The Tatler, Volume 1

White's Chocolate-house, May 26

A gentleman has writ to me out of the country a very civil letter, and said things which I suppress with great violence to my vanity. There are many terms in my narratives which he complains want explaining, and has therefore desired, that, for the benefit of my country readers, I would let him know what I mean by a Gentleman, a Pretty Fellow, a Toast, a Coquette, a Critic, a Wit, and all other appellations in the gayer world, who are in present possession of these several characters; together with an account of those who unfortunately pretend to them. I shall begin with him we usually call a Gentleman, or man of conversation. It is generally thought, that warmth of imagination, quick relish of pleasure, and a manner of becoming it, are the most essential qualities for forming this sort of man. But any one that is much in company will observe, that the height of good breeding is shown rather in never giving offence, than in doing obliging things. Thus, he that never shocks you, though he is seldom entertaining, is more likely to keep your favour, than he who often entertains, and sometimes displeases you. The most necessary talent therefore in a man of conversation, which is what we ordinarily intend by a fine gentleman, is a good judgment. He that has this in perfection, is master of his companion, without letting him see it; and has the same advantage over men of any other qualifications whatsoever, as one that can see would have over a blind man of ten times his strength. This is what makes Sophronius the darling of all who converse with him, and the most powerful with his acquaintance of any man in town. By the light of this faculty, he acts with great ease and freedom among the men of pleasure, and acquits himself with skill and despatch among the men of business. This he performs with so much success, that, with as much discretion in life as any man ever had, he neither is, nor appears, cunning. But as he does a good office, if he ever does it, with readiness and alacrity; so he denies what he does not care to engage in, in a manner that convinces you, that you ought not to have asked it. His judgment is so good and unerring, and accompanied with so cheerful a spirit, that his conversation is a continual feast, at which he helps some, and is helped by others, in such a manner, that the equality of society is perfectly kept up, and every man obliges as much as he is obliged: for it is the greatest and justest skill in a man of superior understanding, to know how to be on a level with his companions. This sweet disposition runs through all the actions of Sophronius, and makes his company desired by women, without being envied by men. Sophronius would be as just as he is, if there were no law; and would be as discreet as he is, if there were no such thing as calumny.

In imitation of this agreeable being, is made that animal we call a Pretty Fellow; who being just able to find out, that what makes Sophronius acceptable, is a natural behaviour; in order to the same reputation, makes his own an artificial one. Jack Dimple is his perfect mimic, whereby he is of course the most unlike him of all men living. Sophronius just now passed into the inner room directly forward: Jack comes as fast after as he can for the right and left looking-glass, in which he had but just approved himself by a nod at each, and marched on. He will meditate within for half an hour, till he thinks he is not careless enough in his air, and come back to the mirror to recollect his forgetfulness.

Will's Coffee-house, May 27

This night was acted the comedy, called, "The Fox";249 but I wonder the modern writers do not use their interest in the house to suppress such representations. A man that has been at this, will hardly like any other play during the season: therefore I humbly move, that the writings, as well as dresses, of the last age, should give way to the present fashion. We are come into a good method enough (if we were not interrupted in our mirth by such an apparition as a play of Jonson's) to be entertained at more ease, both to the spectator and the writer, than in the days of old. It is no difficulty to get hats, and swords, and wigs, and shoes, and everything else, from the shops in town, and make a man show himself by his habit, without more ado, to be a counsellor, a fop, a courtier, or a citizen, and not be obliged to make those characters talk in different dialects to be distinguished from each other. This is certainly the surest and best way of writing: but such a play as this makes a man for a month after overrun with criticism, and inquire, what every man on the stage said? What had such a one to do to meddle with such a thing? How came the other, who was bred after such a manner, to speak so like a man conversant among a different people? These questions rob us of all our pleasure; for at this rate, no one sentence in a play should be spoken by any one character, which could possibly enter into the head of any other man represented in it; but every sentiment should be peculiar to him only who utters it. Laborious Ben's works will bear this sort of inquisition; but if the present writers were thus examined, and the offences against this rule cut out, few plays would be long enough for the whole evening's entertainment. But I don't know how they did in those old times: this same Ben Jonson has made every one's passion in this play be towards money, and yet not one of them expresses that desire, or endeavours to obtain it any way but what is peculiar to him only: one sacrifices his wife, another his profession, another his posterity from the same motive; but their characters are kept so skilfully apart, that it seems prodigious their discourses should rise from the invention of the same author. But the poets are a nest of hornets, and I'll drive these thoughts no farther, but must mention some hard treatment I am like to meet with from my brother-writers. I am credibly informed, that the author of a play, called, "Love in a Hollow Tree,"250 has made some remarks upon my late discourse on "The Naked Truth."251 I cannot blame a gentleman for writing against any error; it is for the good of the learned world. But I would have the thing fairly left between us two, and not under the protection of patrons. But my intelligence is, that he has dedicated his treatise to the Honourable Mr. Ed–d H–rd.252

From my own Apartment, May 27

"To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq.

"York, May 16, 1709.

"SIR,

"Being convinced as the whole world is, how infallible your predictions are, and having the honour to be your near relation, of the Staffian family, I was under great concern at one of your predictions relating to yourself, wherein you foretold your own death would happen on the 17th instant, unless it were prevented by the assistance of well-disposed people:253 I have therefore prevailed on my own modesty to send you a piece of news, which may serve instead of Goddard's Drops,254 to keep you alive for two days, till nature be able to recover itself, or till you meet with some better help from other hands. Therefore, without further ceremony, I will go on to relate a singular adventure just happened in the place where I am writing, wherein it may be highly useful for the public to be informed.255

"Three young ladies of our town were on Saturday last indicted for witchcraft. The witnesses against the first deposed upon oath before Justice Bindover, that she kept spirits locked up in velvets, which sometimes appeared in flames of blue fire; that she used magical herbs, with some of which she drew in hundreds of men daily to her, who went out from her presence all inflamed, their mouths parched, and a hot steam issuing from them, attended with a grievous stench; that many of the said men were by the force of that herb metamorphosed into swine, and lay wallowing in the kennels for twenty-four hours, before they could reassume their shapes or their senses.

"It was proved against the second, that she cut off by night the limbs from dead bodies that were hanged, and was seen to dig holes in the ground, to mutter some conjuring words, and bury pieces of the flesh, after the usual manner of witches.

"The third was accused for a notorious piece of sorcery, long practised by hags, of moulding up pieces of dough into the shapes of men, women, and children; then heating them at a gentle fire, which had a sympathetic power to torment the bowels of those in the neighbourhood.

"This was the sum of what was objected against the three ladies, who indeed had nothing to say in their own defence, but downright denying the facts, which is like to avail very little when they come upon their trials.

"But the parson of our parish, a strange refractory man, will believe nothing of all this; so that the whole town cries out, 'Shame! that one of his coat should be such an atheist;' and design to complain of him to the bishop. He goes about very oddly to solve the matter. He supposes, that the first of these ladies keeping a brandy and tobacco shop, the fellows went out smoking, and got drunk towards evening, and made themselves beasts. He says, the second is a butcher's daughter, and sometimes brings a quarter of mutton from the slaughter-house overnight against a market-day, and once buried a bit of beef in the ground, as a known receipt to cure warts on her hands. The parson affirms, that the third sells gingerbread, which, to please the children, she is forced to stamp with images before it is baked; and if it burns their guts, it is because they eat too much, or do not drink after it.

"These are the answers he gives to solve this wonderful phenomenon; upon which I shall not animadvert, but leave it among the philosophers: and so wishing you all success in your undertakings for the amendment of the world, I remain,

"Dear Cousin,

"Your most affectionate Kinsman,

"and humble Servant,

"P.S.—Those who were condemned to death among the Athenians, were obliged to take a dose of poison, which made them die upwards, seizing first upon their feet, making them cold and insensible, and so ascending gradually, till it reached the vital parts. I believe your death, which you foretold would happen on the 17th instant, will fall out the same way, and that your distemper hath already seized on you, and makes progress daily. The lower part of you, that is, the advertisements,256 is dead; and these have risen for these ten days last past, so that they now take up almost a whole paragraph. Pray, sir, do your endeavour to drive this distemper as much as possible to the extreme parts, and keep it there, as wise folks do the gout; for if it once gets into your stomach, it will soon fly up into your head, and you are a dead man."

St. James's Coffee-house, May 27

We hear from Leghorn, that Sir Edward Whitaker, with five men-of-war, four transports, and two fire-ships, was arrived at that port, and Admiral Byng was suddenly expected. Their squadrons being joined, they design to sail directly for Final, to transport the reinforcements, lodged in those parts, to Barcelona.

They write from Milan, that Count Thaun arrived there on the 16th instant, N.S., and proceeded on his journey to Turin on the 21st, in order to concert such measures with his royal highness, as shall appear necessary for the operations of the ensuing campaign.

Advices from Dauphiny say, that the troops of the Duke of Savoy began already to appear in those valleys, whereof he made himself master the last year; and that the Duke of Berwick applied himself with all imaginable diligence to secure the passes of the mountains by ordering entrenchments to be made towards Briançon, Tourneau, and the Valley of Queiras. That general has also been at Marseilles and Toulon, to hasten the transportation of the corn and provisions designed for his army.

Letters from Vienna, bearing date May 23, N.S., import, that the Cardinal of Saxe-Zeits and the Prince of Lichtenstein were preparing to set out for Presburg, to assist at the Diet of the States of Hungary, which is to be assembled at that place on the 25th of this month. General Heister would shortly appear at the head of his army at Trentschin, which place is appointed for the general rendezvous of the Imperial forces in Hungary; from whence he will advance to lay siege to Neuhausel: in the meantime, reinforcements, with a great train of artillery, are marching the same way. The King of Denmark arrived on the both instant at Innspruck, and on the 26th at Dresden, under a triple discharge of the artillery of that place; but his Majesty refused the ceremonies of a public entry.

Our letters from the Upper Rhine say, that the Imperial army began to form itself at Etlingen; where the respective deputies of the Elector Palatine, the Prince of Baden Durlach, the Bishopric of Spires, &c. were assembled, and had taken the necessary measures for the provision of forage, the security of the country against the incursions of the enemy, and laying a bridge over the Rhine. Several vessels laden with corn are daily passing before Frankfort for the Lower Rhine.

Letters from Poland inform us, that a detachment of Muscovite cavalry, under the command of General Infland, had joined the confederate army; and the infantry commanded by General Goltz, was expected to come up within few days. These succours will amount to 20,000 men.

Our last advices from the Hague, dated June the 4th, N.S., say, that they expected a courier from the French Court with the ratification of the preliminaries that night or the day following. His Grace the Duke of Marlborough will set out for Brussels on Wednesday or Thursday next, if the despatches which are expected from Paris don't alter his resolutions. Letters from Majorca confirm the honourable capitulation of the castle of Alicante, and also the death of the governor, Major-General Richards, Colonel Sibourg, and Major Vignolles, who were all buried in the ruins of that place, by the springing of their great mine, which did, it seems, more execution than was reported. Monsieur Torcy passed through Mons in his return, and had there a long conference with the Elector of Bavaria; after which, that prince spoke publicly of the treatment he had from France with the utmost indignation.

Any person that shall come publicly abroad in a fantastical habit, contrary to the present mode and fashion, except Don Diego Dismallo,257 or any other out of poverty, shall have his name and dress inserted in our next.

N.B.—Mr. How'd'call is desired to leave off those buttons.

White's Chocolate-house, May 28

I came hither this evening to see fashions, and who should I first encounter but my old friend Cynthio258 (encompassed by a crowd of young fellows) dictating on the passion of love with the gayest air imaginable. "Well," says he, "as to what I know of the matter, there is nothing but ogling with skill carries a woman; but indeed it is not every fool that is capable of this art: you will find twenty can speak eloquently, fifty can fight manfully, and a thousand that can dress genteelly at a mistress, where there is one that can gaze skilfully. This requires an exquisite judgment, to take the language of her eyes to yours exactly, and not let yours talk too fast for hers; as at a play between the acts, when Beau Frisk stands upon a bench full in Lindamira's face, and her dear eyes are searching round to avoid that flaring open fool; she meets the watchful glance of her true lover, and sees his heart attentive on her charms, and waiting for a second twinkle of her eye for its next motion." Here the good company sneered; but he goes on. "Nor is this attendance a slavery, when a man meets encouragement, and her eye comes often in his way: for, after an evening so spent, and the repetition of four or five significant looks at him, the happy man goes home to his lodging, full of ten thousand pleasing images: his brain is dilated, and gives him all the ideas and prospects which it ever lets in to its seat of pleasure. Thus a kind look from Lindamira revives in his imagination all the beauteous lawns, green fields, woods, forests, rivers and solitudes, which he had ever before seen in picture, description, or real life: and all with this addition, that he now sees them with the eyes of a happy lover, as before only with those of a common man. You laugh, gentlemen: but consider yourselves (you common people that were never in love) and compare yourselves in good humour with yourselves out of humour, and you will then acknowledge, that all external objects affect you according to the disposition you are in to receive their impressions, and not as those objects are in their own nature. How much more shall all that passes within his view and observation, touch with delight a man who is prepossessed with successful love, which is an assemblage of soft affections, gay desires, and hopeful resolutions?" Poor Cynthio went on at this rate to the crowd about him, without any purpose in his talk, but to vent a heart overflowing with sense of success. I wondered what could exalt him from the distress in which he had long appeared, to so much alacrity. But my familiar has given me the state of his affairs. It seems then, that lately coming out of the play-house, his mistress, who knows he is in her livery (as the manner of insolent beauties is), resolved to keep him still so, and gave him so much wages, as to complain to him of the crowd she was to pass through. He had his wits and resolution enough about him to take her hand, and say, he would attend her to her coach. All the way thither, my good young man stammered at every word, and stumbled at every step. His mistress, wonderfully pleased with her triumph, put him to a thousand questions, to make a man of his natural wit speak with hesitation, and let drop her fan, to see him recover it awkwardly. This is the whole foundation of Cynthio's recovery to the sprightly air he appears with at present. I grew mighty curious to know something more of that lady's affairs, as being amazed how she could dally with an offer of one of his merit and fortune. I sent Pacolet to her lodgings; he immediately brought me back the following letter to her friend and confidante Amanda in the country, wherein she has opened her heart and all its folds.

"DEAR AMANDA,

The town grows so empty, that you must expect my letter so too, except you will allow me to talk of myself instead of others: you cannot imagine what pain it is, after a whole day spent in public, to want your company, and the ease which friendship allows in being vain to each other, and speaking all our minds. An account of the slaughter which these unhappy eyes have made within ten days last past, would make me appear too great a tyrant to be allowed in a Christian country. I shall therefore confine myself to my principal conquests, which are the hearts of Beau Frisk, and Jack Freeland, besides Cynthio, who, you know, wore my fetters before you went out of town. Shall I tell you my weakness? I begin to love Frisk: it is the best-humoured impertinent thing in the world: he is always too in waiting, and will certainly carry me off one time or other. Freeland's father and mine have been upon treaty without consulting me; and Cynthio has been eternally watching my eyes, without approaching me, my friends, my maid, or any one about me: he hopes to get me, I believe, as they say the rattlesnake does the squirrel, by staring at me till I drop into his mouth. Freeland demands me for a jointure which he thinks deserves me; Cynthio thinks nothing high enough to be my value: Freeland therefore will take it for no obligation to have me; and Cynthio's idea of me, is what will vanish by knowing me better. Familiarity will equally turn the veneration of the one, and the indifference of the other, into contempt. I will stick therefore to my old maxim, to have that sort of man, who can have no greater views than what are in my power to give him possession of. The utmost of my dear Frisk's ambition is, to be thought a man of fashion; and therefore has been so much in mode, as to resolve upon me, because the whole town likes me. Thus I choose rather a man who loves me because others do, than one who approves me on his own judgment. He that judges for himself in love, will often change his opinion; but he that follows the sense of others, must be constant, as long as a woman can make advances. The visits I make, the entertainments I give, and the addresses I receive, will be all arguments for me with a man of Frisk's second-hand genius; but would be so many bars to my happiness with any other man. However, since Frisk can wait, I shall enjoy a summer or two longer, and remain a single woman, in the sublime pleasure of being followed and admired; which nothing can equal, except that of being beloved by you.