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Critics are apt to admit too much of traditional of genius. Cibber had lived a dissipated life, and opinion into their own; it is necessary sometimes his philosophical indifference, with his careless to correct the knowledge we receive. For gaiety, was the breast-plate which even the wit of my part, I can almost believe that Cibber was Pope failed to pierce. During twenty years' persea modest man! as he was most certainly a man

"And pray, sir, why my name under this scurvy Cibber laments it is not so, for " any accu- picture? I flatter myself, that if you had not put sation in smooth verse will always sound well, it there, nobody else would have thought it like though it is not tied down to have a tittle of truth me; nor can I easily believe that you yourself do: in it, when the strongest defence in poor humble but perhaps you imagined it would be a laughing prose, not having that harmonious advantage takes ornament to your verse, and had a mind to divert nobody by the ear-very hard upon an innocent other people's spleen with it as well as your own. man! For suppose in prose, now, I were as Now let me hold up my head a little, and then we confidently to insist that you were an honest, shall see how the features hit me." He proceeds good-natured, inoffensive creature, would my to relate, how "many of those plays have lived barely saying so be any proof of it? No, sure. the longer for my meddling with them." He menWhy, then, might it not be supposed an equal tions several, which "had been dead to the stage truth, that both our assertions were equally false ? out of all memory, which have since been in a Yours, when you call me impudent; mine, when constant course of acting above these thirty or I call you modest, &c. While my superiors suffer forty years." And then he adds: "Do those me occasionally to sit down with them, I hope it altered plays at all take from the merit of those will be thought that rather the Papal than the more successful pieces, which were entirely my Cibberian forehead ought to be out of counte-own ?—When a man is abused, he has a right to nance." I give this as a specimen of Cibber's speak even laudable truths of himself, to confront serious reasonings-they are poor; and they had his slanderer. Let 'me therefore add, that my been so from a greater genius; for ridicule and first Comedy of The Fool in Fashion was as satire, being only a mere abuse of eloquence, can much (though not so valuable) an original, as any never be effectually opposed by. truisms. Satire work Mr. Pope himself has produced. It is now must be repelled by satire; and Cibber's sarcasms forty-seven years since its first appearance on the obtained what Cibber's reasonings failed in. stage, where it has kept its station, to this very day, without ever lying one winter dormant. Nine years after this, I brought on The Careless Husband, with still greater success; and was that too 'A patch'd, vamp'd, future, old, revived new piece?'

Vain as Cibber has been called, and vain as he affects to be, he has spoken of his own merits as a comic writer, and he was a very great one, with a manly moderation, very surprising indeed in a vain man. Pope has sung in his Dunciad, most harmoniously inhuman,

"How, with less reading than makes felons
scape,

Less human genius than God gives an ape,
Small thanks to France, and none to Rome or
Greece,

A patch'd, vamp'd, future, old, revived new
piece;

"Twixt Plautus, Fletcher, Congreve, and

Corneille,

Can make a CIBBER, JOHNSON, and OZELL.

Blasting as was this criticism, it could not raise the anger of the gay and careless Cibber. Yet what could have put it to a sharper test? Johnson and Ozell are names which have long disappeared from the dramatic annals, and could only have been coupled with Cibber to give an idea of what the Satirist meant by "the human genius of an ape." But listen to the mild, yet the firm tone of Cibber-he talks like injured innocence, and he triumphs over Pope, in all the dignity of truth. I appeal to Cibber's posterity!

Let the many living spectators of these plays, then, judge between us, whether the above verses I came from the honesty of a Satirist, who would be thought, like you, the upright censor of mankind. Sir, this libel was below you! Satire, without truth, recoils upon its author, and must, at other times, render him suspected of prejudice, even where he may be just; as frauds, in religion, make more Atheists than Converts; and the bad heart, Mr. Pope, that points an injury with verse, makes it the more unpardonable, as it is not the result of sudden passion, but of an indulged and slowlymeditating ill-nature. What a merry mixed mortal has nature made you, that can debase that strength and excellence of genius to the lowest human weakness, that of offering unprovoked injuries, at the hazard of your being ridiculous too, when the venom you spit falls short of your aim!" I have quoted largely, to show that Cibber was capable of exerting a dignified remonstrance, as well as pointing the lightest, yet keenest, shafts of sarcastic wit.

cution for his unlucky Odes, he never lost his temper: he would read to his friends the best things pointed against them, with all the spirit the authors could wish; and would himself write epigrams, for the pleasure of hearing them repeated while sitting in coffee-houses; and whenever they were applauded as "Palpable hits !"-" Keen!" -"Things with a spirit in them!"-he enjoyed these attacks on himself by himself *. If this be vanity, it is at least "Cibberian."

It was, indeed, the singularity of his personal character, which so long injured his genius, and laid him open to the perpetual attacks of his contemporaries, who were mean enough to ridicule undisguised foibles, but dared not be just to the redeeming virtues of his genius. Yet his genius far exceeded his literary frailties. He knew he was no poet, yet he would string wretched rhymes, even when not salaried for them; and once wrote an Essay on Cicero's character, for which his dotage was scarcely an apology;-so much he preferred amusement to prudence. Another foible was to act tragedies with a squeaking voicet, and

• Ayre's Memoirs of Pope, vol. ii. p. 82.

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With what good-humour he retorts a piece of sly malice of Pope's; who, in the notes to the Dunciad, after quoting Jacob's account of Cibber's talents, adds: "Mr. Jacob omitted to remark, that he is particularly admirable in tragedy."-To which Cibber rejoins: Ay, sir, and your remark has omitted, too, that (with all his commendations) I can't dance upon the rope, or make a saddle, nor play upon the organ. My dear, dear Mr. Pope, how could a man of your stinging capacity let so tame, so low a reflection escape him? Why, this hardly rises above the pretty malice of Miss Molly. Aye, aye, you may think my sister as handsome as you please, but if you were to see her legs!'-If I have made so many crowded theatres laugh, and in the right place too, for above forty years together, am I to make up the number of your dunces, because I have not the equal talent of making them cry too? Make it your own case. Is what you have excelled in at all the worse, for your having so dismally dabbled in the farce of Three Hours after Marriage?'-What mighty reason will the world have to laugh at my weakness in tragedy, more than at yours in comedy?"

I will preserve one anecdote of that felicity of temper, that undisturbed good-humour, which never abandoned Cibber in his most distressful moments. When he brought out, in 1724, his "Cæsar in Egypt," at a great expense, and "a beggarly account of empty boxes" was the result, it raised some altercations between the poet and his brother managers, the bard still struggling for

to write them with a genius about the same size for the sublime; but the malice of his contemporaries seemed to forget that he was creating new dramatic existences, in the exquisite personifications of his comic characters; and was producing some of our standard comedies, composed with such real genius, that they still support the reputation of the English stage.

In the "Apology for his Life," Cibber had shown himself a generous, and an ill-treated adversary, and at all times was prodigal of his eulogiums, even after the death of Pope; but, when remonstrance and good temper failed to sheathe with their oil the sharp sting of the wasp, as his weakest talent was not the ludicrous, he resolved to gain the laughers over, and threw Pope into a very ridiculous attitude‡. It was

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A wicked wag of a Lord had enticed Pope into a tavern, and laid a love-plot against his health. Cibber describes his resolute interference by snatching "our little Homer by the heels. This was done for the honour of our nation. Homer would have been too serious a sacrifice to our evening's amusement." He has metamorphosed our Apollo into a "Tom-tit;" but the Ovidian warmth, however ludicrous, will not now admit of a narrative. This story, by our comic writer, was accompanied by a print, that was seen by more persons, probably, than read the Dunciad. In his second letter, Cibber, alluding to the vexation of Pope on this ridiculous story, observes: "To have been exposed as a bad man, ought to have given thee thrice the concern of being shown a ridiculous lover."-And now that he had discovered that he could touch the nerves of Pope,

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extorted from Cibber by this insulting line of with the design of the present work, and afford Pope's :

"And has not Colley, too, his Lord and w-e?"

It seems that Pope had once the same! But a ridiculous story, suited to the taste of the loungers, nettled Pope more than the keener remonstrances and the honest truths which Cibber has urged. Those who write libels, invite imitation.

Besides the two letters addressed by Cibber to Pope, this quarrel produced a moral trifle, or rather a philosophical curiosity, respecting Cibber's own character, which is stamped with the full impression of all its originality.

principles, in regard to preserving an equability of temper, which may guide us in Literary Quarrels.

Frankly observes, on Cibber's declaration that he is not uneasy at Pope's satire, that "no blockhead is so dull as not to be sore when he is called so; and (you'll excuse me) if that were to be your own case, why should we believe you would not be as uneasy at it as another blockhead?

Author. This is pushing me pretty home indeed; but I won't give out. For as it is not at all inconceivable, that a block head of my size may have a particular knack of doing some useful thing that might puzzle a wiser man to be master of, will not that blockhead still have something in him to be conceited of? If so, allow me but the vanity of supposing I may have had some such possible knack, and you will not wonder (though in many other points I may still be a blockhead) that I may, notwithstanding, be contented with my con

Frankly. Is it not commendable, in a man of

parts, to be warmly concerned for his reputation? Author. In what regards his honesty or honour, I will make some allowance; but for the reputation of his parts, not one tittle.

Frankly. How! not to be concerned for what half the learned world are in a continual war about.

The title, so expressive of its design, and the whim and good-humour of the work, which may be considered as a curious supplement to the "Apology for his Life," could scarcely have been imagined, and most certainly could not have been executed, but by the genius who dared it. I give the title in the note*. It is a curious exem-dition. plification of what Shaftesbury has so fancifully described as "self-inspection." This little work is a conversation between "Mr. Frankly, and his old acquaintance, Colley Cibber." Cibber had the spirit of making this Mr. Frankly speak the bitterest things against himself; and he must have been an attentive reader of all the keenest reproaches his enemies ever had thrown out. This caustic censor is not a man of straw, set up to be easily knocked down. He has as much vivacity and wit as Cibber himself, and not seldom has the better of the argument. But the gravity and the levity blended in this little piece form admirable contrasts: and Cibber, in this varied effusion, acquires all our esteem for that open simplicity, that unalterable good-humour, which flowed from Nature, and that fine spirit that touches everything with life; yet, as he himself confesses, the main accusation of Mr. Frankly, that "his philosophical air will come out at last mere vanity in masquerade," may be true.

I will attempt to collect some specimens of this extraordinary production, because they harmonise

he throws out one of the most ludicrous analogies to the figure of our bard :-" When crawling in thy dangerous deed of darkness, I gently, with a finger and a thumb, picked off thy small round

body by thy long legs, like a spider making love

in a cobweb."

"The EGOTIST, or Colley upon Cibber; being his own picture retouched, to so plain a likeness, that no one, now, would have the face to own it,

BUT HIMSELF.

But one stroke more, and that shall be my last.'
DRYDEN.

London, 1743."

Author. So are another half about religion; but neither Turk or Pope, swords or anathemas, can alter truth! There it stands! always visible to reason, self-defended and immovable! Whatever it was, or is, it ever will be! As no attack can alter, so no defence can add to its proportion.

Frankly. At this rate, you pronounce all controversies in wit to be either needless or impertinent.

Author. When one in a hundred happens not to be so, or to make amends for being either by its pleasantry, we ought in justice to allow it a great rarity. A reply to a just satire or criticism will seldom be thought better of.

Frankly. May not a reply be a good one?

Author. Yes, but never absolutely necessary; good or bad, before it was censured, your reply to for as your work (or reputation) must have been that censure could not alter it: it would still be but what it was. If it was good, the attack could not hurt it: if bad, the reply could not mend it.

* How many good authors might pursue their studies in quiet, would they never reply to their critics, but on matters of fact, in which their honour may be involved. I have seen very tremendous criticisms on some works of real genius, like serpents on marble columns, wind and dart about, and spit their froth, but they die away on the pillars that enabled them to erect their malig.

Frankly. But slander is not always so impotent their pardon, if that should be all the reply I can as you seem to suppose it; men of the best sense afford them-" may be misled by it, or by their not inquiring after truth, may never come at it; and the vulgar, as they are less apt to be good than ill-natured, often mistake malice for wit, and have an uncharitable joy in commending it. Now, when this is the case, is not a tame silence, upon being satirically libelled, as liable to be thought guilt, or stupidity, as to be the result of innocence, or temper?-Self-defence is a very natural and just excuse for a reply.

Author. Be it so! But still that does not always make it necessary; for though slander, by their not weighing it, may pass upon some few people of sense for truth, and might draw great numbers of the vulgar into its party, the mischief can never be of long duration. A satirical slander, that has no truth to support it, is only a great fish upon dry land: it may flounce and fling, and make a fretful pother, but it won't bite you; you need not knock it on the head; it will soon lie still, and die quietly of itself.

This " boy of seventy odd," for such he was when he wrote "The Egotist," unfolds his character by many lively personal touches. He declares he could not have "given the world so finished a coxcomb as Lord Foppington, if he had not found a good deal of the same stuff in himself to make him with." He addresses "A Postscript, To those few unfortunate Readers and Writers who may not have more sense than the Author:' and he closes, in all the fulness of his spirit, with a piece of consolation for those who are so cruelly attacked by superior genius.

"Let us then, gentlemen, who have the misfortune to lie thus at the mercy of those whose natural parts happen to be stronger than our own

let us, I say, make the most of our sterility! Let us double and treble the ranks of our thickness, that we may form an impregnable phalanx, and stand every way in front to the enemy! or, would you still be liable to less hazard, lay but yourselves down, as I do, flat and quiet upon your

Frankly. The single-sheet critics will find you faces, when Pride, Malice, Envy, Wit, or Prejuemployment.

Author. Indeed they won't. I'm not so mad as to think myself a match for the invulnerable. Frankly. Have a care; there's Foulwit; though he can't feel, he can bite.

Author. Aye, so will bugs and fleas; but that's only for sustenance: everything must feed, you know; and your creeping critics are a sort of vermin, that if they could come to a king, would not spare him; yet, whenever they can persuade others to laugh at their jest upon me, I will honestly make one of the number; but I must ask

nant forms to the public eye. They fall in due time; and weak must be the substance of that pillar, which does not stand, and look as beautiful, when the serpents have crawled over it, as before. Dr. Brown, in his Letter to Bishop Lowth, has laid down an axiom in literary criticism: "A mere literary attack, however well or ill-founded, would not easily have drawn me into a public expostulation; for every man's true literary character is best seen in his own writings. Critics may rail, disguise, insinuate, or pervert; yet still the object of their censures lies equally open to all the world. Thus the world becomes a competent judge of the merits of the work animadverted on. Hence the mere author hath a fair chance for a fair decision, at least among the judicious; and it is of no mighty consequence what opinions the in judicious form concerning mental abilities. For this reason, I have never replied to any of those numerous critics who have on different occasions honoured me with their regard." P. 4.

dice, let fly their formidable shot at you, what
odds is it they don't all whistle over your head?
Thus, too, though we may want the artillery of
missive wit, to make reprisals, we may at least, in
security, bid them kiss the tails we have turned
to them. Who knows but, by this our supine, or
rather prone serenity, their disappointed valour
may become their own vexation? Or let us yet,
at worst, but solidly stand our ground, like so
many defensive stone-posts, and we may defy the
proudest Jehu of them all to drive over us. Thus,
gentlemen, you see that Insensibility is not with-
out its comforts; and as I give you no worse
advice than I have taken myself, and found my
account in, I hope you will have the hardness to
follow it, for your own good and the glory of
"Your impenetrable humble servant,

"C. C."

After all, one may perceive, that though the good-humour of poor Cibber was real, still the immortal satire of Pope had injured his higher feelings. He betrays his secret grief at his close, while he seems to be sporting with his pen; and though he appears to confide in the falsity of the satire, as his best chance for saving him from it, still he feels that the caustic ink of such a satirist must blister and spot wherever it falls. The anger of Warburton, and the sternness of Johnson, who seems always to have considered an actor as an inferior being among men of genius, have degraded Cibber. They never suspected that "a blockhead of his size could do what wiser men could not," and as a fine comic genius-command a whole province in human nature.

POPE AND ADDISON.

The quarrel between POPE and ADDISON originated in one of the infirmities of genius-a subject of inquiry even after their death, by Sir WILLIAM BLACKSTONE-POPE courts ADDISON-suspects ADDISON of jealousy-ADDISON'S foible, to be considered a great poet-interview between the rivals, of which the result was the portrait of ATTICUS, for which ADDISON was made to sit.

AMONG the Literary Quarrels of POPE one acquires dignity and interest from the characters of both parties. It closed by producing the severest, but the most masterly portrait of one man of genius, composed by another, which has ever been hung on the satiric Parnassus, for the contemplation of ages. ADDISON must descend to posterity with the dark spots of ATTICUS staining a purity of character which had nearly proved immaculate.

were departed, the same interest was general among the lovers of literature; but those obscure motives which had only influenced two mindsthose imperceptible events, which are only events as they are watched by the jealousy of genius,eluded the most anxious investigation. Yet so lasting and so powerful was the interest excited by this literary quarrel, that, within a few years, the elegant mind of Sir WILLIAM BLACKSTONE withdrew from the severity of profounder studies to inquire into the causes of a quarrel which was still exciting the most opposite opinions. Blackstone has judged and summed up; but though he evidently inclines to favour Addison, by throwing into the balance some explanation for the silence of Addison against the audible complaints of Pope; though sometimes he pleads as well as judges, and infers as well as proves; yet even Blackstone has not taken on himself to deliver a decision. His happy genius has only honoured literary history by the masterly force and luminous arrangement of investigation, to which, since the time of Bayle, it has been too great a stranger*.

The friendship between Pope and Addison was interrupted by one of the infirmities of genius. Tempers of watchful delicacy gather up in silence and darkness motives so shadowy in their origin, and of such minute growth, that, never breaking out into any open act, they escape all other eyes but those of the parties themselves. These causes of enmity are too subtle to bear the touch; they cannot be inquired after, nor can they be described; and it may be said, that the minds of such men have rather quarrelled than they themselves they utter no complaints, but they avoid each other. All the world perceived that two authors of the finest genius had separated from motives on which both were silent, but which had evidently operated with equal force on both. Their admirers were very general, and at a time when literature divided with politics the public interest, the best feelings of the nation were engaged in tracking the obscure commencements and the secret growth of this literary quarrel, in which the amiable and moral qualities of Addison, and the gratitude and honour of Pope, were equally involved. The friends of either party pretended that their chiefs entertained 'a reciprocal regard for each other, while the illustrious characters themselves were living in a state of hostility. Even long after these literary heroes importance."

At this day, removed from all personal influence and affections, and furnished with facts which contemporaries could not command, we take no other concern in this literary quarrel, but as far as curiosity and truth delight us in the study of

* Sir William Blackstone's Discussion on the Quarrel between Addison and Pope was communicated by Dr. Kippis in his Biographia Britannica, vol. i. p. 56. Blackstone is there designated as "a gentleman of considerable rank, to whom the public is obliged for works of much higher

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