It
was however asserted at the time that Pope had not written the verses
which have made the quarrel memorable till after Addison's death. They
were not published till 1723, and are not mentioned by any independent
authority till 1722, though Pope afterwards appealed to Burlington as a
witness to their earlier composition. The fact seems to be confirmed by
the evidence of Lady M. W. Montagu, but it does not follow that Addison
ever saw the verses. He knew that Pope disliked him; but he probably did
not suspect the extent of the hostility. Pope himself appears not to
have devised the worst part of the story--that of Addison having used
Tickell's name--till some years later. Addison was sufficiently
magnanimous in praising his spiteful little antagonist as it was; he
little knew how deeply that antagonist would seek to injure his
reputation.
And here, before passing to the work which afforded the main pretext of
the quarrel, it may be well to quote once more the celebrated satire. It
may be remarked that its excellence is due in part to the fact that, for
once, Pope does not lose his temper. His attack is qualified and really
sharpened by an admission of Addison's excellence. It is therefore a
real masterpiece of satire, not a simple lampoon. That it is an
exaggeration is undeniable, and yet its very keenness gives a
presumption that it is not altogether without foundation.
Peace to all such! but were there one whose fires
True genius kindles and fair fame inspires;
Blest with each talent and each art to please,
And born to write, converse, and live with ease;
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne:
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes,
And hate for arts that caused himself to rise;
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer;
Willing to wound and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault and hesitate dislike;
Alike reserved to praise or to commend,
A timorous foe and a suspicious friend;
Dreading ev'n fools, by flatterers besieged,
And so obliging that he ne'er obliged;
Like Cato, give his little senate laws,
And sit attentive to his own applause:
While wits and templars every sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish face of praise;
Who would not laugh if such a man there be?
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he?
FOOTNOTES:
[3] Any poet who followed Bossu's rules, said Voltaire, might be certain
that no one would read him; happily it was impossible to follow them.
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