Chapter 65
All which is humbly submitted to your Spectatorial Wisdom by, SIR, Your most humble Servant, Michael Gander.
Mr. SPECTATOR,
I have for several Years had under my Care the Government and Education of young Ladies, which Trust I have endeavour'd to discharge with due regard to their several Capacities and Fortunes: I have left nothing undone to imprint in every one of them an humble courteous Mind, accompanied with a graceful becoming Mein, and have made them pretty much acquainted with the Houshold Part of Family-Affairs; but still I find there is something very much wanting in the Air of my Ladies, different from what I observe in those that are esteemed your fine bred Women. Now, Sir, I must own to you, I never suffered my Girls to learn to Dance; but since I have read your Discourse of Dancing, where you have described the Beauty and Spirit there is in regular Motion, I own my self your Convert, and resolve for the future to give my young Ladies that Accomplishment. But upon imparting my Design to their Parents, I have been made very uneasy, for some Time, because several of them have declared, that if I did not make use of the Master they recommended, they would take away their Children. There was Colonel Jumper's Lady, a Colonel of the Train-Bands, that has a great Interest in her Parish; she recommends Mr. Trott for the prettiest Master in Town, that no Man teaches a Jigg like him, that she has seen him rise six or seven Capers together with the greatest Ease imaginable, and that his Scholars twist themselves more ways than the Scholars of any Master in Town: besides there is Madam Prim, an Alderman's Lady, recommends a Master of her own Name, but she declares he is not of their Family, yet a very extraordinary Man in his way; for besides a very soft Air he has in Dancing, he gives them a particular Behaviour at a Tea-Table, and in presenting their Snuff-Box, to twirl, flip, or flirt a Fan, and how to place Patches to the best advantage, either for Fat or Lean, Long or Oval Faces: for my Lady says there is more in these Things than the World Imagines. But I must confess the major Part of those I am concern'd with leave it to me. I desire therefore, according to the inclosed Direction, you would send your Correspondent who has writ to you on that Subject to my House. If proper Application this way can give Innocence new Charms, and make Virtue legible in the Countenance, I shall spare no Charge to make my Scholars in their very Features and Limbs bear witness how careful I have been in the other Parts of their Education.
I am, SIR, Your most humble Servant, Rachael Watchful
T.
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No. 377. Tuesday, May 13, 1712. Addison.
'Quid quisque vitet, nunquam homini satis Cautum est in horas--'
Hor.
Love was the Mother of Poetry, and still produces, among the most ignorant and barbarous, a thousand imaginary Distresses and Poetical Complaints. It makes a Footman talk like Oroondates, and converts a brutal Rustick into a gentle Swain. The most ordinary Plebeian or Mechanick in Love, bleeds and pines away with a certain Elegance and Tenderness of Sentiments which this Passion naturally inspires.
These inward Languishings of a Mind infected with this Softness, have given birth to a Phrase which is made use of by all the melting Tribe, from the highest to the lowest, I mean that of dying for Love.
Romances, which owe their very Being to this Passion, are full of these metaphorical Deaths. Heroes and Heroines, Knights, Squires, and Damsels, are all of them in a dying Condition. There is the same kind of Mortality in our Modern Tragedies, where every one gasps, faints, bleeds and dies. Many of the Poets, to describe the Execution which is done by this Passion, represent the Fair Sex as Basilisks that destroy with their Eyes; but I think Mr. Cowley has with greater Justness of Thought compared a beautiful Woman to a Porcupine, that sends an Arrow from every Part. [1]
I have often thought, that there is no way so effectual for the Cure of this general Infirmity, as a Man's reflecting upon the Motives that produce it. When the Passion proceeds from the Sense of any Virtue or Perfection in the Person beloved, I would by no means discourage it; but if a Man considers that all his heavy Complaints of Wounds and Deaths rise from some little Affectations of Coquetry, which are improved into Charms by his own fond Imagination, the very laying before himself the Cause of his Distemper, may be sufficient to effect the Cure of it.
It is in this view that I have looked over the several Bundles of Letters which I have received from Dying People, and composed out of them the following Bill of Mortality, which I shall lay before my Reader without any further Preface, as hoping that it may be useful to him in discovering those several Places where there is most Danger, and those fatal Arts which are made use of to destroy the Heedless and Unwary.
Lysander, slain at a Puppet-show on the third of September.
Thirsis, shot from a Casement in Pickadilly.
T. S., wounded by Zehinda's Scarlet Stocking, as she was stepping out of a Coach.
Will. Simple, smitten at the Opera by the Glance of an Eye that was aimed at one who stood by him.
Tho. Vainlove, lost his Life at a Ball.
Tim. Tattle, kill'd by the Tap of a Fan on his left Shoulder by Coquetilla, as he was talking carelessly with her in a Bow-window.
Sir Simon Softly, murder'd at the Play-house in Drury-lane by a Frown.
Philander, mortally wounded by Cleora, as she was adjusting her Tucker.
Ralph Gapely, Esq., hit by a random Shot at the Ring.
F. R., caught his Death upon the Water, April the 31st.
W. W., killed by an unknown Hand, that was playing with the Glove off upon the Side of the Front-Box in Drury-Lane.
Sir Christopher Crazy, Bart., hurt by the Brush of a Whalebone Petticoat.
Sylvius, shot through the Sticks of a Fan at St. James's Church.
Damon, struck thro' the Heart by a Diamond Necklace.
Thomas Trusty, Francis Goosequill, William Meanwell, Edward Callow, Esqrs., standing in a Row, fell all four at the same time, by an Ogle of the Widow Trapland.
Tom. Rattle, chancing to tread upon a Lady's Tail as he came out of the Play-house, she turned full upon him, and laid him dead upon the Spot.
Dick Tastewell, slain by a Blush from the Queen's Box in the third Act of the Trip to the Jubilee.
Samuel Felt, Haberdasher, wounded in his Walk to Islington by Mrs. Susannah Crossstich, as she was clambering over a Stile.
R. F., T. W., S. I., M. P., &c., put to Death in the last Birth-Day Massacre.
Roger Blinko, cut off in the Twenty-first Year of his Age by a White-wash.
Musidorus, slain by an Arrow that flew out of a Dimple in Belinda's Left Cheek.
Ned Courtly presenting Flavia with her Glove (which she had dropped on purpose) she receivd it, and took away his Life with a Curtsie.
John Gosselin having received a slight Hurt from a Pair of blue Eyes, as he was making his Escape was dispatch'd by a Smile.
Strephon, killed by Clarinda as she looked down into the Pit.
Charles Careless, shot flying by a Girl of Fifteen, who unexpectedly popped her Head upon him out of a Coach.
Josiah Wither, aged threescore and three, sent to his long home by Elizabeth Jet-well, Spinster.
Jack Freelove, murderd by Melissa in her Hair.
William Wiseaker, Gent., drown'd in a Flood of Tears by Moll Common.
John Pleadwell, Esq., of the Middle Temple, Barrister at Law, assassinated in his Chambers the sixth Instant by Kitty Sly, who pretended to come to him for his Advice.
I.
[Footnote 1:
They are all weapon, and they dart Like Porcupines from every Part.
Anacreontics, iii.]
* * * * *
No. 378. Wednesday, May 14, 1712. Pope.
'Aggredere, O magnos, aderit jam tempus, honores.'
Virg.
I will make no Apology for entertaining the Reader with the following Poem, which is written by a great Genius, a Friend of mine, in the Country, who is not ashamd to employ his Wit in the Praise of his Maker. [1]
MESSIAH.
A sacred Eclogue, compos'd of several Passages of Isaiah the Prophet.
Written in Imitation of Virgil's POLLIO.
Ye Nymphs of Solyma! begin the Song: To heav'nly Themes sublimer Strains belong. The Mossy Fountains, and the Sylvan Shades, The Dreams of Pindus and th' Aonian Maids, Delight no more--O Thou my Voice inspire, Who touch'd Isaiah's [hallow'd [2]] Lips with Fire! Rapt into future Times, the Bard begun; A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son!
[Isaiah, From Jesse's Root behold a Branch arise, Cap. II. Whose sacred Flow'r with Fragrance fills the Skies. v. 1.] Th' Æthereal Spirit o'er its Leaves shall move, And on its Top descends the Mystick Dove.
[Cap. 45. Ye Heav'ns! from high the dewy Nectar pour, v. 8.] And in soft Silence shed the kindly Show'r!
[Cap. 25. The Sick and Weak, the healing Plant shall aid, v. 4.] From Storms a Shelter, and from Heat a Shade. All Crimes shall cease, and ancient Fraud shall fail;
[Cap. 9. Returning Justice lift aloft her Scale; v. 7.] Peace o'er the World her Olive Wand extend, And white-rob'd Innocence from Heav'n descend. Swift fly the Years, and rise th' expected Morn! Oh spring to Light, Auspicious Babe, be born! See Nature hastes her earliest Wreaths to bring, With all the Incense of the breathing Spring:
[Cap. 35. See lofty Lebanon his Head advance, v. 2.] See nodding Forests on the Mountains dance, See spicy Clouds from lowly Sharon rise, And Carmels flow'ry Top perfumes the Skies!
[Cap. 40. Hark! a glad Voice the lonely Desart chears; v. 3, 4.] Prepare the Way! a God, a God appears: A God! a God! the vocal Hills reply, The Rocks proclaim th' approaching Deity. Lo Earth receives him from the bending Skies! Sink down ye Mountains, and ye Vallies rise! With Heads declin'd, ye Cedars, Homage pay! Be smooth ye Rocks, ye rapid Floods give way! The SAVIOUR comes! by ancient Bards foretold;
[Cap. 42. v. 18.] Hear him, ye Deaf, and all ye Blind behold!
[Cap. 35. He from thick Films shall purge the visual Ray, v. 5, 6.] And on the sightless Eye-ball pour the Day. 'Tis he th' obstructed Paths of Sound shall clear, And bid new Musick charm th' unfolding Ear, The Dumb shall sing, the Lame his Crutch forego, And leap exulting like the bounding Roe; [No Sigh, no Murmur the wide World shall hear, From ev'ry Face he wipes off ev'ry Tear.
[Cap. 25. In Adamantine Chains shall Death be bound, v. 8.] And Hell's grim Tyrant feel th' eternal Wound. [3]]
[Cap. 30. As the good Shepherd tends his fleecy Care, v. xx.] Seeks freshest Pastures and the purest Air, Explores the lost, the wand'ring Sheep directs, By day o'ersees them, and by night protects; The tender Lambs he raises in his Arms, Feeds from his Hand, and in his Bosom warms: Mankind shall thus his Guardian Care engage, The promis'd Father of the future Age. [4] No more shall Nation against Nation rise, [5] No ardent Warriors meet with hateful Eyes, Nor Fields with gleaming Steel be coverd o'er, The Brazen Trumpets kindle Rage no more; But useless Lances into Scythes shall bend, And the broad Falchion in a Plow-share end. Then Palaces shall rise; the joyful Son [6] Shall finish what his short-liv'd Sire begun; Their Vines a Shadow to their Race shall yield, And the same Hand that sow'd shall reap the Field. The Swain in barren Desarts with Surprize [7] Sees Lillies spring, and sudden Verdure rise; And Starts, amidst the thirsty Wilds, to hear, New Falls of Water murmuring in his Ear: On rifted Rocks, the Dragon's late Abodes, The green Reed trembles, and the Bulrush nods. Waste sandy Vallies, once perplexd with Thorn, [8] The spiry Fir and shapely Box adorn: To leafless Shrubs the flow'ring Palms succeed, And od'rous Myrtle to the noisome Weed. The Lambs with Wolves shall graze the verdant Mead [9] And Boys in flow'ry Bands the Tyger lead; The Steer and Lion at one Crib shall meet, And harmless Serpents Lick the Pilgrim's Feet. The smiling Infant in his Hand shall take The crested Basilisk and speckled Snake; Pleas'd, the green Lustre of the Scales survey, And with their forky Tongue and pointless Sting shall play. Rise, crown'd with Light, imperial Salem rise! [10] Exalt thy tow'ry Head, and lift thy Eyes! See, a long Race thy spacious Courts adorn; [11] See future Sons and Daughters yet unborn In crowding Ranks on ev'ry side arise, Demanding Life, impatient for the Skies! See barb'rous Nations at thy Gates attend, [12] Walk in thy Light, and in thy Temple bend. See thy bright Altars throng'd with prostrate Kings, And heap'd with Products of Sabaean Springs! [13] For thee Idume's spicy Forests blow; And seeds of Gold in Ophir's Mountains glow. See Heav'n its sparkling Portals wide display, And break upon thee in a Flood of Day! No more the rising Sun shall gild the Morn, [14] Nor Evening Cynthia fill her silver Horn, But lost, dissolv'd in thy superior Rays; One Tide of Glory, one unclouded Blaze O'erflow thy Courts: The LIGHT HIMSELF shall shine Reveal'd; and God's eternal Day be thine! The Seas shall waste, the Skies in Smoke decay; [15] Rocks fall to Dust, and Mountains melt away; But fix'd His Word, His saving Pow'r remains: Thy Realm for ever lasts! thy own Messiah reigns.
T.
[Footnote 1: Thus far Steele.]
[Footnote 2: [hollow'd]]
[Footnote 3:
[Before him Death, the grisly Tyrant, flies; He wipes the Tears for ever from our Eyes.]
This was an alteration which Steele had suggested, and in which young Pope had acquiesced. Steele wrote:
I have turned to every verse and chapter, and think you have preserved the sublime, heavenly spirit throughout the whole, especially at "Hark a glad voice," and "The lamb with wolves shall graze." There is but one line which I think is below the original:
He wipes the tears for ever from our eyes.
You have expressed it with a good and pious but not so exalted and poetical a spirit as the prophet: The Lord God shall wipe away tears from off all faces. If you agree with me in this, alter it by way of paraphrase or otherwise, that when it comes into a volume it may be amended.]
[Footnote 4: Cap. 9. v. 6.]
[Footnote 5: Cap. 2. v. 4.]
[Footnote 6: Cap. 65. v. 21, 22.]
[Footnote 7: Cap 35. v. 1, 7.]
[Footnote 8: Cap. 41. v. 19. and Cap. 55. v. 13.]
[Footnote 9: Cap. 11. v. 6, 7, 8.]
[Footnote 10: Cap. 60. v. 1.]
[Footnote 11: Cap. 60. v. 4.]
[Footnote 12: Cap. 60. v. 3.]
[Footnote 13: Cap. 60. v. 6.]
[Footnote 14: Cap. 60. v. 19, 20.]
[Footnote 15: Cap. 51. v. 6. and Cap. 64. v. 10.]
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No. 379. Thursday, May 15, 1712. Budgell.
'Scire tuum nihil est nisi te scire hoc sciat alter.'
Pers.
I have often wondered at that ill-natur'd Position which has been sometimes maintained in the Schools, and is comprizd in an old Latin Verse, namely, that A Man's Knowledge is worth nothing, if he communicates what he knows to any one besides. [1] There is certainly no more sensible Pleasure to a good-natur'd Man, than if he can by any means gratify or inform the Mind of another. I might add, that this Virtue naturally carries its own reward along with it, since it is almost impossible it should be exercised without the Improvement of the Person who practices it. The reading of Books, and the daily Occurrences of Life, are continually furnishing us with Matter for Thought and Reflection. It is extremely natural for us to desire to see such our Thoughts put into the Dress of Words, without which indeed we can scarce have a clear and distinct Idea of them our selves: When they are thus clothed in Expressions, nothing so truly shews us whether they are just or false, as those Effects which they produce in the Minds of others.
I am apt to flatter my self, that in the Course of these my Speculations, I have treated of several Subjects, and laid down many such Rules for the Conduct of a Man's Life, which my Readers were either wholly ignorant of before, or which at least those few who were acquainted with them, looked upon as so many Secrets they have found out for the Conduct of themselves, but were resolved never to have made publick.
I am the more confirmed in this Opinion from my having received several Letters, wherein I am censur'd for having prostituted Learning to the Embraces of the Vulgar, and made her, as one of my Correspondents phrases it, a common Strumpet: I am charged by another with laying open the Arcana, or Secrets of Prudence, to the Eyes of every Reader.
The narrow Spirit which appears in the Letters of these my Correspondents is the less surprizing, as it has shewn itself in all Ages: There is still extant an Epistle written by Alexander the Great to his Tutor Aristotle, upon that Philosopher's publishing some part of his Writings; in which the Prince complains of his having made known to all the World, those Secrets in Learning which he had before communicated to him in private Lectures; concluding, That he had rather excel the rest of Mankind in Knowledge than in Power. [2]
Luisa de Padilla, a Lady of great Learning, and Countess of Aranda, was in like manner angry with the famous Gratian, [3] upon his publishing his Treatise of the Discrete; wherein she fancied that he had laid open those Maxims to common Readers, which ought only to have been reserved for the Knowledge of the Great.
These Objections are thought by many of so much weight, that they often defend the above-mentiond Authors, by affirming they have affected such an Obscurity in their Style and Manner of Writing, that tho every one may read their Works, there will be but very few who can comprehend their Meaning.
Persius, the Latin Satirist, affected Obscurity for another Reason; with which however Mr. Cowley is so offended, that writing to one of his Friends, You, says he, tell me, that you do not know whether Persius be a good Poet or no, because you cannot understand him; for which very Reason I affirm that he is not so.
However, this Art of writing unintelligibly has been very much improved, and follow'd by several of the Moderns, who observing the general Inclination of Mankind to dive into a Secret, and the Reputation many have acquired by concealing their Meaning under obscure Terms and Phrases, resolve, that they may be still more abstruse, to write without any Meaning at all. This Art, as it is at present practised by many eminent Authors, consists in throwing so many Words at a venture into different Periods, and leaving the curious Reader to find out the Meaning of them.
The Egyptians, who made use of Hieroglyphicks to signify several things, expressed a Man who confined his Knowledge and Discoveries altogether within himself, by the Figure of a Dark-Lanthorn closed on all sides, which, tho' it was illuminated within, afforded no manner of Light or Advantage to such as stood by it. For my own part, as I shall from time to time communicate to the Publick whatever Discoveries I happen to make, I should much rather be compared to an ordinary Lamp, which consumes and wastes it self for the benefit of every Passenger.
I shall conclude this Paper with the Story of Rosicrucius's Sepulchre. I suppose I need not inform my Readers that this Man was the Founder of the Rosicrusian Sect, and that his Disciples still pretend to new Discoveries, which they are never to communicate to the rest of Mankind. [4]
A certain Person having occasion to dig somewhat deep in the Ground where this Philosopher lay inter'd, met with a small Door having a Wall on each side of it. His Curiosity, and the Hopes of finding some hidden Treasure, soon prompted him to force open the Door. He was immediately surpriz'd by a sudden Blaze of Light, and discover'd a very fair Vault: At the upper end of it was a Statue of a Man in Armour sitting by a Table, and leaning on his Left Arm. He held a Truncheon in his right Hand, and had a Lamp burning before him. The Man had no sooner set one Foot within the Vault, than the Statue erecting it self from its leaning Posture, stood bolt upright; and upon the Fellow's advancing another Step, lifted up the Truncheon in his Right Hand. The Man still ventur'd a third Step, when the Statue with a furious Blow broke the Lamp into a thousand Pieces, and left his Guest in a sudden Darkness.
Upon the Report of this Adventure, the Country People soon came with Lights to the Sepulchre, and discovered that the Statue, which was made of Brass, was nothing more than a Piece of Clock-work; that the Floor of the Vault was all loose, and underlaid with several Springs, which, upon any Man's entering, naturally produced that which had happend.
Rosicrucius, says his Disciples, made use of this Method, to shew the World that he had re-invented the ever-burning Lamps of the Ancients, tho' he was resolvd no one should reap any Advantage from the Discovery.
X.
[Footnote 1: Nil proprium ducas quod mutarier potest.]
[Footnote 2: Aulus Gellius. Noct. Att., Bk xx., ch. 5.]
[Footnote 3: Baltazar Grecian's Discreto has been mentioned before in the Spectator, being well-known in England through a French translation. See note on p. 303, ante [Footnote 1 of No. 293]. Gracian, in Spain, became especially popular as a foremost representative of his time in transferring the humour for conceits--cultismo, as it was called--from verse to prose. He began in 1630 with a prose tract, the Hero, laboured in short ingenious sentences, which went through six editions. He wrote also an Art of Poetry after the new style. His chief work was the Criticon, an allegory of the Spring, Autumn, and Winter of life. The Discreto was one of his minor works. All that he wrote was published, not by himself, but by a friend, and in the name of his brother Lorenzo, who was not an ecclesiastic.]