<?xml version="1.0"?>
<!DOCTYPE issue SYSTEM "spectator.dtd">
<?xml-stylesheet href="spectator.xsl" type="text/xsl"?>
<?cocoon-process type="xslt"?>
<issue>
<title>The Spectator 238</title>
<header>
  <number>no. 238</number>
  <date>1711-12-03</date>
  <author>Richard Steele</author>
  <quotation>Nequicquam populo bibulas donaveris Aures;</quotation>
  <quotation>Respue quod non es------ Persius, Sat. 4.</quotation>
  <translation>Persius, Stat. iv. 50.</translation>
  <translation>No more to flattering crowds thine ear incline,</translation>
  <translation>Eager to drink the praise which is not thine.---Brewster.</translation>
  </header>
<text>
<paragraph>AMONG all the Diseases of the Mind, there is not one more
epidemical or more pernicious than the Love of Flattery. For as
where the Juices of the Body are prepared to receive a malignant
Influence, there the Disease rages with most Violence; so in this
Distemper of the Mind, where there is ever a Propensity and
Inclination to suck in the Poison, it cannot be but that the whole
Order of reasonable Action must be overturn'd, for, like Musick, it</paragraph>
<quotation><italic>----So softens and disarms the Mind,</italic></quotation>
<quotation><italic>That not one Arrow can Resistance find.</italic></quotation>
<paragraph>First we flatter ourselves, and then the Flattery
of others is sure of Success. It awakens our Self-Love within, a
Party which is ever ready to revolt from our better Judgment, and
join the Enemy without. Hence it is, that the Profusion of Favours
we so often see poured upon the Parasite, are represented to us, by
our Self-Love as Justice done to Man, who so agreeably reconciles
to our selves. When we are overcome by such soft Insinuations and
ensnaring Compliances, we gladly recompense the Artifices that are
made use of to blind our Reason, and which triumph over the
Weaknesses of our Temper and Inclinations.</paragraph>
<paragraph>But were every Man
perswaded from how mean and low a Principle this Passion is
derived, there can be no doubt but the Person who should attempt to
gratify it, would then be as contemptible as he is now successful.
'Tis the Desire of some Quality we are not possessed of, or
Inclination to be something we are not, which are the Causes of our
giving ourselves up to that Man, who bestows upon us the Characters
and Qualities of others; which perhaps suit us as ill and were as
little design'd for our wearing, as their Cloaths. Instead of going
out of our own complectional Nature into that of others, 'twere a
better and more laudable Industry to improve our own, and instead
of a miserable Copy become a good Original; for there is no Temper,
no Disposition so rude and untractable, but may in its own peculiar
Cast and Turn be brought to some agreeable Use in Conversation, or
in the Affairs of Life. A Person of a tougher Deportment, and less
tied up to the usual Ceremonies of Behaviour, will, like <italic>Manly</italic> in
the Play,<footnote name="(1)" url="../december_footnotes/footnote238.xml"></footnote> please by the Grace which Nature gives to every
Action wherein she is complied with; the Brisk and Lively will not
want their Admirers, and even a more reserved and melancholy Temper
may at some times be agreeable.</paragraph>
<paragraph>When there is not Vanity enough
awake in a Man to undo him, the Flatterer stirs up that dormant
Weakness, and inspires him with Merit enough to be a Coxcomb. But
if Flattery be the most sordid Act that can be complied with; the
Art of Praising justly is as commendable: For 'tis laudable to
praise well; as Poets at one and the same time give Immortality,
and receive it themselves for a Reward: Both are pleased, the one
whilst he receives the Recompence of Merit, the other whilst he
shews he knows now to discern it; but above all, that Man is happy
in this Art, who, like a skilful Painter, retains the Features and
Complection, but still softens the Picture into the most agreeable
Likeness.</paragraph>
<paragraph>There can hardly, I believe, be, imagined a more
desirable Pleasure, than that of Praise unmix'd with any
Possibility of Flattery, Such was that which <italic>Germanicus</italic> enjoyed,
when, the Night before a Battle, desirous of some sincere Mark of
the Esteem of his Legions rot him, he is described by <italic>Tacitus</italic>
listening in a Disguise to the Discourse of a Soldier, and wrapt up
in the Fruition of his Glory, whilst with an undesigned Sincerity
they praised his noble and majestick Mien, his Affability, his
Valour, Conduct, and Success in War. How must a Man have his Heart
full-blown with Joy in such an Article of Glory as this? What a
Spur and Encouragement still to proceed in those Steps which had
already brought him to so pure a Taste of the greatest of mortal
Enjoyments?</paragraph>
<paragraph>It sometimes happens, that even Enemies and envious
Persons. bestow the sincerest Marks of Esteem when they least
design it. Such afford a greater Pleasure, as extorted by Merit,
and freed from all Suspicious of Favour or Flattery. Thus it is
with <italic>Malvolio;</italic> he has Wit, Learning, and Discernment, but temper'd
with an Allay of Envy, Self-Love and Detraction: <italic>Malvolio</italic> turns
pale at the Mirth and good Humour of the Company, if it center not
in his Person; he grows jealous and displeased when he ceases to be
the only Person admired, and looks upon the Commendations paid to
another as a Detraction from his Merit, and an Attempt to lessen
the Superiority he affects j but by this very Method, he bestows
such Praise as can never be suspected of Flattery. His Uneasiness
and Distastes ate so many sure and certain Signs of another's Title
to that Glory he desires, and has the Mortification to find himself
not possessed of.</paragraph>
<paragraph>A good Name is fitly compared to a precious
Ointment,<footnote name="(2)" url="../december_footnotes/footnote238.xml"></footnote> and when we are praised with Skill and Decency, 'tis
indeed the most agreeable Perfume, but if too strongly admitted
into a Brain of a less vigorous and happy Texture, 'twill, like too
strong an Odour, overcome the Senses, and prove pernicious to those
Nerves 'twas intended to refresh. A generous Mind is of all others
the most sensible of Praise and Dispraise; and a noble Spirit is as
much invigorated with its due Proportion of Honour and Applause, as
'tis depressed by Neglect and Contempt: But 'tis only Persons far
above the common Level who are thus affected with either of these
Extreams; as in a Thermometer, 'tis only the purest and most
sublimated Spirit that is either contracted or dilated by the
Benignity or Inclemency of the Season.</paragraph>
<paragraph><italic>Mr.</italic> SPECTATOR,</paragraph>
<paragraph>The Translations which you have lately given us from the Greek, in some
of your last Papers, have been the Occasion of my looking into some
of those Authors; among whom I chanced on a Collection of Letters
which pass under the Name of <italic>Arist&#230;netus.</italic> Of all the Remains of
Antiquity, I believe there can be Nothing produc'd of an Air so
gallant and polite; each Letter contains a little Novel or
Adventure, which is told with all the Beauties of Language and
heightened with a Luxuriance of Wit. There are several of them
translated,<footnote name="(3)" url="../december_footnotes/footnote238.xml"></footnote> but with such wide Deviations from the Original,
and in a Style so far differing from the Authors, that the
Translator seems rather to have taken Hints for the expressing his
own Sense and Thoughts, than to have endeavoured to render those of
<italic>Arist&#230;netus.</italic> In the following Translation, I have kept as near the
Meaning of the <italic>Greek</italic> as I could, and have only added a few Words to
make the Sentences in <italic>English</italic> fit together a little better than
they would otherwise have done. The Story seems to be taken from
that of <italic>Pygmalion</italic> and the Statue in <italic>Ovid:</italic> Some of the Thoughts are
of the same Turn, and the whole is written in a kind of Poetical
Prose.</paragraph>
<banner><italic>Philopinax</italic> to <italic>Chromation.</italic></banner>
<paragraph>Never was Man more overcome with
so fantastical a Passion as mine. I have painted a beautiful Woman,
and am despairing, dying for the Picture. My own Skill has undone
me; 'tis not the Dart of Venus, but my own Pencil has thus wounded
me. Ah me! with what Anxiety am I necessitated to adore my own
Idol? How miserable am I, whilst everyone must as much pity the
Painter as he praises the Picture, and own my Torment more than
equal to my Art. But why do I thus complain? Have there not been
more unhappy and unnatural Passions than mine? Yes, I have seen the
Representations of <italic>Ph&#230;dra, Narcissus,</italic> and <italic>Pasiphae.</italic> <italic>Phaedra</italic> was
unhappy in her Love; that of <italic>Pasiphae</italic> was monstrous; and whilst the
other caught at his beloved Likeness, he destroyed the watery
Image, which ever eluded his Embraces. The Fountain represented
<italic>Narcissus</italic> to himself, and the Picture both that and him, thirsting
after his adored Image. But I am yet less unhappy, I enjoy her
Presence continually, and if I touch her, I destroy not the
beauteous Form, but she looks pleased, and a sweet Smile sits in
the charming Space which divides her Lips. One would swear that
Voice and Speech were issuing out, and that one's Ears felt the
melodious Sound. How often have I, deceived by a Lover's Credulity,
hearkned if she had not something to whisper me? and when
frustrated of my Hopes, how often have I taken my Revenge in Kisses
from her Cheeks and Eyes, and softly wooed her to my Embrace,
whilst she (as to me it seem'd) only withheld her Tongue the more
to inflame me. But, Madman that I am, shall I be thus taken with
the Representation only of a beauteous Face, and flowing Hair, and
thus waste myself and meet to Tears for a Shadow? Ah, sure 'tis
something more, 'tis a Reality! for see her Beauties shine out with
new Lustre, and she seems to upbraid me with such unkind
Reproaches. Oh may I have a living Mistress of this Form, that when
I shall compare the Work of Nature with that of Art, I may be still
at a loss which to choose, and be long perplex'd with the pleasing
Uncertainty.</paragraph>
<paragraph>T.</paragraph>

<paragraph>1. Wycherley's Plain Dealer.</paragraph>
<paragraph>2. Eccles. vii. I.</paragraph>
<paragraph>3. In a volume of translated Letters on Wit, Politicks, and Morality,
edited by Abel Boyer, in 1701. The letters ascribed to Arist&#230;netus
of Nice in Bithynia, who died A. D. 358, but which were written
after the fifth century, were afterwards translated as Letters of
Love and Gallantry, written in Greek by Aristaenetus. This volume,
12mo (1715), was dedicated to Eustace Budgell, who is named in the
Preface as the author of the Spectator papers signed X.</paragraph>
</text>
</issue>
