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The author of this tragedy, to whose vigorous mind the English are indebted for their
choicest moral works, came into the world with a frame so weak, that he was
christened immediately on his birth, in consequence of the symptoms he gave of a
speedy dissolution.2 The hand, which reared him, did a more than ordinary service to
the age in which he lived, and to succeeding generations. Addison's pious writings, untainted by
the rigour of superstition, have softened the harsh spirit of ancient religion,
whilst they have confirmed all its principles.
He was the son of the Reverend Launcelot
Addison, Rector of Milston, in the county of Wilts, at which place he was
born, on the 6th of May, 1672.3
After passing through some inferior schools, he was placed at the Charter House;
where he contracted that intimacy with Steele, which grew to a friendship honourable to them both, from its
duration, and the instructions which their joint labour bestowed on
mankind.4
b 2[Page 4]
At the age of fifteen, young Addison
was entered at Queen's College, Oxford, where he applied himself so closely to study,
that, in a few years, his Latin poetry gained him high reputation in both
Universities; and at the age of twenty-two, he became known to the nation at large,
by his English compositions.5
He was now pressed by his father to take holy orders; which, notwithstanding his
sedate turn of mind, and his habits of piety, he positively refused. Mr. Tickell has alleged, that it was Addison's extreme modesty, a
constitutional timidity, which made him resolve against being in the church—but
he became a statesman;6 and, surely, that is a
character which requires as much courage as a clergyman's, when the church is not
under persecution.
The first dramatic work from the pen of Addison, was an opera, called, "Rosamond," which having but
indifferent success, he next assisted Steele in his play of "The Tender Husband;" for which the
author surprised him by a dedication, openly to avow the obligation.7
These two friends now united their efforts in that well known periodical work,
"The Spectator;" by which they reformed the manners, as well as the
morals, of their readers, and established their own literary fame.8 But, as the talents of Addison were superior to those of Steele, so are the papers in this work, which were written by him, esteemed
above the rest;—and, as a mark of distinction, he had the laudable, or his
friend Steele the honest, pride, to
affix a letter[Page 5] at the end of every such paper, by which it should be known
for his. The Muse Clio furnished the four letters which have been thus used in
"The Spectator," as Addison's honourable stamp of authorship.9
In the periodical work of "The Guardian"10 he had likewise some share—and, in 1713, he produced,
what Dr. Johnson has called, "the
noblest work of Addison's
genius"11 —"Cato."
Notwithstanding the merit of this play, it is certain, that it was indebted to the
political circumstances of the times, for that enthusiastic applause with which it
was received by the town.
The joy or sorrow, which an author is certain to experience upon every new
production, is far more powerful in the heart of a dramatist, than in that of any
other writer. The sound of clamorous plaudits raises his spirits to a kind of
ecstacy; whilst hisses and groans, from a dissatisfied audience, strike on the ear
like a personal insult, avowing loud and public contempt for that, in which he has
been labouring to show his skill.
Addison, with his timid nature, felt
all the excruciating tortures of an ambitious, yet a fearful, dramatist.—He
could not stay at home on the first night of "Cato:" for to be told, at once, that his tragedy was driven from
the stage with derision, had been to his tremulous nerves, like the dart of death.
Not less peril might have befallen him as an auditor—he therefore was neither
present on the first performance,
b 2[Page 6] nor absent from the
theatre:—but, placing himself on a bench in the greenroom, his body motionless,
his soul in tumult, he kept by his side a friend, whom he despatched every minute
towards the stage, to bring him news of what was passing there. He thus secured, he
conceived, progressive information of his fate, without the risk of hearing it from
an enraged multitude. But, such was the vehemence of applause, that shouts of
admiration forced their way through the walls of the greenroom, before his messenger
could return with the gladsome tidings.—Yet, not till the last sentence was
spoken, and the curtain fairly dropped upon Cato
and his weeping friends, did the author venture to move from the inanimate position
in which he was fixed.—This acute dread of failure, now heightened the joy of
success; and never was success more complete.12
"Cato," says Pope, in a letter to one of his friends,
written at the time, "was not so much the wonder of Rome in his days, as he is of
Britain in ours."13
The most fortunate of all occurrences took place, from the skill with which Addison drew this illustrious
Roman—he gave him so much virtue, that both Whigs and Tories14 declared him of their party; and instead of any one, on
either side, opposing his sentences in the cause of freedom, all strove—which
should the most honour them.
Both auditors and readers, since that noted period, much as they may praise this
tragedy, complain, that it wants the very first requisite of a dramatic[Page 7]
work—power to affect the passions. This criticism shows, to the full extent,
how men were impassioned, at that time, by their political sentiments. They brought
their passions with them to the playhouse fired on the subject of the play; and all
the poet had to do, was to extend the flame.
It is a charge against this drama, that the love scenes are all insipid; but it
should be considered, that neither Cato, nor his
family, with strict propriety, could love any thing but their country.—As this
is a love, which women feel in a much less degree than men, and, as bondage, not
liberty, is woman's wish, "Cato,"
with all his patriotism, must ever be a dull entertainment to the female sex; and
men
of course receive but little pleasure from elegant amusements, of which women do not
partake.
The language and sentiments, contained here, are worthy of the great Addison and the great Cato; and if, as it is objected, the characters
are too elevated to be natural, yet, they accord with that idea of nature, which
imagination conceives of such remarkable personages.
The author of "Cato" had planned
other tragedies and celebrated works, which the subsequent part of his days did not
give him leisure to execute; for, on the death of Queen Anne, the Lords Justices
made him their Secretary:—he was soon after appointed principal Secretary of
State:15
these, and other public employments, prevented his completing farther literary
designs.—Or, it may be thought, that the loss of[Page 8] his domestic
tranquillity, at this time, by his marriage with the Countess Dowager of Warwick,
might possibly impede every future attempt for the favour of the muses, to whom this,
his wife, had not the slightest affinity.16 It is supposed, she embittered, by arrogance and discontent,
the remainder of this good man's life, which terminated on the 17th of June, 1719,
in
the 47th year of his age. He died at Holland House, near Kensington, and left an only
child, a daughter, by the Countess.17
Lady Warwick had also a son by her former husband, a very fine, spirited, and
accomplished youth, for whose welfare the dying Addison showed peculiar concern: for, in
the extremity of his disorder, having dismissed his physicians, and with them all
hopes of recovery, he desired, that the young Lord Warwick might be called to his
bed
side. He came—but life was now fast departing from his revered father-in-law,
and he uttered not a word. After an afflicting pause, the young man said, "Dear sir,
you sent for me; I believe, and I hope, that you have some commands; I shall hold
them most sacred." Grasping his hand, Addison softly replied, "I sent for you, that you might see, in what peace
a christian can die." He spoke with difficulty, and instantly expired.18
It is to this circumstance, Mr.
Tickell refers in his lines on Addison's death, where he has this passage: He taught us how to live; and oh! too highA price for knowledge, taught us how to die. 19 space between stanzas