CHAPTER II. An Apology for the Life of Mr. Colley Cibber, Volume I | ||
1.2. CHAPTER II.
He that writes of himself not easily tir'd. Boys may give Men Lessons. The Author's Preferment at School attended with Misfortunes. The Danger of Merit among Equals. Of Satyrists and Backbiters. What effect they have had upon the Author. Stanzas publish'd by himself against himself.
IT often makes me smile to think how contentedly I have set myself down to write my own Life; nay, and with less Concern for what may be said of it than I should feel were I to do the same for a deceased Acquaintance. This you will easily account for when you consider that nothing gives a Coxcomb more delight than when you suffer him to talk of himself; which sweet Liberty I here enjoy for a
However little worth notice the Life of a Schoolboy may be supposed to contain, yet, as the Passions of Men and Children have much the same Motives and differ very little in their Effects, unless where the elder Experience may be able to conceal them: As therefore what arises from the Boy may possibly be a Lesson to the Man, I shall venture to relate a Fact or two that happen'd while I was still at School.
In February, 1684-5, died King Charles II. who being the only King I had ever seen, I remember (young as I was) his Death made a strong Impression upon me, as it drew Tears from the Eyes of Multitudes, who looked no further into him than I
I cannot help remembring one more Particular in those Times, tho' it be quite foreign to what will follow. I was carry'd by my Father to the Chapel in Whitehall; where I saw the King and his royal Brother the then Duke of York, with him in the Closet, and present during the whole Divine Service. Such Dispensation, it seems, for his Interest, had that unhappy Prince from his real Religion, to assist at another to which his Heart was so utterly averse. ———I now proceed to the Facts I promis'd to speak of.
King Charles his Death was judg'd by our Schoolmaster a proper Subject to lead the Form I was in into a higher kind of Exercise; he therefore enjoin'd
Here, perhaps, I may again seem to be vain; but if all these Facts are true (as true they are) how can I help it? Why am I oblig'd to conceal them? The Merit of the best of them is not so extraordinary as to have warn'd me to be nice upon it; and the Praise due to them is so small a Fish, it was scarce worth while to throw my Line into the Water for it.
But as a little bad Poetry is the greatest Crime he lays to my charge, I am willing to subscribe to his opinion of it. [36.2] That this sort of Wit is one of the
Hence too arises all that flat Poverty of Censure and Invective that so often has a Run in our publick Papers upon the Success of a new Author; when, God knows, there is seldom above one Writer among hundreds in Being at the same time whose Satyr a Man of common Sense ought to be mov'd at. When a Master in the Art is angry, then indeed we ought to be alarm'd! How terrible a Weapon is Satyr in the Hand of a great Genius? Yet even
Since I am got so far into this Subject, you must give me leave to go thro' all I have a mind to say upon it; because I am not sure that in a more proper Place my Memory may be so full of it. I cannot find, therefore, from what Reason Satyr is allow'd more Licence than Comedy, or why either of them (to be admir'd) ought not to be limited by Decency and Justice. Let Juvenal and Aristophanes have taken what Liberties they please, if the Learned have nothing more than their Antiquity to justify their laying about them at that enormous rate, I shall wish they had a better excuse for them! The Personal Ridicule and Scurrility thrown upon Socrates, which Plutarch too condemns; and the Boldness of Juvenal, in writing real Names over guilty Characters, I cannot think are to be pleaded in right of our modern Liberties of the same kind. Facit indignatio versum [39.1] may be a very spirited Expression, and seems to give a Reader hopes of a lively Entertainment: But I am afraid Reproof is in unequal Hands when Anger is its Executioner; and tho' an outrageous Invective may carry some Truth in it, yet it will never have that natural, easy Credit
Against all this it may be objected, That these are Laws which none but phlegmatick Writers will observe, and only Men of Eminence should give. I grant it, and therefore only submit them to Writers of better Judgment. I pretend not to restrain others from chusing what I don't like; they are welcome (if they please too) to think I offer these Rules more from an Incapacity to break them than from a moral Humanity. Let it be so! still, That will not weaken the strength of what I have asserted, if my Assertion be true. And though I allow that Provocation is not apt to weigh out its Resentments by Drachms and Scruples, I shall still think that no publick Revenge can be honourable where it is not limited by Justice; and if Honour is insatiable in its Revenge it
This so singular Concern which I have shewn for others may naturally lead you to ask me what I feel for myself when I am unfavourably treated by the elaborate Authors of our daily Papers. [41.1] Shall I be sincere? and own my frailty? Its usual Effect is to make me vain! For I consider if I were quite good for nothing these Pidlers in Wit would not be concern'd to take me to pieces, or (not to be quite so vain) when they moderately charge me with only Ignorance or Dulness, I see nothing in That which an honest Man need be asham'd of: [41.2] There is many a good Soul who from those sweet Slumbers of the Brain are never awaken'd by the least harmful Thought; and I am
When they confine themselves to a sober Criticism upon what I write; if their Censure is just, what answer can I make to it? If it is unjust, why should I suppose that a sensible Reader will not see it, as well as myself? Or, admit I were able to expose them by a laughing Reply, will not that Reply beget a Rejoinder? And though they might be Gainers by having the worst on't in a Paper War, that is no Temptation for me to come into it. Or (to make both sides less considerable) would not my bearing Ill-language from a Chimney-sweeper do me less harm than it would be to box with him, tho' I were sure to beat him? Nor indeed is the little Reputation I have as an Author worth the trouble of a Defence. Then, as no Criticism can possibly make me worse than I really am; so nothing I can say of myself can possibly make me better: When therefore a determin'd Critick comes arm'd with Wit and Outrage to take from me that small Pittance I have, I wou'd no more dispute with him than I wou'd resist a Gentleman of the Road to save a little Pocket-
You may believe him—-he is really so.
Well, Sir Critick! and what of all this? Now I have laid myself at your Feet, what will you do with me? Expose me? Why, dear Sir, does not every Man that writes expose himself? Can you make me a Blockhead, or perhaps might pleasantly tell other People they ought to think me so too. Will not they judge as well from what I say as what You say? If then you attack me merely to divert yourself, your Excuse for writing will be no better than mine. But perhaps you may want Bread: If that be the Case, even go to Dinner, i' God's name! [44.1]
If our best Authors, when teiz'd by these Triflers, have not been Masters of this Indifference, I should not wonder if it were disbeliev'd in me; but when it is consider'd that I have allow'd my never having
You see, Sir, how hard it is for a Man that is talking of himself to know when to give over; but if you are tired, lay me aside till you have a fresh Appetite; if not, I'll tell you a Story.
In the Year 1730 there were many Authors whose Merit wanted nothing but Interest to recommend them to the vacant Laurel, and who took it ill to see it at last conferred upon a Comedian; insomuch, that they were resolved at least to shew specimens of their superior Pretensions, and accordingly enliven'd the publick Papers with ingenious Epigrams and satyrical Flirts at the unworthy Successor: [46.1] These Papers my Friends with a wicked Smile would often put into my Hands and desire me to read them fairly in Company: This was a Challenge which I never declin'd, and, to do my doughty Antagonists Justice, I always read them
To the Author of the Whitehall Evening-Post. SIR, THE Verses to the Laureat in yours of Saturday last have occasion'd the following Reply, which I
These were the Verses.[48.1]
I.
Ah, hah! Sir Coll, is that thy Way,Thy own dull Praise to write?
And wou'd'st thou stand so sure a Lay
No, that's too stale a Bite.
I.
Nature and Art in thee combine,Thy Talents here excel:
All shining Brass thou dost outshine,
To play the Cheat so well.
III.
Who sees thee in Iago's Part,But thinks thee such a Rogue?
To hang so sad a Dog?
IV.
When Bays thou play'st, Thyself thou art;For that by Nature fit,
No Blockhead better suits the Part,
Than such a Coxcomb Wit.
V.
In Wronghead too, thy Brains we see,Who might do well at Plough;
As fit for Parliament was he,
As for the Laurel, Thou.
VI.
Bring thy protected Verse from Court,And try it on the Stage;
There it will make much better Sport,
And st the Town in Rage.
VII.
There Beaux and Wits and Cits and Smarts,Where Hissing's not uncivil,
Will shew their Parts to thy Deserts,
And send it to the Devil.
VIII.
But, ah! in vain 'gainst Thee we write,In vain thy Verse we maul
Our sharpest Satyr's thy Delight,
[49.1] For—Blood! thou'lt stand it all.
IX.
Thunder, 'tis said, the Laurel spares;Nought but thy Brows could blast it:
And yet—-O curst, provoking Stars!
Thy Comfort is, thou hast it.
This, Sir, I offer as a Proof that I was seven Years ago [50.1] the same cold Candidate for Fame which I would still be thought; you will not easily suppose I could have much Concern about it, while, to gratify the merry Pique of my Friends, I was capable of seeming to head the Poetical Cry then against me, and at the same Time of never letting the Publick know 'till this Hour that these Verses were written by myself: Nor do I give them you as an Entertainment, but merely to shew you this particular Cast of my Temper.
When I have said this, I would not have it thought Affectation in me when I grant that no Man worthy the Name of an Author is a more faulty Writer than myself; that I am not Master of my own Language [50.2]
After this Consciousness of my real Defects, you will easily judge, Sir, how little I presume that my Poetical Labours may outlive those of my mortal Cotemporaries. [52.2]
At the same time that I am so humble in my Pretensions to Fame, I would not be thought to undervalue it; Nature will not suffer us to despise it, but she may sometimes make us too fond of it. I have known more than one good Writer very near ridiculous from being in too much Heat about it. Whoever instrinsically deserves it will always have a proportionable
To conclude; all I have said upon this Subject is much better contained in six Lines of a Reverend Author, which will be an Answer to all critical Censure for ever.
False Fame must wither, and the True will grow.
Arm'd with this Truth all Criticks I defy;
For, if I fall, by my own Pen I die;
While Snarlers strive with proud but fruitless Pain,
To wound Immortals, or to slay the Slain.[54.1]
Cibber is pardonably vain throughout at the society he moved in. His greatest social distinction was his election as a member of White's. His admission to such society was of course the subject of lampoons, such as the following:—
"The BUFFOON, An EPIGRAM.
Don't boast, prithee Cibber, so much of thy State,That like Pope you are blest with the smiles of the Great;
With both they Converse, but for different Ends,
And 'tis easy to know their Buffoons from their Friends."
Arlington did not, however, die till the 28th July, 1685, surviving Charles II. by nearly six months.
Cibber was appointed Poet-Laureate on the death of Eusden. His appointment was dated 3rd December, 1730.
As Laureate, and as author of "The Nonjuror," Cibber is bound to be extremely loyal to the Protestant dynasty.
Curiously enough, Cibber's praise of his deceased companion-actors has been attributed to something of this motive.
Bellchambers prints these words thus: "Lick at the Laureat," as if Cibber had referred to the title of a book; and notes: "This is the title of a pamphlet in which some of Mr. Cibber's peculiarities have been severely handled." But I doubt this, for there is nothing in Cibber's arrangement of the words to denote that they represent the title of a book; and, besides, I know no work with such a title published before 1740. Bellchambers, in a note on page 114, represents that he quotes from "Lick at the Laureat, 1730;" but I find the quotation he gives in "The Laureat," 1740 (p. 31), almost verbatim. As it stands in the latter there is no hint that it is quoted from a previous work, nor, indeed, do the terms of it permit of such an interpretation. I can, therefore, only suppose that Bellchambers is wrong in attributing the sentence to a work called "A Lick at the Laureat."
The principal allusions to Cibber which, up to the time of the publication of the "Apology," Pope had made, were in the "Dunciad":—
Less human genius than God gives an ape,
Small thanks to France and none to Rome or Greece,
A past, vamp'd, future, old, reviv'd, new piece,
'Twixt Plautus, Fletcher, Congreve, and Corneille,
Can make a Cibber, Johnson, or Ozell."
Second edition, Book i. 235-240.
Cibber preside, Lord-Chancellor of Plays."
Second edition, Book iii. 319, 320.
In the "First Epistle of the Second Book of Horace" (1737), Cibber is scurvily treated. In it occur the lines:—
To make poor Pinkey eat with vast applause!"
Cibber's Odes were a fruitful subject of banter. Fielding in "Pasquin," act ii. sc. I, has the following passage:—
"2nd Voter. My Lord, I should like a Place at Court too; I don't much care what it is, provided I wear fine Cloaths, and have something to do in the Kitchen, or the Cellar; I own I should like the Cellar, for I am a divilish Lover of Sack.
Lord Place. Sack, say you? Odso, you shall be Poet-Laureat.
2nd Voter. Poet! no, my Lord, I am no Poet, I can't make verses.
Lord Place. No Matter for that—you'll be able to make Odes.
2nd Voter. Odes, my Lord! what are those?
Lord Place. Faith, Sir, I can't tell well what they are; but I know you may be qualified for the Place without being a Poet."
Boswell ("Life of Johnson," i. 402) reports that Johnson said, "His [Cibber's] friends give out that he intended his birth-day Odes should be bad: but that was not the case, Sir; for he kept them many months by him, and a few years before he died he shewed me one of them, with great solicitude to render it as perfect as might be."
In "The Egotist" (P. 63) Cibber is made to say: "As bad Verses are the Devil, and good ones I can't get up to—-"
"Champion," 29th April, 1740: "When he says (Fol. 23) Satire is angrily particular, every Dunce of a Reader knows that he means angry with a particular Person."
Davies ("Dram. Misc.," iii. 511) says: "If we except the remarks on plays and players by the authors of the Tatler and Spectator, the theatrical observations in those days were coarse and illiberal, when compared to what we read in our present daily and other periodical papers."
"Frankly. Is it not commendable in a Man of Parts, to be warmly concerned for his Reputation?
Author [Cibber]. In what regards his Honesty or Honour, I will make you some Allowances: But for the Reputation of his Parts, not one Tittle!"— "The Egotist: or, Colley upon Cibber," p. 13.
Bellchambers notes here: "When Cibber was charged with moral offences of a deeper dye, he thought himself at liberty, I presume, to relinquish his indifference, and bring the libeller to account. On a future page will be found the public advertisement in which he offered a reward of ten pounds for the detection of Dennis."
"Frankly. It will be always natural for Authors to defend their Works.
Author [Cibber]. And would it not be as well, if their Works defended themselves?"—"The Egotist: or, Colley upon Cibber," p. 15.
In his "Letter to Pope," 1742, p. 7, Cibber says: "After near twenty years having been libell'd by our Daily-paper Scriblers, I never was so hurt, as to give them one single Answer."
"Frankly. I am afraid you will discover yourself; and your Philosophical Air will come out at last meer Vanity in Masquerade.
Author [Cibber]. O! if there be Vanity in keeping one's Temper; with all my Heart."—"The Egotist: or, Colley upon Cibber," p. 13.
In his "Letter to Pope," 1742, p. 9, Cibber says: "I would not have even your merited Fame in Poetry, if it were to be attended with half the fretful Solicitude you seem to have lain under to maintain it."
The best epigram is that which Cibber ("Letter," 1742, p. 39) attributes to Pope:—
The King had his Poet, and also his Fool.
But now we're so frugal, I'd have you to know it,
That Cibber can serve both for Fool and for Poet."
Dr. Johnson also wrote an epigram, of which he seems to have been somewhat proud:—
And Spenser's verse prolongs Eliza's reign;
Great George's acts let tuneful Cibber sing;
For Nature form'd the Poet for the King."
Boswell, i. 149.
In "Certain Epigrams, in Laud and Praise of the Gentlemen of the Dunciad," p. 8, is:—
EPIGRAM XVI.
A Question by ANONYMUS.
"Tell, if you can,
which did the worse,Caligula, or Gr—n's [Grafton's] Gr—ce?
That made a Consul of a Horse,
And this a Laureate of an Ass."
In "The Egotist: or, Colley upon Cibber," p. 49, Cibber is made to say: "An Ode is a Butt, that a whole Quiver of Wit is let fly at every Year!"
"The Laureat" says: "The Things he calls Verses, carry the most evident Marks of their Parent Colley."—p. 24.
Fielding has many extremely good attacks on Cibber's style and language. For instance:—
"I shall here only obviate a flying Report...That whatever Language it was writ in, it certainly could not be English in the following Manner. Whatever Book is writ in no other Language, is writ in English. This Book is writ in no other Language, Ergo, It is writ in English."—"Champion," 22nd April, 1740.
Again ("Joseph Andrews," book iii. chap. vi.), addressing the Muse or Genius that presides over Biography, he says: "Thou, who, without the assistance of the least spice of literature, and even against his inclination, hast, in some pages of his book, forced Colley Cibber to write English."
No rhymer can like Welsted sink,
His merits balanc'd, you shall find,
The laureat leaves him far behind."
Swift, On Poetry: a Rhapsody, l. 393.
"Frankly. Then for your Reputation, if you won't bustle about it, and now and then give it these little Helps of Art, how can you hope to raise it?
Author [Cibber]. If it can't live upon simple Nature, let it die, and be damn'd! I shall give myself no further Trouble about it."—"The Egotist: or, Colley upon Cibber," p. 9.
CHAPTER II. An Apology for the Life of Mr. Colley Cibber, Volume I | ||