Chapter 2
_Her Lips most happy each in other's Kisses, From their so wish'd Imbracements seldom parted, Yet seem'd to blush at such their wanton Blisses; But when sweet Words their joining Sweets disparted, To the Ear a dainty Musick they imparted; Upon them fitly sate delightful Smiling, A thousand Souls with pleasing Stealth beguiling: Ah that such shews of Joys shou'd be all Joys exiling!_
_Lower two Breasts stand all their Beauties bearing, Two Breasts as smooth and soft;--but oh alas! Their smoothest Softness far exceeds comparing: More smooth and soft--but naught that ever was, Where they are first, deserves the second Place: Yet each as soft, and each as smooth as other; But when thou first try'st one, and then the other, Each softer seems than each, and each than each seems smoother._
These Lines (pretty as they are) would be unsufferable in a large and serious Work, nay, there are some People who tax them with being too extravagant even for the Poem where they stand; and in truth, their warmest Admirer can say no more than this:
_Nequeo Monstrare, & Sentio tantum._
So far am I from reproaching _Waller_ with putting too much Wit in his Poems; that on the contrary, I have found too little, though he continually aims at it. They say that Dancing Masters never make a handsome Bow, because they take too much Pains. I think _Waller_ is often in this Case; his best Verses are studied; one finds he quite tires himself to find that which presents itself so naturally to _Rochester_, _Congreve_, and to so many more, who with all the Ease in the World, write these Bagatelles better than _Waller_ did with Labour.
I know it signifies very little to the Affairs of the World, whether _Waller_ was or was not a great Genius; whether he only made a few pretty Things, or that all his Verses may stand for Models. But we who love the Arts, carry an attentive Eye on that which to the rest of the World is a Matter of mere Indifference. Good Taste is for us in Literature, what it is for Women in Dress; and provided we don't make our Opinions an Affair of Party, I think we may boldly say, that there are few excellent Things in _Waller_, and that _Cowley_ might be easily reduced to a few Pages.
It is not that we would deprive them of their Reputation; 'tis only to inquire strictly what brought them that Reputation which is so much respected; and what are the true Beauties which made their Faults be overlooked. It must be known what ought to be followed in their Works, and what avoided; this is the true Fruit of a deep Study in the Belles Lettres; it is this that _Horace_ did, when he examined _Lucilius_ critically. _Horace_ got Enemies by it, but he enlightened his Enemies themselves.
This Desire of shining, and to say in a new Manner what others have said before, is the Foundation of new Expressions, as well as of far-fetched Thoughts.
He that cannot shine by a Thought will distinguish himself by a Word. This is their Reason for substituting Placid for Peaceful, Joyous for Joyful, Meandring for Winding; and a hundred more Affectations of the same kind. If they were to go on at this Rate, the Language of _Shakespear, Milton, Dryden, Addison_ and _Pope_, would soon become quite superannuated. And why avoid an Expression in use, to introduce one which says precisely the same Thing? A new Word is never pardonable, but when it is absolutely necessary, intelligible and sonorous; they are forc'd to make them in Physics: A new Discovery, or a new Machine demands a new Word. But do they make new Discoveries in the human Heart? Is there any other Greatness than that of _Shakespear_ and _Milton_? Are there any other Passions than those that have been handled by _Otway_ and _Dryden_? Is there any other Evangelic Moral than that of Dr. _Tillotson_?
Those who accuse the _English_ Language of not being copious enough, do, in Truth, find a Sterility, but 'tis in themselves.
_Rem Verba Sequuntur_.
When one is thoroughly struck with an Idea, when a Man of Sense, fill'd with Warmth, is in full Possession of his Thought, it comes from him all ornamented with suitable Expressions, as _Minerva_ sprang out, compleatly arm'd, from the Head of _Jupiter_.
In short, the Conclusion of all this is, that you must never seek for far-fetch'd Thoughts, Conceits or Expressions; and that the Art of all great Works, is to reason well, without making many Arguments; to paint accurately, without Painting all; to move, without always exciting the Passions.
Sixtynine ENIGMATICAL Characters, ALL Very exactly drawn to the Life.
{ Persons, From several { Humours, { Dispositions.
PLEASANT And full of DELIGHT.
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The Second Edition by the Author R.F. Esquire.
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_London_, Printed for _William Crook_, at the sign of the three Bibles on _Fleet Bridge_, 1665.
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CHARACTER.
_Of one that_ Zanys _the good Companion_.
He is a wit of an under Region, grosly imitating on the lower rope, what t'other does neatly on the higher; and is only for the laughter of the vulgar; whilst your wiser and better sort can scarcely smile at him: He talks nothing but kennel-raked fluff, and his discourse is rather like fruit cane up rotten from the ground, than freshly gathered from the Tree. He is so far from a courtly wit, as his breeding seems only to have been i' th' Suburbs; or at best, he seems only graduated good company in a Tavern (the Bedlam of wits) where men are mad rather than merry; here one breaking a jest on the Drawer, or a Candlestick; there another repeating the old end of a Play, or some bawdy song; this speaking bilk, that nonsense, whilst all with loud houting and laughter confound the _Fidlers_ noise, who may well be call'd a noise indeed, for no _Musick_ can be heard for them; so whilst he utters nothing but old stories, long since laught thridbare, or some stale jest broken twenty times before: His _mirth_ compared with theirs, new and at first hand, is just like _Brokers_ ware in comparison with _Mercers_, or _Long-lane_ compar'd unto _Cheap-side_: his wit being rather the _Hogs-heads_ than his own, favouring more of _Heidelberg_ than of _Hellicon_, and he rather a drunken than a good companion.
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CHARACTER.
_Of a bold abusive Wit._
He talks madly, _dash, dash,_ without any fear at all, and never cares how he _bespatters_ others, or defiles himself; nor ceases he till he has quite run himself out of breath; when no wonder, if to fools he seems to get the start of those who wisely pick out their way, and are as fearful of abusing others as themselves: He has the _Buffoons_ priviledge, of saying or doing anything without exceptions, and he will call a jealous man _Cuckold_, a childe of doubtful birth _Bastard_, and a _Lady_ of suspected honor a _Whore_, and they but laugh at it; and all _Scholars_ are _Pedants_; and _Physicians_, _Quacks_ with him, when to be angry at it is the avowing it. Then in _Ladies_ chambers, he will tumble beds, and towse your _Ladies_ dress up unto the height, to the hazard of a _Bed-staff_ thrown at his head, or rap o're the fingers with a _Busk_, and that is all; only is this he is far worse than the _Buffoon_, since they study to _delight_, this only to _offend_; they to make _merry_, but this onely to make you _mad_, whence wo be t' ye of he discovers and _imperfection_ or _fault_ in you, for he never findes a _breach_ but he makes a _hole_ of it; nor a _hole_ but he _tugs_ at it so long till he tear it quite; giving you for reason of his _incivility_, because (forsooth) _it troubled you_, which would make any civil man cease troubling you. So he wears his _wit_ as _Bravo's_ do their swords, to mischief and offend others, not as _Gentlemen_ to defend themselves: and tis _crime_ in him, what is _ornament_ in others; he being onely a _wit_ at that, at which a good _wit_ is a _fool_. Especially he triumphs over your modest men; and when he meets with a _simple body_, passes for a _wit_, but a _wit_ indeed makes a _simplician_ of him; so goes he persecuting others till some one or other at last (as _chollerick_ as he is _abusive) cudgel_ him for his pains; when he goes _grumbling_ away in a mighty _choler_, saying, _They understand not jest_, when indeed tis rather _he_.
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THE ADVENTURER.
_VOLUME THE FOURTH._
_--Tentanda via est; qu‚ me quoque possim Tollere humo, victorque vir‚m volitare per ora._ VIRG.
On vent'rous wing in quest of praise I go, And leave the gazing multitude below.
A NEW EDITION, ILLUSTRATED WITH FRONTISPIECES.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR SILVESTER DOIG, ROYAL EXCHANGE, EDINBURGH.
1793.
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No. CXXVII. Tuesday, January 22. 1754.
_--Veteres ita miratur, laudatque!--_ HOR. The wits of old he praises and admires.
"It is very remarkable," says Addison, "that notwithstanding we fall short at present of the ancients in poetry, painting, oratory, history, architecture, and all the noble arts and sciences which depend more upon genius than experience; we exceed them as much in doggerel, humour, burlesque, and all the trivial arts of ridicule." As this fine observation stands at present only in the form of a general assertion, it deserves, I think, to be examined by a deduction of particulars, and confirmed by an allegation of examples, which may furnish an agreeable entertainment to those who have ability and inclination to remark the revolutions of human wit.
That Tasso, Ariosto, and Camoens, the three most celebrated of modern Epic Poets, are infinitely excelled in propriety of design, of sentiment, and style, by Horace and Virgil, it would be serious trifling to attempt to prove: but Milton, perhaps, will not so easily resign his claim to equality, if not to superiority. Let it, however, be remembered, that if Milton be enabled to dispute the prize with the great champions of antiquity, it is entirely owing to the sublime conceptions he has copied from the book of God. These, therefore, must be taken away before we begin to make a just estimate of his genius; and from what remains, it cannot, I presume, be said with candour and impartiality, that he has excelled Homer in the sublimity and variety of his thoughts, or the strength and majesty of his diction.
Shakespear, Corneille, and Racine, are the only modern writers of Tragedy, that we can venture to oppose to Eschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. The first is an author so uncommon and eccentric, that we can scarcely try him by dramatic rules. In strokes of nature and character, he yields not to the Greeks: in all other circumstances that constitute the excellence of the drama, he is vastly inferior. Of the three moderns, the most faultless is the tender and exact Racine: but he was ever ready to acknowledge, that his capital beauties were borrowed from his favourite Euripides; which, indeed, cannot escape the observation of those who read with attention his PhÊdra and Andromache. The pompous and truly Roman sentiments of Corneille are chiefly drawn from Luoan and Tacitus; the former of whom, by a strange perversion of taste, he is known to have preferred to Virgil. His diction is not so pure and mellifluous, his characters not so various and just, nor his plots so regular, so interesting, and simple, as those of his pathetic rival. It is by this simplicity of fable alone, when every single act, and scene, and speech, and sentiment, and word, concur to accelerate the intended event, that the Greek tragedies kept the attention of the audience immoveably fixed upon one principal object, which must be necessarily lessened, and the ends of the drama defeated, by the mazes and intricacies of modern plots.
The assertion of Addison with respect to the first particular, regarding the higher kinds of poetry, will remain unquestionably true, till nature in some distant age, for in the present, enervated with luxury, she seems incapable of such an effort, shall produce some transcendent genius, of power to eclipse the Iliad and the Edipus.
The superiority of the ancient artists in Painting, is not perhaps so clearly manifest. They were ignorant, it will be said, of light, of shade, and perspective; and they had not the use of oil colours, which are happily calculated to blend and unite without harshness and discordance, to give a boldness and relief to the figures, and to form those middle Teints which render every well-wrought piece a closer resemblance of nature. Judges of the truest taste do, however, place the merit of colouring far below that of justness of design, and force of expression. In these two highest and most important excellencies, the ancient painters were eminently skilled, if we trust the testimonies of Pliny, Quintilian, and Lucian; and to credit them we are obliged, if we would form to ourselves any idea of these artists at all; for there is not one Grecian picture remaining; and the Romans, some few of whose works have descended to this age, could never boast of a Parrhasius or Apelles, a Zeuxis, Timanthes, or Protogenes, of whose performances the two accomplished critics above mentioned, speaks in terms of rapture and admiration. The statues that have escaped the ravages of time, as the Hercules and Laocoon for instance, are still a stronger demonstration of the power of the Grecian artists in expressing the passions; for what was executed in marble, we have presumptive evidence to think, might also have been executed in colours. Carlo Marat, the last valuable painter of Italy, after copying the head of the Venus in the Medicean collection three hundred times, generously confessed, that he could not arrive at half the grace and perfection of his model. But to speak my opinion freely on a very disputable point, I must own, that if the moderns approach the ancients in any of the arts here in question, they approach them nearest in The Art of Painting, The human mind can with difficulty conceive any thing more exalted, than "The Last Judgment" of Michael Angelo, and "The Transfiguration" of Raphael. What can be more animated than Raphael's "Paul preaching at Athens?" What more tender and delicate than Mary holding the child Jesus, in his famous "Holy Family?" What more graceful than "The Aurora" of Guido? What more deeply moving than "The Massacre of the Innocents" by Le Brun?
But no modern Orator can dare to enter the lists with Demosthenes and Tully. We have discourses, indeed, that may be admired, for their perspicuity, purity, and elegance; but can produce none that abound in a sublime which whirls away the auditor like a mighty torrent, and pierces the inmost recesses of his heart like a flash of lightning; which irresistibly and instantaneously convinces, without leaving, him leisure to weigh the motives of conviction. The sermons of Bourdaloue, the funeral orations of Bossuet, particularly that on the death of Henrietta, and the pleadings of Pelisson, for his disgraced patron Fouquet, are the only pieces of eloquence I can recollect, that bear any resemblance to the Greek or Roman orator; for in England we have been particularly unfortunate in our attempts to be eloquent, whether in parliament, in the pulpit, or at the bar. If it be urged, that the nature of modern politics and laws excludes the pathetic and the sublime, and confines the speaker to a cold argumentative method, and a dull detail of proof and dry matters of fact; yet, surely, the Religion of the moderns abounds in topics so incomparably noble and exalted as might kindle the flames of genuine oratory in the most frigid and barren genius much more might this success be reasonably expected from such geniuses as Britain can enumerate; yet no piece of this sort, worthy applause or notice, has ever yet appeared.
The few, even among professed scholars, that are able to read the ancient Historians in their inimitable, originals, are startled at the paradox, of Bolingbroke who boldly prefers Guicciardini to Thucydides; that is, the most verbose and tedious to the most comprehensive and concise of writers, and a collector of facts to one who was himself an eye-witness and a principal actor in the important story he relates. And, indeed, it may be well presumed, that the ancient histories exceed the modern from this single consideration, that the latter are commonly compiled by recluse scholars, unpractised in business, war, and politics; whilst the former are many of them written by ministers, commanders, and princes themselves. We have, indeed, a few flimsy memoirs, particularly in a neighbouring nation, written by persons deeply interested in the transactions they describe; but these I imagine will not be compared to "The retreat of the ten thousand" which Xenophon himself conducted and related, nor to "the Galic war" of CÊsar, nor "The precious fragments" of Polybius, which our modern generals and ministers would not have discredited by diligently perusing, and making them the models of their conduct as well as of their style. Are the reflections of Machiavel so subtle and refined as those of Tacitus? Are the portraits of Thuanus so strong and expressive as those of Sallust and Plutarch? Are the narrations of Davila so lively and animated, or do his sentiments breathe such a love of liberty and virtue, as those of Livy and Herodotus?
The supreme excellence of the ancient Architecture the last particular to be touched, I shall not enlarge upon, because it has never once been called in question, and because it is abundantly testified by the awful ruins of amphitheatres, aqueducts, arches, and columns, that are the daily objects of veneration, though not of imitation. This art, it is observable; has never been improved in later ages in one single instance; but every just and legitimate edifice is still formed according to the five old established orders, to which human wit has never been able to add a sixth of equal symmetry and strength.
Such, therefore, are the triumphs of the Ancients, especially the Greeks, over the Moderns. They may, perhaps, be not unjustly ascribed to a genial climate, that gave such a happy temperament of body as was most proper to produce fine sensations; to a language most harmonious, copious, and forcible; to the public encouragements and honours bestowed on the cultivators of literature; to the emulation excited among the generous youth, by exhibitions of their performances at the solemn games; to an inattention to the arts of lucre and commerce, which engross and debase the minds of the moderns; and above all, to an exemption from the necessity of overloading their natural faculties with learning and languages, with which we in these later times are obliged to qualify ourselves, for writers, if we expect to be read.
It is said by Voltaire, with his usual liveliness, "We shall never again behold the time, when a Duke de la Rochefoucault might go from the conversation of a Pascal or Arnauld, to the theatre of Corneille." This reflection may be more justly applied to the ancients, and it may with much greater truth be said; "The age will never again return, when a Pericles, after walking with Plato in a portico, built by Phidias, and painted by Apelles, might repair to hear a pleading of Demosthenes, or a tragedy of Sophocles."
I shall next examine the other part of Addison's assertion, that the moderns excell the ancients in all the arts of Ridicule, and assign the reasons of this supposed excellence.
No. CXXXIII. Tuesday, February 12. 1754.
_At nostri proavi Plautinos et numeros et Laudeveres sales; nimium patienter utrumque, Ne dicam stule, mirati; si modo ego et vos Scimus inurbanum lepido seponere dicto_. HOR.
"And yet our fires with joy could Plautus hear; Gay were his jests, his numbers charm'd their ear." Let me not say too lavishly they prais'd; But sure their judgment was full cheaply pleas'd, If you or I with taste are haply blest, To know a clownish from a courtly jest. FRANCIS.
The fondness I have so frequently manifested for the ancients, has not so far blinded my judgment, as to render me unable to discern, or unwilling to acknowledge, the superiority of the moderns, in pieces of Humour and Ridicule. I shall, therefore, confirm the general assertion of Addison, part of which hath already been examined.
Comedy, Satire, and Burlesque, being the three chief branches of ridicule, it is necessary for us to compare together the most admired performances of the ancients and moderns, in these three kinds of writing, to qualify us justly to censure or commend, as the beauties or blemishes of each party may deserve.
As Aristophanes wrote to please the multitude, at a time when the licentiousness of the Athenians was boundless, his pleasantries are coarse and impolite, his characters extravagantly forced, and distorted with unnatural deformity, like the monstrous caricaturas of Callot. He is full of the grossest obscenity, indecency, and inurbanity; and as the populace always delight to hear their superiors abused and misrepresented, he scatters the rankest calumnies on the wisest and worthiest personages of his country. His style is unequal, occasioned by a frequent introduction of parodies on Sophocles and Euripides. It is, however, certain, that he abounds in artful allusions to the state of Athens at the time when he wrote; and, perhaps, he is more valuable, considered as a political satirist than a writer of comedy.
Plautus has adulterated a rich vein of genuine wit and humour, with a mixture of the basest buffoonry. No writer seems to have been born with a more forcible or more fertile genius for comedy. He has drawn some characters with incomparable spirit: we are indebted to him for the first good miser, and for that worn-out character among the Romans, a boastful Thraso. But his love degenerates into lewdness; and his jests are insupportably low and illiberal, and fit only for "the dregs of Romulus" to use and to hear; he has furnished examples of every species of true and false wit, even down to a quibble and a pun. Plautus lived in an age when the Romans were but just emerging into politeness; and I cannot forbear thinking, that if he had been reserved for the age of Augustus, he would have produced more perfect plays than even the elegant disciple of Menander.
Delicacy, sweetness, and correctness, are the characteristics of Terence. His polite images are all represented in the most clear and perspicuous expression; but his characters are too general and uniform, nor are they marked with those discriminating peculiarities that distinguish one man from another; there is a tedious and disgusting sameness of incidents in his plots, which, as hath been observed in a former paper, are too complicated and intricate. It may be added, that he superabounds in soliloquies; and that nothing can be more inartificial or improper, than the manner in which he hath introduced them.