Lives Of The Poets, Vol. 1 (fiscle part-III), Samuel Johnson [good summer reads .TXT] 📗

His Books, Of His Moral Character, Nothing

Will Be Found But Purity And Excellence. Knowledge Of Mankind, Indeed,

Less Extensive Than That Of Addison, Will Show, That To Write, And To

Live, Are Very Different. Many Who Praise Virtue, Do No More Than Praise

It. Yet It Is Reasonable To Believe That Addison'S Professions And

Practice Were At No Great Variance, Since, Amidst That Storm Of Faction

In Which Most Of His Life Was Passed, Though His Station Made Him

Conspicuous, And His Activity Made Him Formidable, The Character Given

Him By His Friends Was Never Contradicted by His Enemies: Of Those, With

Whom Interest Or Opinion United him, He Had Not Only The Esteem, But The

Kindness; And Of Others, Whom The Violence Of Opposition Drove Against

Him, Though He Might Lose The Love, He Retained the Reverence.

 

 

 

It Is Justly Observed by Tickell, That He Employed wit On The Side Of

Virtue And Religion. He Not Only Made The Proper Use Of Wit Himself, But

Taught It To Others; And From His Time It Has Been Generally Subservient

To The Cause Of Reason And Of Truth. He Has Dissipated the Prejudice That

Had Long Connected gaiety With Vice, And Easiness Of Manners With

Laxity Of Principles. He Has Restored virtue To Its Dignity, And Taught

Innocence Not To Be Ashamed. This Is An Elevation Of Literary Character,

"Above All Greek, Above All Roman Fame." No Greater Felicity Can Genius

Attain, Than That Of Having purified intellectual Pleasure, Separated

Mirth From Indecency, And Wit From Licentiousness; Of Having taught

A Succession Of Writers To Bring elegance And Gaiety To The Aid Of

Goodness; And, If I May Use Expressions Yet More Awful, Of Having "Turned

Many To Righteousness."

 

 

 

Addison, In his Life, And For Some Time Afterwards, Was Considered, By

The Greater Part Of Readers, As Supremely Excelling both In poetry

And Criticism. Part Of His Reputation May Be Probably Ascribed to

The Advancement Of His Fortune: When, As Swift Observes, He Became A

Statesman, And Saw Poets Waiting at His Levee, It Is No Wonder That

Praise Was Accumulated upon Him. Much, Likewise, May Be More Honourably

Ascribed to His Personal Character: He Who, If He Had Claimed it, Might

Have Obtained the Diadem, Was Not Likely To Be Denied the Laurel.

 

 

 

But Time Quickly Puts An End To Artificial And Accidental Fame; And

Addison Is To Pass Through Futurity Protected only By His Genius. Every

Name, Which Kindness Or Interest Once Raised too High, Is In danger, Lest

The Next Age Should, By The Vengeance Of Criticism, Sink It In the Same

Proportion. A Great Writer Has Lately Styled him "An Indifferent Poet,

And A Worse Critick."

 

 

 

His Poetry Is First To Be Considered; Of Which It Must Be Confessed,

That It Has Not Often Those Felicities Of Diction Which Give Lustre To

Sentiments, Or That Vigour Of Sentiment That Animates Diction; There

Is Little Of Ardour, Vehemence, Or Transport; There Is Very Rarely The

Awfulness Of Grandeur, And Not Very Often The Splendour Of Elegance. He

Thinks Justly; But He Thinks Faintly. This Is His General Character; To

Which, Doubtless, Many Single Passages Will Furnish Exceptions.

 

 

 

Yet, If He Seldom Reaches Supreme Excellence, He Rarely Sinks Into

Dulness, And Is Still More Rarely Entangled in absurdity. He Did Not

Trust His Powers Enough To Be Negligent. There Is, In most Of His

Compositions, A Calmness And Equability, Deliberate And Cautious,

Sometimes With Little That Delights, But Seldom With Any Thing that

Offends.

 

 

 

Of This Kind Seem To Be His Poems To Dryden, To Somers, And To The King.

His Ode On St. Cecilia Has Been Imitated by Pope, And Has Something in it

Of Dryden'S Vigour. Of His Account Of The English Poets, He Used to Speak

As A "Poor Thing[197];" But It Is Not Worse Than His Usual Strain. He Has

Said, Not Very Judiciously, In his Character Of Waller,

 

 

 

  Thy Verse Could Show Ev'N Cromwell'S Innocence,

  And Compliment The Storms That Bore Him Hence.

  O! Had Thy Muse Not Come An Age Too Soon,

  But Seen Great Nassau On The British Throne,

  How Had His Triumph Glitter'D In thy Page!

 

 

 

What Is This But To Say, That He Who Could Compliment Cromwell Had Been

The Proper Poet For King william; Addison, However, Never Printed the

Piece.

 

 

 

The Letter From Italy Has Been Always Praised, But Has Never Been Praised

Beyond Its Merit. It Is More Correct, With Less Appearance Of Labour,

And More Elegant, With Less Ambition Of Ornament, Than Any Other Of

His Poems. There Is, However, One Broken Metaphor, Of Which Notice May

Properly Be Taken:

 

 

 

  Fir'D With That Name--

  I Bridle In my Struggling muse With Pain,

  That Longs To Launch Into A Nobler Strain.

 

 

 

To _Bridle A Goddess_ Is No Very Delicate Idea; But Why Must She Be

_Bridled_? Because She _Longs To Launch_; An Act Which Was Never Hindered

By A _Bridle_: And Whither Will She _Launch_? Into A _Nobler Strain_. She

Is In the First Line A _Horse_, In the Second A _Boat_; And The Care Of

The Poet Is To Keep His _Horse_ Or His _Boat_ From _Singing_.

 

 

 

The Next Composition Is The Far-Famed campaign, Which Dr. Warton Has

Termed a "Gazette In rhyme," With Harshness Not Often Used by The

Good-Nature Of His Criticism. Before A Censure So Severe Is Admitted, Let

Us Consider That War Is A Frequent Subject Of Poetry, And Then Inquire

Who Has Described it With More Justness And Force. Many Of Our Own

Writers Tried their Powers Upon This Year Of Victory; Yet Addison'S Is

Confessedly The Best Performance: His Poem Is The Work Of A Man Not

Blinded by The Dust Of Learning; His Images Are Not Borrowed merely From

Books. The Superiority Which He Confers Upon His Hero Is Not Personal

Prowess, And "Mighty Bone," But Deliberate Intrepidity, A Calm Command Of

His Passions, And The Power Of Consulting his Own Mind In the Midst Of

Danger. The Rejection And Contempt Of Fiction Is Rational And Manly.

 

 

 

It May Be Observed that The Last Line Is Imitated by Pope:

 

 

 

  Marlb'Rough'S Exploits Appear Divinely Bright--

  Rais'D Of Themselves, Their Genuine Charms They Boast,

  And Those That Paint Them Truest, Praise Them Most.

 

 

 

This Pope Had In his Thoughts: But, Not Knowing how To Use What Was Not

His Own, He Spoiled the Thought When He Had Borrowed it:

 

 

 

  The Well-Sung Woes Shall Sooth My Pensive Ghost;

  He Best Can Paint[198]Them Who Shall Feel Them Most.

 

 

 

Martial Exploits May Be _Painted_; Perhaps _Woes_ May Be _Painted_; But

They Are Surely Not _Painted_ By Being _Well-Sung_: It Is Not Easy To

Paint In song, Or To Sing in colours.

 

 

 

No Passage In the Campaign Has Been More Often Mentioned than The Simile

Of The Angel, Which Is Said, In the Tatler, To Be "One Of The Noblest

Thoughts That Ever Entered into The Heart Of Man," And Is, Therefore,

Worthy Of Attentive Consideration. Let It Be First Inquired whether It

Be A Simile. A Poetical Simile Is The Discovery Of Likeness Between Two

Actions, In their General Nature Dissimilar, Or Of Causes Terminating by

Different Operations In some Resemblance Of Effect. But The Mention Of

Another Like Consequence From A Like Cause, Or Of A Like Performance By A

Like Agency, Is Not A Simile, But An Exemplification. It Is Not A Simile

To Say That The Thames Waters Fields, As The Po Waters Fields; Or That As

Hecla Vomits Flames In iceland, So Aetna Vomits Flames In sicily. When

Horace Says Of Pindar, That He Pours His Violence And Rapidity Of Verse,

As A River Swoln With Rain Rushes From The Mountain; Or Of Himself, That

His Genius Wanders In quest Of Poetical Decorations, As The Bee Wanders

To Collect Honey; He, In either Case, Produces A Simile; The Mind Is

Impressed with The Resemblance Of Things Generally Unlike, As Unlike As

Intellect And Body. But If Pindar Had Been Described as Writing with The

Copiousness And Grandeur Of Homer; Or Horace Had Told That He Reviewed

And Finished his Own Poetry With The Same Care As Isocrates Polished his

Orations, Instead Of Similitude He Would Have Exhibited almost Identity;

He Would Have Given The Same Portraits With Different Names. In the Poem

Now Examined, When The English Are Represented as Gaining a Fortified

Pass, By Repetition Of Attack And Perseverance Of Resolution; Their

Obstinacy Of Courage, And Vigour Of Onset, Is Well Illustrated by The

Sea That Breaks, With Incessant Battery, The Dikes Of Holland. This Is A

Simile; But When Addison, Having celebrated the Beauty Of Marlborough'S

Person, Tells Us, That "Achilles Thus Was Form'D With Ev'Ry Grace," Here

Is No Simile, But A Mere Exemplification. A Simile May Be Compared to

Lines Converging at A Point, And Is More Excellent As The Lines Approach

From Greater Distance; An Exemplification May Be Considered as Two

Parallel Lines, Which Run On Together Without Approximation, Never Far

Separated, And Never Joined. Marlborough Is So Like The Angel In the

Poem, That The Action Of Both Is Almost The Same, And Performed by Both

In The Same Manner. Marlborough "Teaches The Battle To Rage;" The Angel

"Directs The Storm:" Marlborough Is "Unmoved in peaceful Thought;" The

Angel Is "Calm And Serene:" Marlborough Stands "Unmoved amidst The

Shock Of Hosts;" The Angel Rides "Calm In the Whirlwind." The Lines On

Marlborough Are Just And Noble; But The Simile Gives Almost The Same

Images A Second Time.

 

 

 

But, Perhaps, This Thought, Though Hardly A Simile, Was Remote From

Vulgar Conceptions, And Required great Labour Of Research, Or Dexterity

Of Application. Of This, Dr. Madden, A Name Which Ireland Ought To

Honour, Once Gave Me His Opinion. "If I Had Set," Said He, "Ten

Schoolboys To Write On The Battle Of Blenheim, And Eight Had Brought Me

The Angel, I Should Not Have Been Surprised."

 

 

 

The Opera Of Rosamond, Though It Is Seldom Mentioned, Is One Of The First

Of Addison'S Compositions. The Subject Is Well Chosen, The Fiction Is

Pleasing, And The Praise Of Marlborough, For Which The Scene Gives An

Opportunity, Is, What Perhaps Every Human Excellence Must Be, The Product

Of Good Luck, Improved by Genius. The Thoughts Are Sometimes Great, And

Sometimes Tender; The Versification Is Easy And Gay. There Is, Doubtless,

Some Advantage In the Shortness Of The Lines, Which There Is Little

Temptation To Load With Expletive Epithets. The Dialogue Seems Commonly

Better Than The Songs. The Two Comick Characters Of Sir Trusty

And Grideline, Though Of No Great Value, Are Yet Such As The Poet

Intended[199]. Sir Trusty'S Account Of The Death Of Rosamond Is, I Think,

Too Grossly Absurd. The Whole Drama Is Airy And Elegant; Engaging in its

Process, And Pleasing in its Conclusion. If Addison Had Cultivated the

Lighter Parts Of Poetry, He Would, Probably, Have Excelled.

 

 

 

The Tragedy Of Cato, Which, Contrary To The Rule Observed in selecting

The Works Of Other Poets, Has, By The Weight Of Its Character, Forced its

Way Into The Late Collection, Is Unquestionably The Noblest Production

Of Addison'S Genius. Of A Work So Much Read, It Is Difficult To Say Any

Thing new. About Things On Which The Publick Thinks Long, It Commonly

Attains To Think Right; And Of Cato It Has Been Not Unjustly Determined,

That It Is Rather A Poem In dialogue Than A Drama, Rather A Succession

Of Just Sentiments In elegant Language, Than A Representation Of Natural

Affections, Or Of Any State Probable Or Possible In human Life. Nothing

Here "Excites Or Assuages Emotion:" Here Is "No Magical Power Of Raising

Phantastick Terrour Or Wild Anxiety." The Events Are Expected without

Solicitude, And Are Remembered without Joy Or Sorrow. Of The Agents We

Have No Care: We Consider Not What They Are Doing, Or What They Are

Suffering; We Wish Only To Know What They Have To Say. Cato Is A Being

Above Our Solicitude; A Man Of Whom The Gods Take Care, And Whom We Leave

To Their Care With Heedless Confidence. To The Rest, Neither Gods Nor Men

Can Have Much Attention; For There Is Not One Amongst Them That Strongly

Attracts Either Affection Or Esteem. But They Are Made The Vehicles Of

Such Sentiments And Such Expression, That There Is Scarcely A Scene In

The Play Which The Reader Does Not Wish To Impress Upon His Memory.

 

 

 

When Cato Was Shown To Pope[200], He Advised the Author To Print It,

Without Any Theatrical Exhibition; Supposing that It Would Be Read More

Favourably Than Heard. Addison Declared himself Of The Same Opinion; But

Urged the Importunity Of His Friends For Its Appearance On The Stage.

The Emulation Of Parties Made It Successful Beyond Expectation; And Its

Success Has Introduced or Confirmed among Us The Use Of Dialogue Too

Declamatory, Of Unaffecting elegance, And Chill Philosophy.

 

 

 

The Universality Of Applause, However It Might Quell The Censure Of

Common Mortals, Had No Other Effect Than To Harden Dennis In fixed

Dislike; But His Dislike Was Not Merely Capricious. He Found