The fourth person who bore a part in the conversation was a prude, who stuck to the trial, and was silent upon the whole opera. The gravity of her censures, and composure of her voice, which were often attended with supercilious casts of the eye, and a seeming contempt for the lightness of the conversation, put me in mind of that ancient serious matronlike instrument the virginal.
I must not pa.s.s over in silence a Lancashire hornpipe, by which I would signify a young country lady, who with a great deal of mirth and innocence diverted the company very agreeably; and, if I am not mistaken, by that time the wildness of her notes is a little softened, and the redundancy of her music restrained by conversation and good company, will be improved into one of the most amiable flutes about the town. Your romps and boarding-school girls fall likewise under this denomination.
On the right hand of the hornpipe sat a Welsh harp, an instrument which very much delights in the tunes of old historical ballads, and in celebrating the renowned actions and exploits of ancient British heroes.
By this instrument I therefore would describe a certain lady, who is one of those female historians that upon all occasions enters into pedigrees and descents, and finds herself related, by some offshoot or other, to almost every great family in England: for which reason she jars and is out of tune very often in conversation, for the company"s want of due attention and respect to her.
But the most sonorous part of our concert was a shedrum, or (as the vulgar call it) a kettledrum, who accompanied her discourse with motions of the body, tosses of the head, and brandishes of the fan. Her music was loud, bold, and masculine. Every thump she gave, alarmed the company, and very often set somebody or other in it a-blushing.
The last I shall mention was a certain romantic instrument called a dulcimer, who talked of nothing but shady woods, flowery meadows, purling streams, larks and nightingales, with all the beauties of the spring, and the pleasures of a country life. This instrument has a fine melancholy sweetness in it, and goes very well with the flute.
I think most of the conversable part of womankind may be found under one of the foregoing divisions; but it must be confessed, that the generality of that s.e.x, notwithstanding they have naturally a great genius for being talkative, are not mistresses of more than one note; with which however, by frequent repet.i.tion, they make a greater sound than those who are possessed of the whole gamut, as may be observed in your larums or household scolds, and in your castanets or impertinent t.i.ttle-tattles, who have no other variety in their discourse but that of talking slower or faster.
Upon communicating this scheme of music to an old friend of mine, who was formerly a man of gallantry and a rover, he told me, that he believed he had been in love with every instrument in my concert. The first that smit him was a hornpipe, who lived near his father"s house in the country; but upon his failing to meet her at an a.s.size, according to appointment, she cast him off. His next pa.s.sion was for a kettledrum, whom he fell in love with at a play; but when he became acquainted with her, not finding the softness of her s.e.x in her conversation, he grew cool to her; though at the same time he could not deny, but that she behaved herself very much like a gentlewoman. His third mistress was a dulcimer, who he found took great delight in sighing and languishing, but would go no farther than the preface of matrimony; so that she would never let a lover have any more of her than her heart, which, after having won, he was forced to leave her, as despairing of any further success. "I must confess," says my friend, "I have often considered her with a great deal of admiration; and I find her pleasure is so much in this first step of an amour, that her life will pa.s.s away in dream, solitude, and soliloquy, till her decay of charms makes her s.n.a.t.c.h at the worst man that ever pretended to her. In the next place," says my friend, "I fell in love with a kit,[196] who led me such a dance through all the varieties of a familiar, cold, fond, and indifferent behaviour, that the world began to grow censorious, though without any cause: for which reason, to recover our reputations, we parted by consent. To mend my hand," says he, "I made my next application to a virginal, who gave me great encouragement, after her cautious manner, till some malicious companion told her of my long pa.s.sion for the kit, which made her turn me off as a scandalous fellow. At length, in despair," says he, "I betook myself to a Welsh harp, who rejected me with contempt, after having found that my great-grandmother was a brewer"s daughter." I found by the sequel of my friend"s discourse, that he had never aspired to a hautboy; that he had been exasperated by a flageolet; and that to this very day, he pines away for a flute.
Upon the whole, having thoroughly considered how absolutely necessary it is, that two instruments, which are to play together for life, should be exactly tuned, and go in perfect concert with each other, I would propose matches between the music of both s.e.xes, according to the following table of marriage:
1. Drum and kettledrum.
2. Lute and flute.
3. Harpsichord and hautboy.
4. Violin and flageolet.
5. Ba.s.s-viol and kit.
6. Trumpet and Welsh harp.
7. Hunting-horn and hornpipe.
8. Bagpipe and castanets.
9. Pa.s.sing-bell and virginal.
Mr. Bickerstaff, in consideration of his ancient friendship and acquaintance with Mr. Betterton,[197] and great esteem for his merit, summons all his disciples, whether dead or living, mad or tame, Toasts, Smarts, Dappers, Pretty Fellows, Musicians or Sc.r.a.pers, to make their appearance at the playhouse in the Haymarket on Thursday next; when there will be a play acted for the benefit of the said Mr. Betterton.
[Footnote 193: This paper is not included in Tickell"s edition of Addison"s Works; but Steele ascribes it to Addison in his Dedication of "The Drummer" to Congreve.]
[Footnote 194: See No. 153.]
[Footnote 195: The trial of Dr. Sacheverell.]
[Footnote 196: See Nos. 34 and 160.]
[Footnote 197: See Nos. 1, 71, 167.]
No. 158. [ADDISON.
From _Tuesday, April 11_, to _Thursday, April 13, 1710_.
Faciunt nae intelligendo, ut nihil intelligant.
TER., Andria, Prologue, 17.
_From my own Apartment, April 12._
Tom Folio[198] is a broker in learning, employed to get together good editions, and stock the libraries of great men. There is not a sale of books begins till Tom Folio is seen at the door. There is not an auction where his name is not heard, and that too in the very nick of time, in the critical moment, before the last decisive stroke of the hammer.
There is not a subscription goes forward, in which Tom is not privy to the first rough draught of the proposals; nor a catalogue printed, that does not come to him wet from the press. He is an universal scholar, so far as the t.i.tle-page of all authors, knows the ma.n.u.scripts in which they were discovered, the editions through which they have pa.s.sed, with the praises or censures which they have received from the several members of the learned world. He has a greater esteem for Aldus and Elzevir, than for Virgil and Horace. If you talk of Herodotus, he breaks out into a panegyric upon Harry Stephans. He thinks he gives you an account of an author, when he tells you the subject he treats of, the name of the editor, and the year in which it was printed. Or if you draw him into further particulars, he cries up the goodness of the paper, extols the diligence of the corrector, and is transported with the beauty of the letter. This he looks upon to be sound learning and substantial criticism. As for those who talk of the fineness of style, and the justness of thought, or describe the brightness of any particular pa.s.sages; nay, though they write themselves in the genius and spirit of the author they admire, Tom looks upon them as men of superficial learning, and flashy parts.
I had yesterday morning a visit from this learned idiot (for that is the light in which I consider every pedant), when I discovered in him some little touches of the c.o.xcomb which I had not before observed. Being very full of the figure which he makes in the republic of letters, and wonderfully satisfied with his great stock of knowledge, he gave me broad intimations, that he did not "believe" in all points as his forefathers had done. He then communicated to me a thought of a certain author upon a pa.s.sage of Virgil"s account of the dead, which I made the subject of a late paper.[199] This thought has taken very much among men of Tom"s pitch and understanding, though universally exploded by all that know how to construe Virgil, or have any relish of antiquity. Not to trouble my reader with it, I found upon the whole, that Tom did not believe a future state of rewards and punishments, because aeneas, at his leaving the empire of the dead, pa.s.sed through the gate of ivory, and not through that of horn. Knowing that Tom had not sense enough to give up an opinion which he had once received, that he might avoid wrangling, I told him, that Virgil possibly had his oversights as well as another author. "Ah! Mr. Bickerstaff," says he, "you would have another opinion of him, if you would read him in Daniel Heinsius" edition. I have perused him myself several times in that edition," continued he; "and after the strictest and most malicious examination, could find but two faults in him: one of them is in the "aeneids," where there are two commas instead of a parenthesis; and another in the third "Georgic,"
where you may find a semicolon turned upside down." "Perhaps," said I, "these were not Virgil"s thoughts, but those of the transcriber." "I do not design it," says Tom, "as a reflection on Virgil: on the contrary, I know that all the ma.n.u.scripts "reclaim" against such a punctuation. Oh!
Mr. Bickerstaff," says he, "what would a man give to see one simile of Virgil writ in his own hand?" I asked him which was the simile he meant; but was answered, "Any simile in Virgil." He then told me all the secret history in the commonwealth of learning; of modern pieces that had the names of ancient authors annexed to them; of all the books that were now writing or printing in the several parts of Europe; of many amendments which are made, and not yet published; and a thousand other particulars, which I would not have my memory burdened with for a Vatican.
At length, being fully persuaded that I thoroughly admired him, and looked upon him as a prodigy of learning, he took his leave. I know several of Tom"s cla.s.s who are professed admirers of Ta.s.so without understanding a word of Italian; and one in particular, that carries a "Pastor Fido" in his pocket, in which I am sure he is acquainted with no other beauty but the clearness of the character.
There is another kind of pedant, who, with all Tom Folio"s impertinences, has greater superstructures and embellishments of Greek and Latin, and is still more unsupportable than the other, in the same degree as he is more learned. Of this kind very often are editors, commentators, interpreters, scholiasts, and critics; and in short, all men of deep learning without common sense. These persons set a greater value on themselves for having found out the meaning of a pa.s.sage in Greek, than upon the author for having written it; nay, will allow the pa.s.sage itself not to have any beauty in it, at the same time that they would be considered as the greatest men of the age for having interpreted it. They will look with contempt upon the most beautiful poems that have been composed by any of their contemporaries; but will lock themselves up in their studies for a twelvemonth together, to correct, publish, and expound, such trifles of antiquity as a modern author would be contemned for. Men of the strictest morals, severest lives, and the gravest professions, will write volumes upon an idle sonnet that is originally in Greek or Latin; give editions of the most immoral authors, and spin out whole pages upon the various readings of a lewd expression. All that can be said in excuse for them, is, that their works sufficiently show they have no taste of their authors; and that what they do in this kind, is out of their great learning, and not out of any levity or lasciviousness of temper.
A pedant of this nature is wonderfully well described in six lines of Boileau,[200] with which I shall conclude his character:
"_Un Pedant enivre de sa vaine science, Tout herisse de grec, tout bouffi d"arrogance, Et qui, de mille auteurs retenus mot pour mot, Dans sa tete enta.s.ses, n"a souvent fait qu"un sot, Croit qu"un livre fait tout, et que, sans Aristote, La raison ne voit goutte, et le bon sens radote._"
[Footnote 198: The original of Tom Folio is supposed to be Thomas Rawlinson, a great book-collector, who lived in Gray"s Inn, and afterwards in London House, Aldersgate Street, where he died, August 6, 1725, aged 44. His library and MSS. were sold between 1722 and 1734.]
[Footnote 199: No. 154.]
[Footnote 200: Satire iv.: "Les folies humaines."]
No. 159. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, April 13_, to _Sat.u.r.day, April 15, 1710_.
Nitor in adversum, nec me qui caetera, vincit Impetus.--OVID., Met. ii. 72.
_From my own Apartment, April 14._
The wits of this island, for above fifty years past, instead of correcting the vices of the age, have done all they could to inflame them. Marriage has been one of the common topics of ridicule that every stage-scribbler has found his account in; for whenever there is an occasion for a clap, an impertinent jest upon matrimony is sure to raise it. This has been attended with very pernicious consequences. Many a country squire, upon his setting up for a man of the town, has gone home in the gaiety of his heart and beat his wife. A kind husband has been looked upon as a clown, and a good wife as a domestic animal, unfit for the company or conversation of the _beau monde_. In short, separate beds, silent tables, and solitary homes have been introduced by your men of wit and pleasure of the age.
As I shall always make it my business to stem the torrents of prejudice and vice, I shall take particular care to put an honest father of a family in countenance, and endeavour to remove all the evils out of that state of life, which is either the most happy, or most miserable, that a man can be placed in. In order to this, let us, if you please, consider the wits and well-bred persons of former times. I have shown in another paper,[201] that Pliny, who was a man of the greatest genius, as well as of the first quality of his age, did not think it below him to be a kind husband, and to treat his wife as a friend, companion and counsellor. I shall give the like instance of another, who in all respects was a much greater man than Pliny, and has written a whole book of letters to his wife. They are not so full of turns as those translated out of the former author, who writes very much like a modern, but are full of that beautiful simplicity which is altogether natural, and is the distinguishing character of the best ancient writers. The author I am speaking of, is Cicero; who, in the following pa.s.sages which I have taken out of his letters,[202] shows, that he did not think it inconsistent with the politeness of his manners, or the greatness of his wisdom, to stand upon record in his domestic character.
These letters were written at a time when he was banished from his country, by a faction that then prevailed at Rome.
_Cicero to Terentia._