slated it word for word. "Be not grieved," says he," above measure for thy deceased friends. They are not dead, but have only finished that journey which it is necessary for every one of us to take. We ourselves must go to that great place of reception in which they are all of them assembled, and in this general rendezvous of mankind, live together in another state of being." generation of males, and at others a species of Women. We may extend this consideration to every species of living creatures, and consider the whole animal world as a huge army made up of innumerable corps, if I may use that term, whose quotas have been kept entire near five thousand years, in so wonderful a manner, that there is not probably a single species lost during this long tract of time. Could we have general bills of mortality I think I have, in à former paper, taken notice of every kind of animals, or particular ones of every of those beautiful metaphors in Scripture, where species in each continent or island, I could almost life is termed a pilgrimage, and those who pass say in every wood, marsh, or mountain, what as-through it are called strangers and sojourners upon tonishing instances would they be of that Providence which watches over all his works? I have heard of a great man in the Romish church, who upon reading those words in the fifth chapter of Genesis, "And all the days that Adam lived were nine hundred and thirty years, and he died; and all the days of Seth were nine hundred and twelve years, and he died; and all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred and sixty-nine years, and he died;" immediately shut himself up in a convent, and retired from the world, as not thinking any thing in this life worth pursuing, which had not regard to another. earth. I shall conclude this with a story which I have somewhere read in the travels of Sir John Chardin. That gentleman, after having told us that the inns which receive the caravans in Persia, and the eastern countries, are called by the name of caravansaries, gives us a relation to the following purpose: "A dervise travelling through Tartary, being arrived at the town of Balk, went into the king's palace by mistake, as thinking it to be a public inn or caravansary. Having looked about him for some time, he entered into a long gallery, where he laid down his wallet, and spread his carpet, in The truth of it is, there is nothing in history order to repose himself upon it, after the manner which is so improving to the reader as those ac- of the eastern nations. He had not been long in counts which we meet with of the deaths of eminent this posture before he was discovered by some of persons, and of their behaviour in that dreadful the guards, who asked him what was his business season. I may also add, that there are no parts in in that place? The dervise told them he intended history which affect and please the reader in so to take up his night's lodging in that caravansary. sensible a manner. The reason I take to be this, The guards let him know, in a very angry manner, there is no other single circumstance in the story of that the house he was in was not a caravansary, any person, which can possibly be the case of every but the king's palace. It happened that the king one who reads it. A battle or a triumph are con- himself passed through the gallery during this dejectures in which not one man in a million is likely bate, and smiling at the mistake of the dervise, to be engaged: but when we see a person at the asked him how he could possibly be so dull as not point of death, we cannot forbear being attentive to distinguish a palace from a caravansary; Sir,' to every thing he says or does, because we are sure says the dervise, give me leave to ask your mathat some time or other we shall ourselves be in the jesty a question or two. Who were the persons that same melancholy circumstances. The general, the lodged in this house when it was first built?' The statesman, or the philosopher, are perhaps charac-king replied, His ancestors.'' And who,' says ters which we may never act in, but the dying man the dervise, was the last person that lodged here?' is one whom, sooner or later, we shall certainly re- The king replied, His father.' 'And who is it,' semble. says the dervise, that lodges here at present?' It is, perhaps, for the same kind of reason, that The king told him, that it was he himself. And few books written in English have been so much who,' says the dervise, will be here after you?' perused as Dr. Sherlock's Discourse upon Death; The king answered, The young prince his son.' though at the same time I must own, that he who 'Ah, Sir,' said the dervise, a house that changes has not perused this excellent piece, has not per- its inhabitants so often, and receives such a perhaps read one of the strongest persuasives to a re-petual succession of guests, is not a palace, but a ligious life that ever was written in any language. The consideration with which I shall close this essay upon death, is one of the most ancient and most beaten morals that has been recommended to mankind. But its being so very common, and so universally received, though it takes away from it the grace of novelty, adds very much to the weight of it, as it shows that it falls in with the general sense of mankind. In short, I would have every one consider that he is in this life nothing more than a passenger, and that he is not to set up his rest here, but to keep an attentive eye upon that state of being to which he approaches every moment, and which will be for ever fixed and permanent. This single consideration would be sufficient to extinguish the bitterness of hatred, the thirst of avarice, and the cruelty of ambition. I am very much pleased with the passage of Antiphanes, a very ancient poet, who lived near a hundred years before Socrates, which represents the life of man under this view, as I have here tran caravansary.'”—L. No. 290.] FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1711-12. ROSCOMMON. THE players, who know I am very much their friend, take all opportunities to express a gratitude to me for being so. They could not have a better occasion of obliging me, than one which they lately took hold of. They desired my friend Will Honeyit is called The Distrest Mother. I must confess, comb to bring me to the reading of a new tragedy; though some days are passed since I enjoyed that entertainment, the passions of the several characters dwell strongly upon my imagination; and I congratulate the age, that they are at last to see The motto in the original paper in folio was from Horace likewise:-" Spirat tragicum satis, et feliciter audet." "MR. SPECTATOR, truth and human life represented in the incidents the upper end of the world pass as they would which concern heroes and heroines. The style of What is further very extraordinary in this work, is, the play is such as becomes those of the first educa- that the persons are all of them laudable, and their tion, and the sentiments worthy those of the highest misfortunes arise rather from unguarded virtue, than figure. It was a most exquisite pleasure to me, to propensity to vice. The town has an opportunity observe real tears drop from the eyes of those who of doing itself justice in supporting the representahad long made it their profession to dissemble afflictions of passion, sorrow, indignation, even despair tion; and the player who read frequently threw itself, within the rules of decency, honour, and gooddown the book, until he had given vent to the hu- breeding; and since there is none can flatter himself manity which rose in him at some irresistible touches his life will be always fortunate, they may here see of the imagined sorrow. We have seldom had any sorrow, as they would wish to bear it whenever it female distress on the stage, which did not, upon arrives. cool examination, appear to flow from the weakness rather than the misfortune of the person represented: but in this tragedy you are not entertained with the ungoverned passions of such as are enamoured of each other, merely as they are men and women, but their regards are founded upon high conceptions of each other's virtue and merit; and the character which gives name to the play, is one who has behaved herself with heroic virtue in the most important circumstances of a female life, those of a wife, a widow, and a mother. If there be those whose minds have been too attentive upon the affairs of life, to have any notion of the passion of love in such extremes as are known only to parti-faction. cular tempers, yet in the above-mentioned considerations, the sorrow of the heroine will move even the generality of mankind. Domestic virtues concern all the world, and there is no one living who is not interested that Andromache should be an ini called The Distrest Mother. It is the celebrated grief "Your most humble Servant, "MR. SPECTATOR, "As I was walking the other day in the Park, I saw a gentleman with a very short face; I desire to know whether it was you. Pray inform me as soon as you can, lest I become the most heroic Heca"Your humble Servant to command, "SOPHIA." tissa's rival. "DEAR MADAM, "It is not me you are in love with, for I was very ill, and kept my chamber all that day. "Your most humble Servant, "THE SPECTATOR." T. Ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis HOR. Ars Poet. ver. 351. But in a poem elegantly writ, mitable character. The generous affection to the memory of her deceased husband, that tender care for her son, which is ever heightened with the consideration of his father, and these regards preserved in spite of being tempted with the possession of the nighest greatness, are what cannot but be venerable even to such an audience as at present frequents the English theatre. My friend Will Honeycomb commended several tender things that were said, and told me they were very genteel; but whispered me, that he feared the piece was not busy enough for the present taste. To supply this, he recommended to the players to be very careful in their No. 291.] SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 1711-12. scenes; and, above all things, that every part should be perfectly new dressed. I was very glad to find that they did not neglect my friend's admonition, because there are a great many in this class of criticism who may be gained by it; but indeed the truth is, that I will not quarrel with a slight mistake, as to the work itself, it is every where Nature. The Such as our nature's frailty may excuse.-RosCOMMON. persons are of the highest quality in life, even that I HAVE now considered Milton's Paradise Lost of princes; but their quality is not represented by under those four great heads of the fable, the chathe poet, with directions that guards and waiters racters, the sentiments, and the language; and should follow them in every scene, but their grandeur have shown that he excels in general, under each appears in greatness of sentiment, flowing from of these heads. I hope that I have made several minds worthy their condition. To make a charac-discoveries which may appear new, even to those ter truly great, this author understands, that it should have its foundation in superior thoughts and maxims of conduct. It is very certain, that many an honest woman would make no difficulty, though she had been the wife of Hector, for the sake of a kingdom, to marry the enemy of her husband's family and country; and indeed who can deny but she might be still an honest woman, but no heroine? That may be defensible, nay laudable, in one character, which would be in the highest degree exceptionable in another. When Cato Uticensis killed himself, Cottius, a Koman of ordinary quality and character, did the same thing; upon which one said, smiling, "Cottius might have lived, though Cæsar has seized the Roman liberty." Cottius's condition might have been the same, let things at who are versed in critical learning. Were I indeed to choose my readers, by whose judgment I would stand or fall, they should not be such as are acquainted only with the French and Italian critics, but also with the ancient and modern who have written in either of the learned languages. Above all, I would have them well versed in the Greek and Latin poets, without which a man very often fancies that he understands a critic, when in reality he does not comprehend his meaning. It is in criticism as in all other sciences and speculations; one who brings with him any implicit notions and observations, which he has made in his reading of the poets, will find his own reflections methodized and explained, and perhaps several little hints that had passed in his mind, perfected and improved in the works of a good critic; whereas one who has not these previous lights is very often an utter stranger to what he reads, and apt to put a wrong interpretation upon it. Nor is it sufficient that a man, who sets up for a judge in criticism, should have perused the authors above mentioned, unless he has also a clear and logical head. Without this talent he is perpetually puzzled and perplexed amidst his own blunders, mistakes the sense of those he would confute, or, if he chances to think right, does not know how to convey his thoughts to another with clearness and perspicuity. Aristotle, who was the best critic, was also one of the best logicians that ever appeared in the world. Mr. Locke's Essay on Human Understanding would be thought a very odd book for a man to make himself master of, who would get a reputation by critical writings; though at the same time it is very certain, that an author who has not learned the art of distinguishing between words and things, and of ranging his thoughts and setting them in proper lights, whatever notions he may have, will lose himself in confusion and obscurity. I might further observe that there is not a Greek or Latin critic, who has not shown, even in the style of his criticisms, that he was a master of all the elegance and delicacy of his native tongue. The truth of it is, there is nothing more absurd, than for a man to set up for a critic, without a good insight into all the parts of learning; whereas many of those, who have endeavoured to signalize them selves by works of this nature, among our English writers, are not only defective in the above-mentioned particulars, but plainly discover, by the phrases which they make use of, and by their confused way of thinking, that they are not acquainted with the most common and ordinary systems of arts and sciences. A few general rules extracted out of the French authors, with a certain cant of words, has sometimes set up an illiterate heavy writer for a most judicious and formidable critic. One great mark, by which you may discover a critic who has neither taste nor learning, is this, that he seldom ventures to praise any passage in an author which has not been before received and applauded by the public, and that his criticism turns wholly upon little faults and errors. This part of a critic is so very easy to succeed in, that we find every ordinary reader, upon the publishing of a new poem, has wit and ill-nature enough to turn several passages of it into ridicule, and very often in the right place. This Mr. Dryden has very agreeably remarked in these two celebrated lines: Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow; aggravating a fault; and though such a treatment of an author naturally produces indignation in the mind of an understanding reader, it has however its effect among the generality of those whose hands it falls into, the rabble of mankind being very apt to think that every thing which is laughed at, with any mixture of wit, is ridiculous in itself. Such a mirth as this is always unseasonable in a critic, as it rather prejudices the reader than convinces him, and is capable of making a beauty, as well as a blemish, the subject of derision. A man who cannot write with wit on a proper subject, is dull and stupid; but one who shows it in an improper place, is as impertinent and absurd. Besides, a man who has the gift of ridicule is apt to find fault with any thing that gives him an opportunity of exerting his beloved talent, and very often censures a passage, not because there is any fault in it, but because he can be merry upon it. Such kinds of pleasantry are very unfair and disingenuous in works of criticism, in which the greatest masters, both ancient and modern, have always appeared with a serious and instructive air. As I intend in my next paper to show the defects in Milton's Paradise Lost, I thought fit to premise these few particulars, to the end that the reader may know I enter upon it as on a very ungrateful work, and that I shall just point at the imperfections without endeavouring to inflame them with ridicule. I must also observe with Longinus, that the productions of a great genius, with many lapses and inadvertencies, are infinitely preferable to the works of an inferior kind of author, which are scrupulously exact, and conformable to all the rules of correct writing. I shall conclude my paper with a story out of Boccalini, which sufficiently shows us the opinion that judicious author entertained of the sort of critics I have been here mentioning. A famous critic, says he, having gathered together all the faults of an eminent poet, made a present of them to Apollo, who received them very graciously, and resolved to make the author a suitable return for the trouble he had been at in collecting them. In order to this, he set before him a sack of wheat, as it had been just thrashed out of the sheaf. He then bid him pick out the chaff from among the corn, and lay it aside by itself. The critic applied himself to the task with great industry and pleasure, and, after having made the due separation, was presented by Apollo with the chaff for his pains.-L. No. 292.] MONDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1711-12. He who would search for pearls, must dive below. A true critic ought to dwell, rather upon excellences than imperfections, to discover the concealed beauties of a writer, and communicate to the world As no one can be said to enjoy health, who is such things as are worth their observation. The only not sick, without he feel within himself a lightmost exquisite words, and finest strokes of an au- some and invigorating principle, which will not thor, are those which very often appear the most suffer him to remain idle, but still spurs him on to doubtful and exceptionable to a man who wants a action; so in the practice of every virtue, there is relish for polite learning; and they are these, which some additional grace required, to give a claim of a sour undistinguishing critic generally attacks with excelling in this or that particular action. A diathe greatest violence. Tully observes, that it is mond may want polishing, though the value may be very easy to brand or fix a mark upon what he calls intrinsically the same; and the same good may be verbum ardens, or as it may be rendered into Eng-done with different degrees of lustre. No man lish, a glowing bold expression," and to turn it into ridicule by a cold ill-natured criticism. A little wit is equally capable of exposing a beauty and of should be contented with himself that he barely does well, but he should perform every thing in the best and most becoming manner that he is able. Tully tells us he wrote his book of Offices, be- rate into brutality, learning into pedantry, and the cause there was no time of life in which some cor- genteelest demeanour into affectation. Even Reli respondent duty might not be practised; nor is there gion itself, unless Decency be the handmaid which a duty without a certain decency accompanying it, waits upon her, is apt to make people appear guilty by which every virtue it is joined to will seem to be of sourness and ill-humour: but this shows Virtue doubled. Another may do the same thing, and yet in her first original form, adds a comeliness to Rethe action want that air and beauty which distin-ligion, and gives its professors the justest title to guish it from others; like that inimitable sunshine"the beauty of holiness." A man fully instructed Titian is said to have diffused over his landscapes; in this art, may assume a thousand shapes, and which denotes them his, and has been always un- please in all; he may do a thousand actions shall equalled by any other person. become none other but himself; not that the things themselves are different, but the manner of doing them. There is no one action in which this quality I am speaking of will be more sensibly perceived, than in granting a request, or doing an office of kindness, Mummius, by his way of consenting to a benefaction, shall make it lose its name; while Carus doubles the kindness and the obligation. From the first, the desired request drops indeed at last, but from so doubtful a brow, that the obliged has almost as much reason to resent the manner of bestowing it, as to be thankful for the favour itself. Carus invites with a pleasing air, to give him an opportunity of doing an act of humanity, meets the petition half way, and consents to a request with a countenance which proclaims the satisfaction of his mind in assisting the distressed. The decency then that is to be observed in liberality, seems to consist in its being performed with such cheerfulness, as may express the god-like pleasure to be met with, in obliging one's fellowcreatures; that may show good-nature and benevolence overflowed, and do not, as in some men, run upon the tilt, and taste of the sediments of a grudg. ing, uncommunicative disposition. Since I have intimated that the greatest decorum is to be preserved in the bestowing our good offices, I will illustrate it a little, by an example drawn from private life, which carries with it such a profusion of liberality, that it can be exceeded by nothing but the humanity and good-nature which accompanies it. It is a letter of Pliny, which I shall here translate, because the action will best appear in its first dress of thought, without any foreign or am bitious ornaments. "PLINY TO QUINTILIAN." "Though I am fully acquainted with the contentment and just moderation of your mind, and the conformity the education you have given your daughter bears to your own character; yet since she is suddenly to be married to a person of distinction, whose figure in the world makes it necessary for her to be at a more than ordinary expense, in clothes and equipage suitable to her husband's quality; by which, though her intrinsic worth be not augmented, yet will it receive both ornament and lustre and knowing your estate to be as moderate as the riches of your mind are abundant, I must challenge to myself some part of the burden; and as a parent of your child, I present her with twelve hundred and fifty crowns, towards these expenses; which sum had been much larger, had I not feared the smallness of it would be the greatest inducement with you to accept of it. Farewell." Thus should a benefaction be done with a good grace, and shine in the strongest point of light; it should not only answer all the hopes and exigencies of the receiver, but even outrun his wishes. It is this happy manner of behaviour which adds new charms to it, and softens those gifts of art and nature, which otherwise would be rather distasteful than agreeable. Without it, valour would degene If you examine each feature by itself, Aglaura and Calliclea are equally handsome; but take them in the whole, and you cannot suffer the comparison: the one is full of numberless nameless graces, the other of as many nameless faults. The comeliness of person, and the decency of be haviour, add infinite weight to what is pronounced by any one. It is the want of this that often makes the rebukes and advice of old rigid persons of no effect, and leave a displeasure in the minds of those they are directed to: but youth and beauty, if accompanied with a graceful and becoming severity, is of mighty force to raise, even in the most profligate, a sense of shame. In Milton, the devil is never described ashamed but once, and that at the rebuke of a beauteous angel: So spake the cherub; and his grave rebuke, Virtue in her own shape how lovely! saw and pin'd The care of doing nothing unbecoming has accompanied the greatest minds to their last moments. They avoided even an indecent posture in the very article of death. Thus Cæsar gathered his robe about him, that he might not fall in a manner unbecoming of himself; and the greatest concern that appeared in the behaviour of Lucretia when she stabbed herself, was, that her body should lie in an attitude worthy the mind which had inhabited it: -Ne non procumbat honeste, Extrema hæc etiam cura cadentis erat. OVID, Fast. iii. 833. 'Twas her last thought, how decently to fall. "MR. SPECTATOR, "I am a young woman without a fortune; but of last degree proud and vain. a very high mind: that is, good Sir, I am to the I am ever railing at the rich, for doing things, which, upon search into my heart, I find I am only angry at, because I cannot do the same myself. I wear the hooped petticoat, and am all in calicoes when the finest are in silks. It is a dreadful thing to be poor and proud; therefore, if you please, a lecture on that subject for the satisfaction of your uneasy humble Servant, world. It is certain, a great part of what we call seen successes, which are often the effect of a sangood or ill fortune, rises out of right or wrong mea-guine temper or a more happy rashness; and this sures and schemes of life. When I hear a man perhaps may be the reason, that, according to the complain of his being unfortunate in all his under- common observation, Fortune, like other females, takings, I shrewdly suspect him for a very weak delights rather in favouring the young than the old. man in his affairs. In conformity with this way of Upon the whole, since man is so short-sighted a thinking, Cardinal Richelieu used to say, that un- creature, and the accidents which may happen to him fortunate and imprudent were but two words for the so various, I cannot but be of Dr. Tillotson's opisame thing. As the cardinal himself had a great nion in another case, that were there any doubt of share both of prudence and good fortune, his famous Providence, yet it certainly would be very desirable antagonist, the Count d'Olivares, was disgraced at there should be such a Being of infinite wisdom and the court of Madrid, because it was alleged against goodness, on whose direction we might rely in the him that he had never any success in his under- conduct of human life. takings. This, says an eminent author, was indirectly accusing him of imprudence. It is a great presumption to ascribe our successes to our own management, and not to esteem ourselves Cicero recommended Pompey to the Romans for upon any blessing, rather as it is the bounty of their general upon three accounts, as he was a man Heaven than the acquisition of our own prudence. of courage, conduct, and good fortune. It was, I am very well pleased with a medal which was perhaps, for the reason above mentioned, namely, struck by Queen Elizabeth, a little after the defeat that a series of good fortune supposes a prudent ma- of the invincible armada, to perpetuate the memory nagement in the person whom it befals, that not of that extraordinary event. It is well known how only Sylla the dictator, but several of the Roman the King of Spain, and others who were the eneemperors, as is still to be seen upon their medals, mies of that great princess, to derogate from her among their other titles, gave themselves that of glory, ascribed the ruin of their fleet rather to the Felix or Fortunate. The heathens, indeed, seem violence of storms and tempests, than to the bravery to have valued a man more for his good fortune than of the English. Queen Elizabeth, instead of looking for any other quality, which I think is very natural upon this as a diminution of her honour, valued for those who have not a strong belief of another herself upon such a signal favour of Providence, world. For how can I conceive a man crowned with and accordingly, in the reverse of the medal abovemany distinguishing blessings, that has not some ex-mentioned, has represented a fleet beaten by a temtraordinary fund of merit and perfection in him, which lies open to the Supreme eye, though perhaps it is not discovered by my observation? What is the reason Homer's and Virgil's heroes do not form a resolution, or strike a blow, without the conduct and direction of some deity? Doubtless, because the poets esteemed it the greatest honour to be favoured by the gods, and thought the best way of praising a man was, to recount those favours which naturally implied an extraordinary merit in the person on whom they descended. pest, and falling foul upon one another, with that religious inscription, "Afflavit Deus, et dissipantur.” "He blew with his wind, and they were scattered." It is remarked of a famous Grecian general, whose name I cannot at present recollect,* and who had been a particular favourite of Fortune, that, upon recounting his victories among his friends, he added at the end of several great actions, "And in this fortune had no share." After which it is observed in history, that he never prospered in any thing he undertook. As arrogance and a conceitedness of our own abilities are very shocking and offensive to men of sense and virtue, we may be sure they are highly displeasing to that Being who delights in a humble mind, and by several of his dispensations seems purposely to show us, that our own schemes, or prudence, have no share in our advancements. Those who believe a future state of rewards and punishments act very absurdly, if they form their opinions of a man's merit from his successes. But certainly, if I thought the whole circle of our being was included between our births and deaths, I should think a man's good fortune the measure and standard of his real merit, since Providence would have no opportunity of rewarding his virtue and perfections, Since on this subject I have already admitted but in the present life. A virtuous unbeliever, who several quotations, which have occurred to my melies under the pressure of misfortunes, has reason to mory upon writing this paper, I will conclude it cry out, as they say Brutus did, a little before his with a little Persian fable A drop of water fell out death: "O Virtue, I have worshipped thee as a sub- of a cloud into the sea, and finding itself lost in such stantial good, but I find thou art an empty name.' an immensity of fluid matter, broke out into the But to return to our first point. Though Pru- following reflection: "Alas! What an inconsiderdence does undoubtedly in a great measure produce ablet creature am I in this prodigious ocean of our good or ill fortune in the world, it is certain there waters! My existence is of no concern to the uniare many unforeseen accidents and occurrences, verse; I am reduced to a kind of nothing, and am which very often pervert the finest schemes that can less than the least of the works of God." It so hapbe laid by human wisdom. "The race is not always pened that an oyster, which lay in the neighbourto the swift, nor the battle to the strong." Nothing hood of this drop, chanced to gape and swallow it less than infinite wisdom can have an absolute com- up in the midst of this its humble soliloquy. The mand over fortune; the highest degree of it which drop, says the fable, lay a great while hardening in man can possess, is by no means equal to fortuitous the shell, until by degrees it was ripened into a events, and to such contingencies as may rise in the pearl, which falling into the hands of a diver, after prosecution of our affairs. Nay, it very often hap-a long series of adventures, is at present that pens, that prudence, which has always in it a great famous pearl which is fixed on the top of the Persian mixture of caution, hinders a man from being so diadem.-L. fortunate, as he might possibly have been without it. A person who only aims at what is likely to succeed, and follows closely the dictates of human pradence, never meets with those great and unfore Timotheus the Athenian. See Shaw's edit of Lord Bacon's Works, 4to. vol. i p. 219. † Altered from insignificant, according to a direction in Spect. in folio, No. 295. |
