Quote of the Day (Richard Steele, on His Friend and Literary Partner)

“I hope the Apology I have made as to the license allowable to a feigned Character may excuse anything which has been said in these Discourses of the Spectator and his Works.  But the Imputation of the grossest Vanity would still dwell upon me, if I did not give some Account by what Means I was enabled to keep up the Spirit of so long and approved a Performance. All the papers marked with a C, an L, an I, or an O, that is to say, all the papers which I have distinguished by any letter in the name of the muse CLIO, were given me by the Gentleman, of whose Assistance I formerly boasted in the Preface and concluding leaf of my Tatlers. I am indeed much more proud of his long-continued Friendship, than I should be of the Fame of being thought the Author of any Writings which he himself is capable of producing.”—Richard Steele, essay from December 6, 1712, in The Spectator, reprinted in Addison and Steele: Selections From "The Tatler" and "The Spectator," edited by Robert J. Allen (1957)

Adam and Eve, Gilbert and Sullivan, Ruth and Gehrig, Smith and Dale, Rodgers and Hammerstein…. Names linked indissolubly to each other. Few, however, had the lasting impact of Addison and Steele—or, if you prefer their individual identities, Joseph Addison (1672-1719) and Richard Steele (1672-1729).

In a prior post, I already paid tribute to these two pioneers of the “familiar” or personal essay in English. On this date three centuries ago, however, the last issue appeared of their second collaboration, The Spectator. In the above quote, Steele—having by now, like Addison, taken off the fictional disguise used throughout the periodical's run—appeared, for the last time, before readers as himself. Over the course of all these years since, it is impossible to miss the respect and affection he felt for his friend.

The partnership of Addison and Steele was over, but their new genre had a long life ahead of it.

Quote of the Day (Joseph Addison, Launching “Spectator”)

“Thus I live in the World, rather as a Spectator of Mankind, than as one of the species; by which means I have made myself a Speculative statesman, Soldier, Merchant, and Artizan, without ever meddling with any Practical Part in Life. I am very well versed in the Theory of an Husband, or a Father, and can discern the Errors in the Oeconomy, Business and Diversion of others, better than those who are engaged in them; as Standers-by discover Blots, which are apt to escape those who are in the Game. I never espoused any Party with Violence, and am resolved to observe an exact Neutrality between the Whigs and Tories, unless I shall be forced to declare myself by the Hostilities of either Side. In short, I have acted in all the Parts of my Life as a Looker-on, which is the Character I intend to preserve in this Paper.”—Joseph Addison, March 1, 1711, launching The Spectator, in Joseph Addison and Richard Steele, Selections From The Tatler and The Spectator, with an introduction and notes by Robert J. Allen (1965)

Charlie Sheen and his antics (will they never cease?) will just have to wait for another time. Today, we’ll talk about something \of far greater cultural import: the beginning of the London periodical The Spectator, founded by longtime Oxford friends Joseph Addison and Richard Steele—one of the crucial moments in the development of the English essay.

Their achievement was enough to link them forever as a team, as surely as Smith and Dale, Simon and Garfunkel, Mantle and Maris, even though the two had separate careers and personalities. (Addison, the more equable of the pair, eventually became Secretary of State in the British government, while Steele, who tended to write more from his gut, was better suited to journalism and the theater.) A tip of the hat to their influence can still be seen on newsstands in the U.K. (and large out-of-town periodical emporiums here in the U.S.) where the names of two magazines, The Tatler and The Spectator, bear the names of the great progenitors of the English essay.

From today’s perspective, neither publication lasted too long, with The Spectator calling it a day after only a year and a half. Some seminal rock bands (e.g., the Velvet Underground, Buffalo Springfield), known for expiring before their time, have still had longer shelf lives than this. Nor have many of their original topics remained relevant (amazingly, 20 years after the madness across the ocean in Salem, the pair were still discussing witchcraft).

But, no matter what the medium—a blog, or even those now-threatened print dinosaurs, the newspaper and the magazine—whenever someone writes something that becomes the talk of the town, endlessly discussed Out There, it’s the legacy of Addison and Steele coming into play.

The Tatler was their first try at putting out periodicals for the rising English middle class, and the two friends would have kept that going, except that their involvement—and particularly their political commentary—was exposed. Two months after that exposure—three centuries ago yesterday—Addison’s essay, quoted above, was the opener of their follow-up, The Spectator.

This time, Addison and Steele did their best to keep politics out of the mix. (Probably a good thing, too: they had already fallen out with former ally Jonathan Swift when he took up the cause of the Tory Party, and by the end of the decade these two fast friends would fall out with each other—a breach never healed in Addison’s lifetime—over a different political matter.)

Nevertheless, they didn’t mind taking risks of a different kind, concerning aesthetics. Addison’s reflections on the theater, for instance, did much to sustain an audience for this art form.

Quote of the Day (Richard Steele, Kick-Starting the Familiar Essay Genre With a Bang)

“I therefore give all Men fair Warning to mend their Manners, for I shall from Time to Time print Bills of Mortality; and I beg the Pardon of all such who shall be named therein, if they who are good for Nothing shall find themselves in the Number of the Deceased.”—Richard Steele, from The Tatler, April 12, 1709, reprinted in Addison and Steele: Selections From The Tatler and The Spectator, edited by Robert J. Allen (1965)

This past April marked the tricentennial of the appearance of The Tatler, the London periodical that, along with its successor, The Spectator, gave rise to the familiar essay—a genre that treats everyday matters in a lighthearted fashion—in Great Britain. You might even say that from it evolved this blog and hundreds of millions like it that now lower literary discourse in this world.

On this date in 1729, Sir Richard Steele himself would be in need of the kind of “Bill of Mortality” he had puckishly told his readers he would be creating. He had suffered a partial stroke three years before, so when the end came for him, at age 57, it was a mercy—though probably not the kind that some victims of his wit years before would have granted him.

The Dublin-born Steele and his partner at The Tatler and The Spectator, Joseph Addison, are as intimately linked as Procter & Gamble, Smith & Dale, Simon & Garfunkel, Mantle & Maris. What amazes this reader, 300 years after their appearance in the London literary world, is that they didn’t reveal their identities, at least not at first. Instead, they created characters and put-ons, such as the one in this quote.

Allow me to explain:

In 1708, Jonathan Swift, another Irish-born writer (just thought I’d throw that in!), had concocted “Isaac Bickerstaff,” an astrologer who ranted against a real-life almanac-maker named John Partridge. At one point, “Bickerstaff” predicted Partridge’s death. Later, he announced it had come to pass.

Trouble was, Partridge was still alive. It must have really teed him off that no sooner did this appear on March 30 than a sexton showed up on his doorstep within 48 hours—yes, April Fools Day--asking his loved ones if they needed his help with the funeral sermon.

For more than a year, most of literary London guffawed at this periodical war, as Partridge protested that he was still alive while Swift and his friends responded, in effect, “Well, that’s what you say.” In the inaugural issue of The Tatler, Steele got into the act, continuing the elaborate prank.

The essays of Addison and Steele, written for the middle class of their time, were immersed in London’s emerging coffeehouse culture, where business was transacted, scientific experiments were conducted publicly, and people sat around gabbing about the events of the day. Different departments at The Tatler were even described as coming from “White’s,” “Will’s” and “St. James’s” coffeehouses. As someone who writes posts from local descendants of these establishments, I feel a kinship with that readership.

Readers snapped up The Tatler and The Spectator because Addison and Steele used the media of their time to write in an easy, conversational style. Personal writing presented to a mass audience, I think, will survive today if we continue to embrace new technology but remember to keep the audience in mind, as they did.

The best of Steele’s essays can still be read with profit and a smile all these years later. His advice on love letters, for instance, remains essential even in the age of text-messaging: “I am of Opinion [that] Writing has lost more Mistresses than any one Mistake in the whole Legend of Love.”