Invented Sir Roger de Coverly
March 01, 2020 |
| Sir Richard Steele |
Sir Richard Steele
Vol.
27, pp. 83-87 of The Harvard Classics
Word pictures are often more vivid than photographs. Steele had a gift for originating characters that are remembered longer than flesh and blood people. Sir Roger de Coverly and Will Honeycomb are now bold figures in literature.
(First issue of the "Spectator," published March 1, 1711.)
Ast
alii sex
Et
plures uno conclamant ore.
—Juvenal, “Satires,”
vii. 166.
Six
more at least join their consenting voice.
THE
FIRST 1 of
our society is a gentleman of Worcestershire, of an ancient descent,
a baronet, his name Sir Roger de Coverley. His great-grandfather was
inventor of that famous country-dance which is called after him. All
who know that shire are very well acquainted with the parts and
merits of Sir Roger. He is a gentleman that is very singular in his
behavior, but his singularities proceed from his good sense, and are
contradictions to the manners of the world, only as he thinks the
world is in the wrong. However, this humor creates him no enemies,
for he does nothing with sourness or obstinacy; and his being
unconfined to modes and forms makes him but the readier and more
capable to please and oblige all who know him. When he is in town he
lives in Soho Square. It is said he keeps himself a bachelor by
reason he was crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow of the
next county to him. Before this disappointment, Sir Roger was what
you call a fine gentleman, had often supped with my Lord Rochester
and Sir George Etherege, fought a duel upon his first coming to town,
and kicked bully Dawson in a public coffee-house for calling him
youngster. But being ill-used by the above-mentioned widow, he was
very serious for a year and a half; and though, his temper being
naturally jovial, he at last got over it, he grew careless of himself
and never dressed afterwards. He continues to wear a coat and doublet
of the same cut that were in fashion at the time of his repulse,
which, in his merry humors, he tells us, has been in and out twelve
times since he first wore it. It is said Sir Roger grew humble in his
desires after he had forgot his cruel beauty, insomuch that it is
reported he has frequently offended with beggars and gypsies; but
this is looked upon, by his friends, rather as matter of raillery
than truth. He is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and
hearty; keeps a good house both in town and country; a great lover of
mankind; but there is such a mirthful cast in his behavior, that he
is rather beloved than esteemed. His tenants grow rich, his servants
look satisfied, all the young women profess love to him, and the
young men are glad of his company. When he comes into a house, he
calls the servants by their names, and talks all the way upstairs to
a visit. I must not omit that Sir Roger is a justice of the quorum;
that he fills the chair at a quarter-session with great abilities,
and three months ago gained universal applause, by explaining a
passage in the Game Act.
The
gentleman next in esteem and authority among us is another bachelor,
who is a member of the Inner Temple, a man of great probity, wit, and
understanding; but he has chosen his place of residence rather to
obey the direction of an old humorsome father than in pursuit of his
own inclinations. He was placed there to study the laws of the land,
and is the most learned of any of the house in those of the stage.
Aristotle and Longinus are much better understood by him than
Littleton or Coke. The father sends up every post questions relating
to marriage-articles, leases, and tenures, in the neighborhood; all
which questions he agrees with an attorney to answer and take care of
in the lump. He is studying the passions themselves, when he should
be inquiring into the debates among men which arise from them. He
knows the argument of each of the orations of Demosthenes and Tully,
but not one case in the reports of our own courts. No one ever took
him for a fool; but none, except his intimate friends, know he has a
great deal of wit. This turn makes him at once both disinterested and
agreeable. As few of his thoughts are drawn from business, they are
most of them fit for conversation. His taste for books is a little
too just for the age he lives in; he has read all, but approves of
very few. His familiarity with the customs, manners, actions, and
writings of the ancients, makes him a very delicate observer of what
occurs to him in the present world. He is an excellent critic, and
the time of the play is his hour of business; exactly at five he
passes through New-inn, crosses through Russell-court, and takes a
turn at Will’s till the play begins; he has his shoes rubbed and
his periwig powdered at the barber’s as you go into the Rose. It is
for the good of the audience when he is at the play, for the actors
have an ambition to please him.
The
person of next consideration is Sir Andrew Freeport, a merchant of
great eminence in the city of London; a person of indefatigable
industry, strong reason, and great experience. His notions of trade
are noble and generous, and (as every rich man has usually some sly
way of jesting, which would make no great figure were he not a rich
man) he calls the sea the British Common. He is acquainted with
commerce in all its parts, and will tell you that it is a stupid and
barbarous way to extend dominion by arms; for true power is to be got
by arts and industry. He will often argue that, if this part of our
trade were well cultivated, we should gain from one nation; and if
another, from another. I have heard him prove that diligence makes
more lasting acquisitions than valor, and that sloth has ruined more
nations than the sword. He abounds in several frugal maxims, amongst
which the greatest favorite is, “A penny saved is a penny got.” A
general trader of good sense is pleasanter company than a general
scholar; and Sir Andrew having a natural unaffected eloquence, the
perspicuity of his discourse gives the same pleasure that wit would
in another man. He has made his fortune himself; and says that
England may be richer than other kingdoms by as plain methods as he
himself is richer than other men; though at the same time I can say
this of him, that there is not a point in the compass but blows home
a ship in which he is an owner.
Next
to Sir Andrew in the clubroom sits Captain Sentry, a gentleman of
great courage, good understanding, but invincible modesty. He is one
of those that deserve very well, but are very awkward at putting
their talents within the observation of such as should take notice of
them. He was some years a captain, and behaved himself with great
gallantry in several engagements and at several sieges; but having a
small estate of his own, and being next heir to Sir Roger, he has
quitted a way of life in which no man can rise suitably to his merit,
who is not something of a courtier as well as a soldier. I have heard
him often lament that, in a profession where merit is placed in so
conspicuous a view, impudence should get the better of modesty. When
he has talked to this purpose, I never heard him make a sour
expression, but frankly confess that he left the world because he was
not fit for it. A strict honesty and an even regular behavior are in
themselves obstacles to him that must press through crowds, who
endeavor at the same end with himself, the favor of a commander. He
will, however, in his way of talk excuse generals for not disposing
according to men’s dessert, or inquiring into it; for, says he,
that great man who has a mind to help me has as many to break through
to come to me as I have to come at him: therefore he will conclude
that the man who would make a figure, especially in a military way,
must get over all false modesty, and assist his patron against the
importunity of other pretenders, by a proper assurance in his own
vindication. He says it is a civil cowardice to be backward in
asserting what you ought to expect, as it is a military fear to be
slow in attacking when it is your duty. With this candor does the
gentleman speak of himself and others. The same frankness runs
through all his conversation. The military part of his life has
furnished him with many adventures, in the relation of which he is
very agreeable to the company; for he is never overbearing, though
accustomed to command men in the utmost degree below him; nor ever
too obsequious, from an habit of obeying men highly above him.
But
that our society may not appear a set of humorists, 2 unacquainted
with the gallantries and pleasures of the age, we have amongst us the
gallant Will Honeycomb, a gentleman who, according to his years,
should be in the decline of his life; but having ever been very
careful of his person, and always had a very easy fortune, time has
made but a very little impression either by wrinkles on his forehead,
or traces on his brain. His person is well turned, and of a good
height. He is very ready at that sort of discourse with which men
usually entertain women. He has all his life dressed very well, and
remembers habits as others do men. He can smile when one speaks to
him, and laughs easily. He knows the history of every mode, and can
inform you from which of the French king’s wenches our wives and
daughters had this manner of curling their hair, that way of placing
their hoods; whose frailty was covered by such a sort of a petticoat,
and whose vanity to show her foot made that part of the dress so
short in such a year. In a word, all his conversation and knowledge
have been in the female world. As other men of his age will take
notice to you what such a minister said upon such and such an
occasion, he will tell you when the Duke of Monmouth danced at court,
such a woman was then smitten, another was taken with him at the head
of his troop in the park. In all these important relations, he has
ever about the same time received a kind glance, or a blow of a fan
from some celebrated beauty, mother of the present Lord Such-a-one.
If you speak of a young commoner that said a lively thing in the
House, he starts up, “He has good blood in his veins; Tom Mirable
begot him; the rogue cheated me in that affair; that young fellow’s
mother used me more like a dog than any woman I ever made advances
to.” This way of talking of his very much enlivens the conversation
among us of a more sedate turn, and I find there is not one of the
company, but myself, who rarely speak at all, but speaks of him as of
that sort of a man who is usually called a well-bred fine gentleman.
To conclude his character, where women are not concerned, he is an
honest worthy man.
I
cannot tell whether I am to account him, whom I am next to speak of,
as one of our company; for he visits us but seldom, but when he does,
it adds to every man else a new enjoyment of himself. He is a
clergyman, a very philosophic man, of general learning, great
sanctity of life, and the most exact good breeding. He has the
misfortune to be of a very weak constitution, and consequently cannot
accept of such cares and business as preferments in his function
would oblige him to; he is therefore among divines what a
chamber-counsellor is among lawyers. The probity of his mind, and the
integrity of his life, create him followers, as being eloquent or
loud advances others. He seldom introduces the subject he speaks
upon; but we are so far gone in years that he observes, when he is
among us, an earnestness to have him fall on some divine topic, which
he always treats with much authority, as one who has no interest in
this world, as one who is hastening to the object of all his wishes,
and conceives hope from his decays and infirmities. These are my
ordinary companions.
Note
1. Published in “The Spectator,” March 1, 1711.
Note
2. Whimsical characters.
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