes an heroic poem leaves an estate entailed, and he gives a greater gift to posterity than to the present age; for a public benefit is best measured in the number of receivers; and our contemporaries are but few when reckoned with those who shall succeed.
“If thou art a malicious reader, thou wilt remember my preface boldly confessed, that a main motive to the undertaking was a desire of fame; and thou mayest likewise say, I may very possibly not live to enjoy it. Truly, I have some years ago considered that Fame, like Time, only gets a reverence by long running; and that, like a river, ’tis narrowest where ’tis bred, and broadest afar off.
“If thou, reader, art one of those who have been warmed with poetic fire, I reverence thee as my judge; and whilst others tax me with vanity, I appeal to thy conscience whether it be more than such a necessary assurance as thou hast made to thyself in like undertakings? For when I observe that writers have many enemies, such inward assurance, methinks, resembles that forward confidence in men of arms, which makes them proceed in great enterprise; since the right examination of abilities begins with inquiring whether we doubt ourselves.”
Such a composition is injured by mutilation. He here also alludes to his military character: “Nor could I sit idle and sigh with such as mourn to hear the drum; for if the age be not quiet enough to be taught virtue a pleasant way, the next may be at leisure; nor could I (like men that have civilly slept till they are old in dark cities) think war a novelty.” Shakspeare could not have expressed his feelings, in his own style, more eloquently touching than D’Avenant.
It is said there were four writers. The Clinias and Dametas were probably Sir John Denham and Jo. Donne; Sir Allan Broderick and Will Crofts, who is mentioned by the clubs as one of their fellows, appear to be the Sancho and Jack Pudding. Will Crofts was a favourite with Charles II: he had been a skilful agent, as appears in Clarendon. [In the accounts of moneys disbursed for secret services in the reign of Charles II., published by the Camden Society, his name appears for 200l., but that of his wife repeatedly figures for large sums, “as of free guift.” In this way she receives 700l. with great regularity for a series of years, until the death of Charles II.] Howell has a poem “On some who, blending their brains together, plotted how to bespatter one of the Muses’ choicest sons, Sir William D’Avenant.”
The story was current in D’Avenant’s time, and it is certain he encouraged the believers in its truth. Anthony Wood speaks of the lady as “a very beautiful woman, of a good wit and conversation, in which she was imitated by none of her children but by this William.” He also notes Shakspeare’s custom to lodge at the Crown Inn, Oxford, kept by her husband, “in his journies between Warwickshire and London.” Aubrey tells the same tale, adding that D’Avenant “would sometimes, when he was pleasant over a glass of wine with his most intimate friends, e.g. Sam. Butler (author of ‘Hudibras,’ &c.,) say, that it seemed to him that he writ with the very same spirit that Shakspeare did, and was contented enough to be thought his son;” he adds that “his mother had a very light report.” It was Pope who told Oldys the jesting story he had obtained from Betterton, of little Will running from school to meet Shakspeare, in one of his visits to Oxford, and being asked where he was running, by an old townsman, replied, to “see my godfather Shakspeare.” “There’s a good boy,” said the old gentleman, “but have a care that you don’t take God’s name in vain.”—Ed.
The scene where the story of “Gondibert” is placed, which the wits sometimes pronounced Lumber and Lumbery.