No. 166
[Steele
Saturday, April 29
, to
Tuesday, May 2, 1710
——Dicenda tacenda loquutus.—Hor., I Ep. vii. 72.
White's Chocolate-house, May 1
The world is so overgrown with singularities in behaviour, and method of living, that I have no sooner laid before mankind the absurdity of one species of men, but there starts up to my view some new sect of impertinents that had before escaped notice. This afternoon, as I was talking with fine Mrs. Sprightly's porter, and desiring admittance upon an extraordinary occasion, it was my fate to be spied by Tom Modely riding by in his chariot. He did me the honour to stop, and asked what I did there of a Monday? I answered that I had business of importance, which I wanted to communicate to the lady of the house. Tom is one of those fools who look upon knowledge of the fashion to be the only liberal science; and was so rough as to tell me, that a well-bred man would as soon call upon a lady (who keeps a day) at midnight, as on any day but that on which she professes being at home. There are rules and decorums which are never to be transgressed by those who understand the world; and he who offends in this kind, ought not to take it ill if he is turned away, even when he sees the person look out at her window whom he inquires for. "Nay," said he, "my Lady Dimple is so positive in this rule, that she takes it for a piece of good breeding and distinction to deny herself with her own mouth. Mrs. Comma,
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"I have been informed by a relation of hers, that when Mrs. Mary Astell has accidentally seen needless visitors coming, whom she knew to be incapable of discoursing upon any useful subject, she would look out of the window, and jestingly tell them (as Cato did Nasica), 'Mrs. Astell is not at home'; and in good earnest keep them out, not suffering such triflers to make inroads upon her more serious hours" (Ballard's "Memoirs of British Learned Ladies," 1775, p. 309). For Swift's attacks on Mary Astell, see Nos. , 63.
the great scholar, insists upon it; and I myself have heard her assert, that a lord's porter, or a lady's woman, cannot be said to lie in that case, because they act by instruction; and their words are no more their own, than those of a puppet."
He was going on with this ribaldry, when on a sudden he looked on his watch, and said, he had twenty visits to make, and drove away without further ceremony. I was then at leisure to reflect upon the tasteless manner of life, which a set of idle fellows lead in this town, and spend youth itself with less spirit, than other men do their old age. These expletives in human society, though they are in themselves wholly insignificant, become of some consideration when they are mixed with others. I am very much at a loss how to define, or under what character, distinction, or denomination, to place them, except you give me leave to call them the Order of the Insipids. This order is in its extent like that of the Jesuits, and you see of them in every way of life, and in every profession. Tom Modely has long appeared to me at the head of this species. By being habitually in the best company, he knows perfectly well when a coat is well cut, or a periwig well mounted.
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"Monter une perruque" is a French barber's phrase.
As soon as you enter the place where he is, he tells the next man to him who is your tailor, and judges of you more from the choice of your periwig-maker than of your friend. His business in this world is to be well dressed; and the greatest circumstance that is to be recorded in his annals is, that he wears twenty shirts a week. Thus, without ever speaking reason among the men, or passion among the women, he is everywhere well received; and without any one man's esteem, he has every man's indulgence.
This order has produced great numbers of tolerable copiers in painting, good rhymers in poetry, and harmless projectors in politics. You may see them at first sight grow acquainted by sympathy, insomuch that one who had not studied nature, and did not know the true cause of their sudden familiarities, would think that they had some secret intimation of each other, like the freemasons. The other day at Will's I heard Modely, and a critic of the same order, show their equal talents with great delight. The learned insipid was commending Racine's turns; the genteel insipid, Devillier's curls.
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See Nos. , . Duvillier or Devillier was a hairdresser.
These creatures, when they are not forced into any particular employment, for want of ideas in their own imaginations, are the constant plague of all they meet with by inquiries for news and scandal, which makes them the heroes of visiting-days, where they help the design of the meeting, which is to pass away that odious thing called Time, in discourses too trivial to raise any reflections which may put well-bred persons to the trouble of thinking.
From my own Apartment, May 1
I was looking out of my parlour window this morning,
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May Day. In the
Spectator
(No. ) Budgell says: "It is likewise on the first day of this month that we see the ruddy milkmaid exerting herself in a most sprightly manner under a pyramid of silver tankards, and like the virgin Tarpeia, oppressed by the costly ornaments which her benefactors lay upon her." Similarly, Misson ("Travels in England," p. 307) says: "On the first of May, and the five or six days following, all the pretty young country girls that serve the town with milk, dress themselves up very neatly, and borrow abundance of silver plate, whereof they make a pyramid, which they adorn with ribands and flowers, and carry upon their heads, instead of their common milkpails. In this equipage, accompanied by some of their fellow milkmaids, and a bagpipe and fiddle, they go from door to door, dancing before the houses of their customers."
and receiving the honours which Margery, the milkmaid to our lane, was doing me, by dancing before my door with the plate of half her customers on her head, when Mr. Clayton,
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"There is a Pastoral Masque to be performed on the 27th inst., in York Buildings, for the benefit of Mr. Clayton, and composed by him. This gentleman is the person who introduced the Italian opera into Great Britain, and hopes he has pretensions to the favour of all lovers of music, who can get over the prejudice of his being their countryman" (
Tatler
, original folio, No. 163).
Thomas Clayton, in association with Haym and Dieuport, began a series of operatic performances at Drury Lane Theatre in 1705, commencing with "Arsinoe," which was a success. In 1707 he produced a setting of Addison's "Rosamond," but it was played only three times. The opera performances were continued until 1711, after which Clayton gave concerts in York Buildings (see
Spectator
, No. 258). He died about 1730.
the author of "Arsinoe," made me a visit, and desired me to insert the following advertisement in my ensuing paper:
The Pastoral Masque composed by Mr. Clayton, author of "Arsinoe," will be performed on Wednesday the 3rd instant, in the great room at York Buildings.
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In the Strand. In 1713 Steele started a scheme for "a noble entertainment for persons of refined taste," in York Buildings.
Tickets are to be had at White's Chocolate-house, St. James's Coffee-house in St. James's Street, and Young Man's Coffee-house.
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At Charing Cross, with a back door into Spring Gardens.
Note. The tickets delivered out for the 27th of April will be taken then.
When I granted his request, I made one to him, which was, that the performers should put their instruments in tune before the audience came in; for that I thought the resentment of the Eastern Prince, who, according to the old story, took "tuning" for "playing," to be very just and natural. He was so civil, as not only to promise that favour, but also to assure me, that he would order the heels of the performers to be muffled in cotton, that the artists in so polite an age as ours, may not intermix with their harmony a custom which so nearly resembles the stamping dances of the West Indians or Hottentots.
ADVERTISEMENTS
A Bass-viol of Mr. Bickerstaff's acquaintance, whose mind and fortune do not very exactly agree, proposes to set himself to sale by way of lottery.
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248
See Nos.
153
,
157
,
168
.
Ten thousand pounds is the sum to be raised, at threepence a ticket, in consideration that there are more women who are willing to be married than that can spare a greater sum. He has already made over his person to trustees for the said money to be forthcoming, and ready to take to wife the fortunate woman that wins him.
N.B. Tickets are given out by Mr. Charles Lillie, and Mr. John Morphew. Each adventurer must be a virgin, and subscribe her name to her ticket.
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In the
Daily Courant
for Aug. 18, 1710, there was advertised as just published a pamphlet called "A Good Husband for Five Shillings; or, Esquire Bickerstaff's Lottery for the London Ladies. Wherein those that want bedfellows, in an honest way, will have a fair chance to be well fitted." It was complained that husbands were scarce through the war. The title exhausts all that is of interest in the pamphlet, with the exception of the frontispiece, which represents a room in which a lottery is being drawn, with two wheels of fortune, &c.
Whereas the several churchwardens of most of the parishes within the bills of mortality, have in an earnest manner applied themselves by way of petition, and have also made a presentment of the vain and loose deportment during divine service, of persons of too great figure in all their said parishes for their reproof: And whereas it is therein set forth, that by salutations given each other, hints, shrugs, ogles, playing of fans, and fooling with canes at their mouths, and other wanton gesticulations, their whole congregation appears rather a theatrical audience, than a house of devotion: It is hereby ordered, that all canes, cravats, bosom-laces, muffs, fans, snuff-boxes, and all other instruments made use of to give persons unbecoming airs, shall be immediately forfeited and sold; and of the sum arising from the sale thereof, a ninth part shall be paid to the poor, and the rest to the overseers.
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Nichols notes that a correction in this number, intimated in the following paper, was actually made in a copy before him, and concluded that there was sometimes more than one impression of the original folio issue. This was certainly the case. There is a set of the
Tatlers
in folio in the British Museum (press-mark 628 m 13) in which many of the numbers are set up somewhat differently from the ordinary issue (Nos. 4, 28, 29, 30, &c.). Sometimes there is a line more or less in a column; sometimes slightly different type is used in one or two advertisements.
No. 167
[Steele.
Tuesday, May 2
, to
Thursday, May 4, 1710
Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem,
Quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus–
Hor., Ars Poet. 180.
From my own Apartment, May 2
Having received notice, that the famous actor Mr. Betterton
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See Nos. , 71,
157
. On the 25th of April 1710, there was given for Betterton's benefit, "The Maid's Tragedy" of Beaumont and Fletcher, in which he himself performed his celebrated part of Melantius. This, however, was the last time he was to appear on the stage, for, having been suddenly seized with the gout, and being impatient at the thought of disappointing his friends, he made use of outward applications to reduce the swellings of his feet, which enabled him to walk on the stage, though obliged to have his foot in a slipper. But the fomentations he had used occasioning a revulsion of the gouty humour to the nobler parts, threw the distemper up into his head, and terminated his life on the 28th of April. On the 2nd of May his body was interred with much ceremony in the cloister of Westminster.—"This day is published, 'The Life of Mr. Thomas Betterton'" (
Postboy
, Sept. 16 to 19, 1710). This book, attributed to Gildon, is dedicated to Richard Steele, Esq. "I have chosen," says the author, "to address this discourse to you, because the Art of which it treats is of your familiar acquaintance, and the graces of action and utterance come naturally under the consideration of a dramatic writer."
was to be interred this evening in the cloisters near Westminster Abbey, I was resolved to walk thither, and see the last office done to a man whom I had always very much admired, and from whose action I had received more strong impressions of what is great and noble in human nature, than from the arguments of the most solid philosophers, or the descriptions of the most charming poets I had ever read. As the rude and untaught multitude are no way wrought upon more effectually than by seeing public punishments and executions, so men of letters and education feel their humanity most forcibly exercised, when they attend the obsequies of men who had arrived at any perfection in liberal accomplishments. Theatrical action is to be esteemed as such, except it be objected, that we cannot call that an art which cannot be attained by art. Voice, stature, motion, and other gifts, must be very bountifully bestowed by Nature, or labour and industry will but push the unhappy endeavourer, in that way, the further off his wishes.
Such an actor as Mr. Betterton ought to be recorded with the same respect as Roscius among the Romans. The greatest orator
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Cicero.
has thought fit to quote his judgment, and celebrate his life. Roscius was the example to all that would form themselves into proper and winning behaviour. His action was so well adapted to the sentiments he expressed, that the youth of Rome thought they wanted only to be virtuous to be as graceful in their appearance as Roscius. The imagination took a lively impression of what was great and good; and they who never thought of setting up for the arts of imitation, became themselves imitable characters.
There is no human invention so aptly calculated for the forming a free-born people as that of a theatre. Tully reports that the celebrated player of whom I am speaking used frequently to say, "The perfection of an actor is only to become what he is doing." Young men, who are too unattentive to receive lectures, are irresistibly taken with performances. Hence it is, that I extremely lament the little relish the gentry of this nation have at present for the just and noble representations in some of our tragedies. The operas which are of late introduced can leave no trace behind them that can be of service beyond the present moment. To sing and to dance are accomplishments very few have any thoughts of practising; but to speak justly, and move gracefully, is what every man thinks he does perform, or wishes he did.
I have hardly a notion, that any performer of antiquity could surpass the action of Mr. Betterton in any of the occasions in which he has appeared on our stage. The wonderful agony which he appeared in, when he examined the circumstance of the handkerchief in "Othello"; the mixture of love that intruded upon his mind upon the innocent answers Desdemona makes, betrayed in his gesture such a variety and vicissitude of passions, as would admonish a man to be afraid of his own heart, and perfectly convince him, that it is to stab it to admit that worst of daggers, jealousy. Whoever reads in his closet this admirable scene, will find that he cannot, except he has as warm an imagination as Shakespeare himself, find any but dry, incoherent, and broken sentences: but a reader that has seen Betterton act it, observes there could not be a word added; that longer speeches had been unnatural, nay impossible, in Othello's circumstances. The charming passage in the same tragedy, where he tells the manner of winning the affection of his mistress, was urged with so moving and graceful an energy, that while I walked in the cloisters, I thought of him with the same concern as if I waited for the remains of a person who had in real life done all that I had seen him represent. The gloom of the place, and faint lights before the ceremony appeared, contributed to the melancholy disposition I was in; and I began to be extremely afflicted, that Brutus and Cassius had any difference; that Hotspur's gallantry was so unfortunate; and that the mirth and good humour of Falstaff could not exempt him from the grave. Nay, this occasion in me, who look upon the distinctions amongst men to be merely scenical, raised reflections upon the emptiness of all human perfection and greatness in general; and I could not but regret, that the sacred heads which lie buried in the neighbourhood of this little portion of earth in which my poor old friend is deposited, are returned to dust as well as he, and that there is no difference in the grave between the imaginary and the real monarch. This made me say of human life itself with Macbeth:
"
To-morrow, to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in a stealing pace from day to day,
To the last moment of recorded time!
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
To their eternal night! Out, out short candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more.
"
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"Macbeth," act v. sc. 5, quoted inaccurately by Steele.
The mention I have here made of Mr. Betterton, for whom I had, as long as I have known anything, a very great esteem and gratitude for the pleasure he gave me, can do him no good; but it may possibly be of service to the unhappy woman he has left behind him,
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Betterton married, in 1662, Maria Saunderson, an actress who seems to have been as good as she was clever. She lost her reason after the death of her husband, but recovered it before her death at the end of 1711. By her will she bequeathed to Mrs. Bracegirdle, Mrs. Barry, Mr. Doggett, Mr. Wilks, and Mr. Dent, twenty shillings a piece for rings; and her husband's picture to Mrs. Anne Stevenson, whom she appointed her residuary legatee.
to have it known, that this great tragedian was never in a scene half so moving as the circumstances of his affairs created at his departure. His wife, after the cohabitation of forty years in the strictest amity, has long pined away with a sense of his decay, as well in his person as his little fortune; and in proportion to that, she has herself decayed both in her health and her reason. Her husband's death, added to her age and infirmities, would certainly have determined her life, but that the greatness of her distress has been her relief, by a present deprivation of her senses. This absence of reason is her best defence against age, sorrow, poverty, and sickness. I dwell upon this account so distinctly, in obedience to a certain great spirit
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Possibly Lady Elizabeth Hastings (see Nos. 42, 49), or perhaps Queen Anne, though it is not likely that she consulted Steele by letter on the subject. The Queen gave Mrs. Betterton a pension on the death of her husband, "but," says Cibber, "she lived not to receive more than the first half year of it."
who hides her name, and has by letter applied to me to recommend to her some object of compassion, from whom she may be concealed.
This, I think, is a proper occasion for exerting such heroic generosity; and as there is an ingenuous shame in those who have known better fortune to be reduced to receive obligations, as well as a becoming pain in the truly generous to receive thanks in this case, both those delicacies are preserved; for the person obliged is as incapable of knowing her benefactress, as her benefactress is unwilling to be known by her.
ADVERTISEMENT
Whereas it has been signified to the Censor, that under the pretence that he has encouraged the Moving Picture,
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See No.
129
.
and particularly admired the Walking Statue, some persons within the Liberties of Westminster have vended Walking Pictures, insomuch that the said pictures have within few days after sales by auction returned to the habitation of their first proprietors; that matter has been narrowly looked into, and orders are given to Pacolet to take notice of all who are concerned in such frauds, with directions to draw their pictures, that they may be hanged in effigy,
in terrorem
of all auctions for the future.
No. 168
[Steele.
Thursday, May 4
, to
Saturday, May 6, 1710
From my own Apartment, May 5
Never was man so much teased, or suffered half the uneasiness, as I have done this evening, between a couple of fellows with whom I was unfortunately engaged to sup, where there were also several others in company. One of them is the most invincibly impudent, and the other as incorrigibly absurd. Upon hearing my name, the man of audacity, as he calls himself, began to assume an awkward way of reserve, by way of ridicule upon me as a Censor, and said, he must have a care of his behaviour, for there would notes be writ upon all that should pass. The man of freedom and ease (for such the other thinks himself) asked me, whether my sister Jenny was breeding or not? After they had done with me, they were impertinent to a very smart, but well-bred man, who stood his ground very well, and let the company see they ought, but could not be out of countenance. I look upon such a defence as a real good action; for while he received their fire, there was a modest and worthy young gentleman sat secure by him, and a lady of the family at the same time, guarded against the nauseous familiarity of the one, and the more painful mirth of the other. This conversation, where there were a thousand things said not worth repeating, made me consider with myself, how it is that men of these disagreeable characters often go great lengths in the world, and seldom fail of outstripping men of merit; nay, succeed so well, that with a load of imperfections on their heads, they go on in opposition to general disesteem, while they who are every way their superiors, languish away their days, though possessed of the approbation and goodwill of all who know them.
If we would examine into the secret spring of action in the impudent and the absurd, we shall find, though they bear a great resemblance in their behaviour, that they move upon very different principles. The impudent are pressing, though they know they are disagreeable; the absurd are importunate, because they think they are acceptable. Impudence is a vice, and absurdity a folly. Sir Francis Bacon talks very agreeably upon the subject of impudence.
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Essay xii., "Of Boldness."
He takes notice, that the orator being asked, what was the first, second, and third requisite, to make a fine speaker, still answered, "Action." This, said he, is the very outward form of speaking, and yet it is what with the generality has more force than the most consummate abilities. Impudence is to the rest of mankind of the same use which action is to orators.
The truth is, the gross of men are governed more by appearances than realities, and the impudent man in his air and behaviour undertakes for himself that he has ability and merit, while the modest or diffident gives himself up as one who is possessed of neither. For this reason, men of front carry things before them with little opposition, and make so skilful a use of their talent, that they can grow out of humour like men of consequence, and be sour, and make their satisfaction do them the same service as desert. This way of thinking has often furnished me with an apology for great men who confer favours on the impudent. In carrying on the government of mankind, they are not to consider what men they themselves approve in their closets and private conversations, but what men will extend themselves furthest, and more generally pass upon the world for such as their patrons want in such and such stations, and consequently take so much work off the hands of those who employ them.
Far be it that I should attempt to lessen the acceptance which men of this character meet with in the world; but I humbly propose only, that they who have merit of a different kind, would accomplish themselves in some degree with this quality of which I am now treating. Nay, I allow these gentlemen to press as forward as they please in the advancement of their interests and fortunes, but not to intrude upon others in conversation also: let them do what they can with the rich and the great, as far as they are suffered, but let them not interrupt the easy and agreeable. They may be useful as servants in ambition, but never as associates in pleasure. However, as I would still drive at something instructive in every Lucubration, I must recommend it to all men who feel in themselves an impulse towards attempting laudable actions, to acquire such a degree of assurance, as never to lose the possession of themselves in public or private, so far as to be incapable of acting with a due decorum on any occasion they are called to. It is a mean want of fortitude in a good man, not to be able to do a virtuous action with as much confidence as an impudent fellow does an ill one. There is no way of mending such false modesty, but by laying it down for a rule, that there is nothing shameful but what is criminal.
The Jesuits, an order whose institution is perfectly calculated for making a progress in the world, take care to accomplish their disciples for it, by breaking them of all impertinent bashfulness, and accustoming then to a ready performance of all indifferent things. I remember in my travels, when I was once at a public exercise in one of their schools, a young man made a most admirable speech, with all the beauty of action, cadence of voice, and force of argument imaginable, in defence of the love of glory. We were all enamoured with the grace of the youth, as he came down from the desk