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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Section five of Life and Writings of Addison by Thomas
Babington Macaulay. This librovox recording is in the public domain.
Read by Pamelinagami, Part five, soon after the Campaign was
published Addison's narrative of his travels in Italy. The first
effect produced by this narrative was disappointment. The crowd of readers,
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who expected politics and scandal, speculations on the projects of
Victor Amadaeus and anecdotes about the jollities of convents and
the amours of cardinals and nuns, were confounded by finding
that the writer's mind was much more occupied by the
war between the Trojans and Rutilians than by the war
between France and Austria, and that he seemed to have
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heard no scandal of later date than the gallantries of
the Empress Faustina. In time, however, the judgment of the
many was overruled by that of the view, and before
the book was reprinted it was so eagerly sought that
it sold for five times the original price. It is
still read with pleasure. The style is pure and flowing.
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The classical quotations and allusions are numerous and happy, and
we are now and then charmed by that singularly humane
and delicate humor in which Addison excelled all men. Yet
this agreeable work, even when considered merely as the history
of a literary tour, may justly be censured on account
of its faults of omission. We have already said that
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though rich In extracts from the Latin poets, it contains
scarcely any references to the Latin orators and historians. We
must add that it contains little, or rather no information
respecting the history and literature of modern Italy. To the
best of our remembrance, Addison does not mention Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio,
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Boiardo Berni, Lorenzo de Medici, Machiavelli. He coldly tells us
that at Ferrara he saw the tomb of Ariosto, and
that at Venice he heard the gondoliers sing verses of Tasso.
But for Tasso and Ariosto he cared far less than
for Valerius Flaccus and Sedonius Apollinaris. The gentle flow of
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the Tichin brings the line of Silius to his mind.
The sulfurous stream of Albula suggests to him several passages
of Marshal, but he has not a word to say
of the illustrious dead of Santa Croce. He crosses the
wood of Ravenna without recalling the specter Huntsman, and wanders
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up and down Remini without one thought of Francesca. At
Paris he eagerly sought an introduction to Boilo, but he
seems not to have been at all aware that at
Florence he was in the vicinity of a poet with
whom Boileo could not sustain a comparison of the greatest
lyric poet of modern times, of Vinnzio Filicaja. This is
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the more remarkable because Philicaga was the favorite poet of
the all accomplished Summers, under whose protection Addison traveled, and
to whom the account of the travels is dedicated. The
truth is that Addison knew little and cared less about
the literature of modern Italy. His favorite models were Latin,
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his favorite critics were French. Half the Tuscan poetry that
he had read seemed to him monstrous and the other
half tawdry. His travels were followed by the lively opera
of Rosamond. This piece was ill set to music, and
therefore failed on the stage, but it completely succeeded in print,
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and is indeed excellent in its kind. The smoothness with
which the verses glide and the elasticity with which they bound,
is to our ears at least very pleasing. We are
inclined to think that if Addison had left heroic couplets
to Pope and blank verse to Row, and had employed
himself in writing airy and spirited songs, his reputation as
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a poet would have stood far higher than it now does.
Some years after his death, Rosamond was set to new
music by doctor Arne and was performed with complete success.
Several passages long retained their popularity and were daily sung
during the latter part of George the Second's reign at
all the Harpsichords in England. While Addison thus amused himself,
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his prospects and the prospects of his party were constantly
becoming brighter and brighter. In the spring of seventeen o five,
the ministry were freed from the restraint imposed by a
House of Commons in which tories of the most perverse
class had the ascendancy. The elections were favorable to the Whigs.
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The coalition, which had been tacitly and gradually formed, was
now openly avowed. The Great Seal was given to Cooper,
Summers and Halifax were sworn of the Council. Halifax was
sent in the following year to carry the decorations of
the Garter to the electoral Prince of Hanover, and was
accompanied on this honorable mission by Addison, who had just
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been made Under Secretary of State. The Secretary of State
under whom Addison first served was Sir Charles Hedges, a Tory,
but Hedges was soon dismissed to make room for the
most vehement of Whiggs, Charles Earl of Sunderland. In every
department of the state. Indeed, the high Churchmen were compelled
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to give place to their opponents. At the close of
seventeen o seven, the Tories, who still remained in office,
strove to rally with Harley at their head. But the attempt,
though favored by the Queen, who had always been a
Tory at heart, and who had now quarreled with the
Duchess of Marlborough, was unsuccessful. The time was not yet
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the Captain General was at the height of popularity and glory.
The Low Church Party had a majority in Parliament. The
country squires and rectors, though occasionally uttering a savage growl,
were for the most part in a state of torpor,
which lasted till they were roused into activity and indeed
into madness by the prosecution of Sichevarrel. Harley and his
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adherents were compelled to retire. The victory of the Whigs
was complete at the general election of seventeen o eight.
Their strength in the House of Commons became irresistible, and
before the end of that year Somers was made Lord
President of the Council and Wharton Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.
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Addison sat for Malmsbury in the House of Commons, which
was elected in seventeen o eight, but the House of
Commons was not the field for him. The bashfulness of
his nature made his wit and eloquence useless in debate.
He once rose, but could not overcome his diffidence, and
ever after remain silent. Nobody can think it strange that
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a great writer should fail as a speaker, but many
probably will think it strange that Addison's failure as a
speaker should have had no unfavorable effect on his success
as a politician. In our time, a man of high
rank and great fortune, might, though speaking very little and
very ill, hold a considerable post. But it is inconceivable
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that a mere adventurer, a man who went out of
office must live by his pen, should, in a few
years become successively Under Secretary of State, Chief Secretary for
Ireland and Secretary of State, without some oratorical talent. Addison,
without high birth, and with little property, rose to a post,
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which do the heads of great houses of Talbot, Russell
and Bentink have thought it an honor to fill. Without
opening his lips in debate. He rose to a post
the highest the Chatham or Fox ever reached, and this
he did before he had been nine years in parliament.
We must look for the explanation of this seeming miracle
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to the peculiar circumstances in which that generation was placed.
During the interval which elapsed between the time when the
censorship of the press ceased and the time when parliamentary
proceedings began to be freely reported, literary talents were to
a public man of much more importance, orahetorical talents of
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much less importance than in our time. At present The
best way of giving rapid and wide publicity to a
statement or an argument is to introduce that statement or
argument into a speech made in part parliament. If a
political tract were to appear superior to the conduct of
the allies, or to the best numbers of the freeholder,
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the circulation of such a tract would be languid. Indeed,
when compared with the circulation of every remarkable word uttered
in the deliberations of the legislature, a speech made in
the House of Commons at four in the morning is
on thirty thousand tables before ten. A speech made on
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the Monday is read on the Wednesday by multitudes in
Antrim and Aberdeenshire. The orator, by the help of the
shorthand writer, has to a great extent, superseded the pamphleteer.
It was not so in the reign of Anne. The
best speech could then produce no effect except on those
who heard it. It was only by means of the
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press that the opinion of the public without doors could
be influenced. And the opinion of the public withoutdoors could
not but be of the highest importance in a country
governed by parliaments. And indeed, at that time governed by
triennial parliaments. The pen was therefore a more formidable political
engine than the tongue. Mister Pitt and mister Fox contended
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only in Parliament, but Walpole and Poultney, the Pitt and
Fox of an earlier period, had not done half of
what was necessary. When they sat down amidst the acclamations
of the House of Commons. They had still to plead
their cause before the country, and this they could do
only by means of the press. Their works are now forgotten,
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but it is certain that there were in grub Street
few more assiduous scribblers of thoughts, letters, answers remarks than
these two great chiefs of parties. Poultney, when leader of
the Opposition and possessed of thirty thousand pounds a year,
added the craftsman Walpole, though not a man of literary habits,
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was the author of at least ten pamphlets, and retouched
and corrected many more. These facts sufficiently show of how
great importance literary assistance then was to the contending parties.
Sinjhn was certainly in Anne's reign the best Tory speaker.
Cooper was probably the best Whig speaker, but it may
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well be doubted whether sinjn did so much for the
Tories as Swift, and whether Cooper did so much for
the Whigs as Addison. When these things are duly considered,
it will not be thought strange that Addison should have
climbed higher in the state than any other Englishman has
ever by means merely of literary talents, been able to climb.
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Swift would, in all probability have climbed as high if
he had not been encumbered by as Cassick and as
pudding sleeves. As far as the homage of the Great went,
Swift had as much of it as if he had
been Lord Treasurer. To the influence which Addison derived from
his literary talents was added all the influence which arises
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from character. The world, always ready to think the worst
of needy political adventurers, was forced to make one exception. Restlessness,
violent audacity, laxity of principle are the vices ordinarily attributed
to that class of men. But faction itself could not
deny that Addison had, through all changes of fortune, been
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strictly faithful to his early opinions and to his early friends.
That his integrity was without stain that his whole deportment
indicated a fine sense of the becoming, that in the
utmost heat of controversy, his zeal was tempered by a
regard for truth, humanity, and social decorum, that no outrage
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could ever provoke him to retaliation unworthy of a Christian
and a gentleman, and that his only faults were a
too sensitive delicate and a modesty which amounted to bashfulness.
He was undoubtedly one of the most popular men of
his time, and much of his popularity he owed, we believe,
to that very timidity which his friends lamented. That timidity
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often prevented him from exhibiting his talents to the best advantage,
but it propitiated nemesis. It averted that envy which would
otherwise have been excited by fame so splendid and by
so rapid an elevation. No man is so great a
favorite with the public as he who is at once
an object of admiration, of respect, and of pity. And
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such were the feelings which Addison inspired. Those who enjoyed
the privilege of hearing his familiar conversation declared with one
voice that it was superior even to his writings. The
brilliant Merry Montague said that she had known all the wits,
and that Addison was the best company in the world.
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The malignant Pope was forced to own that there was
a charm in Addison's talk which could be found nowhere else. Swift,
when burning with animosity against the Whigs, could not but
confess to Stella that, after all he had never known
any associate so agreeable as Addison. Steele, an excellent judge
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of lively conversation, said that the conversation of Addison was
at once the most polite and the most mirthful that
could be imagined, and that it was Terence and Contullis
in one heightened by an exquisite something that was neither
Terence nor Catullus, but Addison alone. Young, an excellent judge
of serious conversation, said that when Addison was at his ease,
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he went on in a noble strain of thought and language,
so as to chain the attention of every hearer. Nor
were his great colloquial powers more admirable than the courtesy
and softness of heart which appeared in his conversation. At
the same time, it would be too much to say
that he was wholly devoid of the malice, which is
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perhaps inseparable from a keen sense of the ludicrous. He
had one habit which both Swift and Stella applauded, and
which we hardly know how to blame. If his first
attempts to set a presuming dunce right were ill received,
he changed his tone, assented with civil leer, and lured
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the flattered cock's comb deeper and deeper into absurdity. That
such was his practice, we should, we think, have guessed
from his works. The Tatler's criticisms on mister Softley's Sonnet
and the Spectator's dialogue with the Politician who is so
zealous for the honor of Lady q p t s
Are excellent specimens of this innocent mischief. Such were Addison's
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talents for conversation. But his rare gifts were not exhibited
to crowds or to strangers. As soon as he entered
a large company, as soon as he saw an unknown face,
his lips were sealed, and his manners became constrained. None
who met him only in great assemblies would have been
able to believe that he was the same man who
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had often kept a few friends listening and laughing round
a table from the time when the play ended till
the clock of Saint Paul's and Covent Garden struck four.
Yet even at such a table, he was not seen
to the best advantage. To enjoy his conversation in the
highest perfection. It was necessary to be alone with him,
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and to hear him in his own phrase, think aloud.
There is no such thing, he used to say, as
real conversation. But between two persons this timidity, a timidity
surely neither ungraceful nor unamiable, led Addison into the two
most serious faults which can, with justice be imputed to him.
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He found that wine broke the spell which lay on
his fine intellect, and was therefore too easily seduced into
convivial excess. Such excess was, in that age regarded even
by grave men as the most venial of all peccadillos,
and was so far from being a mark of ill breeding,
that it was almost essential to the character of a
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fine gentleman. But the smallest speck is seen on a
white ground, And almost all the biographers of Addison have
said something about this failing of any other statesman or
writer of Queen Anne's reign, we should no more think
of saying that he sometimes took too much wine than
that he wore a long wig and a sword. To
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the excessive modesty of Addison's nature, we must describe another fault,
which generally arises from a very different cause. He became
a little too fond of seeing himself surrounded by a
small circle of admirers, to whom he was as a king,
or rather as a god. All these men were far
inferior to him in ability, and some of them had very,
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very serious faults. Nor did those faults escape his observation.
For if ever there was an eye which saw through
and through men, it was the eye of Addison. But
with the keenest observation and the finest sense of the ridiculous.
He had a large charity. The feeling with which he
looked on most of his humble companions was one of benevolence,
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slightly tinctured with contempt. He was at perfect ease in
their company. He was grateful for their devoted attachment, and
he loaded them with benefits. Their veneration for him appears
to have exceeded that with which Johnson was regarded by
Boswell or Warburton by herd. It was not in the
power of adulation to turn such a head or deprave
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such a heart as Addison's. But it must, in candor
be admitted that he contracted some of the faults which
can scarcely be avoided by any person who was so
unfortunate as to be the oracle of a small literary
coterie and of Section five