Chapter 60
I am a Person who was long immured in a College, read much, saw little; so that I knew no more of the World than what a Lecture or a View of the Map taught me. By this means I improved in my Study, but became unpleasant in Conversation. By conversing generally with the Dead, I grew almost unfit for the Society of the Living; so by a long Confinement I contracted an ungainly Aversion to Conversation, and ever discoursed with Pain to my self, and little Entertainment to others. At last I was in some measure made sensible of my failing, and the Mortification of never being spoke to, or speaking, unless the Discourse ran upon Books, put me upon forcing my self amongst Men. I immediately affected the politest Company, by the frequent use of which I hoped to wear off the Rust I had contracted; but by an uncouth Imitation of Men used to act in publick, I got no further than to discover I had a Mind to appear a finer thing than I really was.
Such I was, and such was my Condition, when I became an ardent Lover, and passionate Admirer of the beauteous Belinda: Then it was that I really began to improve. This Passion changed all my Fears and Diffidences in my general Behaviour, to the sole Concern of pleasing her. I had not now to study the Action of a Gentleman, but Love possessing all my Thoughts, made me truly be the thing I had a Mind to appear. My Thoughts grew free and generous, and the Ambition to be agreeable to her I admired, produced in my Carriage a faint Similitude of that disengaged Manner of my Belinda. The way we are in at present is, that she sees my Passion, and sees I at present forbear speaking of it through prudential Regards. This Respect to her she returns with much Civility, and makes my Value for her as little a Misfortune to me, as is consistent with Discretion. She sings very charmingly, and is readier to do so at my Request, because she knows I love her: She will dance with me rather than another, for the same Reason. My Fortune must alter from what it is, before I can speak my Heart to her; and her Circumstances are not considerable enough to make up for the Narrowness of mine. But I write to you now, only to give you the Character of Belinda, as a Woman that has Address enough to demonstrate a Gratitude to her Lover, without giving him Hopes of Success in his Passion. Belinda has from a great Wit, governed by as great Prudence, and both adorned with Innocence, the Happiness of always being ready to discover her real Thoughts. She has many of us, who now are her Admirers; but her Treatment of us is so just and proportioned to our Merit towards her, and what we are in our selves, that I protest to you I have neither Jealousy nor Hatred toward my Rivals. Such is her Goodness, and the Acknowledgment of every Man who admires her, that he thinks he ought to believe she will take him who best deserves her. I will not say that this Peace among us is not owing to Self-love, which prompts each to think himself the best Deserver: I think there is something uncommon and worthy of Imitation in this Ladys Character. If you will please to Print my Letter, you will oblige the little Fraternity of happy Rivals, and in a more particular Manner,
SIR, Your most humble Servant, Will. Cymon.
T.
[Footnote 1: [Mully]
[Footnote 2: See No. 251. He was a little man just able to bear on his head his basket of pastry, and who was named from his cry. There is a half-sheet print of him in the set of London Cries in Granger's Biographical History of England.]
[Footnote 3: Who advertised that he attended patients at charges ranging from a shilling to half-a-crown, according to their distance from his house.]
[Footnote 4: [out-run]]
[Footnote 5: Estcourt, it may be remembered, connected the advertisement of his Bumper tavern with the recommendation of himself as one ignorant of the wine trade who relied on Brooke and Hellier, and so ensured his Customers good wine. Among the advertisers in the Spectator Brooke and Hellier often appeared. One of their advertisements is preceded by the following, evidently a contrivance of their own, which shows that the art of puffing was not then in its infancy:
'This is to give Notice, That Brooke and Hellier have not all the New Port Wines this Year, nor above one half, the Vintners having bought 130 Pipes of Mr. Thomas Barlow and others, which are all natural, and shall remain Genuine, on which all Gentlemen and others may depend. Note.--Altho' Brooke and Hellier have asserted in several Papers that they had 140 Pipes of New Oporto Wines coming from Bristol, it now appears, since their landing, that they have only 133 Pipes, I Hhd. of the said Wines, which shews plainly how little what they say is to be credited.'
Then follows their long advertisement, which ends with a note that Their New Ports, just landed, being the only New Ports in Merchants Hands, and above One Half of all that is in London, will begin to be sold at the old prices the I2th inst. (April) at all their Taverns and Cellars.]
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No. 363. Saturday, April 26, 1712. Addison.
'--Crudelis ubique Luctus, ubique pavor, et plurima Mortis Imago.'
Virg.
Milton has shewn a wonderful Art in describing that variety of Passions which arise in our first Parents upon the Breach of the Commandment that had been given them. We see them gradually passing from the Triumph of their Guilt thro Remorse, Shame, Despair, Contrition, Prayer, and Hope, to a perfect and compleat Repentance. At the end of the tenth Book they are represented as prostrating themselves upon the Ground, and watering the Earth with their Tears: To which the Poet joins this beautiful Circumstance, that they offerd up their penitential Prayers, on the very Place where their Judge appeared to them when he pronounced their Sentence.
--They forthwith to the place Repairing where he judg'd them, prostrate fell Before him Reverent, and both confess'd Humbly their Faults, and Pardon begg'd, with Tears Watering the Ground--
[There is a Beauty of the same kind in a Tragedy of Sophocles, where OEdipus, after having put out his own Eyes, instead of breaking his Neck from the Palace-Battlements (which furnishes so elegant an Entertainment for our English Audience) desires that he may be conducted to Mount Cithoeron, in order to end his Life in that very Place where he was exposed in his Infancy, and where he should then have died, had the Will of his Parents been executed.]
As the Author never fails to give a poetical Turn to his Sentiments, he describes in the Beginning of this Book the Acceptance which these their Prayers met with, in a short Allegory, formd upon that beautiful Passage in holy Writ: And another Angel came and stood at the Altar, having a golden Censer; and there was given unto him much Incense, that he should offer it with the Prayers of all Saints upon the Golden Altar, which was before the Throne: And the Smoak of the Incense which came with the Prayers of the Saints, ascended up before God.
--To Heavn their Prayers Flew up, nor miss'd the Way, by envious Winds Blown vagabond or frustrate: in they passd Dimensionless through heavnly Doors, then clad With Incense, where the Golden Altar fumed, By their great Intercessor, came in sight Before the Father's Throne--
We have the same Thought expressed a second time in the Intercession of the Messiah, which is conceived in very Emphatick Sentiments and Expressions.
Among the Poetical Parts of Scripture, which Milton has so finely wrought into this Part of his Narration, I must not omit that wherein Ezekiel speaking of the Angels who appeared to him in a Vision, adds, that every one had four Faces, and that their whole Bodies, and their Backs, and their Hands, and their Wings, were full of Eyes round about.
--The Cohort bright Of watchful Cherubims, four Faces each Had like a double Janus, all their Shape Spangled with Eyes--
The Assembling of all the Angels of Heaven to hear the solemn Decree passed upon Man, is represented in very lively Ideas. The Almighty is here describd as remembring Mercy in the midst of Judgment, and commanding Michael to deliver his Message in the mildest Terms, lest the Spirit of Man, which was already broken with the Sense of his Guilt and Misery, should fail before him.
--Yet lest they faint At the sad Sentence rigorously urg'd, For I behold them softned, and with Tears Bewailing their Excess, all Terror hide,
The Conference of Adam and Eve is full of moving Sentiments. Upon their going abroad after the melancholy Night which they had passed together, they discover the Lion and the Eagle pursuing each of them their Prey towards the Eastern Gates of Paradise. There is a double Beauty in this Incident, not only as it presents great and just Omens, which are always agreeable in Poetry, but as it expresses that Enmity which was now produced in the Animal Creation. The Poet to shew the like Changes in Nature, as well as to grace his Fable with a noble Prodigy, represents the Sun in an Eclipse. This particular Incident has likewise a fine Effect upon the Imagination of the Reader, in regard to what follows; for at the same time that the Sun is under an Eclipse, a bright Cloud descends in the Western Quarter of the Heavens, filled with an Host of Angels, and more luminous than the Sun it self. The whole Theatre of Nature is darkned, that this glorious Machine may appear in all its Lustre and Magnificence.
--Why in the East Darkness ere Days mid-course, and morning Light More orient in that Western Cloud that draws O'er the blue Firmament a radiant White, And slow descends, with something Heavnly fraught? He err'd not, for by this the heavenly Bands Down from a Sky of Jasper lighted now In Paradise, and on a Hill made halt; A glorious Apparition--
I need not observe how properly this Author, who always suits his Parts to the Actors whom he introduces, has employed Michael in the Expulsion of our first Parents from Paradise. The Archangel on this Occasion neither appears in his proper Shape, nor in that familiar Manner with which Raphael the sociable Spirit entertained the Father of Mankind before the Fall. His Person, his Port, and Behaviour, are suitable to a Spirit of the highest Rank, and exquisitely describd in the following Passage.
--Th' Archangel soon drew nigh, Not in his Shape Celestial; but as Man Clad to meet Man: over his lucid Arms A Military Vest of Purple flow'd, Livelier than Meliboean, or the Grain Of Sarra, worn by Kings and Heroes old, In time of Truce: Iris had dipt the Wooff: His starry Helm, unbuckled, shew'd him prime In Manhood where Youth ended; by his side, As in a glistring Zodiack, hung the Sword, Satan's dire dread, and in his Hand the Spear. Adam bow'd low, he Kingly from his State Inclined not, but his coming thus declared.
Eve's Complaint upon hearing that she was to be removed from the Garden of Paradise, is wonderfully beautiful: The Sentiments are not only proper to the Subject, but have something in them particularly soft and womanish.
Must I then leave thee, Paradise? Thus leave Thee, native Soil, these happy Walks and Shades, Fit haunt of Gods? Where I had hope to spend Quiet, though sad, the respite of that Day That must be mortal to us both. O Flowrs, That never will in other Climate grow, My early Visitation, and my last At Even, which I bred up with tender Hand From the first opening Bud, and gave you Names; Who now shall rear you to the Sun, or rank Your Tribes, and water from th' ambrosial Fount? Thee, lastly, nuptial Bower, by me adorn'd With what to Sight or Smell was sweet; from thee How shall I part, and whither wander down Into a lower World, to this obscure And wild? how shall we breathe in other Air Less pure, accustomd to immortal Fruits?
Adam's Speech abounds with Thoughts which are equally moving, but of a more masculine and elevated Turn. Nothing can be conceived more Sublime and Poetical than the following Passage in it.
This most afflicts me, that departing hence As from his Face I shall be hid, deprived His blessed Countnance: here I could frequent, With Worship, place by place where he vouchsaf'd Presence Divine; and to my Sons relate, On this Mount he appear'd, under this Tree Stood visible, among these Pines his Voice I heard, here with him at this Fountain talk'd; So many grateful Altars I would rear Of grassy Turf, and pile up every Stone Of lustre from the Brook, in memory Or monument to Ages, and thereon Offer sweet-smelling Gums and Fruits and Flowers. In yonder nether World--where shall I seek His bright Appearances, or Footsteps trace? For though I fled him angry, yet recalled To Life prolonged and promised Race, I now Gladly behold though but his utmost Skirts Of Glory, and far off his Steps adore.
The Angel afterwards leads Adam to the highest Mount of Paradise, and lays before him a whole Hemisphere, as a proper Stage for those Visions which were to be represented on it. I have before observed how the Plan of Milton's Poem is in many Particulars greater than that of the Iliad or Æneid. Virgil's Hero, in the last of these Poems, is entertained with a Sight of all those who are to descend from him; but though that Episode is justly admired as one of the noblest Designs in the whole Æneid, every one-must allow that this of Milton is of a much higher Nature. Adam's Vision is not confined to any particular Tribe of Mankind, but extends to the whole Species.
In this great Review which Adam takes of all his Sons and Daughters, the first Objects he is presented with exhibit to him the Story of Cain and Abel, which is drawn together with much Closeness and Propriety of Expression. That Curiosity and natural Horror which arises in Adam at the Sight of the first dying Man, is touched with great Beauty.
But have I now seen Death? is this the way I must return to native Dust? O Sight Of Terror foul, and ugly to behold, Horrid to think, how horrible to feel!
The second Vision sets before him the Image of Death in a great Variety of Appearances. The Angel, to give him a general Idea of those Effects which his Guilt had brought upon his Posterity, places before him a large Hospital or Lazar-House, filled with Persons lying under all kinds of mortal Diseases. How finely has the Poet told us that the sick Persons languished under lingering and incurable Distempers, by an apt and judicious use of such Imaginary Beings as those I mentioned in my last Saturday's Paper.
Dire was the tossing, deep the Groans. Despair Tended the Sick, busy from Couch to Couch; And over them triumphant Death his Dart Shook, but delayed to strike, though oft invoked With Vows, as their chief Good and final Hope.
The Passion which likewise rises in Adam on this Occasion, is very natural.
Sight so deform, what Heart of Rock could long Dry-eyed behold? Adam could not, but wept, Tho' not of Woman born; Compassion quell'd His best of Man, and gave him up to Tears.
The Discourse between the Angel and Adam, which follows, abounds with noble Morals.
As there is nothing more delightful in Poetry than a Contrast and Opposition of Incidents, the Author, after this melancholy Prospect of Death and Sickness, raises up a Scene of Mirth, Love, and Jollity. The secret Pleasure that steals into Adams Heart as he is intent upon this Vision, is imagined with great Delicacy. I must not omit the Description of the loose female Troop, who seduced the Sons of God, as they are called in Scripture.
For that fair female Troop thou sawst, that seemed Of Goddesses, so Blithe, so Smooth, so Gay, Yet empty of all Good wherein consists Woman's domestick Honour and chief Praise; Bred only and compleated to the taste Of lustful Appetence, to sing, to dance, To dress, and troule the Tongue, and roll the Eye: To these that sober Race of Men, whose Lives Religious titled them the Sons of God, Shall yield up all their Virtue, all their Fame Ignobly, to the Trains and to the Smiles Of those fair Atheists--
The next Vision is of a quite contrary Nature, and filled with the Horrors of War. Adam at the Sight of it melts into Tears, and breaks out in that passionate Speech,
--O what are these! Death's Ministers, not Men, who thus deal Death Inhumanly to Men, and multiply Ten Thousandfold the Sin of him who slew His Brother: for of whom such Massacre Make they but of their Brethren, Men of Men?
Milton, to keep up an agreeable Variety in his Visions, after having raised in the Mind of his Reader the several Ideas of Terror which are conformable to the Description of War, passes on to those softer Images of Triumphs and Festivals, in that Vision of Lewdness and Luxury which ushers in the Flood.
As it is visible that the Poet had his Eye upon Ovid's Account of the universal Deluge, the Reader may observe with how much Judgment he has avoided every thing that is redundant or puerile in the Latin Poet. We do not here see the Wolf swimming among the Sheep, nor any of those wanton Imaginations, which Seneca found fault with, [1] as unbecoming [the [2]] great Catastrophe of Nature. If our Poet has imitated that Verse in which Ovid tells us that there was nothing but Sea, and that this Sea had no Shore to it, he has not set the Thought in such a Light as to incur the Censure which Criticks have passed upon it. The latter part of that Verse in Ovid is idle and superfluous, but just and beautiful in Milton.
'Jamque mare et tellus nullum discrimen habebant, Nil nisi pontus erat, deerant quoque littora ponto.'
(Ovid.)
'--Sea cover'd Sea, Sea without Shore--'
(Milton.)
In Milton the former Part of the Description does not forestall the latter. How much more great and solemn on this Occasion is that which follows in our English Poet,
--And in their Palaces Where Luxury late reign'd, Sea-Monsters whelp'd And stabled--
than that in Ovid, where we are told that the Sea-Calfs lay in those Places where the Goats were used to browze? The Reader may find several other parallel Passages in the Latin and English Description of the Deluge, wherein our Poet has visibly the Advantage. The Skys being overcharged with Clouds, the descending of the Rains, the rising of the Seas, and the Appearance of the Rainbow, are such Descriptions as every one must take notice of. The Circumstance relating to Paradise is so finely imagined, and suitable to the Opinions of many learned Authors, that I cannot forbear giving it a Place in this Paper.
--Then shall this Mount Of Paradise by might of Waves be mov'd Out of his Place, pushed by the horned Flood With all his Verdure spoil'd, and Trees adrift Down the great River to the opning Gulf, And there take root, an Island salt and bare, The haunt of Seals and Orcs and Sea-Mews clang.
The Transition which the Poet makes from the Vision of the Deluge, to the Concern it occasioned in Adam, is exquisitely graceful, and copied after Virgil, though the first Thought it introduces is rather in the Spirit of Ovid.
How didst thou grieve then, Adam, to behold The End of all thy Offspring, End so sad, Depopulation! thee another Flood Of Tears and Sorrow, a Flood thee also drowned, And sunk thee as thy Sons; till gently rear'd By th' Angel, on thy Feet thou stoodst at last, Tho' comfortless, as when a Father mourns His Children, all in view destroyed at once.
I have been the more particular in my Quotations out of the eleventh Book of Paradise Lost, because it is not generally reckoned among the most shining Books of this Poem; for which Reason the Reader might be apt to overlook those many Passages in it which deserve our Admiration. The eleventh and twelfth are indeed built upon that single Circumstance of the Removal of our first Parents from Paradise; but tho' this is not in itself so great a Subject as that in most of the foregoing Books, it is extended and diversified with so many surprising Incidents and pleasing Episodes, that these two last Books can by no means be looked upon as unequal Parts of this Divine Poem. I must further add, that had not Milton represented our first Parents as driven out of Paradise, his Fall of Man would not have been compleat, and consequently his Action would have been imperfect.
L.
[Footnote 1: Nat. Quaest. Bk. III. §27.]
[Footnote 2: [this]]
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No. 364. Monday, April 28, 1712. Steele.
'[--Navibus [1]] atque Quadrigis petimus bene vivere.'
Hor.
Mr. SPECTATOR, [2]
A Lady of my Acquaintance, for whom I have too much Respect to be easy while she is doing an indiscreet Action, has given occasion to this Trouble: She is a Widow, to whom the Indulgence of a tender Husband has entrusted the Management of a very great Fortune, and a Son about sixteen, both which she is extremely fond of. The Boy has Parts of the middle Size, neither shining nor despicable, and has passed the common Exercises of his Years with tolerable Advantage; but is withal what you would call a forward Youth: By the Help of this last Qualification, which serves as a Varnish to all the rest, he is enabled to make the best Use of his Learning, and display it at full length upon all Occasions. Last Summer he distinguished himself two or three times very remarkably, by puzzling the Vicar before an Assembly of most of the Ladies in the Neighbourhood; and from such weighty Considerations as these, as it too often unfortunately falls out, the Mother is become invincibly persuaded that her Son is a great Scholar; and that to chain him down to the ordinary Methods of Education with others of his Age, would be to cramp his Faculties, and do an irreparable Injury to his wonderful Capacity.
I happened to visit at the House last Week, and missing the young Gentleman at the Tea-Table, where he seldom fails to officiate, could not upon so extraordinary a Circumstance avoid inquiring after him. My Lady told me, he was gone out with her Woman, in order to make some Preparations for their Equipage; for that she intended very speedily to carry him to travel. The Oddness of the Expression shock'd me a little; however, I soon recovered my self enough to let her know, that all I was willing to understand by it was, that she designed this Summer to shew her Son his Estate in a distant County, in which he has never yet been: But she soon took care to rob me of that agreeable Mistake, and let me into the whole Affair. She enlarged upon young Master's prodigious Improvements, and his comprehensive Knowledge of all Book-Learning; concluding, that it was now high time he should be made acquainted with Men and Things; that she had resolved he should make the Tour of France and Italy, but could not bear to have him out of her Sight, and therefore intended to go along with him.
I was going to rally her for so extravagant a Resolution, but found my self not in fit Humour to meddle with a Subject that demanded the most soft and delicate Touch imaginable. I was afraid of dropping something that might seem to bear hard either upon the Son's Abilities, or the Mother's Discretion; being sensible that in both these Cases, tho' supported with all the Powers of Reason, I should, instead of gaining her Ladyship over to my Opinion, only expose my self to her Disesteem: I therefore immediately determined to refer the whole Matter to the SPECTATOR.