The Respect Writers Deserve

Neither the English nor any other people have foundations established in favour of the polite arts like those in France. There are Universities in most countries, but it is in France only that we meet with so beneficial an encouragement for astronomy and all parts of the mathematics, for physic, for researches into antiquity, for painting, sculpture, and architecture. Louis XIV. has immortalised his name by these several foundations, and this immortality did not cost him two hundred thousand livres a year.

Neither the English nor any other people have institutions supporting the fine arts like those in France. Most countries have universities. But only France offers such valuable support for astronomy and all branches of mathematics, physics, and research into antiquity. The same is true of painting, sculpture, and architecture. Louis XIV made his name immortal by founding these institutions. And securing that immortality cost him less than two hundred thousand livres a year.

I must confess that one of the things I very much wonder at is, that as the Parliament of Great Britain have promised a reward of £20,000 sterling to any person who may discover the longitude, they should never have once thought to imitate Louis XIV. in his munificence with regard to the arts and sciences.

I must admit that one thing greatly surprises me. The Parliament of Great Britain has promised £20,000 sterling to anyone who finds a way to determine longitude. Yet Parliament has never once thought to imitate Louis XIV. in his generous support for the arts and sciences.

Merit, indeed, meets in England with rewards of another kind, which redound more to the honour of the nation. The English have so great a veneration for exalted talents, that a man of merit in their country is always sure of making his fortune. Mr. Addison in France would have been elected a member of one of the academies, and, by the credit of some women, might have obtained a yearly pension of twelve hundred livres, or else might have been imprisoned in the Bastile, upon pretence that certain strokes in his tragedy of Cato had been discovered which glanced at the porter of some man in power. Mr. Addison was raised to the post of Secretary of State in England. Sir Isaac Newton was made Master of the Royal Mint. Mr. Congreve had a considerable employment. Mr. Prior was Plenipotentiary. Dr. Swift is Dean of St. Patrick in Dublin, and is more revered in Ireland than the Primate himself. The religion which Mr. Pope professes excludes him, indeed, from preferments of every kind, but then it did not prevent his gaining two hundred thousand livres by his excellent translation of Homer. I myself saw a long time in France the author of Rhadamistus ready to perish for hunger. And the son of one of the greatest men our country ever gave birth to, and who was beginning to run the noble career which his father had set him, would have been reduced to the extremes of misery had he not been patronised by Monsieur Fagon.

In England, merit also earns rewards of another kind, rewards that bring greater honour to the nation. The English have such respect for outstanding talent that a man of merit there is always sure to prosper. In France, Mr. Addison would have been elected to one of the academies. Through the influence of some women, he might have secured a yearly pension of twelve hundred livres. Or he might have been imprisoned in the Bastile. The excuse would have been that certain lines in his tragedy Cato mocked some powerful man's porter. In England, Mr. Addison was appointed Secretary of State. Sir Isaac Newton was made Master of the Royal Mint. Mr. Congreve held an important post. Mr. Prior was a Plenipotentiary, a diplomat with full negotiating powers. Dr. Swift is Dean of St. Patrick in Dublin and is more revered in Ireland than even the Primate. Mr. Pope's religion does exclude him from official appointments of every kind. But his religion did not prevent him from earning two hundred thousand livres through his excellent translation of Homer. I myself saw the author of Rhadamistus close to starvation for a long time in France. And consider the son of one of the greatest men our country ever produced. He was beginning to follow the noble career his father had set before him. Yet he would have fallen into extreme poverty had Monsieur Fagon not supported him.

But the circumstance which mostly encourages the arts in England is the great veneration which is paid them. The picture of the Prime Minister hangs over the chimney of his own closet, but I have seen that of Mr. Pope in twenty noblemen’s houses. Sir Isaac Newton was revered in his lifetime, and had a due respect paid to him after his death; the greatest men in the nation disputing who should have the honour of holding up his pall. Go into Westminster Abbey, and you will find that what raises the admiration of the spectator is not the mausoleums of the English kings, but the monuments which the gratitude of the nation has erected to perpetuate the memory of those illustrious men who contributed to its glory. We view their statues in that abbey in the same manner as those of Sophocles, Plato, and other immortal personages were viewed in Athens; and I am persuaded that the bare sight of those glorious monuments has fired more than one breast, and been the occasion of their becoming great men.

But what most encourages the arts in England is the great respect they receive. The Prime Minister’s portrait hangs above the fireplace in his own private study. But I have seen Mr. Pope’s portrait in twenty noblemen’s houses. Sir Isaac Newton was revered during his lifetime and given the respect he deserved after his death. The greatest men in the nation competed for the honor of carrying his funeral pall. Go into Westminster Abbey, and you will find that the English kings’ tombs are not what inspire visitors’ admiration. Instead, visitors admire the monuments a grateful nation has erected to preserve the memory of great men who contributed to its glory. We look at their statues in the abbey just as people in Athens viewed those of Sophocles, Plato, and other immortal figures. I am convinced that the mere sight of those glorious monuments has stirred more than one person’s heart. That inspiration has led them to become great men.

The English have even been reproached with paying too extravagant honours to mere merit, and censured for interring the celebrated actress Mrs. Oldfield in Westminster Abbey, with almost the same pomp as Sir Isaac Newton. Some pretend that the English had paid her these great funeral honours, purposely to make us more strongly sensible of the barbarity and injustice which they object to us, for having buried Mademoiselle Le Couvreur ignominiously in the fields.

The English have even been accused of giving excessive honors to merit alone. They have been criticized for burying the celebrated actress Mrs. Oldfield in Westminster Abbey, with almost as much ceremony as Sir Isaac Newton. Some claim the English gave her these grand funeral honors deliberately to make us feel our own barbarity and injustice more keenly. The English accuse us of that barbarity and injustice for burying Mademoiselle Le Couvreur in disgrace in the fields.

But be assured from me, that the English were prompted by no other principle in burying Mrs. Oldfield in Westminster Abbey than their good sense. They are far from being so ridiculous as to brand with infamy an art which has immortalised a Euripides and a Sophocles; or to exclude from the body of their citizens a set of people whose business is to set off with the utmost grace of speech and action those pieces which the nation is proud of.

But take my word for it: the English buried Mrs. Oldfield in Westminster Abbey for no reason but good sense. The English are far too sensible to disgrace an art that made Euripides and Sophocles immortal. Nor would they deny citizenship to people whose work is to perform the plays their nation takes pride in. These performers bring those plays to life with the greatest possible grace in speech and movement.

Under the reign of Charles I. and in the beginning of the civil wars raised by a number of rigid fanatics, who at last were the victims to it; a great many pieces were published against theatrical and other shows, which were attacked with the greater virulence because that monarch and his queen, daughter to Henry I. of France, were passionately fond of them.

During the reign of Charles I., civil wars broke out, started by a group of rigid fanatics. These fanatics eventually fell victim to the wars themselves. Early in the wars, many writings were published attacking plays and other shows. The attacks were all the more vicious because the king and his queen were passionately fond of these entertainments. The queen was the daughter of Henry I. of France.

One Mr. Prynne, a man of most furiously scrupulous principles, who would have thought himself damned had he worn a cassock instead of a short cloak, and have been glad to see one-half of mankind cut the other to pieces for the glory of God, and the Propaganda Fide; took it into his head to write a most wretched satire against some pretty good comedies, which were exhibited very innocently every night before their majesties. He quoted the authority of the Rabbis, and some passages from St. Bonaventure, to prove that the Œdipus of Sophocles was the work of the evil spirit; that Terence was excommunicated ipso facto; and added, that doubtless Brutus, who was a very severe Jansenist, assassinated Julius Cæsar for no other reason but because he, who was Pontifex Maximus, presumed to write a tragedy the subject of which was Œdipus. Lastly, he declared that all who frequented the theatre were excommunicated, as they thereby renounced their baptism. This was casting the highest insult on the king and all the royal family; and as the English loved their prince at that time, they could not bear to hear a writer talk of excommunicating him, though they themselves afterwards cut his head off. Prynne was summoned to appear before the Star Chamber; his wonderful book, from which Father Le Brun stole his, was sentenced to be burnt by the common hangman, and himself to lose his ears. His trial is now extant.

A certain Mr. Prynne was a man of fiercely rigid religious principles. He would have thought himself damned if he wore a cassock instead of a short cloak. He would gladly have seen half of humanity cut the other half to pieces for God's glory and the Propaganda Fide. He took it into his head to write a miserable satire against some fairly good comedies. These plays were performed quite innocently every night before the king and queen. He cited the authority of the Rabbis and some passages from St. Bonaventure to prove his claims. Sophocles' Œdipus, he argued, was the work of the evil spirit, and Terence was excommunicated ipso facto. He added that Brutus, a very strict Jansenist, had undoubtedly assassinated Julius Cæsar for one reason alone. Cæsar, despite being Pontifex Maximus, had dared to write a tragedy about Œdipus. Finally, Prynne declared that all who attended the theatre were excommunicated, because attending meant renouncing their baptism. This declaration was the gravest insult to the king and the entire royal family. Since the English loved their prince then, they could not bear hearing a writer talk of excommunicating him. Yet they themselves later cut off his head. Prynne was summoned before the Star Chamber. His wonderful book, from which Father Le Brun stole his own, was sentenced to be burned by the public executioner. Prynne himself was sentenced to lose his ears. The record of his trial still survives.

The Italians are far from attempting to cast a blemish on the opera, or to excommunicate Signor Senesino or Signora Cuzzoni. With regard to myself, I could presume to wish that the magistrates would suppress I know not what contemptible pieces written against the stage. For when the English and Italians hear that we brand with the greatest mark of infamy an art in which we excel; that we excommunicate persons who receive salaries from the king; that we condemn as impious a spectacle exhibited in convents and monasteries; that we dishonour sports in which Louis XIV. and Louis XV., performed as actors; that we give the title of the devil’s works to pieces which are received by magistrates of the most severe character, and represented before a virtuous queen; when, I say, foreigners are told of this insolent conduct, this contempt for the royal authority, and this Gothic rusticity which some presume to call Christian severity, what an idea must they entertain of our nation? And how will it be possible for them to conceive, either that our laws give a sanction to an art which is declared infamous, or that some persons dare to stamp with infamy an art which receives a sanction from the laws, is rewarded by kings, cultivated and encouraged by the greatest men, and admired by whole nations? And that Father Le Brun’s impertinent libel against the stage is seen in a bookseller’s shop, standing the very next to the immortal labours of Racine, of Corneille, of Molière, &c.

The Italians are far from trying to discredit opera or excommunicate Signor Senesino or Signora Cuzzoni. For my part, I might venture to wish that the magistrates would suppress certain contemptible writings against the stage. For what do the English and Italians hear about us? We brand an art in which we excel with the deepest disgrace. We excommunicate people who receive salaries from the king. We condemn as ungodly a form of entertainment performed in convents and monasteries. We dishonor entertainments in which Louis XIV. and Louis XV. appeared as actors. We call plays the devil’s works, although the strictest magistrates welcome these plays and a virtuous queen watches them. What must foreigners think of our nation when they hear of such insolence and contempt for royal authority? What must they think of this barbarous backwardness, which some dare to call Christian strictness? And how can foreigners understand that our laws approve an art declared disgraceful? Or how can they understand that some people dare to disgrace an art approved by law? Kings reward this art, the greatest men practice and encourage it, and entire nations admire it. And how can foreigners understand seeing Father Le Brun’s insolent attack on the stage in a bookseller’s shop? His pamphlet stands right beside the immortal works of Racine, Corneille, Molière, and others.