Part 8

I see it, Dr. ARBUTHNOT said, in a different light; and so did our princes themselves, who could not but be well acquainted with the proper effects of that interest. They considered the weight of the nobility, as a counterpoise to their own sovereignty. It was on this account they had used all means to lessen their influence. But the consequence was beside their expectation. The authority of the crown fell with it: and, which was still less expected by political men, the liberty of the people, after it had wantoned for a time, sunk under the general oppression. It was then discovered, but a little of the latest, that public freedom throve best, when it wound itself about the stock of the ancient nobility. In truth, it was the defect, not the excess, of patrician influence, that made way for the miseries of the next century.

You see then it is not without cause that I lay a stress, even in a political view, on this popular hospitality of the great in the former ages[68].

But, lest you think I sit too long at the table, let us go on to the TILTYARD, which lies just before us; that school of fortitude and honour to our generous forefathers. A younger fancy, than mine, would be apt to kindle at the sight. And our sprightlier friend here, I dare say, has already taken fire at the remembrance of the gallant exercises, which were celebrated in that quarter.

Mr. DIGBY owned, he had a secret veneration for the manly games of that time, which he had seen so triumphantly set forth in the old poets and romancers.

Right, said Mr. ADDISON; it is precisely in that circumstance that the enchantment consists. Some of our best wits have taken a deal of idle pains to ennoble a very barbarous entertainment, and recommend it to us under the specious name of gallantry and honour. But Mr. DIGBY sees through the cheat. Not that I doubt, continued he, but the Doctor, now he is in the vein of panegyric, will lay a mighty stress on these barbarities; and perhaps compare them with the exercises in the _Roman_ Circus, or the _Olympic_ Barriers.

And why not? interrupted Dr. ARBUTHNOT. The tendency of all three was the same; to invigorate the faculties both of mind and body; to give strength, grace, and dexterity, to the limbs; and fire the mind with a generous emulation of the manly and martial virtues.

Why truly, said Mr. ADDISON, I shall not deny that all _three_, as you observe, were much of the same merit. And, now your hand is in for this sort of encomium, do not forget to celebrate the sublime taste of our forefathers for _bear-baiting_[69], as well as _tilting_; and tell us too, how gloriously the mob of those days, as well as their betters, used to belabour one another.

I confess, said Dr. ARBUTHNOT, the softness of our manners makes it difficult to speak on this subject without incurring the ridicule, you appear so willing to employ against me. But you must not think to discredit these gymnastics by a little raillery, which has its foundation only in modern prejudices. For it is no secret that the gravest and politest men of antiquity were of my mind. You will hardly suspect PLATO of incivility, either in his notions or manners. And need I remind you how much he insists on the gymnastic discipline; without which he could not have formed, or at least have supported, his Republic?

It was upon this principle, I suppose then, said Mr. DIGBY, or perhaps in imitation of his _Græcian_ master, that our MILTON laid so great a stress on this discipline in his TRACTATE OF EDUCATION. And before him, in the very time you speak of, ASCHAM, I observe, took no small pains to much the same purpose in his TOXOPHILUS.

It is very clear, resumed Dr. ARBUTHNOT, from these instances, and many more that might be given, that the ancients were not singular in their notions on this subject. But, since you have drawn me into a grave defence of these exercises, let me further own to you that I think the _Gothic_ Tilts and Tournaments exceeded, both in use and elegance, even the _Græcian_ gymnastics[70]. They were a more direct image of war, than any of the games at _Olympia_. And if _Xenophon_ could be so lavish in his praises on the _Persian_ practice of hunting, because it had some resemblance to the exercise of arms, what would he not have said of an institution, which has all the forms of a real combat?

But there was an elegance, too, in the conduct of the tournament, that might reconcile it even to modern delicacy. For, besides the splendor of the shew; the dexterity, with which these exercises were performed; and the fancy, that appeared in their accoutrement, dresses, and devices; the whole contest was ennobled with an air of gallantry, that must have had a great effect in refining the manners of the combatants. And yet this gallantry had no ill influence on morals; for, as you insulted me just now, it was the odd humour of those days for the women to pride themselves in their chastity[71], as well as the men in their valour.

In short, I consider the _Tournay_, as the best school of civility as well as heroism. “High-erected thoughts, seated in a heart of courtesy,” as an old writer[72] well expresses it, was the proper character of such as had been trained in this discipline.

No wonder then, pursued he, the poets and romance-writers took so much pains to immortalize these trials of manhood. It was but what PINDAR and HOMER himself, those ancient masters of romance, had done before them. And how could it be otherwise? The shew itself, as I said, had something very taking in it; whilst every graceful attitude of person, with every generous movement of the mind, afforded the finest materials for description. And I am even ready to believe, that what we hear censured in their writings, as false, incredible, and fantastic, was frequently but a just copy of life, and that there was more of truth and reality[73] in their representations, than we are apt to imagine. Their notions of honour and gallantry were carried to an elevation[74], which, in these degenerate days, hurts the credit of their story; just as I have met with men that have doubted whether the virtues of the REGULI and the SCIPIOS of ancient fame were not the offspring of pure fancy.

Nay now, Dr. ARBUTHNOT, said Mr. ADDISON, you grow quite extravagant. What you, who are used to be so quick at espying all abuses in science, and defects in good taste, turn advocate for these fopperies! Mr. DIGBY and I shall begin to think you banter us, in this apology for the ancient gymnastics, and are only preparing a chapter for the facetious memoirs[75], you sometimes promise us.

Never more in earnest, assure you, replied the Doctor. I know what you have to object to these pictures of life and manners. But, if they will not bear examining as copies, they may deserve to be imitated as models. And their use, methinks, might atone for some defects in the article of probability.

For my part, I consider the legends of ancient chivalry in a very serious light,

As _niches_, fill’d with statues to invite Young valours forth—[76]

as BEN JONSON, a valorous hardy poet, and who, himself, would have made a good knight-errant, justly says of them. For, it is certain, they had this effect. The youth, in general, were fired with the love of martial exercises. They were early formed to habits of fatigue and enterprise. And, together with this warlike spirit, the profession of chivalry was favourable to every other virtue. Affability, courtesy, generosity, veracity, these were the qualifications most pretended to by the men of arms, in the days of pure and uncorrupted chivalry. We do not perhaps, ourselves, know, at this distance of time, how much we are indebted to the force of this singular institution. But this I may presume to say, that the men, among whom it arose and flourished most, had prodigious obligations to it. No policy, even of an ancient legislator, could have contrived a better expedient to cultivate the manners and tame the spirits of a rude and ignorant people. I could almost fancy it providentially introduced among the northern nations, to break the fierceness of their natures, and prevent that brutal savageness and ferocity of character, which must otherwise have grown upon them in the darker ages.

Nay, the generous sentiments, it inspired, perhaps contributed very much to awaken an emulation of a different kind; and to bring on those days of light and knowledge which have disposed us, somewhat unthankfully, to vilify and defame it. This is certain, that the first essays of wit and poetry, those harbingers of returning day to every species of good letters, were made in the bosom of chivalry, and amidst the assemblies of noble dames, and courteous knights. And we may even observe, that the best of our modern princes, such as have been most admired for their personal virtues, and have been most concerned in restoring all the arts of civility and politeness, have been passionately addicted to the feats of ancient prowess. In the number of these, need I remind you of the courts of FRANCIS I, and HENRY IV, to say nothing of our own EDWARDS and HENRYS, and that mirrour of all their virtues in one, our renowned and almost romantic ELIZABETH[77]?

But you think I push the argument too far. And less than this may dispose you to conceive with reverence of the scene before us, which must ever be regarded as a nursery of brave men, a very seed-plot of warriors and heroes. I consider the successes at the barriers as preludes to future conquests in the field. And, as whimsical a figure as a young tilter may make in your eye, who will say that the virtue was not formed here, that triumphed at AXELL, and bled at ZUTPHEN?

We shall very readily, replied Mr. ADDISON, acknowledge the bravery and other virtues of the young hero, whose fortunes you hint at. He was, in truth, to speak the language of that time, the very flower of knighthood, and contributed more than any body else, by his pen, as well as sword, to throw a lustre on the profession of chivalry. But the thing itself, however adorned by his wit and recommended by his manners, was barbarous; the offspring of _Gothic_ fierceness; and shews the times, which favoured it so much, to have scarcely emerged from their original rudeness and brutality. You may celebrate, as loudly as you please, the deeds of these wonder-working knights. Alas, what affinity have such prodigies to our life, and manners? The old poet, you quoted just now with approbation, shall tell us the difference:

These were bold stories of our _Arthur’s_ age: But here are other acts, another stage And scene appears; it is not since as then; No giants, dwarfs, or monsters here, but MEN[78].

Or, if you want a higher authority, we should not, methinks, on such an occasion, forget the admirable CERVANTES, whose ridicule hath brought eternal dishonour on the profession of knight-errantry.

With your leave, interrupted Dr. ARBUTHNOT, I have reason to except against both your authorities. At best, they do but condemn the _abuses_ of chivalry, and the madness of continuing the old romantic spirit in times when, from a change of manners and policy, it was no longer in season. Adventures, we will say, were of course to cease, when giants and monsters disappeared. And yet have they totally disappeared, and have giants and monsters been no where heard of out of the castles and forests of our old romancers. ’Tis odds, methinks, but, in the sense of ELIZABETH’S good subjects, PHILIP II. might be a _giant_ at least: and, without a little of this adventurous spirit, it may be a question whether all her enchanters, I mean her BURLEIGHS and WALSINGHAMS, would have proved a match for him. I mention this the rather to shew you, how little obligation his countrymen have to your CERVANTES for laughing away the remains of that prowess, which was the best support of the _Spanish_ monarchy.

As if, said Mr. ADDISON, the prowess of any people were only to be kept alive by their running mad. But let the case of the _Spaniards_ be what it will, surely we, of this country, have little obligation to the spirit of chivalry, if it were only that it produced, or encouraged at least, and hath now entailed upon us, the curse of duelling; which even yet domineers in the fashionable world, in spite of all that wit, and reason, and religion itself, have done to subdue it. ’Tis true, at present this law of arms is appealed to only in the case some high point of nice and mysterious honour. But in the happier days you celebrate, it was called in aid, on common occasions. Even questions of right and property, you know, were determined at the barriers[79]: and brute force was allowed the most equitable, as well as shortest, way of deciding all disputes both concerning a man’s estate and honour.

You might observe too, interposed Dr. ARBUTHNOT, that this was the way in which those fiercer disputes concerning a mistress, or a kingdom, were frequently decided. And, if this sort of decision, in such cases, were still in use among Christian princes, you might call it perhaps a barbarous custom: but would it be ever the worse, do you think, for their good subjects?

Perhaps it would not, returned Mr. ADDISON, in some instances. And yet will you affirm, that those _good subjects_ were in any enviable situation, under their fighting masters? After all, allowing you to put the best construction you can on these usages of our forefathers,

“all we find Is, that they did their work and din’d.”

And though such feats may argue a sound athletic constitution, you must excuse me, if I am not forward to entertain any high notions of their civility.

Their civility, said Dr. ARBUTHNOT, is another consideration. The HALL and TILT-YARD are certainly good proofs of what they are alleged for, the hospitality and bravery of our ancestors. But it hath not been maintained, that these were their only virtues. On the contrary, it seems to me, that every flower of humanity, every elegance of art and genius, was cultivated amongst them. For an instance, need we look any further than the LAKE, which in the flourishing times of this castle was so famous, and which we even now trace in the winding bed of that fine meadow?

I do not understand you, replied Mr. ADDISON. I can easily imagine what an embellishment that lake must have been to the castle; but am at a loss to conceive what flowers of wit and ingenuity, to use your own ænigmatical language, could be raised or so much as watered by it.

And, have you then, returned Dr. ARBUTHNOT, so soon forgotten the large description, you gave us just now, of the shows and pageants displayed on this lake? And can any thing better declare the art, invention, and ingenuity, of their conductors? Is not this canal as good a memorial of the ardour and success with which the finer exercises of the mind were pursued in that time, as the tilt-yard, we have now left, is of the address and dexterity shewn in those of the body?

I remember, said Mr. ADDISON, that many of the shows, intended for the queen’s entertainment at this place, were exhibited on that canal. But as to any art or beauty of contrivance—

“You see none, I suppose.”

Why truly none, resumed Mr. ADDISON. To me they seemed but well enough suited to the other barbarities of the time. “The Lady of the Lake and her train of Nereids,” was not that the principal? And can it pass for any thing better than a jumble of _Gothic_ romance and pagan fable? a barbarous modern conceit, varnished over with a little classical pedantry?

And is that the best word you can afford, said Dr. ARBUTHNOT, to these ingenious devices? The business was, to welcome the Queen to this palace, and at the same time to celebrate the honours of her government. And what more decent way of complimenting a great Prince, than through the veil of fiction? or what so elegant way of entertaining a learned Prince, as by working up that fiction out of the old poetical story? And if something of the _Gothic_ romance adhered to these classical fictions, it was not for any barbarous pleasure, that was taken in this patchwork, but that the artist found means to incorporate them with the highest grace and ingenuity. For what, in other words, was the _Lady of the Lake_ (the particular that gives most offence to your delicacy), but the presiding nymph of the stream, on which these shews were presented? And, if the contrivance was to give us this nymph under a name that romance had made familiar, what was this but taking advantage of a popular prejudice to introduce his fiction with more address and probability?

But see the propriety of the scene itself, for the designer’s purpose, and the exact decorum with which these fanciful personages were brought in upon it. It was not enough, that the pagan deities were summoned to pay their homage to the queen. They were the deities of the fount and ocean, the watery nymphs and demi-gods: and these were to play their part in their own element. Could any preparation be more artful for the panegyric designed on the naval glory of that reign? Or, could any representation be more grateful to the queen of the ocean, as ELIZABETH was then called, than such as expressed her sovereignty in those regions? Hence the sea-green Nereids, the Tritons, and Neptune himself, were the proper actors in the drama. And the opportunity of this spacious lake gave the easiest introduction and most natural appearance to the whole scenery. Let me add too, in further commendation of the taste which was shewn in these agreeable fancies, that the attributes and dresses of the deities themselves were studied with care; and the most learned poets of the time employed to make them speak and act in character. So that an old _Greek_ or _Roman_ might have applauded the contrivance, and have almost fancied himself assisting at a religious ceremony in his own country.

And, to shew you that all this propriety was intended by the designer himself, and not imagined at pleasure by his encomiast; I remember, that when, some years after, the earl of HERTFORD had the honour to receive the queen at his seat in _Hampshire_, because he had no such canal as this in readiness on the occasion, he set on a vast number of hands to hollow a bason in his park for that purpose. With so great diligence and so exact a decorum were these entertainments conducted!

Did not I tell you, interposed Mr. ADDISON, addressing himself to Mr. DIGBY, to what an extravagance the Doctor’s admiration of the ancient times would carry him? Could you have expected all this harangue on the art, elegance, and decorum of THE PRINCELY PLEASURES OF KENELWORTH[80]? And must not it divert you to see the unformed genius of that age tricked out in the graces of _Roman_ or even _Attic_ politeness?

Mr. DIGBY acknowledged, it was very generous in the Doctor to represent in so fair a light the amusements of the ruder ages. But I was thinking, said he, to what cause it could possibly be owing, that these pagan fancies had acquired so general a consideration in the days of ELIZABETH.

The general passion for these fancies, returned Dr. ARBUTHNOT, was a natural consequence of the revival of learning. The first books, that came into vogue, were the poets. And nothing could be more amusing to rude minds, just opening to a taste of letters, than the fabulous story of the pagan gods, which is constantly interwoven in every piece of ancient poetry. Hence the imitative arts of _sculpture_, _painting_, and _poetry_, were immediately employed in these pagan exhibitions. But this was not all. The first artists in every kind were of _Italy_; and it was but natural for them to act these fables over again on the very spot that had first produced them. These too were the masters to the rest of _Europe_. So that _fashion_ concurred with the other prejudices of the time, to recommend this practice to the learned.

From the men of art and literature the enthusiasm spread itself to the great; whose supreme delight it was to see the wonders of the old poetical story brought forth, and realized, as it were, before them[81]. And what, in truth, could they do better? For, if I were not a little afraid of your raillery, I should desire to know what courtly amusements even of our time are comparable to the shows and masques, which were the delight and improvement of the court of ELIZABETH. I say, the _improvement_; for, besides that these shows were not in the number of the INERUDITÆ VOLUPTATES, so justly characterized and condemned by a wise ancient, they were even highly useful and instructive. These devices, composed out of the poetical history, were not only the vehicles of compliment to the great on certain solemn occasions, but of the soundest moral lessons, which were artfully thrown in, and recommended to them by the charm of poetry and numbers. Nay, some of these masques were moral dramas in form, where the virtues and vices were impersonated. We know the cast of their composition by what we see of these fictions in the next reign; and have reason to conceive of them with reverence when we find the names of FLETCHER and JONSON[82] to some of them. I say nothing of JONES and LAWES, though all the elegance of their respective arts was called in to assist the poet in the contrivance and execution of these entertainments.

And, now the poets have fallen in my way, let me further observe, that the manifest superiority of this class of writers in ELIZABETH’S reign, and that of her successor, over all others who have succeeded to them, is, among other reasons, to be ascribed to the taste which then prevailed for these moral representations. This taught them to animate and impersonate every thing. Rude minds, you will say, naturally give into this practice. Without doubt. But art and genius do not disdain to cultivate and improve it. Hence it is, that we find in the phraseology and mode of thinking of that time, and of that time only, the essence of the truest and sublimest poetry.

Without doubt, Mr. ADDISON said, the poetry of that time is of a better taste than could well have been expected from its barbarism in other instances. But such prodigies as SHAKESPEAR and SPENSER would do great things in any age, and under every disadvantage.

Most certainly they would, returned Dr. ARBUTHNOT, but not the things that you admire so much in these immortal writers. And, if you will excuse the intermixture of a little philosophy in these ramblings, I will attempt to account for it.

There is, I think, in the revolutions of taste and language, a certain point, which is more favourable to the purposes of poetry, than any other. It may be difficult to fix this point with exactness. But we shall hardly mistake in supposing it lies somewhere between the rude essays of uncorrected fancy, on the one hand, and the refinements of reason and science, on the other.