The Tatler Volume Iii Part 6

From _Thursday, Jan. 26_, to _Sat.u.r.day, Jan. 28, 1709-10_

Anguillam cauda tenes.--T. D'URFEY.

_From my own Apartment, January 27._

There is no sort of company so agreeable as that of women who have good sense without affectation, and can converse with men without any private design of imposing chains and fetters. Belvidera, whom I visited this evening, is one of these. There is an invincible prejudice in favour of all she says, from her being a beautiful woman, because she does not consider herself as such when she talks to you. This amiable temper gives a certain tincture to all her discourse, and made it very agreeable to me, till we were interrupted by Lydia, a creature who has all the charms that can adorn a woman. Her attractions would indeed be irresistible, but that she thinks them so, and is always employing them in stratagems and conquests. When I turned my eye upon her as she sat down, I saw she was a person of that character, which, for the further information of my country correspondents, I had long wanted an opportunity of explaining. Lydia is a finished coquette, which is a sect among women of all others the most mischievous, and makes the greatest havoc and disorder in society. I went on in the discourse I was in with Belvidera, without showing that I had observed anything extraordinary in Lydia: upon which, I immediately saw her look me over as some very ill-bred fellow; and casting a scornful glance on my dress, gave a shrug at Belvidera. But as much as she despised me, she wanted my admiration, and made twenty offers to bring my eyes her way: but I reduced her to a restlessness in her seat, an impertinent playing of her fan, and many other motions and gestures, before I took the least notice of her. At last I looked at her with a kind of surprise, as if she had before been un.o.bserved by reason of an ill light where she sat. It is not to be expressed what a sudden joy I saw rise in her countenance, even at the approbation of such a very old fellow: but she did not long enjoy her triumph without a rival; for there immediately entered Castabella, a lady of a quite contrary character, that is to say, as eminent a prude as Lydia is a coquette. Belvidera gave me a glance, which methought intimated, that they were both curiosities in their kind, and worth remarking. As soon as we were again seated, I stole looks at each lady, as if I was comparing their perfections. Belvidera observed it, and began to lead me into a discourse of them both to their faces, which is to be done easily enough; for one woman is generally so intent upon the faults of another, that she has not reflection enough to observe when her own are represented. "I have taken notice, Mr. Bickerstaff," said Belvidera, "that you have in some parts of your writings drawn characters of our s.e.x, in which you have not, to my apprehension, been clear enough and distinct, particularly in those of a prude and a coquette." Upon the mention of this, Lydia was roused with the expectation of seeing Castabella's picture, and Castabella with the hopes of that of Lydia. "Madam," said I to Belvidera, "when we consider nature, we shall often find very contrary effects flow from the same cause. The prude and coquette (as different as they appear in their behaviour) are in reality the same kind of women: the motive of action in both is the affectation of pleasing men. They are sisters of the same blood and const.i.tution, only one chooses a grave, the other a light, dress. The prude appears more virtuous, the coquette more vicious, than she really is. The distant behaviour of the prude tends to the same purpose as the advances of the coquette; and you have as little reason to fall into despair from the severity of the one, as to conceive hope from the familiarity of the latter. What leads you into a clear sense of their character is, that you may observe each of them has the distinction of s.e.x in all her thoughts, words and actions. You can never mention any a.s.sembly you were lately in, but one asks you with a rigid, the other with a sprightly air, 'Pray, what men were there?' As for prudes, it must be confessed, that there are several of them, who, like hypocrites, by long practice of a false part, become sincere; or at least delude themselves into a belief that they are so."

For the benefit of this society of ladies, I shall propose one rule to them as a test of their virtue. I find in a very celebrated modern author, that the great foundress of the Pietists, Madame de Bourignon,[53] who was no less famous for the sanct.i.ty of her life than for the singularity of some of her opinions, was used to boast, that she had not only the spirit of continency in herself, but that she had also the power of communicating it to all who beheld her. This the scoffers of those days called the Gift of Infrigidation, and took occasion from it to rally her face, rather than admire her virtue. I would therefore advise the prude, who has a mind to know the integrity of her own heart, to lay her hand seriously upon it, and to examine herself, whether she could sincerely rejoice in such a gift of conveying chaste thoughts to all her male beholders. If she has any aversion to the power of inspiring so great a virtue, whatever notion she may have of her perfection, she deceives her own heart, and is still in the state of prudery. Some perhaps will look upon the boast of Madame de Bourignon as the utmost ostentation of a prude.

If you would see the humour of a coquette pushed to the last excess, you may find an instance of it in the following story, which I will set down at length, because it pleased me when I read it, though I cannot recollect in what author.

A young coquette widow in France having been followed by a Gascon of quality, who had boasted among his companions of some favours which he had never received, to be revenged of him, sent for him one evening, and told him, it was in his power to do her a very particular service. The Gascon, with much profession of his readiness to obey her commands, begged to hear in what manner she designed to employ him. "You know,"

said the widow, "my friend Belinda, and must often have heard of the jealousy of that impotent wretch her husband. Now it is absolutely necessary, for the carrying on a certain affair, that his wife and I should be together a whole night. What I have to ask of you, is, to dress yourself in her night-clothes, and lie by him a whole night in her place, that he may not miss her while she is with me." The Gascon (though of a very lively and undertaking complexion) began to startle at the proposal. "Nay," says the widow, "if you have not the courage to go through what I ask of you, I must employ somebody else that will."

"Madam," says the Gascon, "I'll kill him for you if you please; but for lying with him!--How is it possible to do it without being discovered?"

"If you do not discover yourself," says the widow, "you will lie safe enough, for he is past all curiosity. He comes in at night while she is asleep, and goes out in the morning before she awakes, and is in pain for nothing, so he knows she is there." "Madam," replied the Gascon, "how can you reward me for pa.s.sing a night with this old fellow?" The widow answered with a laugh, "Perhaps by admitting you to pa.s.s a night with one you think more agreeable." He took the hint, put on his night-clothes, and had not been a-bed above an hour before he heard a knocking at the door, and the treading of one who approached the other side of the bed, and who he did not question was the good man of the house. I do not know, whether the story would be better by telling you in this place, or at the end of it, that the person who went to bed to him was our young coquette widow. The Gascon was in a terrible fright every time she moved in the bed, or turned towards him, and did not fail to shrink from her till he had conveyed himself to the very ridge of the bed. I will not dwell upon the perplexity he was in the whole night, which was augmented, when he observed that it was now broad day, and that the husband did not yet offer to get up and go about his business.

All that the Gascon had for it, was to keep his face turned from him, and to feign himself asleep, when, to his utter confusion, the widow at last puts out her arm, and pulls the bell at her bed's head. In came her friend, and two or three companions, to whom the Gascon had boasted of her favours. The widow jumped into a wrapping-gown, and joined with the rest in laughing at this man of intrigue.[54]

[Footnote 53: Bayle, in his life of this devotee, 1697, says that Antoinette Bourignon was born at Lisle in 1616, so deformed, that it was debated for some days in the family, whether it was not proper to stifle her as a monster. Her deformity diminis.h.i.+ng, they laid aside the thought. Although she was of a morose and peevish temper, and embroiled in troubles most part of her life, she seemed to be but forty years of age when she was above sixty; never made use of spectacles, and died at Franeker, in the province of Frise, in 1680. From her childhood to her old age she had an extraordinary turn of mind. She published a mult.i.tude of books, filled with singular doctrines, such as might be expected from a person who roundly a.s.serted, on the express declaration, she said, of G.o.d Himself, "That the examination of things by reason, was the most accursed of all heresies, formal atheism, a rejection of G.o.d, and the subst.i.tution of corrupt reason in his place." She pretended to inspiration, and boasted of extraordinary communications with G.o.d; but appears to have been exceedingly defective in the essential duties of humility and charity. She was a woman of such ill conditions and odd behaviour, that n.o.body could live with her; and she seriously maintained, that anger was a real virtue. She contrived to acc.u.mulate money, but continued always uncharitable upon principle, alleging the errors of her understanding in defence of the inhumanity of her conduct.]

[Footnote 54: "_Advertis.e.m.e.nt._--Proposals for printing the Lucubrations of Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., by subscriptions, are to be seen, and subscriptions taken by Charles Lillie, a perfumer, at the corner of Beaufort Buildings, in the Strand, and John Morphew, near Stationers Hall." See No. 80, note. The same proposals are advertised at the end of the subsequent papers in the original folio, with the following variation and addition: Proposals for printing, &c. by subscriptions, "in two volumes in octavo, on a large character and fine royal paper,"

&c. In No. 134, &c., there was this addition: "All persons that desire to subscribe to this work are desired to send their subscriptions before the 25th instant, it being intended to print no more than what shall be subscribed for, and to begin on the 27th in order to have it published before Easter." In No. 139 (Feb. 25-28) was the announcement, "this day put to press." The idea of publis.h.i.+ng by Easter was given up after No.

153. The books were not ready for the subscribers until July 10 (see No.

195, Advertis.e.m.e.nt). The third and fourth volumes of the _Tatler_ were advertised as "ready to be delivered" in No. 227 of the _Spectator_ (Nov. 20, 1711). The copies on royal paper were issued at a guinea a volume, and copies on medium paper at half a guinea. "I am one of your two-guinea subscribers," says the writer of No. 5 of the _Examiner_ (Aug. 31, 1710).]

No. 127. [STEELE.

From _Sat.u.r.day, Jan. 28_, to _Tuesday, Jan. 31, 1709-10_.

Nimirum insa.n.u.s paucis videatur, eo quod Maxima pars hominum morbo jactatur eodem.

HOR., 2 Sat. iii. 120.

_From my own Apartment, January 30._

There is no affection of the mind so much blended in human nature, and wrought into our very const.i.tution, as pride. It appears under a mult.i.tude of disguises, and breaks out in ten thousand different symptoms. Every one feels it in himself, and yet wonders to see it in his neighbour. I must confess, I met with an instance of it the other day where I should very little have expected it. Who would believe the proud person I am going to speak of, is a cobbler upon Ludgate Hill?

This artist being naturally a lover of respect, and considering that his circ.u.mstances are such that no man living will give it him, has contrived the figure of a beau in wood, who stands before him in a bending posture, with his hat under his left arm, and his right hand extended in such a manner as to hold a thread, a piece of wax, or an awl, according to the particular service in which his master thinks fit to employ him. When I saw him, he held a candle in this obsequious posture. I was very well pleased with the cobbler's invention, that had so ingeniously contrived an inferior, and stood a little while contemplating this inverted idolatry, wherein the image did homage to the man. When we meet with such a fantastic vanity in one of this order, it is no wonder if we may trace it through all degrees above it, and particularly through all the steps of greatness. We easily see the absurdity of pride when it enters into the heart of a cobbler; though in reality it is altogether as ridiculous and unreasonable wherever it takes possession of a human creature. There is no temptation to it from the reflection upon our being in general, or upon any comparative perfection, whereby one man may excel another. The greater a man's knowledge is, the greater motive he may seem to have for pride; but in the same proportion as the one rises, the other sinks, it being the chief office of wisdom to discover to us our weaknesses and imperfections.

As folly is the foundation of pride, the natural superstructure of it is madness. If there was an occasion for the experiment, I would not question to make a proud man a lunatic in three weeks' time, provided I had it in my power to ripen his frenzy with proper applications. It is an admirable reflection in Terence, where it is said of a parasite, "_Hic homines ex stultis facit insanos!_"[55] "This fellow," says he, "has an art of converting fools into madmen." When I was in France (the region of complaisance and vanity), I have often observed, that a great man who has entered a levy of flatterers humble and temperate, has grown so insensibly heated by the court which was paid him on all sides, that he has been quite distracted before he could get into his coach.

If we consult the collegiates of Moorfields, we shall find most of them are beholden to their pride for their introduction into that magnificent palace.[56] I had some years ago the curiosity to inquire into the particular circ.u.mstances of these whimsical freeholders, and learned from their own mouths the condition and character of each of them.

Indeed I found, that all I spoke to were persons of quality. There were at that time five d.u.c.h.esses, three earls, two heathen G.o.ds, an emperor, and a prophet. There were also a great number of such as were locked up from their estates, and others who concealed their t.i.tles. A leather-seller of Taunton whispered me in my ear, that he was the Duke of Monmouth; but begged me not to betray him. At a little distance from him sat a tailor's wife, who asked me as I went by, if I had seen the sword-bearer? Upon which I presumed to ask her, who she was; and was answered, "My Lady Mayoress."

I was very sensibly touched with compa.s.sion towards these miserable people; and indeed, extremely mortified to see human nature capable of being thus disfigured. However, I reaped this benefit from it, that I was resolved to guard myself against a pa.s.sion which makes such havoc in the brain, and produces so much disorder in the imagination. For this reason, I have endeavoured to keep down the secret swellings of resentment, and stifle the very first suggestions of self-esteem; to establish my mind in tranquillity, and over-value nothing in my own, or in another's possession.

For the benefit of such whose heads are a little turned, though not to so great a degree as to qualify them for the place of which I have been now speaking, I shall a.s.sign one of the sides of the college which I am erecting, for the cure of this dangerous distemper.

The most remarkable of the persons whose disturbance arises from pride, and whom I shall use all possible diligence to cure, are such as are bidden in the appearance of quite contrary habits and dispositions.

Among such, I shall in the first place take care of one who is under the most subtle species of pride that I have observed in my whole experience.

This patient is a person for whom I have a great respect, as being an old courtier, and a friend of mine in my youth. The man has but a bare subsistence, just enough to pay his reckoning with us at the Trumpet:[57] but by having spent the beginning of his life in the hearing of great men and persons of power, he is always promising to do good offices, to introduce every man he converses with into the world; will desire one of ten times his substance to let him see him sometimes, and hints to him, that he does not forget him. He answers to matters of no consequence with great circ.u.mspection; but however, maintains a general civility in his words and actions, and an insolent benevolence to all whom he has to do with: this he practises with a grave tone and air; and though I am his senior by twelve years, and richer by forty pounds per annum, he had yesterday the impudence to commend me to my face, and tell me, he should be always ready to encourage me. In a-word, he is a very insignificant fellow, but exceeding gracious. The best return I can make him for his favours, is, to carry him myself to Bedlam, and see him well taken care of.[58]

The next person I shall provide for, is of a quite contrary character; that has in him all the stiffness and insolence of quality, without a grain of sense or good nature to make it either respected or beloved.

His pride has infected every muscle of his face; and yet, after all his endeavours to show mankind that he contemns them, he is only neglected by all that see him, as not of consequence enough to be hated.

For the cure of this particular sort of madness, it will be necessary to break through all forms with him, and familiarise[59] his carriage by the use of a good cudgel. It may likewise be of great benefit to make him jump over a stick half a dozen times every morning.

A third whom I have in my eye is a young fellow, whose lunacy is such, that he boasts of nothing but what he ought to be ashamed of. He is vain of being rotten, and talks publicly of having committed crimes, which he ought to be hanged for by the laws of his country.

There are several others whose brains are hurt with pride, and whom I may hereafter attempt to recover; but shall conclude my present list with an old woman, who is just dropping into her grave, that talks of nothing but her birth. Though she has not a tooth in her head, she expects to be valued for the blood in her veins, which she fancies is much better than that which glows in the cheeks of Belinda,[60] and sets half the town on fire.

[Footnote 55: "Eunuchus," II. ii. 23. See No. 208.]

[Footnote 56: Bedlam.]

[Footnote 57: In s.h.i.+re Lane. See No. 132.]

[Footnote 58: "Perhaps the most consummately drawn of all his characters is introduced in the Essay, No. 127.... We have a portrait of that kind which, though produced by a few apparently careless touches, never ceases to charm, and is a study for all succeeding time and painters"

(Forster's Essay on Steele). "This character," wrote Leigh Hunt, "is one of the finest that ever proceeded from his pen. It shows his contempt of that absurdest of all the pa.s.sions of mortality--pride. The reader will take notice of the exquisite expression 'insolent benevolence,' and the 'very insignificant fellow, but exceeding gracious'" ("A Book for a Corner," ii. 78-9).]

[Footnote 59: Bring down from its state of superiority.]

[Footnote 60: Nichols suggests an allusion to Mary Ann, daughter of Baron Spanheim, the Bavarian amba.s.sador. She married the Marquis de Montandre in April 1710, and was a Kit-Cat toast. The reference--if there is any personal reference at all--may equally well be to any one of the beauties of the time.]

No. 128. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, Jan. 31_, to _Thursday, Feb. 2, 1709-10_.

----Veniunt a dote sagittae.--JUV., Sat. vi. 139.

_From my own Apartment, February 1._

This morning I received a letter from a fortune-hunter, which being better in its kind than men of that character usually write, I have thought fit to communicate to the public: