The Tatler Volume Iii Part 24

I.

"I learn from the letters of my friends, as well as from common report, that you give incredible proofs of virtue and fort.i.tude, and that you are indefatigable in all kinds of good offices. How unhappy a man am I, that a woman of your virtue, constancy, honour, and good nature, should fall into so great distresses upon my account; and that my dear Tulliola should be so much afflicted for the sake of a father, with whom she had once so much reason to be pleased! How can I mention little Cicero, whose first knowledge of things began with the sense of his own misery? If all this had happened by the decrees of fate, as you would kindly persuade me, I could have borne it. But, alas! it is all befallen me by my own indiscretion, who thought I was beloved by those who envied me, and did not join with them who sought my friends.h.i.+p.----At present, since my friends bid me hope, I shall take care of my health, that I may enjoy the benefit of your affectionate services.----Plancius hopes we may some time or other come together into Italy. If I ever live to see that day; if I ever return to your dear embraces; in short, if I ever again recover you and myself, I shall think our conjugal piety very well rewarded.----As for what you write to me about selling your estate, consider (my dear Terentia), consider, alas! what would be the event of it. If our present fortune continues to oppress us, what will become of our poor boy? My tears flow so fast, that I am not able to write any further; and I would not willingly make you weep with me.----Let us take care not to undo the child that is already undone: if we can leave him anything, a little virtue will keep him from want, and a little fortune raise him in the world. Mind your health, and let me know frequently what you are doing.----Remember me to Tulliola and Cicero."

II.

"Don't fancy that I write longer letters to any one than to yourself, unless when I chance to receive a longer letter from another, which I am indispensably obliged to answer in every particular. The truth of it is, I have no subject for a letter at present: and as my affairs now stand, there is nothing more painful to me than writing. As for you and our dear Tulliola, I cannot write to you without abundance of tears, for I see both of you miserable, whom I always wished to be happy, and whom I ought to have made so.----I must acknowledge, you have done everything for me with the utmost fort.i.tude, and the utmost affection; nor indeed is it more than I expected from you; though at the same time it is a great aggravation of my ill fortune, that the afflictions I suffer can be relieved only by those which you undergo for my sake.

For honest Valerius has written me a letter, which I could not read without weeping very bitterly; wherein he gives me an account of the public procession which you have made for me at Rome. Alas! my dearest life, must then Terentia, the darling of my soul, whose favour and recommendations have been so often sought by others; must my Terentia droop under the weight of sorrow, appear in the habit of a mourner, pour out floods of tears, and all this for my sake; for my sake, who have undone my family, by consulting the safety of others!----As for what you write about selling your house, I am very much afflicted, that what is laid out upon my account may any way reduce you to misery and want. If we can bring about our design, we may indeed recover everything; but if Fortune persists in persecuting us, how can I think of your sacrificing for me the poor remainder of your possessions? No, my dearest life, let me beg you to let those bear my expenses who are able, and perhaps willing to do it; and if you would show your love to me, do not injure your health, which is already too much impaired. You present yourself before my eyes day and night; I see you labouring amidst innumerable difficulties; I am afraid lest you should sink under them; but I find in you all the qualifications that are necessary to support you: be sure therefore to cherish your health, that you may compa.s.s the end of your hopes and your endeavours.----Farewell, my Terentia, my heart's desire, farewell."

III.

"Aristocritus has delivered to me three of your letters, which I have almost defaced with my tears. Oh! my Terentia, I am consumed with grief, and feel the weight of your sufferings more than of my own. I am more miserable than you are, notwithstanding you are very much so; and that for this reason, because though our calamity is common, it is my fault that brought it upon us. I ought to have died rather than have been driven out of the city: I am therefore overwhelmed not only with grief, but with shame. I am ashamed that I did not do my utmost for the best of wives, and the dearest of children. You are ever present before my eyes in your mourning, your affliction, and your sickness. Amidst all which, there scarce appears to me the least glimmering of hope.----However, so long as you hope, I will not despair.----I will do what you advise me. I have returned my thanks to those friends whom you mentioned, and have let them know, that you have acquainted me with their good offices. I am sensible of Piso's extraordinary zeal and endeavours to serve me. Oh! would the G.o.ds grant that you and I might live together in the enjoyment of such a son-in-law, and of our dear children.----As for what you write of your coming to me if I desire it, I would rather you should be where you are, because I know you are my princ.i.p.al agent at Rome. If you succeed, I shall come to you: if not----. But I need say no more. Be careful of your health, and be a.s.sured, that nothing is, or ever was, so dear to me as yourself. Farewell, my Terentia; I fancy that I see you, and therefore cannot command my weakness so far as to refrain from tears."

IV.

"I don't write to you as often as I might, because notwithstanding I am afflicted at all times, I am quite overcome with sorrow whilst I am writing to you, or reading any letters that I receive from you.----If these evils are not to be removed, I must desire to see you, my dearest life, as soon as possible, and to die in your embraces; since neither the G.o.ds, whom you always religiously wors.h.i.+pped; nor the men, whose good I always promoted, have rewarded us according to our deserts.----What a distressed wretch am I! should I ask a weak woman, oppressed with cares and sickness, to come and live with me, or shall I not ask her? Can I live without you? But I find I must. If there be any hopes of my return, help it forward, and promote it as much as you are able. But if all that is over, as I fear it is, find out some way or other of coming to me. This you may be sure of, that I shall not look upon myself as quite undone whilst you are with me. But what will become of Tulliola? You must look to that; I must confess, I am entirely at a loss about her. Whatever happens, we must take care of the reputation and marriage of that dear unfortunate girl. As for Cicero, he shall live in my bosom and in my arms. I cannot write any further, my sorrows will not let me.----Support yourself, my dear Terentia, as well as you are able. We have lived and flourished together amidst the greatest honours: it is not our crimes, but our virtues that have distressed us.----Take more than ordinary care of your health; I am more afflicted with your sorrows than my own. Farewell, my Terentia, thou dearest, faithfullest, and best of wives."

Methinks it is a pleasure to see this great man in his family, who makes so different a figure in the Forum or Senate of Rome. Every one admires the orator and the consul; but for my part, I esteem the husband and the father. His private character, with all the little weaknesses of humanity, is as amiable as the figure he makes in public is awful and majestic. But at the same time that I love to surprise so great an author in his private walks, and to survey him in his most familiar lights, I think it would be barbarous to form to ourselves any idea of mean-spiritedness from these natural openings of his heart, and disburdening of his thoughts to a wife. He has written several other letters to the same person, but none with so great pa.s.sion as these of which I have given the foregoing extracts.

It would be ill-nature not to acquaint the English reader, that his wife was successful in her solicitations for this great man, and saw her husband return to the honours of which he had been deprived, with all the pomp and acclamation that usually attended the greatest triumph.

[Footnote 201: No. 149.]

[Footnote 202: "Epist." xiv, 1-4.]

No. 160. [ADDISON AND STEELE.

From _Sat.u.r.day, April 15_, to _Tuesday, April 18, 1710_.

_From my own Apartment, April 17._

A common civility to an impertinent fellow often draws upon one a great many unforeseen troubles; and if one does not take particular care, will be interpreted by him as an overture of friends.h.i.+p and intimacy. This I was very sensible of this morning. About two hours before day, I heard a great rapping at my door, which continued some time, till my maid could get herself ready to go down and see what was the occasion of it. She then brought me up word, that there was a gentleman who seemed very much in haste, and said he must needs speak with me. By the description she gave me of him, and by his voice, which I could hear as I lay in my bed, I fancied him to be my old acquaintance the upholsterer,[203] whom I met the other day in St. James's Park. For which reason, I bid her tell the gentleman, whoever he was, that I was indisposed, that I could see n.o.body, and that, if he had anything to say to me, I desired he would leave it in writing. My maid, after having delivered her message, told me that the gentleman said he would stay at the next coffee-house till I was stirring, and bid her be sure to tell me, that the French were driven from the Scarp, and that Douay was invested. He gave her the name of another town, which I found she had dropped by the way.

As much as I love to be informed of the success of my brave countrymen, I do not care for hearing of a victory before day, and was therefore very much out of humour at this unseasonable visit. I had no sooner recovered my temper, and was falling asleep, but I was immediately startled by a second rap; and upon my maid's opening the door, heard the same voice ask her if her master was yet up; and at the same time bid her tell me, that he was come on purpose to talk with me about a piece of home news that everybody in town will be full of two hours hence. I ordered my maid as soon as she came into the room, without hearing her message, to tell the gentleman, that whatever his news was, I would rather hear it two hours hence than now; and that I persisted in my resolution not to speak with anybody that morning. The wench delivered my answer presently, and shut the door. It was impossible for me to compose myself to sleep after two such unexpected alarms; for which reason I put on my clothes in a very peevish humour. I took several turns about my chamber, reflecting with a great deal of anger and contempt on these volunteers in politics, that undergo all the pain, watchfulness, and disquiet of a First Minister, without turning it to the advantage either of themselves or their country; and yet it is surprising to consider how numerous this species of men is. There is nothing more frequent than to find a tailor breaking his rest on the affairs of Europe, and to see a cl.u.s.ter of porters sitting upon the Ministry. Our streets swarm with politicians, and there is scarce a shop which is not held by a statesman. As I was musing after this manner, I heard the upholsterer at the door delivering a letter to my maid, and begging her, in a very great hurry, to give it to her master as soon as ever he was awake, which I opened, and found as follows:

"MR. BICKERSTAFF,

"I was to wait upon you about a week ago, to let you know, that the honest gentlemen whom you conversed with upon the bench at the end of the Mall, having heard that I had received five s.h.i.+llings of you, to give you a hundred pounds upon the Great Turk's being driven out of Europe, desired me to acquaint you, that every one of that company would be willing to receive five s.h.i.+llings, to pay a hundred pounds on the same conditions. Our last advices from Muscovy making this a fairer bet than it was a week ago, I do not question but you will accept the wager.

"But this is not my present business. If you remember, I whispered a word in your ear as we were walking up the Mall, and you see what has happened since. If I had seen you this morning, I would have told you in your ear another secret. I hope you will be recovered of your indisposition by to-morrow morning, when I will wait on you at the same hour as I did this; my private circ.u.mstances being such, that I cannot well appear in this quarter of the town after it is day.

"I have been so taken up with the late good news from Holland, and expectation of further particulars, as well as with other transactions, of which I will tell you more to-morrow morning, that I have not slept a wink these three nights.

"I have reason to believe that Picardy will soon follow the example of Artois, in case the enemy continue in their present resolution of flying away from us. I think I told you last time we were together my opinion about the Deulle.

"The honest gentlemen upon the bench bid me tell you, they would be glad to see you often among them. We shall be there all the warm hours of the day, during the present posture of affairs.

"This happy opening of the campaign will, I hope, give us a very joyful summer; and I propose to take many a pleasant walk with you, if you will sometimes come into the Park; for that is the only place in which I can be free from the malice of my enemies.

Farewell till three o'clock to-morrow morning. I am,

"Your most humble Servant, &c.

"P.S. The King of Sweden is still at Bender."

I should have fretted myself to death at this promise of a second visit, if I had not found in his letter an intimation of the good news which I have since heard at large. I have however ordered my maid to tie up the knocker of my door in such a manner as she would do if I was really indisposed. By which means I hope to escape breaking my morning's rest.[204]

Since I have given this letter to the public, I shall communicate one or two more, which I have lately received from others of my correspondents. The following is from a Coquette, who is very angry at my having disposed of her in marriage to a Ba.s.s-viol:[205]

"MR. BICKERSTAFF,

"I thought you would never have descended from the Censor of Great Britain, to become a match-maker. But pray, why so severe upon the Kit? Had I been a Jews-harp, that is nothing but tongue, you could not have used me worse. Of all things, a Ba.s.s-viol is my aversion.

Had you married me to a Bagpipe, or a Pa.s.sing-bell, I should have been better pleased. Dear Father Isaac, either choose me a better husband, or I will live and die a Dulcimer. In hopes of receiving satisfaction from you, I am yours, whilst

"ISABELLA KIT."

The pertness which this fair lady has shown in this letter, was one occasion of my joining her to the Ba.s.s-viol, which is an instrument that wants to be quickened by these little vivacities; as the sprightliness of the Kit ought to be checked and curbed by the gravity of the Ba.s.s-viol.

My next letter is from Tom Folio,[206] who it seems takes it amiss that I have published a character of him so much to his disadvantage:

"SIR,

"I suppose you meant Tom Fool, when you called me Tom Folio in a late trifling paper of yours; for I find, it is your design to run down all useful and solid learning. The tobacco-paper on which your own writings are usually printed,[207] as well as the incorrectness of the press, and the scurvy letter, sufficiently show the extent of your knowledge. I question not but you look upon John Morphew to be as great a man as Elzevir; and Aldus, to have been such another as Bernard Lintot.[208] If you would give me my revenge, I would only desire of you to let me publish an account of your library, which I daresay would furnish out an extraordinary catalogue.

"TOM FOLIO."

It has always been my way to baffle reproach with silence, though I cannot but observe the disingenuous proceedings of this gentleman, who is not content to asperse my writings, but has wounded, through my sides, those eminent and worthy citizens, Mr. John Morphew, and Mr.

Bernard Lintot.[209]

[Footnote 203: See No. 155.]

[Footnote 204: The preceding portion of this paper is printed in Tickell's edition of Addison's Works.]

[Footnote 205: See No. 157.]

[Footnote 206: See No. 158.]

[Footnote 207: See No. 101.]