Читать книгу The Tatler - Joseph Addison - Страница 26

Who names that lost thing, love, without a tear,

Since so debauched by ill-bred customs here,

To an exact perfection they have brought

The action, love, the passion is forgot.

This was long ago a witty author's lamentation, but the evil still continues; and if a man of any delicacy were to attend the discourses of the young fellows of this age, they would believe there were none but prostitutes to make the objects of passion. So true it is what the author of the above verses said, a little before his death, of the modern pretenders to gallantry: "They set up for wits in this age, by saying when they are sober, what they of the last spoke only when they were drunk." But Cupid is not only blind at present, but dead-drunk, he has lost all his faculties: else how should Celia be so long a maid with that agreeable behaviour? Corinna, with that uprightly wit? Lesbia, with that heavenly voice? And Sacharissa, with all those excellences in one person, frequent the park, the play, and murder the poor tits that drag her to public places, and not a man turn pale at her appearance? But such is the fallen state of love, that if it were not for honest Cynthio,¹¹⁴ who is true to the cause, we should hardly have a pattern left of the ancient worthies that way: and indeed he has but very little encouragement to persevere; but he has a devotion, rather than love, for his mistress; and says,

Only tell her that I love,

Leave the rest to her, and Fate;

Some kind planet from above,

May, perhaps, her passsion move:

Lovers on their stars must wait.¹¹⁵

But the stars I am so intimately acquainted with, that I can assure him, he will never have her: for would you believe it, though Cynthio has wit, good sense, fortune, and his very being depends on her, the termagant for whom he sighs, is in love with a fellow, who stares in the glass all the time he is with her, and lets her plainly see, she may possibly be his rival, but never his mistress. Yet Cynthio, the same unhappy man whom I mentioned in my first narrative, pleases himself with a vain imagination, that with the language of his eyes, now he has found who she is, he shall conquer her, though her eyes are intent upon one who looks from her; which is ordinary with the sex. It is certainly a mistake in the ancients, to draw the little gentleman, Love, as a blind boy; for his real character is, a little thief that squints. For ask Mrs. Meddle, who is a confidante, or spy, upon all the passions in town, and she will tell you, that the whole is a game of cross purposes. The lover is generally pursuing one who is in pursuit of another, and running from one that desires to meet him. Nay, the figure of this passion is so justly represented in a squinting little thief (who is always in a double action) that do but observe Clarissa next time you see her, and you'll find, when her eyes have made their tour round the company, she makes no stay on him they say she is to marry, but rests two seconds of a minute on Wildair, who neither looks nor thinks on her, or any woman else. However, Cynthio had a bow from her the other day, upon which he is very much come to himself; and I heard him send his man of an errand yesterday without any manner of hesitation; a quarter of an hour after which he reckoned twenty, remembered he was to sup with a friend, and went exactly to his appointment. I sent to know how he did this morning, and I find he very perfectly remembers that he spoke to me yesterday.