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THE GENTEEL STYLE IN WRITING
IT is an ordinary criticism, that my Lord Shaftesbury, and Sir
William Temple, are models of the genteel style in writing.
We should prefer saying -- of the lordly, and the gentlemanly.
Nothing can be more unlike than the inflated finical rhapsodies of
Shaftesbury, and the plain natural chit-chat of Temple. The man
of rank is discernible in both writers; but in the one it is only
insinuated gracefully, in the other it stands out offensively. The
peer seems to have written with his coronet on, and his Earl's
mantle before him; the commoner in his elbow chair and undress.
-- What can be more pleasant than the way in which the retired
statesman peeps out in the essays, penned by the latter in his
delightful retreat at Shene? They scent of Nimeguen, and the
Hague. Scarce an authority is quoted under an ambassador. Don
Francisco de Melo, a "Portugal Envoy in England," tells him it
was frequent in his country for men, spent with age or other decays,
so as they could not hope for above a year or two of life, to ship
themselves away in a Brazil fleet, and after their arrival there to
go on a great length, sometimes of twenty or thirty years, or more,
by the force of that vigour they recovered with that remove.
"Whether such an effect (Temple beautifully adds) might grow
from the air, or the fruits of that climate, or by approaching nearer
the sun, which is the fountain of light and heat, when their natural
heat was so far decayed: or whether the piecing out of an old man's
life were worth the pains; I cannot tell: perhaps the play is not
worth the candle." -- Monsieur Pompone, "French Ambassador in
his (Sir William's) time at the Hague, "certifies him, that in his
life he had never heard of any man in France that arrived at a
hundred years of age; a limitation of life which the old gentleman
imputes to the excellence of their climate, giving them such a
liveliness of temper and humour, as disposes them to more pleasures
of all kinds than in other countries; and moralises upon the matter
very sensibly. The "late Robert Earl of Leicester" furnishes
him with a story of a Countess of Desmond, married out of
England in Edward the Fourth's time, and who lived far in King
James's reign. The "same noble person" gives him an account,
how such a year, in the same reign, there went about the country
a set of morrice-dancers, composed of ten men who danced, a Maid
Marian, and a tabor and pipe; and how these twelve, one with
another, made up twelve hundred years. "It was not so much
(says Temple) that so many in one small county (Herefordshire)
should live to that age, as that they should be in vigour and in
humour to travel and to dance." Monsieur Zulichem, one of his
"colleagues at the Hague," informs him of a cure for the gout;
which is confirmed by another "Envoy," Monsieur Serinchamps,
in that town, who had tried it. -- Old Prince Maurice of Nassau
recommends to him the use of hammocks in that complaint; having
been allured to sleep, while suffering under it himself, by the
"constant motion or swinging of those airy beds." Count Egmont,
and the Rhinegrave who "was killed last summer before Maestricht,"
impart to him their experiences.
But the rank of the writer is never more innocently disclosed,
than where he takes for granted the compliments paid by foreigners
to his fruit-trees. For the taste and perfection of what we esteem
the best, he can truly say, that the French, who have eaten his
peaches and grapes at Shene in no very ill year, have generally
concluded that the last are as good as any they have eaten in France
on this side Fontainebleau; and the first as good as any they have
eat in Gascony. Italians have agreed his white figs to be as good
as any of that sort in Italy, which is the earlier kind of white fig
there; for in the later kind and the blue, we cannot come near the
warm climates, no more than in the Frontignac or Muscat grape.
His orange-trees too, are as large as any he saw when he was
young in France, except those of Fontainebleau, or what he has
seen since in the Low Countries; except some very old ones of the
Prince of Orange's. Of grapes he had the honour of bringing over
four sorts into England, which he enumerates, and supposes that
they are all by this time pretty common among some gardeners in
his neighbourhood, as well as several persons of quality; for he
ever thought all things of this kind "the commoner they are made
the better." The garden pedantry with which he asserts that `tis
to little purpose to plant any of the best fruits, as peaches or
grapes, hardly, he doubts, beyond Northamptonshire at the furthest
northwards; and praises the "Bishop of Munster at Cosevelt," for
attempting nothing beyond cherries in that cold climate;
pleasant and in character. "I may perhaps" (he thus ends his
sweet Garden Essay with a passage worthy of Cowley) "be allowed
to know something of this trade, since I have so long allowed
myself to be good for nothing else, which few men will do, or enjoy
their gardens, without often looking abroad to see how other
matters play, what motions in the state, and what invitations they
may hope for into other scenes. For my own part, as the country
life, and this part of it more particularly, were the inclination of
my youth itself, so they are the pleasure of my age; and I can
truly say that, among many great employments that have fallen to
my share, I have never asked or sought for any of them, but have
often endeavoured to escape from them, into the ease and freedom
of a private scene, where a man may go his own way and his own
pace, in the common paths and circles of life. The measure of
choosing well is whether a man likes what he has chosen, which I
thank God has befallen me; and though among the follies of my
life, building and planting have not been the least, and have cost
me more than I have the confidence to own; yet they have been
fully recompensed by the sweetness and satisfaction of this retreat,
where, since my resolution taken of never entering again into any
public employments, I have passed five years without ever once
going to town, though I am almost in sight of it, and have a house
there always ready to receive me. Nor has this been any sort of
affectation as some have thought it, but a mere want of desire or
humour to make so small a remove; for when I am in this corner,
I can truly say with Horace, Me quoties reficit, &c.
"Me, when the cold Digentian stream revives,
What does my friend believe I think or ask?
Let me yet less possess, so I may live,
Whate'er of life remains, unto myself.
May I have books enough; and one year's store,
Not to depend upon each doubtful hour:
This is enough of mighty Jove to pray,
Who, as he pleases, gives and takes away."
The writings of Temple are, in general, after this easy copy.
On one occasion, indeed, his wit, which was mostly subordinate to
nature and tenderness, has seduced him into a string of felicitous
antitheses; which, it is obvious to remark, have been a model to
Addison and succeeding essayists. "Who would not be covetous,
and with reason," he says, "if health could be purchased with gold?
who not ambitious, if it were at the command of power, or restored
by honour? but, alas! a white staff will not help gouty feet to
walk better than a common cane; nor a blue riband bind up a
wound so well as a fillet. The glitter of gold, or of diamonds, will
but hurt sore eyes instead of curing them; and an aching head will
be no more eased by wearing a crown, than a common nightcap."
In a far better style, and more accordant with his own humour of
plainness, are the concluding sentences of his "Discourse upon
Poetry." Temple took a part in the controversy about the
ancient and the modern learning ; and, with that partiality so
natural and so graceful in an old man, whose state engagements
had left him little leisure to look into modern production, while
his retirement gave him occasion to look back upon the classic
studies of his youth -- decided in favour of the latter. "Certain it
is," he says, "that, whether the fierceness of the Gothic humours,
or noise of their perpetual wars, frighted it away, or that the unequal
mixture of the modern languages would not bear it -- the
great heights and excellency both of poetry and music fell with
the Roman learning and empire, and have never since recovered the
admiration and applauses that before attended them. Yet, such as
they are amongst us, they must be confessed to be the softest and
sweetest, the most general and most innocent amusements of common
time and life. They still find room in the courts of princes,
and the cottages of shepherds. They serve to revive and animate
the dead calm of poor and idle lives, and to allay or divert the
violent passions and perturbations of the greatest and the busiest
men. And both these effects are of equal use to human life; for
the mind of man is like the sea, which is neither agreeable to the
beholder nor the voyager, in a calm or in a storm, but is so to both
when a little agitated by gentle gales; and so the mind, when
moved by soft and easy passions or affections. I know very well
that many who pretend to be wise by the forms of being grave, are
apt to despise both poetry and music, as toys and trifles too light
for the use or entertainment of serious men. But whoever find
themselves wholly insensible to their charms, would, I think, do
well to keep their own counsel, for fear of reproaching their own
temper, and bringing the goodness of their natures, if not of their
understandings, into question. While this world lasts, I doubt not
but the pleasure and request of these two entertainments will do so
too; and happy those that content themselves with these, or any
other so easy and so innocent, and do not trouble the world or
other men, because they cannot be quiet themselves, though nobody
hurts them." "When all is done (he concludes), human life
is at the greatest and the best but like a froward child, that must
be played with, and humoured a little, to keep it quiet, till it falls
asleep, and then the care is over."
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