Chapter XI. The Famous Mr. Joseph Addison
The gentlemen ushers had a table at Kensington, and the Guard a verysplendid dinner daily at St. James's, at either of which ordinaries Esmondwas free to dine. Dick Steele liked the Guard-table better than his own atthe gentleman ushers', where there was less wine and more ceremony; andEsmond had many a jolly afternoon in company of his friend, and a hundredtimes at least saw Dick into his chair. If there is verity in wine,according to the old adage, what an amiable-natured character Dick's musthave been! In proportion as he took in wine he overflowed with kindness.His talk was not witty so much as charming. He never said a word thatcould anger anybody, and only became the more benevolent the more tipsy hegrew. Many of the wags derided the poor fellow in his cups, and chose himas a butt for their satire; but there was a kindness about him, and asweet playful fancy, that seemed to Esmond far more charming than thepointed talk of the brightest wits, with their elaborate repartees andaffected severities. I think Steele shone rather than sparkled. Thosefamous _beaux-esprits_ of the coffee-houses (Mr. William Congreve, forinstance, when his gout and his grandeur permitted him to come among us)would make many brilliant hits--half a dozen in a night sometimes--but, likesharpshooters, when they had fired their shot, they were obliged to retireunder cover till their pieces were loaded again, and wait till they gotanother chance at their enemy; whereas Dick never thought that hisbottle-companion was a butt to aim at--only a friend to shake by the hand.The poor fellow had half the town in his confidence; everybody kneweverything about his loves and his debts, his creditors or his mistress'sobduracy. When Esmond first came on to the town, honest Dick was allflames and raptures for a young lady, a West India fortune, whom hemarried. In a couple of years the lady was dead, the fortune was all butspent, and the honest widower was as eager in pursuit of a new paragon ofbeauty as if he had never courted and married and buried the last one.
Quitting the Guard-table on one sunny afternoon, when by chance Dick had asober fit upon him, he and his friend were making their way down GermainStreet, and Dick all of a sudden left his companion's arm, and ran after agentleman who was poring over a folio volume at the book-shop near to St.James's Church. He was a fair, tall man, in a snuff-coloured suit, with aplain sword, very sober, and almost shabby in appearance--at least whencompared to Captain Steele, who loved to adorn his jolly round person withthe finest of clothes, and shone in scarlet and gold lace. The captainrushed up, then, to the student of the bookstall, took him in his arms,hugged him, and would have kissed him--for Dick was always hugging andbussing his friends--but the other stepped back with a flush on his paleface, seeming to decline this public manifestation of Steele's regard.
"My dearest Joe, where hast thou hidden thyself this age?" cries thecaptain, still holding both his friend's hands; "I have been languishingfor thee this fortnight."
"A fortnight is not an age, Dick," says the other, very good-humouredly.(He had light blue eyes, extraordinary bright, and a face perfectlyregular and handsome, like a tinted statue.) "And I have been hidingmyself--where do you think?"
"What! not across the water, my dear Joe?" says Steele, with a look ofgreat alarm: "thou knowest I have always----"
"No," says his friend, interrupting him with a smile: "we are not come tosuch straits as that, Dick. I have been hiding, sir, at a place wherepeople never think of finding you--at my own lodgings, whither I am goingto smoke a pipe now and drink a glass of sack; will your honour come?"
"Harry Esmond, come hither," cries out Dick. "Thou hast heard me talk overand over again at my dearest Joe, my guardian angel."
"Indeed," says Mr. Esmond, with a bow, "it is not from you only that Ihave learnt to admire Mr. Addison. We loved good poetry at Cambridge, aswell as at Oxford; and I have some of yours by heart, though I have put ona red-coat ... '_O qui canoro blandius Orpheo vocale ducis carmen_'; shallI go on, sir?" says Mr. Esmond, who indeed had read and loved the charmingLatin poems of Mr. Addison, as every scholar of that time knew and admiredthem.
"This is Captain Esmond who was at Blenheim," says Steele.
"Lieutenant Esmond," says the other, with a low bow; "at Mr. Addison'sservice."
"I have heard of you," says Mr. Addison, with a smile; as, indeed,everybody about town had heard that unlucky story about Esmond's dowageraunt and the duchess.
"We were going to the 'George', to take a bottle before the play," saysSteele; "wilt thou be one, Joe?"
Mr. Addison said his own lodgings were hard by, where he was still richenough to give a good bottle of wine to his friends; and invited the twogentlemen to his apartment in the Haymarket, whither we accordingly went.
"I shall get credit with my landlady," says he, with a smile, "when shesees two such fine gentlemen as you come up my stair." And he politelymade his visitors welcome to his apartment, which was indeed but a shabbyone, though no grandee of the land could receive his guests with a moreperfect and courtly grace than this gentleman. A frugal dinner, consistingof a slice of meat and a penny loaf, was awaiting the owner of thelodgings. "My wine is better than my meat," says Mr. Addison; "my LordHalifax sent me the burgundy." And he set a bottle and glasses before hisfriends, and eat his simple dinner in a very few minutes, after which thethree fell to, and began to drink. "You see," says Mr. Addison, pointingto his writing-table, whereon was a map of the action at Hochstedt, andseveral other gazettes and pamphlets relating to the battle, "that I, too,am busy about your affairs, captain. I am engaged as a poetical gazetteer,to say truth, and am writing a poem on the campaign."
So Esmond, at the request of his host, told him what he knew about thefamous battle, drew the river on the table, _aliquo mero_, and with theaid of some bits of tobacco-pipe, showed the advance of the left wing,where he had been engaged.
A sheet or two of the verses lay already on the table beside our bottlesand glasses, and Dick having plentifully refreshed himself from thelatter, took up the pages of manuscript, writ out with scarce a blot orcorrection, in the author's slim, neat handwriting, and began to readtherefrom with great emphasis and volubility. At pauses of the verse theenthusiastic reader stopped and fired off a great salvo of applause.
Esmond smiled at the enthusiasm of Addison's friend.
"You are like the German burghers," says he, "and the princes on theMozelle; when our army came to a halt, they always sent a deputation tocompliment the chief, and fired a salute with all their artillery fromtheir walls."
"And drunk the great chief's health afterward, did not they?" says CaptainSteele, gaily filling up a bumper;--he never was tardy at that sort ofacknowledgement of a friend's merit.
"And the duke, since you will have me act his grace's part," says Mr.Addison, with a smile and something of a blush, "pledged his friends inreturn. Most serene Elector of Covent Garden, I drink to your highness'shealth," and he filled himself a glass. Joseph required scarce morepressing than Dick to that sort of amusement; but the wine never seemed atall to fluster Mr. Addison's brains; it only unloosed his tongue, whereasCaptain Steele's head and speech were quite overcome by a single bottle.
No matter what the verses were, and, to say truth, Mr. Esmond found someof them more than indifferent, Dick's enthusiasm for his chief neverfaltered, and in every line from Addison's pen, Steele found amaster-stroke. By the time Dick had come to that part of the poem, whereinthe bard describes as blandly as though he were recording a dance at theOpera, or a harmless bout of bucolic cudgelling at a village fair, thatbloody and ruthless part of our campaign, with the remembrance whereofevery soldier who bore a part in it must sicken with shame--when we wereordered to ravage and lay waste the Elector's country; and with fire andmurder, slaughter and crime, a great part of his dominions was overrun:when Dick came to the lines--
In vengeance roused the soldier fills his hand With sword and fire, and ravages the land. In crackling flames a thousand harvests burn, A thousand villages to ashes turn. To the thick woods the woolly flocks retreat, And mixed with bellowing herds
confusedly bleat. Their trembling lords the common shade partake, And cries of infants found in every brake. The listening soldier fixed in sorrow stands, Loath to obey his leader's just commands. The leader grieves, by generous pity swayed, To see his just commands so well obeyed:
by this time wine and friendship had brought poor Dick to a perfectlymaudlin state, and he hiccuped out the last line with a tenderness thatset one of his auditors a-laughing.
"I admire the licence of you poets," says Esmond to Mr. Addison. (Dick,after reading of the verses, was fain to go off, insisting on kissing histwo dear friends before his departure, and reeling away with his periwigover his eyes.) "I admire your art: the murder of the campaign is done tomilitary music, like a battle at the Opera, and the virgins shriek inharmony, as our victorious grenadiers march into their villages. Do youknow what a scene it was" (by this time, perhaps, the wine had warmed Mr.Esmond's head too),--"what a triumph you are celebrating? what scenes ofshame and horror were enacted, over which the commander's genius presided,as calm as though he didn't belong to our sphere? You talk of the'listening soldier fixed in sorrow', the 'leader's grief swayed bygenerous pity'; to my belief the leader cared no more for bleating flocksthan he did for infants' cries, and many of our ruffians butchered one orthe other with equal alacrity. I was ashamed of my trade when I saw thosehorrors perpetrated, which came under every man's eyes. You hew out ofyour polished verses a stately image of smiling victory; I tell you 'tisan uncouth, distorted, savage idol; hideous, bloody, and barbarous. Therites performed before it are shocking to think of. You great poets shouldshow it as it is--ugly and horrible, not beautiful and serene. Oh, sir, hadyou made the campaign, believe me, you never would have sung it so."
During this little outbreak, Mr. Addison was listening, smoking out of hislong pipe, and smiling very placidly. "What would you have?" says he. "Inour polished days, and according to the rules of art, 'tis impossible thatthe Muse should depict tortures or begrime her hands with the horrors ofwar. These are indicated rather than described; as in the Greek tragedies,that, I dare say, you have read (and sure there can be no more elegantspecimens of composition); Agamemnon is slain, or Medea's childrendestroyed, away from the scene;--the chorus occupying the stage and singingof the action to pathetic music. Something of this I attempt, my dear sir,in my humble way: 'tis a panegyric I mean to write, and not a satire. WereI to sing as you would have me, the town would tear the poet in pieces,and burn his book by the hands of the common hangman. Do you not usetobacco? Of all the weeds grown on earth, sure the nicotian is the mostsoothing and salutary. We must paint our great duke," Mr. Addison went on,"not as a man, which no doubt he is, with weaknesses like the rest of us,but as a hero. 'Tis in a triumph, not a battle, that your humble servantis riding his sleek Pegasus. We college-poets trot, you know, on very easynags; it hath been, time out of mind, part of the poet's profession tocelebrate the actions of heroes in verse, and to sing the deeds which youmen of war perform. I must follow the rules of my art, and the compositionof such a strain as this must be harmonious and majestic, not familiar, ortoo near the vulgar truth. _Si parva licet_: if Virgil could invoke thedivine Augustus, a humbler poet from the banks of the Isis may celebrate avictory and a conqueror of our own nation, in whose triumphs every Britonhas a share, and whose glory and genius contributes to every citizen'sindividual honour. When hath there been, since our Henrys' and Edwards'days, such a great feat of arms as that from which you yourself havebrought away marks of distinction? If 'tis in my power to sing that songworthily, I will do so, and be thankful to my Muse. If I fail as a poet,as a Briton at least I will show my loyalty and fling up my cap and huzzahfor the conqueror:
--------"Rheni pacator et Istri Omnis in hoc uno variis discordia cessit Ordinibus; laetatur eques, plauditque senator, Votaque patricio certant plebeia favori."
"There were as brave men on that field," says Mr. Esmond (who never couldbe made to love the Duke of Marlborough, nor to forget those stories whichhe used to hear in his youth regarding that great chief's selfishness andtreachery)--"there were men at Blenheim as good as the leader, whom neitherknights nor senators applauded, nor voices plebeian or patrician favoured,and who lie there forgotten, under the clods. What poet is there to singthem?"
"To sing the gallant souls of heroes sent to Hades!" says Mr. Addison,with a smile: "would you celebrate them all? If I may venture to questionanything in such an admirable work, the catalogue of the ships in Homerhath always appeared to me as somewhat wearisome; what had the poem been,supposing the writer had chronicled the names of captains, lieutenants,rank and file? One of the greatest of a great man's qualities is success;'tis the result of all the others; 'tis a latent power in him whichcompels the favour of the gods, and subjugates fortune. Of all his gifts Iadmire that one in the great Marlborough. To be brave? every man is brave.But in being victorious, as he is, I fancy there is something divine. Inpresence of the occasion, the great soul of the leader shines out, and thegod is confessed. Death itself respects him, and passes by him to layothers low. War and carnage flee before him to ravage other parts of thefield, as Hector from before the divine Achilles. You say he hath no pity;no more have the gods, who are above it, and superhuman. The faintingbattle gathers strength at his aspect; and, wherever he rides, victorycharges with him."
A couple of days after, when Mr. Esmond revisited his poetic friend, hefound this thought, struck out in the fervour of conversation, improvedand shaped into those famous lines, which are in truth the noblest in thepoem of the _Campaign_. As the two gentlemen sat engaged in talk, Mr.Addison solacing himself with his customary pipe; the little maidservantthat waited on his lodging came up, preceding a gentleman in fine lacedclothes, that had evidently been figuring at Court or a great man's levee.The courtier coughed a little at the smoke of the pipe, and looked roundthe room curiously, which was shabby enough, as was the owner in his wornsnuff-coloured suit and plain tie-wig.
"How goes on the _magnum opus_, Mr. Addison?" says the Court gentleman onlooking down at the papers that were on the table.
"We were but now over it," says Addison (the greatest courtier in the landcould not have a more splendid politeness, or greater dignity of manner);"here is the plan," says he, "on the table; _hac ibat Simois_, here ranthe little river Nebel: _hic est Sigeia tellus_, here are Tallard'squarters, at the bowl of this pipe, at the attack of which Captain Esmondwas present. I have the honour to introduce him to Mr. Boyle; and Mr.Esmond was but now depicting _aliquo praelia mixta mero_, when you camein." In truth the two gentlemen had been so engaged when the visitorarrived, and Addison, in his smiling way, speaking of Mr. Webb, colonel ofEsmond's regiment (who commanded a brigade in the action, and greatlydistinguished himself there), was lamenting that he could find never asuitable rhyme for Webb, otherwise the brigade should have had a place inthe poet's verses. "And for you, you are but a lieutenant," says Addison,"and the Muse can't occupy herself with any gentleman under the rank of afield-officer."
Mr. Boyle was all impatient to hear, saying that my Lord Treasurer and myLord Halifax were equally anxious; and Addison, blushing, began reading ofhis verses, and, I suspect, knew their weak parts as well as the mostcritical hearer. When he came to the lines describing the angel, that
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, And taught the doubtful battle where to rage,
he read with great animation, looking at Esmond, as much as to say, "Youknow where that simile came from--from our talk, and our bottle ofburgundy, the other day."
The poet's two hearers were caught with enthusiasm, and applauded theverses with all their might. The gentleman of the Court sprang up in greatdelight. "Not a word more, my dear sir," says he. "Trust me with thepapers--I'll defend them with my life. Let me read them over to my LordTreasurer, whom I am appointed to see in half an hour. I venture topromise, the verses shall lose nothing by my reading, and then, sir, weshall see whether Lord Halifax has a right to complain that his friend'spension is no lo
nger paid." And without more ado, the courtier in laceseized the manuscript pages, placed them in his breast with his ruffledhand over his heart, executed a most gracious wave of the hat with thedisengaged hand, and smiled and bowed out of the room, leaving an odour ofpomander behind him.
"Does not the chamber look quite dark," says Addison, surveying it, "afterthe glorious appearance and disappearance of that gracious messenger? Why,he illuminated the whole room. Your scarlet, Mr. Esmond, will bear anylight; but this threadbare old coat of mine, how very worn it looked underthe glare of that splendour! I wonder whether they will do anything forme," he continued. "When I came out of Oxford into the world, my patronspromised me great things; and you see where their promises have landed me,in a lodging up two pair of stairs, with a sixpenny dinner from the cook'sshop. Well, I suppose this promise will go after the others, and fortunewill jilt me, as the jade has been doing any time these seven years. 'Ipuff the prostitute away,' " says he, smiling, and blowing a cloud out ofhis pipe. "There is no hardship in poverty, Esmond, that is not bearable;no hardship even in honest dependence that an honest man may not put upwith. I came out of the lap of Alma Mater, puffed up with her praises ofme, and thinking to make a figure in the world with the parts and learningwhich had got me no small name in our college. The world is the ocean, andIsis and Charwell are but little drops, of which the sea takes no account.My reputation ended a mile beyond Maudlin Tower; no one took note of me;and I learned this, at least, to bear up against evil fortune with acheerful heart. Friend Dick hath made a figure in the world, and haspassed me in the race long ago. What matters a little name or a littlefortune? There is no fortune that a philosopher cannot endure. I have beennot unknown as a scholar, and yet forced to live by turning bear-leader,and teaching a boy to spell. What then? The life was not pleasant, butpossible--the bear was bearable. Should this venture fail, I will go backto Oxford; and some day, when you are a general, you shall find me acurate in a cassock and bands, and I shall welcome your honour to mycottage in the country, and to a mug of penny ale. 'Tis not poverty that'sthe hardest to bear, or the least happy lot in life," says Mr. Addison,shaking the ash out of his pipe. "See, my pipe is smoked out. Shall wehave another bottle? I have still a couple in the cupboard, and of theright sort. No more?--let us go abroad and take a turn on the Mall, or lookin at the theatre and see Dick's comedy. 'Tis not a masterpiece of wit;but Dick is a good fellow, though he doth not set the Thames on fire."
Within a month after this day, Mr. Addison's ticket had come up aprodigious prize in the lottery of life. All the town was in an uproar ofadmiration of his poem, the _Campaign_, which Dick Steele was spouting atevery coffee-house in Whitehall and Covent Garden. The wits on the otherside of Temple Bar saluted him at once as the greatest poet the world hadseen for ages; the people huzza'ed for Marlborough and for Addison, and,more than this, the party in power provided for the meritorious poet, andMr. Addison got the appointment of Commissioner of Excise, which thefamous Mr. Locke vacated, and rose from this place to other dignities andhonours; his prosperity from henceforth to the end of his life beingscarce ever interrupted. But I doubt whether he was not happier in hisgarret in the Haymarket, than ever he was in his splendid palace atKensington; and I believe the fortune that came to him in the shape of thecountess his wife, was no better than a shrew and a vixen.
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Gay as the town was, 'twas but a dreary place for Mr. Esmond, whether hischarmer was in it or out of it, and he was glad when his general gave himnotice that he was going back to his division of the army which lay inwinter quarters at Bois-le-Duc. His dear mistress bade him farewell with acheerful face; her blessing he knew he had always, and wheresoever fatecarried him. Mrs. Beatrix was away in attendance on her Majesty at HamptonCourt, and kissed her fair finger-tips to him, by way of adieu, when herode thither to take his leave. She received her kinsman in a waiting-roomwhere there were half a dozen more ladies of the Court, so that hishigh-flown speeches, had he intended to make any (and very likely he did),were impossible; and she announced to her friends that her cousin wasgoing to the army, in as easy a manner as she would have said he was goingto a chocolate-house. He asked with a rather rueful face, if she had anyorders for the army? and she was pleased to say that she would like amantle of Mechlin lace. She made him a saucy curtsy in reply to his owndismal bow. She deigned to kiss her finger-tips from the window, where shestood laughing with the other ladies, and chanced to see him as he madehis way to the "Toy". The dowager at Chelsea was not sorry to part withhim this time. "_Mon cher, vous etes triste comme un sermon_," she did himthe honour to say to him; indeed, gentlemen in his condition are by nomeans amusing companions, and besides, the fickle old woman had now founda much more amiable favourite, and _raffole_'d for her darling lieutenantof the Guard. Frank remained behind for a while, and did not join the armytill later, in the suite of his grace the commander-in-chief. His dearmother, on the last day before Esmond went away, and when the three dinedtogether, made Esmond promise to befriend her boy, and besought Frank totake the example of his kinsman as of a loyal gentleman and brave soldier,so she was pleased to say; and at parting, betrayed not the least sign offaltering or weakness, though, God knows, that fond heart was fearfulenough when others were concerned, though so resolute in bearing its ownpain.
Esmond's general embarked at Harwich. 'Twas a grand sight to see Mr. Webbdressed in scarlet on the deck, waving his hat as our yacht put off, andthe guns saluted from the shore. Harry did not see his viscount again,until three months after, at Bois-le-Duc, when his grace the duke came totake the command, and Frank brought a budget of news from home: how he hadsupped with this actress, and got tired of that; how he had got the betterof Mr. St. John, both over the bottle, and with Mrs. Mountford, of theHaymarket Theatre (a veteran charmer of fifty, with whom the youngscapegrace chose to fancy himself in love); how his sister was always ather tricks, and had jilted a young baron for an old earl. "I can't makeout Beatrix," he said; "she cares for none of us--she only thinks aboutherself; she is never happy unless she is quarrelling; but as for mymother--my mother, Harry, is an angel." Harry tried to impress on the youngfellow the necessity of doing everything in his power to please thatangel; not to drink too much; not to go into debt; not to run after thepretty Flemish girls, and so forth, as became a senior speaking to a lad."But Lord bless thee!" the boy said; "I may do what I like, and I know shewill love me all the same;" and so, indeed, he did what he liked.Everybody spoiled him, and his grave kinsman as much as the rest.