Study Edition · Essay 24
On Recollections of Childhood
Source: The Tatler, No. 181, 6 June 1710. Text from The Tatler, ed. G. A. Aitken, vol. 3, Project Gutenberg #31645. Archaic verb forms modernized; vocabulary kept and glossed.
Writing as “Isaac Bickerstaff,” Steele sets aside one evening a year to mourn his dead friends. He recalls his earliest grief, beating on his father's coffin at the age of four, and the death of a girl he loved. Then, with typical honesty, a hamper of claret arrives and the evening ends among friends. The passage about his father is one of the most famous pieces of autobiographical prose of the 18th century.
34 sentences: 6 simple, 9 moderate, 19 complex. Hover a number for its paraphrase; click it for the full note.
Key Vocabulary
- relishenjoyment; pleasure
- approbationapproval; praise
- the vulgarordinary people; the crowd (old sense)
- manesthe spirits of the dead (Latin)
- closeta small private room for study or prayer (old sense)
- afflictiongreat suffering or distress
- sobrietyseriousness; calm good sense
- battledorea small paddle used in an early form of badminton
- transporta strong burst of emotion
- methinksit seems to me (old)
- embryoan unborn child in its earliest stage
- imbibeto absorb; to take in
- commiserationsympathy for another's suffering
- imprecationa curse
- venerationdeep respect; reverence
- havocgreat destruction
- habitclothing; dress (old sense)
- triflera light-hearted, carefree person
- hampera large basket with a lid, for food or wine
- generous (wine)rich and strong
- frolicsomeplayful; giddy
The Essay
Dies, ni fallor, adest, quem semper acerbum,
Semper honoratum (sic di voluistis), habebo. (Virgil, Aeneid V.49)1
There are those among mankind, who can enjoy no relish of their being, except the world is made acquainted with all that relates to them, and think everything lost that passes unobserved; but others find a solid delight in stealing by the crowd, and modelling their life after such a manner, as is as much above the approbation as the practice of the vulgar.2 Life being too short to give instances great enough of true friendship or goodwill, some sages have thought it pious to preserve a certain reverence for the manes of their deceased friends, and have withdrawn themselves from the rest of the world at certain seasons, to commemorate in their own thoughts such of their acquaintance who have gone before them out of this life: and indeed, when we are advanced in years, there is not a more pleasing entertainment, than to recollect in a gloomy moment the many we have parted with that have been dear and agreeable to us, and to cast a melancholy thought or two after those with whom, perhaps, we have indulged ourselves in whole nights of mirth and jollity.3 With such inclinations in my heart I went to my closet yesterday in the evening, and resolved to be sorrowful; upon which occasion, I could not but look with disdain upon myself, that though all the reasons which I had to lament the loss of many of my friends are now as forcible as at the moment of their departure, yet did not my heart swell with the same sorrow which I felt at that time; but I could, without tears, reflect upon many pleasing adventures I have had with some who have long been blended with common earth.4 Though it is by the benefit of nature that length of time thus blots out the violence of afflictions; yet with tempers too much given to pleasure, it is almost necessary to revive the old places of grief in our memory, and ponder step by step on past life, to lead the mind into that sobriety of thought which poises the heart, and makes it beat with due time, without being quickened with desire, or retarded with despair, from its proper and equal motion.5 When we wind up a clock that is out of order, to make it go well for the future, we do not immediately set the hand to the present instant, but we make it strike the round of all its hours, before it can recover the regularity of its time.6 Such, thought I, shall be my method this evening; and since it is that day of the year which I dedicate to the memory of such in another life as I much delighted in when living, an hour or two shall be sacred to sorrow and their memory, while I run over all the melancholy circumstances of this kind which have occurred to me in my whole life.7
The first sense of sorrow I ever knew was upon the death of my father, at which time I was not quite five years of age; but was rather amazed at what all the house meant, than possessed with a real understanding why nobody was willing to play with me.8 I remember I went into the room where his body lay, and my mother sat weeping alone by it.9 I had my battledore in my hand, and fell a-beating the coffin, and calling Papa; for I know not how I had some slight idea that he was locked up there.10 My mother caught me in her arms, and transported beyond all patience of the silent grief she was before in, she almost smothered me in her embrace, and told me in a flood of tears, papa could not hear me, and would play with me no more, for they were going to put him under ground, whence he could never come to us again.11 She was a very beautiful woman, of a noble spirit, and there was a dignity in her grief amidst all the wildness of her transport, which, methought, struck me with an instinct of sorrow, which, before I was sensible of what it was to grieve, seized my very soul, and has made pity the weakness of my heart ever since.12 The mind in infancy is, methinks, like the body in embryo, and receives impressions so forcible, that they are as hard to be removed by reason, as any mark with which a child is born is to be taken away by any future application.13 Hence it is, that good nature in me is no merit; but having been so frequently overwhelmed with her tears before I knew the cause of any affliction, or could draw defences from my own judgment, I imbibed commiseration, remorse, and an unmanly gentleness of mind, which has since ensnared me into ten thousand calamities, and from whence I can reap no advantage, except it be, that in such a humour as I am now in, I can the better indulge myself in the softnesses of humanity, and enjoy that sweet anxiety which arises from the memory of past afflictions.14
We that are very old, are better able to remember things which befell us in our distant youth, than the passages of later days.15 For this reason it is, that the companions of my strong and vigorous years present themselves more immediately to me in this office of sorrow.16 Untimely or unhappy deaths are what we are most apt to lament, so little are we able to make it indifferent when a thing happens, though we know it must happen.17 Thus we groan under life, and bewail those who are relieved from it.18 Every object that returns to our imagination raises different passions according to the circumstance of their departure.19 Who can have lived in an army, and in a serious hour reflect upon the many gay and agreeable men that might long have flourished in the arts of peace, and not join with the imprecations of the fatherless and widow on the tyrant to whose ambition they fell sacrifices?20 But gallant men, who are cut off by the sword, move rather our veneration than our pity, and we gather relief enough from their own contempt of death, to make it no evil, which was approached with so much cheerfulness, and attended with so much honour.21 But when we turn our thoughts from the great parts of life on such occasions, and instead of lamenting those who stood ready to give death to those from whom they had the fortune to receive it; I say, when we let our thoughts wander from such noble objects, and consider the havoc which is made among the tender and the innocent, pity enters with an unmixed softness, and possesses all our souls at once.22
Here (were there words to express such sentiments with proper tenderness) I should record the beauty, innocence, and untimely death, of the first object my eyes ever beheld with love.23 The beauteous virgin! How ignorantly did she charm, how carelessly excel!24 O Death! you have right to the bold, to the ambitious, to the high, and to the haughty, but why this cruelty to the humble, to the meek, to the undiscerning, to the thoughtless?25 Nor age, nor business, nor distress, can erase the dear image from my imagination.26 In the same week, I saw her dressed for a ball, and in a shroud.27 How ill did the habit of Death become the pretty trifler?28 I still behold the smiling earth— A large train of disasters were coming on to my memory, when my servant knocked at my closet door, and interrupted me with a letter, attended with a hamper of wine, of the same sort with that which is to be put to sale on Thursday next at Garraway's Coffee-house.29 Upon the receipt of it, I sent for three of my friends.30 We are so intimate, that we can be company in whatever state of mind we meet, and can entertain each other without expecting always to rejoice.31 The wine we found to be generous and warming, but with such a heat as moved us rather to be cheerful than frolicsome.32 It revived the spirits without firing the blood.33 We commended it till two of the clock this morning, and having today met a little before dinner, we found, that though we drank two bottles a man, we had much more reason to recollect than forget what had passed the night before.34
Sentence Notes
In plain English: “The day is here, unless I'm mistaken, which I shall always keep as a bitter day and always as an honoured one; so the gods have willed it.”
Reference & context: In Aeneid Book V, Aeneas marks the anniversary of his father Anchises' death with funeral games. Steele, too, is keeping an anniversary of grief.
In plain English: Some people can't enjoy life unless the whole world knows everything about them, and they think anything unseen is wasted. Others take real pleasure in slipping quietly past the crowd and living in a way that is above both the praise and the habits of ordinary people.
Reference & context: Structure tip: “except” here means “unless.” “As much above the approbation as the practice of the vulgar” means they neither seek the crowd's praise nor copy its ways.
In plain English: Because life is too short to show friendship fully, some wise men have thought it a sacred duty to honour their dead friends, withdrawing from the world at certain times to remember them privately. And indeed, when we are old, nothing is more pleasant in a sad mood than to remember the many dear and delightful people we have lost, and send a sad thought or two after those with whom we once spent whole nights laughing and celebrating.
Reference & context: The ancient Romans kept festivals for the dead (the Parentalia) and honoured the manes, the spirits of ancestors.
In plain English: Feeling this way, I went to my study yesterday evening determined to be sad. But I felt ashamed of myself: although my reasons for mourning my friends are as strong as when they died, my heart no longer swelled with the same grief. I could think, dry-eyed, about happy times with people who have long since turned to dust.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: “Resolved to be sorrowful” is a gently comic phrase: grief that has to be scheduled is already fading.
In plain English: It is nature's kindness that time softens the violence of grief. But for people too fond of pleasure, it's almost necessary to revisit old sorrows and go back over life step by step, to bring the mind to a calm seriousness that steadies the heart and keeps it beating at the right pace, neither speeded up by desire nor slowed by despair.
In plain English: When we fix a clock that has gone wrong, we don't just move the hands to the right time; we let it strike through all its hours before it can keep regular time again.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A beautiful homely image: to set the heart right, we must let it chime through all its past sorrows in order.
In plain English: “That's what I'll do this evening,” I thought. “Since this is the day each year I set aside to remember people I loved who are now dead, I'll spend an hour or two in sorrow and in their memory, going over all the sad events of this kind in my whole life.”
In plain English: The first time I ever felt sorrow was when my father died. I was not yet five, and I was more puzzled by what everyone in the house was doing than truly understanding why nobody would play with me.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A plain, quiet opening sentence for the essay's most famous passage.
Reference & context: Steele's father, also Richard Steele, was a Dublin lawyer who died in 1676.
In plain English: I remember going into the room where his body lay, with my mother sitting crying alone beside it.
In plain English: I had my toy paddle in my hand, and I started banging on the coffin, calling “Papa!”, because somehow I had a vague idea he was locked inside.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: One of the most moving images in English prose: a child's game and a child's misunderstanding meeting death.
In plain English: My mother grabbed me in her arms. Her silent grief broke into something she could no longer contain; she nearly smothered me with her hug, and told me through floods of tears that Papa couldn't hear me and would never play with me again, because they were going to bury him where he could never come back to us.
Modernized: catched → caught
In plain English: She was very beautiful and noble-minded, and there was dignity in her grief even in its wildness. It seemed to strike me with an instinctive sorrow that gripped my soul before I even understood what grief was, and it has made me soft-hearted, too quick to pity, ever since.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Steele traces a lifelong trait back to one moment, an early insight into how childhood shapes character.
Reference & context: Steele's mother, Elinor, died when he was about eight. He was then raised by an uncle and sent to Charterhouse school in London, where he met Addison.
In plain English: I think a young child's mind is like an unborn baby's body: it receives impressions so strong that reason can no more remove them than any ointment can remove a birthmark.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A memorable comparison of early emotional impressions to birthmarks.
Reference & context: A strikingly modern idea, anticipating by two centuries the psychology of early childhood experience.
In plain English: So my kind nature is no credit to me. Having been so often flooded by my mother's tears before I understood any suffering or could protect myself with my own judgement, I soaked up pity, regret and an unmanly tenderness. These have since led me into countless troubles and given me no benefit, except that in a mood like this one I can more easily give in to tender human feeling and enjoy the sweet unease that comes from remembering past sorrows.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: “Sweet anxiety” is a lovely paradox for the bittersweet pleasure of remembered grief.
Reference & context: Steele was famously generous and impulsive, and was often in debt.
In plain English: Those of us who are very old remember the events of our distant youth better than things that happened recently.
Reference & context: Isaac Bickerstaff, the Tatler's narrator, is supposed to be an old man. Steele himself was 38.
In plain English: That's why the friends of my strong younger years come to mind first in this ritual of mourning.
In plain English: We grieve most over deaths that come too early or unhappily, because we can't accept that it makes no difference when something happens, even though we know it must happen sometime.
In plain English: So we complain about the burden of life, yet weep for those who have been freed from it.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A compact paradox about human inconsistency in the face of death.
In plain English: Each person we remember stirs different feelings depending on how they died.
In plain English: Who that has served in an army can think seriously about all the cheerful, likeable men who could have lived long, useful lives in peacetime, without joining the orphans and widows in cursing the tyrant whose ambition killed them?
Reference & context: Steele had served as a soldier in the Life Guards and the Coldstream Guards. The “tyrant” is Louis XIV of France, against whom Britain was then fighting.
In plain English: But brave men killed in battle inspire respect rather than pity. Their own scorn of death comforts us enough to see it as no evil, since they met it so cheerfully and with so much honour.
In plain English: But when we turn away from such heroic deaths, from men who were ready to kill the very enemies who happened to kill them, and think instead of the destruction death causes among the young and innocent, pity comes in, pure and gentle, and takes over our whole soul.
Reference & context: Structure tip: “I say” is used to pick up a sentence that has wandered, a common 18th-century device.
In plain English: Here, if words could express such feelings tenderly enough, I would describe the beauty, innocence and early death of the first girl I ever loved.
In plain English: The beautiful girl! How unaware she was of her charm, how effortlessly she outshone everyone!
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Two short exclamations that capture unselfconscious youthful beauty.
In plain English: O Death! You have a claim on the bold, the ambitious, the powerful and the proud; but why be so cruel to the humble, the gentle, the innocent and the carefree?
Reference & context: An apostrophe (a speech addressed to something absent) in the style of John Donne's “Death, be not proud.”
Modernized: thou hast → you have
In plain English: Neither age, nor work, nor troubles can erase her dear image from my mind.
In plain English: Within a single week I saw her dressed for a dance, and then wrapped for burial.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A devastating contrast in eleven words.
In plain English: How badly death's clothes suited that pretty, light-hearted girl!
In plain English: I can still see the smiling earth— A long string of sad memories was coming to me when my servant knocked at my study door and interrupted me with a letter and a basket of wine, the same kind that is to be auctioned next Thursday at Garraway's Coffee-house.
Reference & context: The broken sentence is deliberate. Garraway's in Exchange Alley was a famous auction house; the same issue of the Tatler carried an advertisement for a sale of French claret there, so this is a sly piece of product placement.
In plain English: When it arrived, I sent for three of my friends.
In plain English: We're such close friends that we can keep each other company in any mood and enjoy each other's company without needing to be cheerful all the time.
In plain English: We found the wine rich and warming, but its warmth made us cheerful rather than silly.
In plain English: It lifted our mood without overheating us.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A neat, balanced line that sounds like a wine merchant's ideal advertisement.
In plain English: We praised it until two in the morning. Meeting again a little before lunch today, we found that although we'd drunk two bottles each, we had much more reason to remember the evening than to forget it.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The essay turns from mourning to friendship and ends on remembering, which is the theme it began with.
Reference & context: Dinner in 1710 was eaten in the early afternoon.
Fun Fact
In his lectures The English Humourists (1851), Thackeray singled out this essay. Addison wrote of death with “lovely serenity” and Swift with “savage indignation,” he said, but Steele “leads you up to his father's coffin, and shows you his beautiful mother weeping, and himself an unconscious little boy wondering at her side.”