The Works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 18 / Dialogue concerning Women; Characters; Life of Lucian; Letters; Appendix; Index
PREFACE TO A DIALOGUE CONCERNING WOMEN
The author of this Dialogue, as Dr Johnson has observed, was more remarkable for his familiarity with men of genius, than for any productions of his own. He was the son of Joseph Walsh of Abberley, in Worcestershire, and was born to an easy fortune. This last circumstance may have contributed something to the extreme respect in which he seems to have been held by the most accomplished of his age. Dryden, in the Postscript to “Virgil,” calls Walsh the best critic of the English nation; and, in the following Preface, he is profuse in his commendation. But though these praises may have exceeded the measure of Walsh’s desert, posterity owe a grateful remembrance to him, who, though a staunch Whig, respected and befriended Dryden in age and adversity, and who encouraged the juvenile essays of Pope, by foretelling his future eminence. Walsh’s own Poems and Essays entitle him to respectable rank among the minor poets. His Essay on the Pastorals of Virgil, which he contributed to our author’s version, may be found Vol. XIII. p. 345.
The “Dialogue concerning Women,” contains a critical disquisition upon the virtues and foibles of the sex. But though the pleasantry be stale, and the learning pedantic, it seems to have excited some attention when published; perhaps because, as an angry Defender of the ladies observes,
– “To begin with Dryden’s dreadful name,
Should mark out something of no common fame.”
I cannot omit remarking, that the Dialogue concludes with a profuse panegyric, upon a theme not very congenial to Dryden’s political feelings, the character of Queen Mary.
PREFACE TO WALSH’S DIALOGUE CONCERNING WOMEN
The perusal of this Dialogue, in defence of the fair sex, written by a gentleman of my acquaintance, much surprised me; for it was not easy for me to imagine, that one so young[1] could have treated so nice a subject with so much judgment. It is true, I was not ignorant, that he was naturally ingenious, and that he had improved himself by travelling; and from thence I might reasonably have expected that air of gallantry, which is so visibly diffused through the body of the work, and is indeed the soul that animates all things of this nature; but so much variety of reading, both in ancient and modern authors, such digestion of that reading, so much justness of thought, that it leaves no room for affectation, or pedantry, I may venture to say, are not over-common amongst practised writers, and very rarely to be found amongst beginners. It puts me in mind of what was said of Mr Waller, the father of our English numbers, upon the sight of his first verses, by the wits of the last age; that he came out into the world forty thousand strong, before they heard of him.1 Here, in imitation of my friend’s apostrophes, I hope the reader need not be told, that Mr Waller is only mentioned for honour’s sake; that I am desirous of laying hold on his memory, on all occasions, and thereby acknowledging to the world, that unless he had written, none of us could write.
I know, my friend will forgive me this digression; for it is not only a copy of his style, but of his candour. The reader will observe, that he is ready for all hints of commending merit, and the writers of this age and country are particularly obliged to him, for his pointing out those passages which the French call beaux endroits, wherein they have most excelled. And though I may seem in this to have my own interest in my eyes, because he has more than once mentioned me2 so much to my advantage, yet I hope the reader will take it only for a parenthesis, because the piece would have been very perfect without it. I may be suffered to please myself with the kindness of my friend, without valuing myself upon his partiality; he had not confidence enough to send it out into the world, without my opinion of it, that it might pass securely, at least amongst the fair readers, for whose service it was principally designed. I am not so presuming to think my opinion can either be his touchstone, or his passport; but I thought I might send him back to Ariosto, who has made it the business of almost thirty stanzas, in the beginning of the thirty-seventh book of his “Orlando Furioso,” not only to praise that beautiful part of the creation, but also to make a sharp satire on their enemies; to give mankind their own, and to tell them plainly, that from their envy it proceeds, that the virtue and great actions of women are purposely concealed, and the failings of some few amongst them exposed with all the aggravating circumstances of malice. For my own part, who have always been their servant, and have never drawn my pen against them, I had rather see some of them praised extraordinarily, than any of them suffer by detraction; and that in this age, and at this time particularly, wherein I find more heroines than heroes. Let me therefore give them joy of their new champion. If any will think me more partial to him than really I am, they can only say, I have returned his bribe; and the worst I wish him is, that he may receive justice from the men, and favour only from the ladies.
CHARACTER OF M. ST. EVREMONT
Charles de St Denis, Seigneur de St Evremont, was born in 1613, of a noble Norman family, and was early distinguished by the vivacity of his wit, as well as by his gallantry; for, like all the French noblesse, he followed the profession of arms. The Duke D’Enghien, afterwards Prince of Conde, was particularly attached to him, and gave him an appointment in his household. This he lost by ill-timed raillery on his patron. He was committed to the Bastile for a joke on cardinal Mazarine; and afterwards forced to fly into Holland for writing a satirical history of the peace of the Pyrenees. From Holland St Evremont retreated to England, where, at the witty court of Charles, his raillery was better understood than in Holland, and less likely to incur unpleasant consequences than in France. St Evremont naturally addressed himself to his fair countrywomen Louise de Querouaille Duchess of Portsmouth, and the Duchess of Mazarine; and, though they were rivals in Charles’s affections, they united in protecting the Norman bel-esprit. The king conferred on him a thousand caresses, and a small pension; on which he lived, amusing himself by the composition of lighter pieces of literature, and despising the country which afforded him refuge so very thoroughly, that he did not even deign to learn English. The people of England did not, however, consider the labours of their foreign guest with similar apathy. After several surreptitious editions of his various tracts had appeared, there was published, in 1692, a collection entitled, “Miscellaneous Essays, by Monsieur St Evremont, translated out of French; with his character, by a person of honour here in England, continued by Mr Dryden.” Desmaiseaux, by whom a complete edition of St Evremont’s works was edited in 1705, mentions it as well known, that Dr Knightly Chetwood, who died dean of Gloucester, was the person of honour in the title-page of 1692. His connection with Dryden makes this highly probable; although there is reason to believe, that the title of “person of honour” was not strictly applicable, and was probably assumed for the purpose of disguising the real translator.
CHARACTER OF M. ST. EVREMONT
I know how nice an undertaking it is to write of a living author; yet the example of Father Bouhours has somewhat encouraged me in this attempt. Had not Monsieur St Evremont been very considerable in his own country, that famous jesuit would not have ventured to praise a person in disgrace with the government of France, and living here in banishment. Yet, in his “Pensees Ingenieuses,” he has often cited our author’s thoughts and his expressions, as the standard of judicious thinking, and graceful speaking; an undoubted sign that his merit was sufficiently established, when the disfavour of the court could not prevail against it. There is not only a justness in his conceptions, which is the foundation of good writing, but also a purity of language, and a beautiful turn of words, so little understood by modern writers; and which, indeed, was found at Rome but at the latter end of the commonwealth, and ended with Petronius, under the monarchy. If I durst extend my judgment to particulars, I would say, that our author has determined very nicely in his opinion of Epicurus; and that what he has said of his morals, is according to nature and reason.
It is true, that as I am a religious admirer of Virgil, I could wish that he had not discovered our father’s nakedness.3 But, after all, we must confess, that Æneas was none of the greatest heroes, and that Virgil was sensible of it himself. But what could he do? the Trojan on whom he was to build