No More Learning

The Bluestockings
6
affectations deplored, her flattery derided, yet we are told that
even those who were most diverted with her foibles would express
a high opinion of her abilities. 'In her conversation she had more
wit than any other person, male or female, whom I have known,'
wrote Beattie. Dr Johnson, whom, said Mrs Thrale, 'she flattered
till he was ready to faint,' paid her back in the same seductive
coin. When she showed him some plates that had belonged to
queen Elizabeth, he assured her that 'their present possessor was
in no tittle inferior to the first. At another time, he said of her,
Sir, that lady exerts more mind in conversation than any person I ever
met with. Sir, she displays such powers of ratiocination, such radiations of
intellectual excellence as are amazing.
And Lord Bath once told Sir Joshua Reynolds that he did not
believe that there ever was a more perfect human being created, or
ever would be created, than Mrs Montagu. ' Even Lord Macartney,
much given to 'elegant pleasantries,' who 'piqued himself upon
carrying compliments beyond the moon,' having flattered Mrs
Montagu to the furthest limit of credulity, would confess to his
intimates : ‘After all, she is the cleverest woman I know. Meet her
where you will, she says the best thing in the company. ' Horace
Walpole might occasionally wing his sly shafts of malicious wit in
her direction, but there are few greater tributes to the interest of
her assemblies and of the bluestocking coteries generally than his,
and Soame Jenyns's and Owen Cambridge's—the old wits as a
younger generation irreverently called them frequent attendance.
Even her enemies allowed that she had a sincere love of
literature. She ‘makes each rising wit her care,' said a con-
temporary poem, and her kindly discriminating help to struggling
authors, and authors who were past struggling, earned for her the
high-sounding title, the 'female Maecenas of Hill Street,' bestowed
on her by Hannah More. When Anna Williams, the blind
poetess, was left with a precarious income, Mrs Montagu gave her
an annual allowance of £10, a kindness greatly appreciated by
Johnson, who, in his' wild benevolence,' had given Mrs Williams,
in company with other derelicts of humanity, a home under the
shelter of his roof. After Edward Montagu's death, when she be-
came sole mistress of his wealth, she gave an annuity of £100
to Mrs Carter; and, when there was a question of a government
pension for Beattie, she assured him with the utmost delicacy
that, should the project fail, she herself would supply the necessary
funds. These are only a few instances out of many; her corre-
spondence is full of allusions to the needy and distressed. Nor
1
1
3
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xv]
A Patroness of Literature
351
were her gifts all in the sordid coin of commerce. Not only did
she give generously to her literary friends the encouragement and
sympathy that, in dark moments, are of more value than gold, but
she would promote their interests in every way possible, after the
manner of the ladies of the Parisian salons. It was Mrs Montagu's
wide-reaching influence that materially helped to spread the fame
of Beattie's Essay on Truth, as a counterblast to Hume's 'infidel
writings. ' Later, it was she who suggested its reissue by sub-
scription; and, though she was indefatigable in her efforts to
enlist subscribers, she was much disappointed because it only
produced about four hundred guineas profit for the author. She
gave him introductions to Lord Kinnoul and his brother, the arch-
bishop of York, who both made plans for his advancement. In
1772, she writes: 'I was in hopes to have something done among
the Great that might forward my hope for you’; and, when The
Minstrel appeared, not only did she send copies to Lord Lyttelton,
Lord Chatham and others of her personal friends, but she told
Beattie, ‘I wrote immediately to a person who serves many gentle-
men and ladies with new books, to recommend it to all people
of taste. . . . I have recommended it to many of our bishops and
others. '
Having so active an interest in authors and their works, it
was not surprising that she should one day appear as author
herself. In 1760, when Lord Lyttelton published his Dialogues of
the Dead, the last three were advertised as 'composed by a different
hand,' the hand of Mrs Montagu: though, in deference to the
prejudice of her day, she preferred to shield herself behind a veil
of anonymity, which she was not sorry that most of her friends
were able to penetrate. The Dialogues met with much criticism,
favourable and otherwise. Johnson called them a 'nugatory per-
formance,' and Walpole, by nature unable to resist an opportunity
for epigram, wrote of them as the dead dialogues, a prophecy
that time has almost fulfilled. Those by Mrs Montagu were be-
tween Cadmus and Hercules; Mercury and a modern fine lady;
Plutarch, Charon and a modern bookseller. The first is full of
solid good sense—too solid, indeed, for satire—but every phrase is
trite and obvious, without a glimmer of the wit that Mrs Montagu
scattered freely in her talk and letters. Mrs Carter gave it fatal,
.
discerning praise when she assured its author that it has all the
elegance of polite literature. ' The dialogue between Plutarch
and the bookseller is severe on the popular taste of the day, and
suggests that popular taste, like human nature, never changes.
>


## p. 352 (#374) ############################################

352
[CH.
The Bluestockings
6
6
'I unadvisedly bought an edition of your Lives,' the bookseller
says to Plutarch; "a pack of old Greeks and Romans . . . and the
work which repaired the loss I sustained. . . was the Lives of
the Highwaymen. ' The second dialogue, between Mercury and
Mrs Modish, is in Mrs Montagu's happiest vein of light sarcasm.
It is by far the wittiest of the whole collection, and met with un-
qualified success. It is a lively satire on the fashionable woman of
the period, who, when Mercury summons her to pass the Styx,' is
‘engaged, absolutely engaged . . . to the Play on Mondays, balls on
Tuesdays, the Opera on Saturdays, and to card assemblies the rest
of the week. ' She suggests, however, that he should wait till the
end of the season, when she might like to go to the Elysian fields
for a change. 'Have you a Vauxhall and Ranelagh ? ' she asks.
'I think I should not dislike drinking the Lethe waters when you
have a full season. ' Compliments flowed in from the bluestocking
circle who were inclined to preen themselves on their 'queen’s'
literary success; and Mrs Montagu, exhilarated with the heady wine
of public applause, wrote to Mrs Carter, 'I do not know but at last
I may become an author in form. . . . The Dialogues, I mean the
three worst, have had a more favourable reception than I expected. '
It was not, however, till nine years later, that the great literary
effort of her life appeared, an Essay on the Writings and Genius
of Shakespeare, carrying the sub-title 'with some remarks upon
the misrepresentations of Mons. de Voltaire. ' In her letters, one
may trace its germ at an early stage, with here and there evidences
of its gradual growth. In a letter to Lord Bath, in 1761, she
writes a long criticism of Voltaire's Tancred, in which she com-
pares the natural sallies of passion in our Shakspear' with 'the
pompous declamation' of Voltaire in Tancred.
later, Mrs Carter mentions Mrs Montagu's criticism on Macbeth'
and, when Johnson's preface to the 1765 edition of Shakespeare
with all the other prefaces appeared, she writes of Johnson's as
the ablest of them all. Mrs Montagu's Essay was, in great measure,
a protest against the strictures that Voltaire had for years hurled at
Shakespeare, from whom he had freely borrowed. As many English
readers knew, he had taken whole scenes from Macbeth for his
Mahomet; the plot of his Zaïre was only Othello slightly disguised;
but indignation in England deepened to disgust at Voltaire's
introduction to Sémiramis. Miss Talbot, a bluestocking, wrote to
Mrs Carter in 1745, ‘Voltaire has just published with his Semiramis,
the foolishest, idlest, coarsest critique that ever was? '
1 For criticism of Shakespeare in the eighteenth century see vol. v, chaps. XI, XII.
Three years
9


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Xv]
Mrs Montagu and Voltaire
353
6
In her introduction, Mrs Montagu says, “I was incited to this
undertaking by great admiration of his genius, and still greater
indignation at the treatment he has received from a French wit. '
The whole gist of the Essay, however, so far as Shakespeare is
concerned, is summed up in the trite conclusion of the introduction,
'Nature and sentiment will pronounce our Shakespear a mighty
genius; judgment and taste will confess that, as a writer, he is far
from faultless. ' Her vindication of Shakespeare, it may at once
be admitted, was what a contemporary called it, “a work of
supererogation’; but the attack on the literary dictator of Europe,
even though, in its daring, it may suggest the proverb concerning
fools and angels, was at least, well-merited. In Paris, particularly,
when, five years later, the Essay was translated into French,
Voltaire's credit as an authority on Shakespeare was felt to be
seriously damaged. He had boasted that his translation of
Julius Caesar was 'the most faithful translation that can be, and
the only faithful one in the French language of any author, ancient
or modern. Such confidence invited attack, and Mrs Montagu fell
on his errors with a pitiless enjoyment that gives life and vigour to
this part of her destructive criticism. She points out that, in this
only faithful translation, Voltaire has utterly misread the meaning
of several words and phrases, and, with a relish sharpened by
indignation, her unsparing pen points out ‘the miserable mistakes
and galimathias of this dictionary work. ' After an attack on
Corneille, with whom Voltaire had compared Shakespeare, to
the disadvantage of the latter, she finally hopes that the many
gross blunders in this work will deter other beaux esprits from
attempting to hurt works of genius by the masked battery of
an unfair translation. '
The essay, though published anonymously, met with a flattering
reception. The Critical Review wrote of the author as 'almost
the only critic who has yet appeared worthy of Shakespeare,' and
most of the other reviews-save The Monthly Review, which
condemned the language of the Essay as affected—were, on the
whole, favourable. From the bluestocking circle, she received reams
of eulogy, and perhaps Johnson was the only dissentient in the
chorus of praise when he remarked to Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'Sir,
it does her honour, but it would do nobody else honour. Modern
criticism agrees with Johnson, and the Essay is condemned as
'well-intentioned,. . . but feeble,' and quite without value in the
enormous bulk of Shakespeare criticism.
* History of Criticism, by Saintsbury, G. , vol. 11, p. 173.
23
a
E. L. XI.
CH. XV.


## p. 354 (#376) ############################################

354
[CH.
The Bluestockings
6
It brought her, however, a considerable measure of contem-
porary fame in England, and her bluestocking adherents were
proud of their 'queen’s' achievement in the world of letters.
‘She is the first woman for literary knowledge in England,' said
Mrs Thrale, while Fanny Burney wrote that the general plaudits
given to the book ‘mounted her. . . to the Parnassian heights of
female British literature. When, in 1776, she visited Paris she
had the satisfaction of finding her Essay well known, and herself
a celebrity. She was a welcome guest at many of the Parisian
salons, she adopted Parisian rouge, criticised French plays and
French acting with severity and, by a singular chance, her visit
coincided with the opening of the French academy on the
occasion when Voltaire's famous abusive Letter to the Academy
was read by d'Alembert. Shakespeare was again denounced in
language so unrestrained that even some of the forty, wrote Mrs
Montagu, shrugged their shoulders' and showed other strong
signs of disapprobation. At its conclusion, Suard said to her, Je
crois, Madame, que vous êtes un peu fâchée de ce que vous venez
d'entendre. Moi, Monsieur ! she replied, with her ever ready
wit, point du tout ! Je ne suis pas amie de Monsieur Voltaire.
Her bluestocking friends rather feared that her Parisian success
would unduly inflate her selfesteem. Mrs Delany wrote to
Mrs Boscawen a witty little sketch of her as Madame de Montagu,
to which Mrs Boscawen replied, “Much I fear that she will never
be Mrs Montagu, an English woman again ! ' However, their fears
were not realised. She came back to England and was soon her
former English self, something of a poseuse perhaps, a good deal
of an egotist, but always possessing such brilliant qualities of mind
and intellect, such a gift for steady friendship, that she remained
as firmly fixed as hitherto on her bluestocking throne, on which
she had still more than twenty years to reign.
6
But, of the members of the bluestocking circle none was more
‘darkly, deeply, beautifully blue' thán Mrs Elizabeth Carter, who,
though unmarried, took brevet rank as matron after the custom
of her day. She was the daughter of Nicholas Carter, perpetual
curate of a chapel at Deal, and one of the six preachers at Canter-
bury. As a first step in her education, she was sent to Canterbury
for a year to learn French in the house of a Huguenot refugee.
On her return home, she took lessons with her brothers in Latin,
Greek and Hebrew, but she acquired knowledge with such difficulty
1 Letters of Horace Walpole (1904), vol. ix, p. 444.


## p. 355 (#377) ############################################

Xv]
Elizabeth
Carter
355
6
that her father advised her to give up attempting the classical
languages. She continued, however, with dogged persistence.
She rose early, and, to keep her attention from flagging at night,
she took snuff, bound wet towels round her head and chewed
green tea and coffee. As a result of this undaunted plodding,
she gained so solid a knowledge of Greek that Johnson spoke
of her later as one of the best Greek scholars he had ever known.
By degrees, she added Italian, German, Portuguese and Arabic to
her languages. She was, at the same time, educating her young
step-brothers, one of whom was sent to Cambridge.
As a linguist, who spoke fluent French, who could write pure,
literary Italian, who, at need, could talk in Latin, who 'delighted'
in German, who knew something of Hebrew, Portuguese and
Arabic and who was among the best Greek scholars of her time,
her views on the study of languages are worth considering, parti-
cularly as they accord with some of the most modern and intelli-
gent methods of teaching in vogue today. She knew practically
nothing of Greek and Latin grammar, and used to speak of them,
says her biographer, 'with some degree of unmerited contempt. '
He hastens to explain that, as a science, she understood grammar,
but, he adds significantly, not as taught in schools. Her fine
intellect quickly discovered that the commonsense method of
acquiring a foreign language is identical with that of learning
one's own. A preliminary store of words and phrases must be
assimilated before grammar can be of use, and she regarded it
rather as a consequence of understanding the language, than as a
handmaid. . . . '
Though grammar was not, for her, an obstructive fetish in the
acquirement of a new language, she yet had a cultivated eye for
grammatical errors, and a fault that she had detected in a line of
Homer ‘kept her awake at night. At another time, she disputed
with archbishop Secker over the translation of two verses in
Corinthians, and, after consulting the original, the archbishop was
compelled to admit that “Madam Carter' was in the right.
She was introduced to Cave, of The Gentleman's Magazine, by
her father, and contributed verse to his magazine so early as her
seventeenth year. In 1738, he published for her a thin quarto of
twenty-four pages; poems that had been written before she was
twenty. Johnson, who was then doing hackwork for Cave, wrote
Greek and Latin epigrams on the author, to whom he had been
introduced by the publisher. At another time, he said that ‘Eliza'
ought to be celebrated in as many languages as Louis le Grand,
a
a
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## p. 356 (#378) ############################################

356
[ch.
The Bluestockings
and, in proof of his high opinion of her abilities, he asked her to
contribute to his Rambler. Numbers 44 and 100 are hers; four
‘billets' in no. 10 are by Hester Mulso, afterwards Mrs Chapone,
and no. 30 is by Catherine Talbot, all accomplished ladies of the
bluestocking circle. Richardson the novelist, seeing Elizabeth
Carter's Ode to Wisdom in manuscript, printed it without
permission in Clarissa. Her remonstrance was the prelude to
an acquaintance with him, and she sometimes joined his 'flower-
garden of ladies' at North End, his petticoaterie, according to the
scoffing Walpole. It is said that he gravely consulted her on the
qualities that should distinguish the perfect man before he created
Sir Charles Grandison.
Her first serious effort in literature was Examination of
Mr Pope's Essay on Man, which she translated from the French
of Jean Pierre de Crousaz. It was thought that this might lead
to an acquaintance with Pope, and Sir George Oxenden warned
her father
that there is hardly an instance of a woman of letters entering into an
intimacy of acquaintance with men of wit and parts, particularly poets, who
were not thoroughly abused and maltreated by them in print. . . Mr Pope has
done it more than once l.
Shortly afterwards, she translated Algarotti's Newtonianismo per
le Dame into English, under the title, Sir Isaac Newton's Philo-
sophy explained for the use of the Ladies, in Six Dialogues on
Light and Colours. She was then twenty-two, and Thomas Birch
wrote of her as, “a very extraordinary phenomenon in the republic
of letters. ' Elizabeth Carter was not, by temperament, a literary
woman; her pleasure was in acquiring knowledge rather than in
giving it out. In all her studies—save that of German, perhaps,
which she began with the view of preparing herself for a place at
court-she had not, apparently, any ambition beyond her passion
for study. Even the great literary achievement of her life, the
translation of Epictetus, was made to oblige her friend Miss Talbot,
and was not, at first, intended for publication.
Catherine Talbot, with her mother, lived in the household of
bishop Secker and his wife. She was an accomplished woman, but she
did not read Greek, and, in 1743, she wrote to Mrs Carter that she
was 'vastly curious' to read those precepts of Epictetus that had
not been translated. It was not till 1749, however, that Elizabeth
Carter, to please her friend, began a rough translation of the work
that was to be the foundation of her modest fortune, as well as to
1 Memoirs of the Life of Mrs Elizabeth Carter, by Pennington, M. , vol. 1, p. 44.
1
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1
Xv]
Mrs Carter's Epictetus
357
6
a few
hu
add enormously to the fame she already enjoyed as the learned
Mrs Carter. These few pages were submitted to the bishop of
Oxford, who found the translation good. Its only fault, he said,
was its elegance of diction, that block of stumbling to many
eighteenth century writers. Epictetus, the bishop reminded her,
was a plain man, who spoke plainly, and the translation ought
to be less smooth to preserve the spirit of the original. When
Mrs Carter wrote back that she had some defence of her passion
for ornament,' the bishop replied grimly, “Why would you change
a plain, home-awakening preacher into a fine, smooth, polite writer
of what nobody will mind ? ' But Mrs Carter was not easily
persuaded to renounce the elegance of polite literature into
which she was transforming the Greek slave's trenchant exhorta-
tions. It was only after Miss Talbot added the weight of her
opinion, and wrote ‘I am much of my Lord's mind. . . for energy,
shortness and plainness,' that she was induced to put her transla-
tion into a more direct form. The bishop wrote a few pages as a
model of the rough almost literal translation which he advocated,
but perhaps he was a little chagrined at her obstinacy, for,
months later, she laments that 'Epictetus and I are miserable that
. . . my Lord had so inhumanly given us up to our own devices. '
Bishop Secker, however, gave her valuable help in correcting it,
devoting a whole month, when he was laid up with gout, to its
revision. It was he, probably, who, in 1753, suggested its publica-
tion, for, from that time, it was prepared for the press. When it
was at length finished, Miss Talbot urged her friend to collect
materials for the life of Epictetus, to be published with it, to
which Elizabeth replied: “Whoever that somebody or other is, who
is to write the life of Epictetus, seeing I have a dozen shirts to
make, I do opine, dear Miss Talbot, that it cannot be I. She,
however, added the Enchiridion and notes, at the bishop's sug-
gestion, and the whole was finished in 1756, just seven years after
it was begun.
In the work of correcting sheets for the press, bishop Secker
again gave ungrudging assistance; and, in one letter, we find her
thus whimsically adjured:
Do, dear Madam Carter, get yourself whipt, get yourself whipt. . . I know
you mean to be careful; but you cannot without this help. . . The first thing
I have cast my eyes upon is Epictetus for Epicurus. . .
Epictetus appeared before the public in 1758, and its success and
sale make it one of the minor romances of publishing. It was in
one volume, large quarto, and 1018 copies were struck off at first;
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358
[ch.
The Bluestockings
but, as these were insufficient, 250 more were printed a few months
later. It was issued by subscription, and the price was a guinea
in sheets. In her own copy were the names of no fewer than 1031
subscribers, and, since many copies were not claimed ‘by way of
compliment,' Mrs Carter gained nearly a thousand pounds profit.
Richardson's bill for printing the first impression amounted to
£67. 78.
Two further editions were printed in her life-time, and,
for many years, it remained a good selling book at a high price.
Epictetus gained for its author a European reputation. So far
afield as Russia, where, said Elizabeth Carter, ‘they were only just
beginning to walk on their hind legs,' there appeared a notice of
the learned English woman, and she was told that the Tsarina had
read it through with high approbation. After its publication, she
was regarded by the bluestocking circle with something akin to
awe, and it is almost a relief to find her intimates, Mrs Montagu
and Miss Talbot, jestingly referring to her uncle Epictetus,' or
writing of her as 'cousin-german to Xenophon,' while Walpole,
with his facile talent for bestowing unchristian names, frequently
calls her Mrs Epictetus Carter.
After Epictetus, Mrs Carter did not write anything more for
publication, though, in 1762, Lord Bath persuaded her to publish
a small volume of poems that had been written at various times.
She gave such reluctant consent to this that Miss Talbot accused
her of thinking it ‘no small degradation from a quarto of Greek
Philosophy to dwindle into an eighteenpenny pamphlet of English
verse. The dedication was to the earl of Bath, and, writes her
biographer, 'is wholly unsullied by that flattery which is too often
a disgrace both to the author and the patron. But this praise is
somewhat discounted, when, on the next page, he quotes a letter
from Mrs Carter, indicating that Lord Bath wrote the dedication
himself!
For the remainder of her long life, Elizabeth Carter settled
down to the comfortable enjoyment of her fame on the modest
competence of which the profits from Epictetus were the foundation
Her influential friends invested this money profitably; and, some
years later, when Mrs Montagu inherited her husband's fortune,
she allowed her friend £100 a year. Lord Bath did not leave her
an annuity, according to the expectation of many of the blue-
stockings; but his heirs generously made good this deficiency by a
grant of £100 a year. During the summer months, she lived with
her father at Deal, or went on visits to her friends among the
great at their country houses. The winter she invariably spent in
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Xv]
Hannah More
359
London in handsome and comfortable apartments in Clarges street,
within easy distance of several of the bluestocking hostesses.
“She kept no table,' and never dined at home, except when ill, or
unable to go out. In the wide bluestocking circle, she was always
a welcome guest, and, not only did they invite her to their houses,
but they invariably sent for her their sedan chairs or carriages,
which again carried her back to Clarges street by ten o'clock
at the latest. She was, apparently, a sympathetic listener rather
than a talker, but she was always, to the end of her long life,
a notability in the inner circle of the bluestockings.
Di
Flot
The bluestocking, however, whose fame reached to the furthest
ends of the earth—though as a philanthropist rather than as
a blue—is Hannah More! When she first appeared in the blue-
stocking coteries, she had not yet become a passionate reformer, a
stern moralist, “the eminent divine,' as she was called in later years.
Her connection with the blues represents the 'gay and worldly'
side of her serious life. During her first winter among them she
was still in the twenties, and her hasty impressionist descriptions
of the literary society of London scintillate with the fresh enthusiasm
of a girl whose eyes and mind are slightly dazzled by unaccustomed
experiences. She was not unworthy to be admitted to the society
of those learned ladies and ingenious gentlemen. She spoke
fluent French, polished by conversation with some French officers
on parole, who often visited her home. Her father taught her
Latin, and some mathematics, though, frightened by her pre-
cocity, he did not take her far in the latter science. Her elder
sisters, not having any fortune in prospect, opened a boarding-
school at Bristol to which she was sent, at the age of twelve.
Later, like her four sisters, she taught in the school, assiduously
carrying on her own education at the same time. She studied
Latin, Italian and Spanish, improving her style by translations
and imitations of the Odes of Horace, and some of the dramatic
compositions of Metastasio.
Hannah More was a precocious child—a child who, indisputably,
was the mother of the woman. In youthful days, she would
treasure any stray scrap of paper on which she scribbled verses or
essays that were always adorned with a well directed moral. '
When her ardent wish took form in the shape of 'a whole quire
of paper to herself,' it was soon filled by the budding moralist with
supposititious letters to depraved characters, intended to reclaim
ZIE
1 See, also, ante, vol. x, chap. XI, pp. 267—8, and vol. xi, chap. XII.
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360
[CH.
The Bluestockings
them from their errors. The one romance of her life began when
she was twenty-two, and came to naught, though, indirectly, it
paved the way for her literary career. She was engaged to a
wealthy man of good position, the cousin of two of her pupils.
This gentleman named Turner is said to have had every good
quality to make marriage a success, save 'a cheerful and composed
temper,' and—still more important lack—the initial courage to
marry. Twice was the wedding-day fixed and postponed, when
Hannah, on the advice of her friends, determined not to be trifled
with any longer. Turner was repentant, but Hannah was inexor-
able. Finally, however, he insisted on settling on her an annuity
of £200, to compensate her for her great expense in preparing
to be the wife of a man of large fortune. This income per-
mitted her to devote her time to literary pursuits, though, when
she first visited London in 1774, she had not published anything
except a small play for schools, The Search after Happiness.
She was introduced to London society by one of those fortunate
events that suggest the guiding hand of destiny. She, with two
of her sisters, had not been in London a week when she wrote to a
friend describing her emotions at seeing Garrick as king Lear.
Her friend, who knew Garrick, showed him the letter, and, as the
actor was curious to see the young enthusiast, an introduction was
arranged. The day after this she was invited to the Garricks'
house to meet Mrs Montagu, and, as her biographer succinctly puts
it, ‘her introduction to the great, and the greatly endowed, was
sudden and general. ' Her portrait, painted some years later by
Opie, suggests a strong and pleasant personality, and one finds that,
wherever she was taken by the Garricks, she gravitated towards
people of high rank in intellect by a species of mental elective
affinity. She had long desired to see Johnson, but Sir Joshua
Reynolds, at whose house she met him, prepared her, as he 'handed
her
up the stairs,' for a mood of possible sadness and silence in the
great man. She was, however, fortunate enough to find him
advancing to meet her with good humour in his countenance, and
a macaw of Sir Joshua's in his hand,' while he gallantly greeted her
with a verse from a morning hymn of her own composition. Other
introductions speedily followed: to Edmund Burke, to bishop
Percy, the collector of the Reliques, who was 'quite a sprightly
modern, instead of a rusty antique,' and to other distinguished
members of the bluestocking coteries.
In the following year, 1775, Hannah again visited London in
February. This time, she dined at Mrs Montagu's, where she met
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xv]
Hannah
More and Cadell
361
6
6
Elizabeth Carter and Mrs Boscawen, the widow of the admiral.
The bluestocking parties were now at their zenith, and the clearcut
thumbnail sketches Hannah gives of the chief dramatis personae
are always vivid and lifelike. Of Mrs Montagu, she says,
She is not only the finest genius, but the finest lady I ever saw . . . she lives in
the highest style of magnificence . . . her form is delicate even to fragility . . .
she has the sprightly vivacity of fifteen, with the judgment and experience of
a Nestor.
The young provincial, though not “violently modish,' kept at least
one eye on the fashion, and permitted her hair to be dressed in the
extravagant mode that, as moralist, she was compelled to censure,
even while she adopted it. She quickly noted Elizabeth Carter's
indifference to dress, which, with tactful euphuism, she thus
describes. “Mrs Carter has in her person a great deal of what the
gentlemen mean when they say such a one is a “poetical lady”. . .
however, I like her much. She was, perhaps, most attracted by
Mrs Boscawen, who, she said, was polite, learned, judicious and
humble. This first impression was strengthened as she knew her
more intimately, and there was not one of the bluestocking ladies
of whom Hannah wrote with more admiration, though, perhaps
because but few of her letters that were thought not inferior to
those of Mrs Montagu-have been published, she is less well-
known to the general reader.
In 1775, after her return to Bristol, Hannah More told her
sisters that she had been 'so fed with praise and flattering atten-
tions' that she would find out her real value by writing a poem,
and offering it to Cadell. In a fortnight, she had finished Sir
Eldred of the Bower, to which she added the poem entitled The
Bleeding Rock, written some years before. Cadell had probably
heard something of her, as he not only offered for it a sum beyond
her expectation, but ‘very handsomely' said that, if she could
discover what Goldsmith had received for his Deserted Village, he
would allow her the same price. A unique fashion surely of re-
ceiving a young writer, even in the eighteenth century! The two
poems, which scarcely filled thirty small pages, were welcomed
with acclaim by the bluestockings. Garrick recited them, Johnson
added a stanza, Richard Burke called the book 'a truly elegant
and tender performance,' and the writer's head, said her sisters,
needed to be unusually steady to withstand the flood of adulation
-and it was !
In the following year, the Garricks hospitably offered Hannah
a suite of rooms in their house, and, from that time onwards, for
>


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362
[ch.
The Bluestockings
6
more than twenty years, whenever she came to London, she
invariably stayed with them at the Adelphi, or at their Thames-
side retreat at Hampton. Under Garrick's influence, her next
literary venture was the play Percy, which launched her in London
society as a celebrity. The bluestockings congratulated her and
themselves on its extraordinary success, and if they did not 'crown
her, cover her, hide her with laurels,' as Richard Berenger, one of
them suggested, Mrs Boscawen, on its twelfth performance, sent
her a laurel wreath with the 'stems confined within an elegant
ring,' for which she returned thanks in an elegant copy of verses. '
She had almost finished The Fatal Falsehood, when, in 1779,
David Garrick died, and, greatly affected by his death, she deter-
mined to write no more plays. From this time, her thoughts
followed their natural trend towards serious subjects, and, her
letters, she gradually reveals herself as philanthropist and reformer.
She even attempted, said Cowper, ‘to reform the unreformable
Great,' and her Thoughts on the importance of the Manners of the
Great went into many large editions? Her grief at Garrick's
death found some vent in Sensibility, a poem addressed to Mrs
Boscawen, in which several bluestockings are mentioned. The
poem, however, that made the greatest stir in the bluestocking
coteries, was Bas Bleu, or Conversation. It is illustrative of the
fact that Hannah More, with her strong sense of dramatic values,
had the faculty of mentally visualising the significance of the
various movements with which she was connected. This poem, as
she explained in the preface, owed its name to the mistake of
a foreigner of distinction, who gave the literal name Bas-bleu to
a small party of friends that had often been called by way of
pleasantry Blue Stockings. She says further that these little
societies—sometimes misrepresented—were composed of persons
distinguished in general for their rank, talent, or respectable
character, who met frequently at Mrs Vesey's and at a few other
houses for the sole purpose of conversation. She adds a brief
a
tribute to the charm of these gatherings, where, she says, learning
was not disfigured by pedantry, good taste was not marred by
affectation and conversation was as little disgraced by calumny,
levity and other censurable errors as has, perhaps, been known
in any society. The poem is not of permanent value, though
Johnson told her that 'there was no name in poetry that might
6
1 The tracts with which she tried to reform the poor, Village Politics and the
Repository Tracts, had an amazing success, and were found so well-suited to the
purpose that the Religious Tract society was formed to continue the work.


## p. 363 (#385) ############################################

Xv]
Horace Walpole
363
>
not be glad to own it. ' Naturally, this poème à clef had a great
vogue among the bluestockings, as most of them were mentioned
either by their own names, or under some classical appellation. It
was written to amuse Mrs Vesey, and, after circulating some years
in manuscript, was eventually printed in 1786.
Perhaps the most curious friendship in the bas-bleu coteries,
was that between Hannah More and Horace Walpole. She was
not long in discovering that 'Horace liked nonsense talk better
than Greeks or Romans,' but, apparently, she could do her own
share of such conversation. When she spent evenings among the
bluestockings, she frequently mentions that she and Horace Wal-
pole, with another friend or two,ʻmake up a pleasant little coterie
of their own. Friendly correspondence passed between them,
when they were away from London; and, when Hannah More
went to live at her cottage, Cowslip green-cousin in name,
declared Walpole, to Strawberry hill—he collected all his own
works, printed at the Strawberry hill press, to give her 'for
remembrance. As a mark of great distinction, he printed her
Bishop Bonner's Ghost at the famous press, for distribution among
their common friends—in other words, the bluestockings. He gave
her a beautifully bound Bible, which she wished he would read;
but, in spite of the amazing differences of character between the
cynic and the reformer, they remained good friends till his death.
He was on intimate terms with Mrs Carter, too, and both the
famous bluestocking ladies were amazed when his Letters were
published. The Horace Walpole there revealed was an entirely
different person from the bluestocking they had known. When he
talked with them, there were not any traces of 'that truly French,
light and frivolous way of thinking which is so evident in his
printed letters. ' Indeed, it was something of a shock to them to
find that he had actually selected his letters for publication.
Hannah More was the chief chronicler as well as the poet
laureate of the blues. It is from the hasty impressionist sketches
in her letters that we gather the significance of the movement.
Of a bluestocking evening at William Pepys's, she says
There was all the pride of London, every wit and every wit-ess. . . but the
spirit of the evening was kept up on the strength of a little lemonade till
past eleven, without cards, scandal or politics.
A terse description that might serve as a type of most of the
bluestocking meetings. This cult of 'conversation—the pursuit of
ideas,' as it has been defined-acted as a subtle leaven to the
hard brilliant materialism of the eighteenth century. The social


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364
The Bluestockings
[CH.
refinement introduced by the bluestocking interest in literature
can be better appreciated by a glimpse at the glaring foil made
by ordinary society.
‘On Monday,' writes Hannah More, ‘I was at a very great assembly at
the Bishop of St Asaph’s. Conceive to yourself one hundred and fifty or two
hundred people met together. . . painted as red as bacchanals; poisoning the
air with perfumes; treading on each other's gowns; not one in ten able to
get a chair. . . ten or a dozen card tables crammed with dowagers of quality,
grave ecclesiastics and yellow admirals. '
It was another advantage of the bas-bleu societies, that 'common
or genteel swearing' was not countenanced : and, as tea, coffee,
orgeat and lemonade were the only beverages offered, intoxication
—then a general vice of society-seldom brought its embarrass-
ments into their midst.
From the somewhat elusive references to the bluestocking
parties, we gather that—unlike the Parisian salons—there was not
a fixed day or date for any of the meetings. A dinner might be
given by Mrs Montagu, after which there would be 'a strong
reinforcement of the Blues'; or, Mrs Vesey would hold an
assembly of rank, fashion and literati: 'so blue it was Mazarin
blue,' as Horace Walpole once described 'a Vesey. Or, Mrs
Boscawen might 'receive,' though parties at her house were
usually more exclusive, and thirty or forty was there considered
quite a large meeting. These were the principal bluestocking
hostesses, to whom came the elite of London both for talent
and fashion. Since the first conversation had been given by Mrs
Vesey, these societies had multiplied, and, from the seventies to
the end of the century, bluestocking meetings were held in many
other London houses. Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'the idol of every
company, and his sister had most interesting evenings at their
house in Leicester fields and, later, at Richmond. Here, even
Johnson was 'as brilliant as himself, and as good-humoured as
anyone else,' and there was scarce an expletive man or woman '
among the company. Mrs Thrale, of the little silver tongue,'
welcomed rank and talent to her home at Streatham, and much
good talk was heard in the famous library. Miss Mary Monckton,
afterwards the witty countess of Cork and othôry, had, said
Boswell, the finest bit of blue at her parties. Dressed in fine
thin muslin in the coldest weather, she would nonchalantly receive
her distinguished guests with a nod and a smile and a short
“How do do"? ; and then, without moving from her seat in the
middle of the room, would continue her conversation, lounging
6
rel


## p. 365 (#387) ############################################

Xv]
Fanny Burney
365
on one chair while she leaned on the back of another. At this
house, the guest of honour was Johnson, of whom dean Marlay
once remarked, “the ladies might well be proud when they could
turn a wolf-dog into a lap dog! '
Mrs Chapone, born Hester Mulso, occasionally gave blue-
stocking receptions that were 'rational, instructive and social,
and, also, unfortunately, somewhat spiritless and dull. Though
Johnson thought sufficiently well of her literary talent to include
her among the few contributors to his Rambler, the promise of
her youth never ripened to any noteworthy performance, if we
except Letters on the Improvement of the Mind, which, in its
day, was considered an educational work of the first importance.
The author was, by temperament, argumentative, impulsive, emo-
tional; and, perhaps because of her experience, such qualities are
condemned in her Letters. These are only interesting now as
embodying an acclaimed ideal of eighteenth century feminine
manners. Mrs Chapone was frequently a guest at North End,
where she would earnestly discuss with Richardson his female
characters. Mrs Delany, that ‘fairest model of female excellence,'
asserted that Mrs Chapone was the prototype of some of his
principal heroines, which, she said, “is the reason they are not
really so polished as he takes them to be. '
Perhaps the most charming description of a bluestocking
evening is from the vivid and sprightly pen of Fanny Burney'.
She was a blue, but not of what Hannah More called the old set.
She had not long visited among them-where Evelina and her
own amiable personality secured her a warm welcome—before her
appointment to a post at court. She snatched an evening from her
wearisome duties, however, to visit Mrs Ord, a later but hardly
less distinguished hostess than the original three, and there
found practically all the members of the circle : Mrs Montagu,
Mrs Boscawen, Owen Cambridge, Horace Walpole, Sir Lucas
Pepys, Leonard Smelt, Bennet Langton and Lady Rothes, his
wife, Mrs Carter, Mrs Chapone, William Pepys and others. The
talk was of The Streatham Letters, the correspondence between
Mrs Thrale and Dr Johnson which had just been published, and
many of the blues feared the indiscretions of her too fluent pen.
It is a lively and graceful picture of eighteenth century society,
and an excellent representation of the friendly charm of the
bas-bleu meetings.
· See Hill, Constance, Fanny Burney at the Court of Queen Charlotte (1912), chap. XII.


## p. 366 (#388) ############################################

CHAPTER XVI
CHILDREN'S BOOKS
CHILDREN's books, throughout the history of English literature,
have been in that literature, but not of it. Phrases and persons
from nursery lore have passed irrevocably into the national arsenal
of metaphor and allusion, while the sources of them may not have
had any claim to serious literary consideration. Children, too,
have annexed the books of their elders-Robinson Crusoe is the
standard example—and have almost established a prescriptive
right to the conquered territory. But not many books written
specially for children have also been enduring literature, in any
real sense, though the exceptions are notable. The nursery
library, in fact, has been a separate thing ; developed differently,
furnished from a different standpoint, with works written in a
different vein of inspiration and produced, commercially, with
different limitations and standards. Nor is the criterion of judg-
ment upon it, whether the reader or the historian be the judge, the
same as upon more solemn or artistic performances.
Its history really opens in the eighteenth century. Yet, in the
beginnings, the grown-up' and the child coincide, in a way. The
writers who, in the first volume of this work, treated of the riddles
of Cynewulf, Aelfric and Aldhelm, and of the scholastic labours of
Alcuin at York, were chronicling the very earliest books for
children in the language. Those who, in the same volume”, dis-
cussed the metrical romances of 1200—1500 set forth at large the
adult works whose disjecta membra were still the framework of
the cheapest books for children in the eighteenth century; while
Aesop, and bestiaries, and such a collection as Gesta Romanorum
were certainly, to some extent, read by children as well as by the
older flock at whom the monkish editors aimed.
1 Chaps. IF and v.
2 Chaps. XIII and xiv.


## p. 367 (#389) ############################################

CH, XVI] Educational Books
367
But these early productions are hardly what would be meant
today by the term 'children's books,' which, perhaps, is best and
most conveniently interpreted as 'books read or meant to be read
by children for pleasure or for profit, or for both, in their leisure
hours. ' Children read medieval riddles and schoolbooks, cer-
tainly; but they read them perforce, as part of their education.
So far as the social life of these early periods is clear, it is probable
that children read little out of school, for the simple reason that,
outside learned establishments, there was nothing to read. The
fables and anecdotes of which they acquired a knowledge must
usually, from the same cause, have been communicated to them
either orally or by the chances of tuition. Apart from purposes
of education, children had no books of their own before the
seventeenth century, and very few then.
Educational books deserve brief mention. They are only lite-
rature by accident, but they are, sometimes, not wholly scholastic.
Aelfric's Colloquy and the numerous successors to it have this
feature of artistic composition in them, that they are not merely
tabular; the dialogue form could be given a certain fictitious
vivacity. It long survived the renascence! Erasmus endued it
with fresh popularity and authority, and it persisted until the
eighteenth century. Sententiae Pueriles, a work of this kind
which, in form, goes back to Aelfric, appears in various editions over
a long period, the last being 1728. Pueriles Confabulationculae
—there were two works of the same name, one by Cordier, the other
by Evaldus Gallus—appears in 1693—with a preface dated 1548.
Such works as these—the powder of learning with the jam of
amusement thinly spread—stand midway between the only two
other kinds of written or printed books for children in the Norman,
Plantagenet and Tudor centuries. The pure lessonbook-powder
and no jam—was, of course, a necessity. It is not of great interest
or value here to pursue its history in detail, and its position has
already been discussed? Alphabets were printed in numbers
1 Of one curious instance of longevity no preliminary stages seem to exist. In
1745–6, John Newbery published The Circle of the Sciences, a dialogue manual in
seven volumes. It went into several editions, and other publishers reissued it between
1780 and 1800. The seven volumes comprise seven subjects almost identical with
those of the trivium and quadrivium of scholasticism. Newbery said that he himself
compiled it at great pains; but the choice of subjects implies some pedigree for his
selection. No ancestors for the little books, however, have been discovered. The facts
are an example of the way in which children's books at once preserve and mutilate
very ancient material.
2 See vol. m, chap. XIX; vol. vir, chaps. XIII and xIv; vol. ix, chap. xv; and the
corresponding bibliographies.