man's face he has never seen before, and hang on his robes, or his garter, if he has one, or will put a horse in his hand, if he likes it better, or make a battle in the background, if he was ever within hearing of one, and when the job is finished will be paid the price of his labour, like any other mechanic; the money he may spend or put to use, and, if customers come in, he may raise his price upon them, and the world may call those profits an encouragement; but the painter is still a tradesman, and his sitter, not a patron, but a customer; the mercer, whose damask clothes the walls of the nobleman's saloon, and the artist, whose pictures hang round it, are in the same predicament as to encouragement, whilst neither of them are admitted into the house they contribute to adorn. As I have made this remark with a reference to the Dampers in high life, I am aware that there are many eminent encouragers of the arts and sciences among the rich and liberal; nay, so general is their protection that it comprehends a numerous importation of exotic toothdrawers, dancers, and milliners, who find that in England is the nursery of genius: even the magnifying philosopher of Piccadilly (unless he multiplies as well as magnifies) has shown his wonders so frequently and to such prodigious numbers, that it is to be doubted if they shall continue to be wonders much longer. There were men in ancient Greece, no doubt, who talked though Zeno chose to hold his tongue, when certain ambassadors had invited him to supper, that they might report his sayings to their sovereign: what shall we say of you to our master? the foreigners demanded; say that I had the wisdom to hold my tongue, replied the Stoic. Though I am clearly of opinion that this great master of silence was an intolerable Damper, and made a very poor return to these same hospitable ambassadors for their good entertainment of him, yet I am not quite so ready with my answer to a certain female correspondent, who in consequence of some discourse upon Dampers the other day, in a company where she was present, favoured me with the following short but curious epistle. 66 SIR, "I have the misfortune to be married to an elderly gentleman, who has taken strange things in his head of late, and is for ever snubbing me before folks, especially when the captain is in company. Twas but t'other night he broke up a party of hotcockles in the back parlour, and would not let the captain take a civil salute, though I assured him it was only a forfeit at questions and commands. "I don't know what he means by saying he will put a spoke in my wheel, but I suspect it is some jealousy matter. Pray, Sir, is not my husband what you call a Damper? Your's, "LUCY LOVEIT." No. III. THE desire of praise is natural, but when that appetite becomes canine, it is no longer in nature; a taste of it is pleasant to most men: temperance itself will take a little, but the stomach sickens with a surfeit of it, and the palate nauseates the debauch. Let the passion for flattery be ever so inordinate, the supply can keep pace with the demand, and in the world's great market, in which wit and folly drive their bargains with each other, there are traders of all sorts; some keep a stall of offals, some a storehouse of delicacies; a squeamish palate must be forced by alluring provocatives, a foul feeder will swallow any trash that he can get hold of. In a recent publication of the history of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, written by Sepulveda of Cordova (a contemporary and favourite of that famous monarch), the Academy of History at Madrid, in their dedication to his present Catholic Majesty, address him in the following words-Nam quem tu, Carole Rex, ut nomine refers, ita etiam bellicâ laude jampridem æmularis. When these courtly academicians have thus mounted their peaceable sovereign on the warhorse of the victorious Charles, they seriously proceed to tell him, that being fully equal to his predecessor in his martial character, he is out of all distance superior to him in every other kingly quality; more wise, more politic, more magnanimous, and (as the present work can testify) a greater friend to learning than all that ever went before him, and if they may risk a prediction, there will probably be none to come in competition with him hereafter. If his Catholic Majesty shall ever come to an understanding of this paragraph, and strike a fair comparison between himself and his illustrious namesake, I should not be surprised if the next work his academicians shall be employed in proves the fortifications of Ceuta. When I compare the state of flattery in a free country with that which obtains in arbitrary states, it is a consolation to find that this mean principle is not natural to mankind; for it certainly abates in proportion as independency advances. This will be very evident to any one who compares the flattery of Elizabeth's and James's days with the present. Ben Jonson, for instance, was a surly poet, yet how fulsome are his masques! In his News from the New World he says of James, VOL. I. C Read him as you would do the book No measure that is thence contrived, This poet, though he was rather a clumsy flatterer of his prince, was ingenious enough in the mode he took for flattering himself, by introducing a kind of chorus, wherein he takes occasion to tell his hearers, that careless of all vulgar censure, as not depending on common approbation, he is confident his plays shall superplease judicious spectators, and to them he leaves it to work with the rest by example or otherwise. It is remarkable that this passage should be found in his Magnetic Lady, and that he should speak with such confidence of one of his worst productions, as if he was determined to force a bad comedy upon the hearers by the authority of his own recommendation. This is an evident imitation of Aristophanes, who, in his comedy of The Clouds, holds the same language to his audience, fairly telling them he shall estimate their judgment according to the degree of applause they shall bestow upon his performance then before them: in conclusion he inveighs against certain of his contemporaries, Eupolis, Phyrnichus, and Hermippus, with whose comedies if any of his audience is well pleased, that person he hopes will depart from his dissatisfied; but if they condemn his rivals, and applaud him, he shall think better of their judgment for the future. Act 1. sc. 6. The caution authors now proceed with shows the refinement of the times; still they can contrive in a modest way to say civil things of themselves, and it would be hard indeed to disappoint them of so slight a gratification-for what praise is so little to be envied as that which a man bestows on himself? Several of our diurnal essayists have contrived under the veil of fiction to hook in something recommendatory of themselves, which they mean should pass for truth; such is the intelligent taciturnity of the Spectator, and the solemn integrity of the Guardian. The latter, in one of his papers, notices the ambition of some authors to prefix engravings of their portraits to their titlepages; his ridicule has not quite laughed this fashion out of countenance, for I perceive it is still in existence, and I frequently meet the face of an old acquaintance looking through the windows of a bookseller's shop. One very ingenious gentleman, whose beauty is amongst the least of his recommendations, has very prudently stamped his age upon his print. In the same shop window with this gentleman I observed with great pleasure an elegant author standing by him, as erect as a dart, firm and collected in the awful moment of beginning a minuet. I own I regret that the honest butler, who has regaled the age with a treatise on ale and strong beer, has not hung out his own head in the front of his book, as a sign of the good entertainment within. But of all the instances of face-flattery I have lately met with, that of a worthy citizen surprised me most, whose countinghouse I entered the other day, and found an enormous portrait of my friend in a flaming drapery of blue and gold, mounted upon the back of a warhorse, which the limner has made to rear so furiously that I was quite astonished to see my friend, who is no great jockey, keep his seat so steadily: he confessed to me that he had consented to be drawn on horseback to please his wife and daughters, who chose the attitude; for his own part it made him quite giddy to look at himself, and he frequently desired the painter not to let the horse prance so, but to no purpose. |