Section 18

.]

No. 158. [ADDISON.

From Tuesday, April 11, to Thursday, April 13, 1710.

Faciunt næ intelligendo, ut nihil intelligant.
                      TER., Andria, Prologue, 17.

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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 title-page of all authors, knows the manuscripts in which they were discovered, the editions through which they have passed, 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 passages; 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 coxcomb 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 passage 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 Æneas, at his leaving the empire of the dead, passed 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 'Æneids,' 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 manuscripts '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 class who are professed admirers of Tasso 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 passage in Greek, than upon the author for having written it; nay, will allow the passage 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 Pédant enivré de sa vaine science,
Tout hérissé de grec, tout bouffi d'arrogance,
Et qui, de mille auteurs retenus mot pour mot,
Dans sa tête entassés, 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 Saturday, April 15, 1710.

Nitor in adversum, nec me qui cætera, vincit
Impetus.--OVID., Met. ii. 72.

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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 passages 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._

 I.

 「I learn from the letters of my friends, as well as from common
 report, that you give incredible proofs of virtue and fortitude,
 and that you are indefatigable in all kinds of good offices. How
 unhappy a man am I, that a woman of your virtue, constancy, honour,
 and good nature, should fall into so great distresses upon my
 account; and that my dear Tulliola should be so much afflicted for
 the sake of a father, with whom she had once so much reason to be
 pleased! How can I mention little Cicero, whose first knowledge of
 things began with the sense of his own misery? If all this had
 happened by the decrees of fate, as you would kindly persuade me, I
 could have borne it. But, alas! it is all befallen me by my own
 indiscretion, who thought I was beloved by those who envied me, and
 did not join with them who sought my friendship.----At present,
 since my friends bid me hope, I shall take care of my health, that
 I may enjoy the benefit of your affectionate services.----Plancius
 hopes we may some time or other come together into Italy. If I ever
 live to see that day; if I ever return to your dear embraces; in
 short, if I ever again recover you and myself, I shall think our
 conjugal piety very well rewarded.----As for what you write to me
 about selling your estate, consider (my dear Terentia), consider,
 alas! what would be the event of it. If our present fortune
 continues to oppress us, what will become of our poor boy? My tears
 flow so fast, that I am not able to write any further; and I would
 not willingly make you weep with me.----Let us take care not to
 undo the child that is already undone: if we can leave him
 anything, a little virtue will keep him from want, and a little
 fortune raise him in the world. Mind your health, and let me know
 frequently what you are doing.----Remember me to Tulliola and
 Cicero.「


 II.

 「Don't fancy that I write longer letters to any one than to
 yourself, unless when I chance to receive a longer letter from
 another, which I am indispensably obliged to answer in every
 particular. The truth of it is, I have no subject for a letter at
 present: and as my affairs now stand, there is nothing more painful
 to me than writing. As for you and our dear Tulliola, I cannot
 write to you without abundance of tears, for I see both of you
 miserable, whom I always wished to be happy, and whom I ought to
 have made so.----I must acknowledge, you have done everything for
 me with the utmost fortitude, and the utmost affection; nor indeed
 is it more than I expected from you; though at the same time it is
 a great aggravation of my ill fortune, that the afflictions I
 suffer can be relieved only by those which you undergo for my sake.
 For honest Valerius has written me a letter, which I could not read
 without weeping very bitterly; wherein he gives me an account of
 the public procession which you have made for me at Rome. Alas! my
 dearest life, must then Terentia, the darling of my soul, whose
 favour and recommendations have been so often sought by others;
 must my Terentia droop under the weight of sorrow, appear in the
 habit of a mourner, pour out floods of tears, and all this for my
 sake; for my sake, who have undone my family, by consulting the
 safety of others!----As for what you write about selling your
 house, I am very much afflicted, that what is laid out upon my
 account may any way reduce you to misery and want. If we can bring
 about our design, we may indeed recover everything; but if Fortune
 persists in persecuting us, how can I think of your sacrificing for
 me the poor remainder of your possessions? No, my dearest life, let
 me beg you to let those bear my expenses who are able, and perhaps
 willing to do it; and if you would show your love to me, do not
 injure your health, which is already too much impaired. You present
 yourself before my eyes day and night; I see you labouring amidst
 innumerable difficulties; I am afraid lest you should sink under
 them; but I find in you all the qualifications that are necessary
 to support you: be sure therefore to cherish your health, that you
 may compass the end of your hopes and your endeavours.----Farewell,
 my Terentia, my heart's desire, farewell.「


 III.

 「Aristocritus has delivered to me three of your letters, which I
 have almost defaced with my tears. Oh! my Terentia, I am consumed
 with grief, and feel the weight of your sufferings more than of my
 own. I am more miserable than you are, notwithstanding you are very
 much so; and that for this reason, because though our calamity is
 common, it is my fault that brought it upon us. I ought to have
 died rather than have been driven out of the city: I am therefore
 overwhelmed not only with grief, but with shame. I am ashamed that
 I did not do my utmost for the best of wives, and the dearest of
 children. You are ever present before my eyes in your mourning,
 your affliction, and your sickness. Amidst all which, there scarce
 appears to me the least glimmering of hope.----However, so long as
 you hope, I will not despair.----I will do what you advise me. I
 have returned my thanks to those friends whom you mentioned, and
 have let them know, that you have acquainted me with their good
 offices. I am sensible of Piso's extraordinary zeal and endeavours
 to serve me. Oh! would the gods grant that you and I might live
 together in the enjoyment of such a son-in-law, and of our dear
 children.----As for what you write of your coming to me if I desire
 it, I would rather you should be where you are, because I know you
 are my principal agent at Rome. If you succeed, I shall come to
 you: if not----. But I need say no more. Be careful of your health,
 and be assured, that nothing is, or ever was, so dear to me as
 yourself. Farewell, my Terentia; I fancy that I see you, and
 therefore cannot command my weakness so far as to refrain from
 tears.「


 IV.

 「I don't write to you as often as I might, because notwithstanding
 I am afflicted at all times, I am quite overcome with sorrow whilst
 I am writing to you, or reading any letters that I receive from
 you.----If these evils are not to be removed, I must desire to see
 you, my dearest life, as soon as possible, and to die in your
 embraces; since neither the gods, whom you always religiously
 worshipped; nor the men, whose good I always promoted, have
 rewarded us according to our deserts.----What a distressed wretch
 am I! should I ask a weak woman, oppressed with cares and sickness,
 to come and live with me, or shall I not ask her? Can I live
 without you? But I find I must. If there be any hopes of my return,
 help it forward, and promote it as much as you are able. But if all
 that is over, as I fear it is, find out some way or other of coming
 to me. This you may be sure of, that I shall not look upon myself
 as quite undone whilst you are with me. But what will become of
 Tulliola? You must look to that; I must confess, I am entirely at a
 loss about her. Whatever happens, we must take care of the
 reputation and marriage of that dear unfortunate girl. As for
 Cicero, he shall live in my bosom and in my arms. I cannot write
 any further, my sorrows will not let me.----Support yourself, my
 dear Terentia, as well as you are able. We have lived and
 flourished together amidst the greatest honours: it is not our
 crimes, but our virtues that have distressed us.----Take more than
 ordinary care of your health; I am more afflicted with your sorrows
 than my own. Farewell, my Terentia, thou dearest, faithfullest, and
 best of wives.「

Methinks it is a pleasure to see this great man in his family, who makes so different a figure in the Forum or Senate of Rome. Every one admires the orator and the consul; but for my part, I esteem the husband and the father. His private character, with all the little weaknesses of humanity, is as amiable as the figure he makes in public is awful and majestic. But at the same time that I love to surprise so great an author in his private walks, and to survey him in his most familiar lights, I think it would be barbarous to form to ourselves any idea of mean-spiritedness from these natural openings of his heart, and disburdening of his thoughts to a wife. He has written several other letters to the same person, but none with so great passion as these of which I have given the foregoing extracts.

It would be ill-nature not to acquaint the English reader, that his wife was successful in her solicitations for this great man, and saw her husband return to the honours of which he had been deprived, with all the pomp and acclamation that usually attended the greatest triumph.

[Footnote 201: No. 149.]

[Footnote 202: 「Epist.「 xiv, 1-4.]

No. 160. [ADDISON AND STEELE.

From Saturday, April 15, to Tuesday, April 18, 1710.

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From my own Apartment, April 17.

A common civility to an impertinent fellow often draws upon one a great many unforeseen troubles; and if one does not take particular care, will be interpreted by him as an overture of friendship and intimacy. This I was very sensible of this morning. About two hours before day, I heard a great rapping at my door, which continued some time, till my maid could get herself ready to go down and see what was the occasion of it. She then brought me up word, that there was a gentleman who seemed very much in haste, and said he must needs speak with me. By the description she gave me of him, and by his voice, which I could hear as I lay in my bed, I fancied him to be my old acquaintance the upholsterer,[203] whom I met the other day in St. James's Park. For which reason, I bid her tell the gentleman, whoever he was, that I was indisposed, that I could see nobody, and that, if he had anything to say to me, I desired he would leave it in writing. My maid, after having delivered her message, told me that the gentleman said he would stay at the next coffee-house till I was stirring, and bid her be sure to tell me, that the French were driven from the Scarp, and that Douay was invested. He gave her the name of another town, which I found she had dropped by the way.

As much as I love to be informed of the success of my brave countrymen, I do not care for hearing of a victory before day, and was therefore very much out of humour at this unseasonable visit. I had no sooner recovered my temper, and was falling asleep, but I was immediately startled by a second rap; and upon my maid's opening the door, heard the same voice ask her if her master was yet up; and at the same time bid her tell me, that he was come on purpose to talk with me about a piece of home news that everybody in town will be full of two hours hence. I ordered my maid as soon as she came into the room, without hearing her message, to tell the gentleman, that whatever his news was, I would rather hear it two hours hence than now; and that I persisted in my resolution not to speak with anybody that morning. The wench delivered my answer presently, and shut the door. It was impossible for me to compose myself to sleep after two such unexpected alarms; for which reason I put on my clothes in a very peevish humour. I took several turns about my chamber, reflecting with a great deal of anger and contempt on these volunteers in politics, that undergo all the pain, watchfulness, and disquiet of a First Minister, without turning it to the advantage either of themselves or their country; and yet it is surprising to consider how numerous this species of men is. There is nothing more frequent than to find a tailor breaking his rest on the affairs of Europe, and to see a cluster of porters sitting upon the Ministry. Our streets swarm with politicians, and there is scarce a shop which is not held by a statesman. As I was musing after this manner, I heard the upholsterer at the door delivering a letter to my maid, and begging her, in a very great hurry, to give it to her master as soon as ever he was awake, which I opened, and found as follows:

 「MR. BICKERSTAFF,

 「I was to wait upon you about a week ago, to let you know, that the
 honest gentlemen whom you conversed with upon the bench at the end
 of the Mall, having heard that I had received five shillings of
 you, to give you a hundred pounds upon the Great Turk's being
 driven out of Europe, desired me to acquaint you, that every one of
 that company would be willing to receive five shillings, to pay a
 hundred pounds on the same conditions. Our last advices from
 Muscovy making this a fairer bet than it was a week ago, I do not
 question but you will accept the wager.

 「But this is not my present business. If you remember, I whispered
 a word in your ear as we were walking up the Mall, and you see what
 has happened since. If I had seen you this morning, I would have
 told you in your ear another secret. I hope you will be recovered
 of your indisposition by to-morrow morning, when I will wait on you
 at the same hour as I did this; my private circumstances being
 such, that I cannot well appear in this quarter of the town after
 it is day.

 「I have been so taken up with the late good news from Holland, and
 expectation of further particulars, as well as with other
 transactions, of which I will tell you more to-morrow morning, that
 I have not slept a wink these three nights.

 「I have reason to believe that Picardy will soon follow the example
 of Artois, in case the enemy continue in their present resolution
 of flying away from us. I think I told you last time we were
 together my opinion about the Deulle.

 「The honest gentlemen upon the bench bid me tell you, they would be
 glad to see you often among them. We shall be there all the warm
 hours of the day, during the present posture of affairs.

 「This happy opening of the campaign will, I hope, give us a very
 joyful summer; and I propose to take many a pleasant walk with you,
 if you will sometimes come into the Park; for that is the only
 place in which I can be free from the malice of my enemies.
 Farewell till three o'clock to-morrow morning. I am,

                                   「Your most humble Servant, &c.

 「P.S. The King of Sweden is still at Bender.「

I should have fretted myself to death at this promise of a second visit, if I had not found in his letter an intimation of the good news which I have since heard at large. I have however ordered my maid to tie up the knocker of my door in such a manner as she would do if I was really indisposed. By which means I hope to escape breaking my morning's rest.[204]

Since I have given this letter to the public, I shall commu