X.
Contents
—Nil fuit unquamTam dispar sibi.Hor.1translation
I find the Tragedy of the
Distrest Mother
is publish'd today:
The
Author of the Prologue, I suppose, pleads an old Excuse I have read somewhere, of being dull with Design; and the Gentleman who writ the Epilogue
2
has, to my knowledge, so much of greater moment to value himself upon, that he will easily forgive me for publishing the Exceptions made against Gayety at the end of serious Entertainments, in the following Letter: I should be more unwilling to pardon him than any body, a Practice which cannot have any ill Consequence, but from the Abilities of the Person who is guilty of it.
Mr.Spectator,I had the Happiness the other Night of sitting very near you, and your worthy Friend SirRoger, at the acting of the new Tragedy, which you have in a late Paper or two so justly recommended. I was highly pleased with the advantageous Situation Fortune had given me in placing me so near two Gentlemen, from one of which I was sure to hear such Reflections on the several Incidents of the Play, as pure Nature suggested, and from the other such as flowed from the exactest Art and Judgment: Tho I must confess that my Curiosity led me so much to observe the Knight's Reflections, that I was not so well at leisure to improve my self by yours. Nature, I found, play'd her Part in the Knight pretty well, till at the last concluding Lines she entirely forsook him. You must know, Sir, that it is always my Custom, when I have been well entertained at a new Tragedy, to make my Retreat before the facetious Epilogue enters; not but that those Pieces are often very well writ, but having paid down my Half Crown, and made a fair Purchase of as much of the pleasing Melancholy as the Poet's Art can afford me, or my own Nature admit of, I am willing to carry some of it home with me; and can't endure to be at once trick'd out of all, tho' by the wittiest Dexterity in the World. However, I kept my Seat t'other Night, in hopes of finding my own Sentiments of this Matter favour'd by your Friend's; when, to my great Surprize, I found the Knight entering with equal Pleasure into both Parts, and as much satisfied with Mrs.Oldfield'sGaiety, as he had been before withAndromache'sGreatness. Whether this were no other than an Effect of the Knight's peculiar Humanity, pleas'd to find at last, that after all the tragical Doings every thing was safe and well, I don't know. But for my own part, I must confess, I was so dissatisfied, that I was sorry the Poet had savedAndromache, and could heartily have wished that he had left her stone-dead upon the Stage. For you cannot imagine, Mr.Spectator, the Mischief she was reserv'd to do me. I found my Soul, during the Action, gradually work'd up to the highest Pitch; and felt the exalted Passion which all generous Minds conceive at the Sight of Virtue in Distress. The Impression, believe me, Sir, was so strong upon me, that I am persuaded, if I had been let alone in it, I could at an Extremity have ventured to defend your self and Sir ROGER against half a Score of the fiercest Mohocks: But the ludicrous Epilogue in the Close extinguish'd all my Ardour, and made me look upon all such noble Atchievements, as downright silly and romantick. What the rest of the Audience felt, I can't so well tell: For my self, I must declare, that at the end of the Play I found my Soul uniform, and all of a Piece; but at the End of the Epilogue it was so jumbled together, and divided between Jest and Earnest, that if you will forgive me an extravagant Fancy, I will here set it down. I could not but fancy, if my Soul had at that Moment quitted my Body, and descended to the poetical Shades in the Posture it was then in, what a strange Figure it would have made among them. They would not have known what to have made of my motley Spectre, half Comick and half Tragick, all over resembling a ridiculous Face, that at the same time laughs on one side and cries o' t'other. The only Defence, I think, I have ever heard made for this, as it seems to me, most unnatural Tack of the Comick Tail to the Tragick Head, is this, that the Minds of the Audience must be refreshed, and Gentlemen and Ladies not sent away to their own Homes with too dismal and melancholy Thoughts about them: For who knows the Consequence of this? We are much obliged indeed to the Poets for the great Tenderness they express for the Safety of our Persons, and heartily thank them for it. But if that be all, pray, good Sir, assure them, that we are none of us like to come to any great Harm; and that, let them do their best, we shall in all probability live out the Length of our Days, and frequent the Theatres more than ever. What makes me more desirous to have some Reformation of this matter, is because of an ill Consequence or two attending it: For a great many of our Church-Musicians being related to the Theatre, they have, in Imitation of these Epilogues, introduced in their farewell Voluntaries a sort of Musick quite foreign to the design of Church-Services, to the great Prejudice of well-disposed People. Those fingering Gentlemen should be informed, that they ought to suit their Airs to the Place and Business; and that the Musician is obliged to keep to the Text as much as the Preacher. For want of this, I have found by Experience a great deal of Mischief: For when the Preacher has often, with great Piety and Art enough, handled his Subject, and the judicious Clark has with utmost Diligence culled out two Staves proper to the Discourse, and I have found in my self and in the rest of the Pew good Thoughts and Dispositions, they have been all in a moment dissipated by a merry Jigg from the Organ-Loft. One knows not what further ill Effects the Epilogues I have been speaking of may in time produce:Butthis I am credibly informed of, thatPaul Lorrain3—has resolv'd upon a very sudden Reformation in his tragical Dramas; and that at the next monthly Performance, he designs, instead of a Penitential Psalm, to dismiss his Audience with an excellent new Ballad of his own composing. Pray, Sir, do what you can to put a stop to those growing Evils, and you will very much obligeYour Humble Servant,Physibulus.
Footnote 1:
Servetur ad imumQualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet.
Hor.
return
Footnote 2:
The Prologue was by Steele. Of the Epilogue Dr. Johnson said (in his Lives of the Poets, when telling of Ambrose Philips),
'It was known in Tonson's family and told to Garrick, that Addison was himself the author of it, and that when it had been at first printed with his name, he came early in the morning, before the copies were distributed, and ordered it to be given to Budgell, that it might add weight to the solicitation which he was then making for a place.'
Johnson calls it
'the most successful Epilogue that was ever yet spoken on the English theatre.'
The three first nights it was recited twice, and whenever afterwards the play was acted the Epilogue was still expected and was spoken. This is a fifth paper for the benefit of Ambrose Philips, inserted, perhaps, to make occasion for a sixth (
No. 341
) in the form of a reply to Physibulus.
return
Footnote 3:
Paul Lorrain was the Ordinary of Newgate. He died in 1719. He always represented his convicts as dying Penitents, wherefore in No. 63 of the
Tatler
they had been called '
Paul Lorrain's Saints
.'
return
Contents
—Ut his exordia primisOmnia, et ipse tener Mundi concreverit orbis.Tum durare solum et discludere Nerea pontoCoeperit, et rerum pauliatim sumere formas.Virg.1translation
Longinus
has observed
2
, that there may be a Loftiness in Sentiments, where there is no Passion, and brings Instances out of ancient Authors to support this his Opinion. The Pathetick, as that great Critick observes, may animate and inflame the Sublime, but is not essential to it. Accordingly, as he further remarks, we very often find that those who excel most in stirring up the Passions, very often want the Talent of writing in the great and sublime manner, and so on the contrary.
Milton
has shewn himself a Master in both these ways of Writing. The Seventh Book, which we are now entring upon, is an Instance of that Sublime which is not mixed and worked up with Passion. The Author appears in a kind of composed and sedate Majesty; and tho' the Sentiments do not give so great an Emotion as those in the former Book, they abound with as magnificent Ideas. The Sixth Book, like a troubled Ocean, represents Greatness in Confusion; the seventh Affects the Imagination like the Ocean in a Calm, and fills the Mind of the Reader, without producing in it any thing like Tumult or Agitation.
The
Critick
above mentioned, among the Rules which he lays down for succeeding in the sublime way of writing, proposes to his Reader, that he should imitate the most celebrated Authors who have gone before him, and been engaged in Works of the same nature
3
; as in particular, that if he writes on a poetical Subject, he should consider how
Homer
would have spoken on such an Occasion. By this means one great Genius often catches the Flame from another, and writes in his Spirit, without copying servilely after him. There are a thousand shining Passages in
Virgil
, which have been lighted up by
Homer
.
Milton
, tho' his own natural Strength of Genius was capable of furnishing out a perfect Work, has doubtless very much raised and ennobled his Conceptions, by such an Imitation as that which
Longinus
has recommended.
In this Book, which gives us an Account of the six Days Works, the Poet received but very few Assistances from Heathen Writers, who were Strangers to the Wonders of Creation. But as there are many glorious strokes of Poetry upon this Subject in Holy Writ, the Author has numberless Allusions to them through the whole course of this Book. The great Critick I
have
before mentioned, though an Heathen, has taken notice of the sublime Manner in which the Lawgiver of the
Jews
has describ'd the Creation in the first Chapter of
Genesis
4
; and there are many other Passages in Scripture, which rise up to the same Majesty, where this Subject is touched upon.
Milton
has shewn his Judgment very remarkably, in making use of such of these as were proper for his Poem, and in duly qualifying those high Strains of Eastern Poetry, which were suited to Readers whose Imaginations were set to an higher pitch than those of colder Climates.
Adam's
Speech to the Angel, wherein he desires an Account of what had passed within the Regions of Nature before the Creation, is very great and solemn. The following Lines, in which he tells him, that the Day is not too far spent for him to enter upon such a subject, are exquisite in their kind.
And the great Light of Day yet wants to runMuch of his Race, though steep, suspense in Heav'nHeld by thy Voice; thy potent Voice he hears,And longer will delay, to hear thee tellHis Generation, &c.
The Angel's encouraging our first Parent
s
in a modest pursuit after Knowledge, with the Causes which he assigns for the Creation of the World, are very just and beautiful. The
Messiah
, by whom, as we are told in Scripture, the Worlds were made,
comes
forth in the Power of his Father, surrounded with an Host of Angels, and cloathed with such a Majesty as becomes his entring upon a Work, which, according to our Conceptions,
appears
5
the utmost Exertion of Omnipotence. What a beautiful Description has our Author raised upon that Hint in one of the Prophets.
And
behold there came four Chariots out from between two Mountains, and the Mountains were Mountains of Brass
6
.
About his Chariot numberless were pour'dCherub and Seraph, Potentates and Thrones,And Virtues, winged Spirits, and Chariots wing'd,From th' Armoury of Gold, where stand of oldMyriads between two brazen Mountains lodg'dAgainst a solemn Day, harness'd at hand;Celestial Equipage! and now came forthSpontaneous, for within them Spirit liv'd,Attendant on their Lord: Heav'n open'd wideHer ever-during Gates, Harmonious Sound!On golden Hinges moving—
I have before taken notice of these Chariots of God, and of these Gates of Heaven; and shall here only add, that
Homer
gives us the same Idea of the latter, as opening of themselves; tho' he afterwards takes off from it, by telling us, that the Hours first of all removed those prodigious Heaps of Clouds which lay as a Barrier before them.
I do not know any thing in the whole Poem more sublime than the Description which follows, where the
Messiah
is represented at the head of his Angels, as looking down into the Chaos, calming its Confusion, riding into the midst of it, and drawing the first Out-Line of the Creation.
On Heavenly Ground they stood, and from the ShoreThey view'd the vast immeasurable Abyss,Outrageous as a Sea, dark, wasteful, wild;Up from the bottom turned by furious WindsAnd surging Waves, as Mountains to assaultHeaven's height, and with the Center mix the Pole.Silence, ye troubled Waves, and thou Deep, Peace!Said then th' Omnific Word, your Discord end:Nor staid; but, on the Wings of CherubimUp-lifted, in Paternal Glory rodeFar into Chaos, and the World unborn;For Chaos heard his Voice. Him all His TrainFollow'd in bright Procession, to beholdCreation, and the Wonders, of his Might.Then staid the fervid Wheels, and in his HandHe took the Golden Compasses, prepar'dIn God's eternal Store, to circumscribeThis Universe, and all created Things:One Foot he center'd, and the other turn'dRound, through the vast Profundity obscure;And said, Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds,This be thy just Circumference, O World!
The Thought of the Golden Compasses is conceived altogether in
Homer's
Spirit, and is a very noble Incident in this wonderful Description.
Homer
, when he speaks of the Gods, ascribes to them several Arms and Instruments with the same greatness of Imagination. Let the Reader only peruse the Description of
Minerva's
Ægis, or Buckler, in the Fifth Book, with her Spear, which would overturn whole Squadrons, and her Helmet, that was sufficient to cover an Army drawn out of an hundred Cities: The Golden Compasses in the above-mentioned Passage appear a very natural Instrument in the Hand of him, whom
Plato
somewhere calls the Divine Geometrician. As Poetry delights in cloathing abstracted Ideas in Allegories and sensible Images, we find a magnificent Description of the Creation form'd after the same manner in one of the Prophets, wherein he describes the Almighty Architect as measuring the Waters in the Hollow of his Hand, meting out the Heavens with his Span, comprehending the Dust of the Earth in a Measure, weighing the Mountains in Scales, and the Hills in a Balance. Another of them describing the Supreme Being in this great Work of Creation, represents him as laying the Foundations of the Earth, and stretching a Line upon it: And in another place as garnishing the Heavens, stretching out the North over the empty Place, and hanging the Earth upon nothing. This last noble Thought
Milton
has express'd in the following Verse:
And Earth self-ballanc'd on her Center hung.
The Beauties of Description in this Book lie so very thick, that it is impossible to enumerate them in this Paper. The Poet has employ'd on them the whole Energy of our Tongue. The several great Scenes of the Creation rise up to view one after another, in such a manner, that the Reader seems present at this wonderful Work, and to assist among the Choirs of Angels, who are the Spectators of it. How glorious is the Conclusion of the first Day.
—Thus was the first Day Ev'n and MornNor past uncelebrated nor unsungBy the Celestial Quires, when Orient LightExhaling first from Darkness they beheld;Birth-day of Heav'n and Earth! with Joy and ShoutThe hollow universal Orb they fill'd.
We have the same elevation of Thought in the third Day, when the Mountains were brought forth, and the Deep was made.
Immediately the Mountains huge appearEmergent, and their broad bare Backs up-heaveInto the Clouds, their Tops ascend the Sky:So high as heav'd the tumid Hills, so lowDown sunk a hollow Bottom, broad and deep,Capacious Bed of Waters—
We have also the rising of the whole vegetable World described in this Day's Work, which is filled with all the Graces that other Poets have lavish'd on their Descriptions of the Spring, and leads the Reader's Imagination into a Theatre equally surprising and beautiful.
The several Glories of the Heav'ns make their Appearance on the Fourth Day.
First in his East the glorious Lamp was seen,Regent of Day; and all th' Horizon roundInvested with bright Rays, jocund to roundHis Longitude through Heav'ns high Road: the grayDawn, and the Pleiades before him danced,Shedding sweet Influence. Less bright the Moon,But opposite in level'd West was set,His Mirror, with full face borrowing her LightFrom him, for other Lights she needed noneIn that aspect, and still that distance keepsTill Night; then in the East her turn she shines,Revolv'd on Heav'n's great Axle, and her ReignWith thousand lesser Lights dividual holds,With thousand thousand Stars! that then appear'dSpangling the Hemisphere—
One would wonder how the Poet could be so concise in his Description of the six Days Works, as to comprehend them within the bounds of an Episode, and at the same time so particular, as to give us a lively Idea of them. This is still more remarkable in his Account of the Fifth and Sixth Days, in which he has drawn out to our View the whole Animal Creation, from the Reptil to the Behemoth.
As
the Lion and the Leviathan are two of the noblest Productions in
the
7
World of living Creatures, the Reader will find a most exquisite Spirit of Poetry in the Account which our Author gives us of them. The Sixth Day concludes with the Formation of Man, upon which the Angel takes occasion, as he did after the Battel in Heaven, to remind
Adam
of his Obedience, which was the principal Design of this his Visit.
The Poet afterwards represents the
Messiah
returning into Heaven, and taking a Survey of his great Work. There is something inexpressibly Sublime in this part of the Poem, where the Author describes that great Period of Time, filled with so many Glorious Circumstances; when the Heavens and Earth were finished; when the
Messiah
ascended up in triumph thro' the Everlasting Gates; when he looked down with pleasure upon his new Creation; when every Part of Nature seem'd to rejoice in its Existence; when the Morning-Stars sang together, and all the Sons of God shouted for joy.
So Ev'n and Morn accomplished the sixth Day:Yet not 'till the Creator from his WorkDesisting, tho' unwearied, up return'd,Up to the Heav'n of Heav'ns, his high Abode;Thence to behold this new created World,Th' Addition of his Empire, how it shewedIn prospect from his Throne, how good, how fair,Answering his great Idea: Up he rode,Follow'd with Acclamation, and the SoundSymphonious of ten thousand Harps, that tunedAngelick Harmonies; the Earth, the AirResounding (thou remember'st, for thou heard'sf)The Heavens and all the Constellations rung;The Planets in their Station listning stood,While the bright Pomp ascended jubilant.Open, ye everlasting Gates, they sung,Open, ye Heavens, your living Doors; let inThe great Creator from his Work return'dMagnificent, his six Days Work, a World!
I
cannot
conclude this Book upon the Creation, without mentioning a Poem which has lately appeared under that Title
8
. The Work was undertaken with so good an Intention, and is executed with so great a Mastery, that it deserves to be looked upon as one of the most useful and noble Productions in our English Verse. The Reader cannot but be pleased to find the Depths of Philosophy enlivened with all the Charms of Poetry, and to see so great a Strength of Reason, amidst so beautiful a Redundancy of the Imagination. The Author has shewn us that Design in all the Works of Nature, which necessarily leads us to the Knowledge of its first Cause. In short, he has illustrated, by numberless and incontestable Instances, that Divine Wisdom, which the Son of
Sirach
has so nobly ascribed to the Supreme Being in his Formation of the World, when he tells us, that He created her, and saw her, and numbered her, and poured her out upon all his Works.
L.
Footnote 1:
Ovid
return to footnote mark
Footnote 2:
On the Sublime
, § 8.
return
Footnote 3:
§14.
return
Footnote 4:
Longinus, § 9:
"So likewise the Jewish legislator, no ordinary person, having conceived a just idea of the power of God, has nobly expressed it in the beginning of his law. 'And God said,'—What? 'Let there be Light, and there was Light. Let the Earth be, and the Earth was.'"
return
Footnote 5:
looks like
return
Footnote 6:
Zechariah
vi. i.
return
Footnote 7:
this
return
Footnote 8:
Sir Richard Blackmore's
Creation
appeared in 1712. Besides this praise of it from Addison, its religious character caused Dr. Johnson to say that if Blackmore '
had written nothing else it would have transmitted him to posterity among the first favourites of the English muse.'
But even with the help of all his epics it has failed to secure him any such place in the estimation of posterity. This work is not an epic, but described on its title page as 'a Philosophical Poem, Demonstrating the Existence and Providence of a God.' It argues in blank verse, in the first two of its seven books, the existence of a Deity from evidences of design in the structure and qualities of earth and sea, in the celestial bodies and the air; in the next three books it argues against objections raised by Atheists, Atomists, and Fatalists; in the sixth book proceeds with evidences of design, taking the structure of man's body for its theme; and in the next, which is the last book, treats in the same way of the Instincts of Animals and of the Faculties and Operations of the Soul. This is the manner of the Poem:
The Sea does next demand our View; and thereNo less the Marks of perfect skill appear.When first the Atoms to the Congress came,And by their Concourse form'd the mighty Frame,What did the Liquid to th' Assembly callTo give their Aid to form the ponderous Ball?First, tell us, why did any come? next, whyIn such a disproportion to the Dry!Why were the Moist in Number so outdone,That to a Thousand Dry, they are but one,
It is hardly a 'mark of perfect skill' that there are five or six thousand of such dry lines in Blackmore's poem, and not even one that should lead a critic to speak in the same breath of Blackmore and Milton.
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Contents
Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus Hospes?Quem sese Ore ferens! quam forti Pectore et Armis!Virg.translation
I take it to be the highest Instance of a noble Mind, to bear great Qualities without discovering in a Man's Behaviour any Consciousness that he is superior to the rest of the World. Or, to say it otherwise, it is the Duty of a great Person so to demean himself, as that whatever Endowments he may have, he may appear to value himself upon no Qualities but such as any Man may arrive at: He ought to think no Man valuable but for his publick Spirit, Justice and Integrity; and all other Endowments to be esteemed only as they contribute to the exerting those Virtues. Such a Man, if he is Wise or Valiant, knows it is of no Consideration to other Men that he is so, but as he employs those high Talents for their Use and Service. He who affects the Applauses and Addresses of a Multitude, or assumes to himself a Pre-eminence upon any other Consideration, must soon turn Admiration into Contempt. It is certain, that there can be no Merit in any Man who is not conscious of it; but the Sense that it is valuable only according to the Application of it, makes that Superiority amiable, which would otherwise be invidious. In this Light it is considered as a Thing in which every Man bears a Share: It annexes the Ideas of Dignity, Power, and Fame, in an agreeable and familiar manner, to him who is Possessor of it; and all Men who are Strangers to him are naturally incited to indulge a Curiosity in beholding the Person, Behaviour, Feature, and Shape of him, in whose Character, perhaps, each Man had formed something in common with himself.
Whether