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It is not a part of the plan of this book to present any extended bibliography, but there are certain reference books to which the student's attention should be called.
Richard Steele
was born in Dublin in 1672 of an English father and an Irish mother.
The Irish strain was conspicuous throughout his life in his warm-heartedness,
impulsiveness and lack of self-control and practical judgment. Having
lost his father early, he was sent to the Charterhouse School in London,
where he made the acquaintance of Addison, and then to Oxford. He abandoned
the university to enlist in the aristocratic regiment of Life Guards,
and he remained in the army, apparently, for seven or eight years, though
he seems not to have been in active service and became a recognized
wit at the London coffee-houses. Thackeray in 'Henry Esmond' gives interesting
though freely imaginative pictures of him at this stage of his career
and later. His reckless instincts and love of pleasure were rather strangely
combined with a sincere theoretical devotion to religion, and his first
noticeable work (1701), a little booklet called 'The Christian Hero,'
aimed, in opposition to fashionable license, to show that decency and
goodness are requisites of a real gentleman. The resultant ridicule
forced him into a duel (in which he seriously wounded his antagonist),
and thenceforth in his writings duelling was a main object of his attacks.
During the next few years he turned with the same reforming zeal to
comedy, where he attempted to exalt pure love and high ideals, though
the standards of his age and class leave in his own plays much that
to-day seems coarse. Otherwise, his plays are by no means great; they
initiated the weak 'Sentimental Comedy,' which largely dominated the
English stage for the rest of the century. During this period Steele
was married twice in rather rapid succession to wealthy ladies whose
fortunes served only very temporarily to respite him from his chronic
condition of debt and bailiff's duns.
Now succeeds
the brief period of his main literary achievement. All his life a strong
Whig, he was appointed in 1707 Gazetteer, or editor, of 'The London
Gazette,' the official government newspaper. This led him in 1709 to
start 'The Tatler.' English periodical literature, in forms which must
be called the germs both of the modern newspaper and of the modern magazine,
had begun in an uncertain fashion, of which the details are too complicated
for record here, nearly a hundred years before, and had continued ever
since with increasing vigor. The lapsing of the licensing laws in 1695
had given a special impetus. Defoe's 'Review,' from 1704 to 1713, was
devoted to many interests, including politics, the Church and commerce.
Steele's 'Tatler' at first likewise dealt in each number with several
subjects, such as foreign news, literary criticism, and morals, but
his controlling instinct to inculcate virtue and good sense more and
more asserted itself. The various departments were dated from the respective
coffee-houses where those subjects were chiefly discussed, Poetry from
'Will's,' Foreign and Domestic News from 'St. James's,' and so on. The
more didactic papers were ascribed to an imaginary Isaac Bickerstaff,
a nom-de-plume that Steele borrowed from some of Swift's satires. Steele
himself wrote two-thirds of all the papers, but before proceeding far
he accepted Addison's offer of assistance and later he occasionally
called in other contributors.
'The Tatler'
appeared three times a week and ran for twenty-one months; it came to
an end shortly after the return of the Tories to power had deprived
Steele and Addison of some of their political offices. Its discontinuance
may have been due to weariness on Steele's part or, since it was Whig
in tone, to a desire to be done with partisan writing; at any rate,
two months later, in March, 1711, of Marlborough's victory at Blenheim,
secured the favor of the ministers of the day, and throughout almost
all the rest of his life he held important political places, some even,
thanks to Swift, during the period of Tory dominance. During his last
ten years, he was a member of Parliament; but though he was a delightful
conversationalist in a small group of friends, he was unable to speak
in public.
Addison's great
fame as 'The Spectator' was increased when in 1713 he brought out the
play 'Cato,' mostly written years before. This is a characteristic example
of the pseudo-classical tragedies of which a few were produced during
the first half of the eighteenth century. They are the stiffest and
most lifeless of all forms of pseudo-classical literature; Addison,
for his part, attempts not only to observe the three unities, but to
follow many of the minor formal rules drawn up by the French critics,
and his plot, characterization, and language are alike excessively pale
and frigid. Paleness and frigidity, however, were taken for beauties
at the time, and the moral idea of the play, the eulogy of Cato's devotion
to liberty in his opposition to Caesar, was very much in accord with
the prevailing taste, or at least the prevailing affected taste. Both
political parties loudly claimed the work as an expression of their
principles, the Whigs discovering in Caesar an embodiment of arbitrary
government like that of the Tories, the Tories declaring him a counterpart
of Marlborough, a dangerous plotter, endeavoring to establish a military
despotism. 'Cato,' further, was a main cause of a famous quarrel between
Addison and Pope. Addison, now recognized as the literary dictator of
the age, had greatly pleased Pope, then a young aspirant for fame, by
praising his 'Essay on Criticism,' and Pope rendered considerable help
in the final revision of
'Cato.' When
John Dennis, a rather clumsy critic, attacked the play, Pope came to
its defense with a reply written in a spirit of railing bitterness,
which sprang from injuries of his own. Addison, a real gentleman, disowned
the defense, and this, with other slights suffered or imagined by Pope's
jealous disposition, led to estrangement and soon to the composition
of Pope's very clever and telling satire on Addison as 'Atticus,' which
Pope did not publish, however, until he included it in his 'Epistle
to Dr. Arbuthnot,' many years after Addison's death.
The few remaining
years of Addison's life were rather unhappy. He married the widowed
Countess of Warwick and attained a place in the Ministry as one of the
Secretaries of State; but his marriage was perhaps incompatible and
his quarrel with Steele was regrettable. He died in 1719 at the age
of only forty-seven, perhaps the most generally respected and beloved
man of his time. On his deathbed, with a somewhat self-conscious virtue
characteristic both of himself and of the period, he called his stepson
to come and 'see in what peace a Christian could die.'
'The Tatler'
and the more important 'Spectator' accomplished two results of main
importance: they developed the modern essay as a comprehensive and fluent
discussion of topics of current interest; and they performed a very
great service in elevating the tone of English thought and life. The
later 'Tatlers' and all the 'Spectators' dealt, by diverse methods,
with a great range of themes--amusements, religion, literature, art,
dress, clubs, superstitions, and in general all the fashions and follies
of the time. The writers, especially Addison, with his wide and mature
scholarship, aimed to form public taste. But the chief purpose of the
papers, professedly, was 'to banish Vice and Ignorance' (though here
also, especially in Steele's papers, the tone sometimes seems to twentieth-century
readers far from unexceptionable). When the papers began to appear,
in spite of some weakening of the Restoration spirit, the idea still
dominated, or was allowed to appear dominant, that immorality and lawlessness
were the proper marks of a gentleman. The influence of the papers is
thus summarized by the poet Gray: 'It would have been a jest, some time
since, for a man to have asserted that anything witty could be said
in praise of a married state or that Devotion and Virtue were in any
way necessary to the character of a fine gentleman.... Instead of complying
with the false sentiments or vicious tastes of the age, he [Steele]
has boldly assured them that they were altogether in the wrong.... It
is incredible to conceive the effect his writings have had upon the
Town; how many thousand follies they have either quite banished or given
a very great check to! how much countenance they have added to Virtue
and Religion! how many people they have rendered happy by showing them
it was their own faults if they were not so.'
An appeal was
made, also, to women no less than to men. During the previous period
woman, in fashionable circles, had been treated as an elegant toy, of
whom nothing was expected but to be frivolously attractive. Addison
and Steele held up to her the ideal of self-respecting intellectual
development and of reasonable preparation for her own particular sphere.
The great effectiveness
of 'The Spectator's' preaching was due largely to its tactfulness. The
method was never violent denunciation, rather gentle admonition, suggestion
by example or otherwise, and light or humorous raillery. Indeed, this
almost uniform urbanity and good-nature makes the chief charm of the
papers. Their success was largely furthered, also, by the audience provided
in the coffee-houses, virtually eighteenth century middle-class clubs
whose members and points of view they primarily addressed.
The external
style has been from the first an object of unqualified and well-merited
praise. Both the chief authors are direct, sincere, and lifelike, and
the many short sentences which they mingle with the longer, balanced,
ones give point and force. Steele is on the whole somewhat more colloquial
and less finished, Addison more balanced and polished, though without
artificial formality. Dr. Johnson's repeatedly quoted description of
the style can scarcely be improved on--'familiar but not coarse, and
elegant but not ostentatious.'
It still remains
to speak of one particular achievement of 'The Spectator,' namely the
development of the character-sketch, accomplished by means of the series
of De Coverly papers, scattered at intervals among the others. This
was important because it signified preparation for the modern novel
with its attention to character as well as action. The character-sketch
as a distinct form began with the Greek philosopher, Theophrastus, of
the third century B. C., who struck off with great skill brief humorous
pictures of typical figures--the Dissembler, the Flatterer, the Coward,
and so on. This sort of writing, in one form or another, was popular
in France and England in the seventeenth century. From it Steele, and
following him Addison, really derived the idea for their portraits of
Sir Roger, Will Honeycomb, Will Wimble, and the other members of the
De Coverly group; but in each case they added individuality to the type
traits. Students should consider how complete the resulting characterizations
are, and in general, just what additions and changes in all respects
would be needed to transform the De Coverly papers into a novel of the
nineteenth century type.
ALEXANDER POPE, 1688-1744.
The chief representative
of pseudo-classicism in its most particular field, that of poetry, is
Dryden's successor, Alexander Pope.
Pope was born
in 1688 (just a hundred years before Byron), the son of a Catholic linen-merchant
in London. Scarcely any other great writer has ever had to contend against
such hard and cruel handicaps as he. He inherited a deformed and dwarfed
body and an incurably sickly constitution, which carried with it abnormal
sensitiveness of both nerves and mind. Though he never had definite
religious convictions of his own, he remained all his life formally
loyal to his parents' faith, and under the laws of the time, this closed
to him all the usual careers of a gentleman. But he was predestined
by Nature to be a poet. Brought up chiefly at the country home near
Windsor to which his father had retired, and left to himself for mental
training, he never acquired any thoroughness of knowledge or power of
systematic thought, but he read eagerly the poetry of many languages.
He was one of the most precocious of the long list of precocious versifiers;
his own words are: 'I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came.' The
influences, which would no doubt have determined his style, in any case
were early brought to a focus in the advice given him by an amateur
poet and critic, William Walsh. Walsh declared that England had had
great poets, 'but never one great poet that was correct' (that is of
thoroughly regular style). Pope accepted this hint as his guiding principle
and proceeded to seek correctness by giving still further polish to
the pentameter couplet of Dryden.
At the age
of twenty-one, when he was already on familiar terms with prominent
literary men, he published some imitative pastorals, and two years later
his 'Essay on Criticism.' This work is thoroughly representative both
of Pope and of his period. In the first place, the subject is properly
one not for poetry but for expository prose. In the second place the
substance is not original with Pope but is a restatement of the ideas
of the Greek Aristotle, the Roman Horace, especially of the French critic
Boileau, who was Pope's earlier contemporary, and of various other critical
authorities, French and English. But in terse and epigrammatic expression
of fundamental or pseudo-classical principles of poetic composition
and criticism the 'Essay' is amazingly brilliant, and it shows Pope
already a consummate master of the couplet. The reputation which it
brought him was very properly increased by the publication the next
year of the admirable mock-epic 'The Rape of the Lock,' which Pope soon
improved, against Addison's advice, by the delightful 'machinery' of
the Rosicrucian sylphs. In its adaptation of means to ends and its attainment
of its ends, Lowell has boldly called this the most successful poem
in English. Pope now formed his lifelong friendship with Swift (who
was twice his age), with Bolingbroke, and other distinguished persons,
and at twenty-five or twenty-six found himself acknowledged as the chief
man of letters in England, with a wide European reputation.
For the next
dozen years he occupied himself chiefly with the formidable task (suggested,
no doubt, by Dryden's 'Virgil,' but expressive also of the age) of translating
'The Iliad' and 'The Odyssey.' 'The Iliad' he completed unaided, but
then, tiring of the drudgery, he turned over half of 'The Odyssey' to
two minor writers. So easy, however, was his style to catch that if
the facts were not on record the work of his assistants would generally
be indistinguishable from his own. From an absolute point of view, many
criticisms must be made of Pope's version. That he knew little Greek
when he began the work and from first to last depended much on translations
he would in itself have made his rendering inaccurate. Moreover, the
noble but direct and simple spirit and language of Homer were as different
as possible from the spirit and language of the London drawing-rooms
for which Pope wrote; hence he not only expands, as every author of
a verse-translation must do in filling out his lines, but inserts new
ideas of his own and continually substitutes for Homer's expressions
the periphrastic and, as he held, elegant ones of the pseudo-classic
diction. The polished rimed couplet, also, pleasing as its precision
and smoothness are for a while, becomes eventually monotonous to most
readers of a romantic period. Equally serious is the inability, which
Pope shared with most of the men of his time to understand the culture
of the still half-barbarous Homeric age. He supposes (in his Preface)
that it was by a deliberate literary artifice that Homer introduced
the gods into his action, supposes, that is, that Homer no more believed
in the Greek gods than did he, Pope, himself; and in general Pope largely
obliterates the differences between the Homeric warrior-chief and the
eighteenth century gentleman. The force of all this may be realized
by comparing Pope's translation with the very sympathetic and skilful
one made (in prose) in our own time by Messrs. Lang, Leaf, and Myers.
A criticism of Pope's work, which Pope never forgave but which is final
in some aspects, was made by the great Cambridge professor, Bentley:
'It's a pretty poem, Mr. Pope, but you must not call it Homer.' Yet
after all, Pope merited much higher praise than this, and his work was
really, a great achievement. It has been truly said that every age must
have the great classics translated into its own dialect, and this work
could scarcely have been better done for the early eighteenth century
than it is done by Pope.
The publication
of Pope's Homer marks an important stage in the development of authorship.
Until the time of Dryden no writer had expected to earn his whole living
by publishing works of real literature. The medieval minstrels and romancers
of the higher class and the dramatists of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries had indeed supported themselves largely or wholly by their
works, but not by printing them. When, in Dryden's time, with the great
enlargement of the reading public, conditions were about to change,
the publisher took the upper hand; authors might sometimes receive gifts
from the noblemen to whom they inscribed dedications, but for their
main returns they must generally sell their works outright to the publisher
and accept his price. Pope's 'Iliad' and 'Odyssey' afforded the first
notably successful instance of another method, that of publication by
subscription--individual purchasers at a generous price being secured
beforehand by solicitation and in acknowledgment having their names
printed in a conspicuous list in the front of the book. From the two
Homeric poems together, thanks to this device, Pope realized a profit
of nearly L9000, and thus proved that an author might be independent
of the publisher. On the success of 'The Iliad' alone Pope had retired
to an estate at a London suburb, Twickenham (then pronounced 'Twitnam'),
where he spent the remainder of his life. Here he laid out five acres
with skill, though in the formal landscape-garden taste of his time.
In particular, he excavated under the road a 'grotto,' which he adorned
with mirrors and glittering stones and which was considered by his friends,
or at least by himself, as a marvel of artistic beauty.
Only bare mention
need here be made of Pope's edition of Shakspere, prepared with his
usual hard work but with inadequate knowledge and appreciation, and
published in 1725. His next production, 'The Dunciad,' can be understood
only in the light of his personal character. Somewhat like Swift, Pope
was loyal, kind to his friends, and inoffensive to persons against whom
he did not conceive a prejudice. He was an unusually faithful son, and,
in a brutal age, a hater of physical brutality. But, as we have said,
his infirmities and hardships had sadly warped his disposition and he
himself spoke of 'that long disease, my life.' He was proud, vain, abnormally
sensitive, suspicious, quick to imagine an injury, incredibly spiteful,
implacable in resentment, apparently devoid of any sense of honesty--at
his worst hateful and petty-minded beyond any other man in English literature.
His trickiness was astonishing. Dr. Johnson observes that he 'hardly
drank tea without a stratagem,' and indeed, he seems to have been almost
constitutionally unable to do anything in an open and straightforward
way. Wishing, for example, to publish his correspondence, he not only
falsified it, but to preserve an appearance of modesty engaged in a
remarkably complicated series of intrigues by which he trapped a publisher
into apparently stealing a part of it--and then loudly protested at
the theft and the publication. It is easy to understand, therefore,
that Pope was readily drawn into quarrels and was not an agreeable antagonist.
He had early taken a violent antipathy to the host of poor scribblers
who are known by the name of the residence of most of them, Grub Street--an
antipathy chiefly based; it would seem, on his contempt for their worldly
and intellectual poverty. For some years he had been carrying on a pamphlet
war against them, and now, it appears, he deliberately stirred them
up to make new attacks upon him. Determined, at any rate, to overwhelm
all his enemies at once in a great satire, he bent all his energies,
with the utmost seriousness, to writing 'The Dunciad' on the model of
Dryden's 'Mac Flecknoe' and irresponsibly 'dealt damnation 'round the
land.' Clever and powerful, the poem is still more disgusting--grossly
obscene, pitifully rancorous against scores of insignificant creatures,
and no less violent against some of the ablest men of the time, at whom
Pope happened to have taken offense. Yet throughout the rest of his
life Pope continued with keen delight to work the unsavory production
over and to bring out new editions.
During his
last fifteen years Pope's original work was done chiefly in two very
closely related fields, first in a group of what he called 'Moral' essays,
second in the imitation of a few of the Satires and Epistles of Horace,
which Pope applied to circumstances of his own time. In the 'Moral'
Essays, he had intended to deal comprehensively with human nature and
institutions, but such a systematic plan was beyond his powers. The
longest of the essays which he accomplished, the 'Essay on Man,' aims,
like 'Paradise Lost,' to 'vindicate the ways of God to man,' but as
regards logic chiefly demonstrates the author's inability to reason.
He derived the ideas, in fragmentary fashion, from Bolingbroke, who
was an amateur Deist and optimist of the shallow eighteenth century
type, and so far was Pope from understanding what he was doing that
he was greatly disturbed when it was pointed out to him that the theology
of the poem was Deistic rather than Christian [Footnote: The name Deist
was applied rather generally in the eighteenth century to all persons
who did not belong to some recognized Christian denomination. More strictly,
it belongs to those men who attempted rationalistic criticism of the
Bible and wished to go back to what they supposed to be a primitive
pure religion, anterior to revealed religion and free from the corruptions
and formalism of actual Christianity. The Deistic ideas followed those
expressed in the seventeenth century by Lord Herbert of Cherbury, brother
of George Herbert, who held that the worship due to the Deity consists
chiefly in reverence and virtuous conduct, and also that man should
repent of sin and forsake it and that reward and punishment, both in
this life and hereafter, follow from the goodness and justice of God.]
In this poem, as in all Pope's others of this period, the best things
are the detached observations. Some of the other poems, especially the
autobiographical 'Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot,' are notable for their masterly
and venomous satirical sketches of various contemporary characters.
Pope's physical
disabilities brought him to premature old age, and he died in 1744.
His declining years were saddened by the loss of friends, and he had
never married, though his dependent and sensitive nature would have
made marriage especially helpful to him. During the greater part of
his life, however, he was faithfully watched over by a certain Martha
Blount, whose kindness he repaid with only less selfishness than that
which 'Stella' endured from Swift. Indeed, Pope's whole attitude toward
woman, which appears clearly in his poetry, was largely that of the
Restoration. Yet after all that must be said against Pope, it is only
fair to conclude, as does his biographer, Sir Leslie Stephen: 'It was
a gallant spirit which got so much work out of this crazy carcase, and
kept it going, spite of all its feebleness, for fifty-six years.'
The question
of Pope's rank among authors is of central importance for any theory
of poetry. In his own age, he was definitely regarded by his adherents
as the greatest of all English poets of all time. As the pseudo-classic
spirit yielded to the romantic this judgment was modified, until in
the nineteenth century it was rather popular to deny that in any true
sense Pope was a poet at all. Of course the truth lies somewhere between
these extremes. Into the highest region of poetry, that of great emotion
and imagination, Pope scarcely enters at all; he is not a poet in the
same sense as Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, Shelley, or Browning;
neither his age nor his own nature permitted it. In lyric, original
narrative, and dramatic poetry he accomplished very little, though the
success of his 'Elegy on an Unfortunate Lady' and 'Eloisa to Abelard'
must be carefully weighed in this connection. On the other hand, it
may well be doubted if he can ever be excelled as a master in satire
and kindred semi-prosaic forms. He is supreme in epigrams, the terse
statement of pithy truths; his poems have furnished more brief familiar
quotations to our language than those of any other writer except Shakespeare.
For this sort of effect his rimed couplet provided him an unrivalled
instrument, and he especially developed its power in antithesis, very
frequently balancing one line of the couplet, or one-half of a line,
against the other. He had received the couplet from Dryden, but he polished
it to a greater finish, emphasizing, on the whole, its character as
a single unit by making it more consistently end-stopped. By this means
he gained in snap and point, though for purposes of continuous narrative
or exposition he increased the monotony and somewhat decreased the strength.
Every reader must decide for himself how far the rimed couplet, in either
Dryden's or Pope's use of it, is a proper medium for real poetry. But
it is certain that within the limits which he laid down for himself,
there never was a more finished artist than Pope. He chooses every word
with the greatest care for its value as both sound and sense; his minor
technique is well-night perfect, except sometimes in the matter of rimes;
and in particular the variety which he secures, partly by skilful shifting
of pauses and use of extra syllables, is remarkable; though it is a
variety less forceful than Dryden's.
[Note: The judgments of certain prominent critics on the poetry of Pope and of his period may well be considered. Professor Lewis E. Gates has said:
'The special
task of the pseudo-classical period was to order, to systematize, and
to name; its favorite methods were analysis and generalization. It asked
for no new experience. The abstract, the typical, and the general--these
were everywhere exalted at the expense of the image, the specific experience,
the vital fact.' Lowell declares that it 'ignored the imagination altogether
and sent Nature about her business as an impertinent baggage whose household
loom competed unlawfully with the machine-made fabrics, so exquisitely
uniform in pattern, of the royal manufactories.' Still more hostile
is Matthew Arnold: 'The difference between genuine poetry and the poetry
of Dryden, Pope, and all their school, is briefly this: Their poetry
is conceived and composed in their wits, genuine poetry is conceived
and composed in the soul. The difference is immense.' Taine is contemptuous:
'Pope did not write because he thought, but thought in order to write.
Inky paper, and the noise it makes in the world, was his idol.' Professor
Henry A. Beers is more judicious: 'Pope did in some inadequate sense
hold the mirror up to Nature.... It was a mirror in a drawing-room,
but it gave back a faithful image of society, powdered and rouged, to
be sure, and intent on trifles, yet still as human in its own way as
the heroes of Homer in theirs, though not broadly human.'