Chapter IV: Part 4

“I have just returned from our dear Mrs James’s, where I have been talking of thee for three hours” (he wrote to her when they had become well acquainted). “She has got your picture, and likes it; but Marriot, and some other judges, agree that mine is the better, and expressive of a sweeter character. But what is that to the original? yet I acknowledge that hers is a picture for the world, and mine is calculated only to please a very sincere friend, or sentimental philosopher.--In the one, you are dressed in smiles, and with all the advantage of silks, pearls, and ermine;--in the other, simple as a vestal--appearing the good girl nature made you: which, to me, conveys an idea of more unaffected sweetness, than Mrs Draper, habited for conquest, in a birthday suit, with her countenance animated, and her dimples visible.--If I remember right, Eliza, you endeavoured to collect every charm of your person into your face, with more than _common_ care, the day you sat for Mrs James.--Your colour, too, brightened; and your eyes shone with more than usual brilliancy. I then requested you to come simple and unadorned when you sat for me--knowing (as I see with _unprejudiced_ eyes) that you could receive no addition from the silk-worm’s aid, or jeweller’s polish. Let me now tell you a truth, which, I believe, I have uttered before. When I first saw you, I beheld you as an object of compassion, and as a very plain woman. The mode of your dress (though fashionable) disfigured you. But nothing now could render you such, but the being solicitous to make yourself admired as a handsome one.--You are not handsome, Eliza, nor is yours a face that will please the tenth part of your beholders--but are something more; for I scruple not to tell you, I never saw so intelligent, so animated, so good a countenance; nor was there (nor ever will be) that man of sense, tenderness, and feeling, in your company three hours, that was not (or will not be) your admirer, or friend, in consequence of it; that is, if you assume, or assumed, no character foreign to your own, but appeared the artless being nature designed you for. A something in your eyes, and voice, you possess in a degree more persuasive than any woman I ever saw, read, or heard of. But it is that bewitching sort of nameless excellence that men of nice sensibility alone can be touched with.”

While all are agreed that Mrs Draper had beauty of expression rather than perfectly formed features, there was given a description of her as having “an appearance of artless innocence, a transparent complexion, consequent upon delicate health, but without any sallowness, brilliant eyes, a melodious voice, an intellectual countenance, unusually lighted up with much animation and expressing a sweet gentleness of disposition.”[18] She had, we are told, engaging manners and numerous accomplishments. She talked well and wrote well, and could play the piano and the guitar. Her faults were a tendency to pecuniary extravagance and a liking for admiration--which latter trait, in her correspondence, she admitted and bewailed. She was also, it must be admitted, a most arrant flirt.

[18] _Bombay Quarterly Review_, January 1857, p. 191. The article is anonymous, and can scarcely have been written by one who knew Mrs Draper, though he may well have been acquainted with those who had.

MRS DRAPER TO HER COUSIN, THOMAS MATHEW SCLATER

“_Earl Chatham_, May 2nd, 1767.
(Off Santiago.)

“... From the vilest spot of earth I ever saw, and inhabited by the ugliest of Beings--I greet my beloved cousin--St Jago the place--a charming passage to it--fair winds and fine weather all the way. Health, too, my friend, is once more returned to her enthusiastic votary. I am all Life, air, and spirits--who’d have thought it--considering me in the light of an Exile. And how do you, my Sclater?--and how sat the thoughts of my departure on your Eyes? and how the reality of it? I want you to answer me a thousand questions, yet hope not for an answer to them for many, many months. I am.... Did you receive a letter I wrote you from the Downs, with a copy of one enclosed from Sterne to me with his sermons and ‘Shandy’? I sent such to you, notwithstanding the Bagatelle airs I give myself--my heart heaves with sighs, and my eyes betray its agitating emotions, every time I think of England and my valuable connections there--ah, my Sclater, I almost wish I had not re-visited that charming country, or that it had been my fate to have resided in it for ever, but in the first instance the Lord’s will be done, mine I hope may be accomplished in the second.”

MRS DRAPER TO THOMAS MATHEW SCLATER

“_Earl Chatham_, November 29th, 1767.
(Off the Malabar Coast.)

“They all tell me I’m so improved--nothing--I say to what I was in England--nobody can contradict the assertion--and if it adds to my consequence, you know--it is good policy. Always self to be the subject of your pen (you say) Eliza--why not, my dear cousin? Why have I not as good a right to tell you of my perfections as Montaigne had to divulge to the World he loved white wine better than red? with several other Whims, Capricios, bodily complaints, infirmities of temper, &c., &c.--of the old Gascoignes, not but I love his essays better than most modern ones--and think those that have branded him with the name of Egotist--deserve to be Debar’d the pleasure of speaking of--or looking at themselves--how is it we love to laugh, and yet we do not often approve the person who feeds that voracious passion? Human nature this! vile rogue!--’tis a bad picture--however there’s a great resemblance.... Once a year is tax enough on a tender Conscience, to sit down premeditatedly to write fibs--and let it not enter your imagination that you are to correspond with me in such terms as your heart dictates. No, my dear Sclater--such a conduct though perfectly innocent (and to me worth all the studied periods of Labour’d Eloquence) would be offensive to my Husband--whose humour I now am resolved to study--and if possible conform to if the most punctilious attention--can render me necessary to his happiness ... be so--Honour--prudence--and the interest of my beloved children ... and the necessary Sacrifice--and _I will make it_. Opposing his will will not do--let me now try, if the conforming to it, in every particular will better my condition--it is my wish, Sclater--it is my ambition (indeed it is)--to be more distinguished as a good wife than as the agreeable woman I am in your partial Eyes even--’tis true I have vanity enough to think I have understanding sufficient to give laws to my Family, but as that cannot be, and Providence for wise purposes constituted the male the Head--I will endeavour to act an underpart with grace. ‘Where much is given, much is required.’ I will think of this proverb and learn humility.”

MRS DRAPER TO HER AUNT, MRS PICKERING

“Bombay, High Meadow, _March 21st, 1768_.

“I found my Husband in possession of health, and a good post. Providence will, I hope, continue to him the blessing of the one and the Directors at home, that of the other. My agreeable sister is now a widow, and so much improved in mind and person, as to be a very interesting object. May she be so far conscious of her own worth as to avoid throwing herself away a second time.”

MRS DRAPER TO THOMAS MATHEW SCLATER

“Tellichery, _May 1769_.

“Mr D. has lost his beneficial post at Bombay, and is, by order of the Company, now Chief in one of the Factories subordinate to it. This was a terrible blow to us at first, but use has in some measure reconciled the mortifying change, though we have no prospect of acquiring such an independence here as will enable us to settle in England for many, very many years, as the country for some time has been the seat of war, and still continues subject to frequent alarms from the growing power of an ambitious usurper. I’ve no doubt but a general massacre of the English will ensue, if he once more visits this coast. Our fortifications are a wretched burlesque upon such. Troops not better soldiers than trained Bands, and too few in number to cope with so able a general and politician.

“I was within an hour once of being his prisoner, and cannot say but I thought it a piece of good fortune to escape that honour, though he has promised to treat all English ladies well that cheerfully submit to the laws of his seraglio. The way of life I’m now in is quite new to me, but not utterly unpleasant. I’m by turns the wife of a Merchant, Soldier, and Innkeeper, for in such different capacities is the Chief of Tellichery destined to act. The War is a bar to Commerce, yet I do a great deal of business in the mercantile way, as my husband’s amanuensis. You know his inability to use the pen, and as he has lost his Clerks and Accountant, without any prospect of acquiring others, I’m necessitated to pass the greatest part of my time in his office, and consent to do so, as it gives me consequence and him pleasure. I really should not be unhappy here if the Motive for which we left England could be as easily accomplished as at Bombay, but that cannot be without an advantageous place--then indeed we should do very well.

“The country is pleasant and healthy (a second Montpelier), our house (a fort and property of the Company) a magnificent one, furnished, too, at our Master’s expense, and the allowance for supporting it creditably, what you would term genteelly, though it does not defray the charge of Liquors, which alone amount to six hundred a year, and such a sum, vast as it seems, does not seem extravagant in our situation. For we are obliged to keep a public table, and six months in the year have a full house of shipping Gentry, that resort to us for traffic and intelligence from all parts of India, China, and Asia. Our Society at other times is very confined, as it only consists of a few factors, and two or three families: and such we cannot expect great intercourse with on account of the heavy rains and terrible thunder with lightning to which this Coast is peculiarly subject six months in the year.... I flatter myself I’m beloved by such of the Malabars as are within reach of my notice. I was born upon their coast, which is an argument in my favour.... I never go out without a guard of six Sepoys (Mahomedan soldiers) armed with drawn sabres and loaded pistols, as some of the natives are treacherous and might be induced to insult a woman of _my Consequence_ without a Veil.”

MRS DRAPER TO THOMAS MATHEW SCLATER

“Surat, _April 5th, 1771_.

“... I received your affectionate letter, my dear Coz, and I prophecy that I shall answer it very stupidly for I danced last night--supped on a cool terrace, and sat up till three o’clock this morning. This may appear nothing very extraordinary to you, my spirits and love of the graceful movement considered, but it was a very great undertaking, the climate, my plan of temperance and exercise considered; for you must know that I find it necessary to live simply mechanical, in order to preserve the remains of a broken constitution and some traces of my former appearance. I rise with the lark daily, and as constantly amble some eight or sixteen miles--after the fox too, occasionally, but field sports have something Royal with them here. What think you of hunting the Antelope with Leopards? This I have frequently done, and a noble diversion it is. Early hours and abstemious Diet are absolutely necessary to the possession of health in India, and I generally conform to the one, and invariably practise the other. Ten or eleven o’clock at the latest, is the usual time of retiring, and soup or vegetables with sherbet and milk constitutes the whole of my regimen. Still I cannot acquire anything like confirmed health or strength here; but if this mode of living preserves my being, my cheerfulness and natural disposition to make the best of things will I hope teach me to bear it.... At least I will not thro’ any fault of my own, return to Europe with the dregs of life only, but endeavour by every honest means to preserve such a position of animating spirit as may qualify me for the character of an agreeable companion; and then, who knows but cool weather, fashionable society and the animating presence of those I love may enable me

‘Formed by their converse happily to steer
From grave to gay, from lively to severe.’

“Do you know that I begin to think all praise foreign but that of true desert. It was not always so, but this same solitude produces reflection, and reflection is good.

“It is an enemy to everything that is not founded on truth, consequently I grow fond of my own approbation and endeavour to deserve it by such a mode of thinking and acting as may enable me to acquire it. Seriously, my dear Sclater, I believe I shall one day be a good moralist.”

MRS DRAPER TO MRS RICHARD SCLATER

“Bombay, _February 6th, 1772_.

“I cannot say that we have any immediate hopes of returning to England as independent people. India is not what it was, my dear Madam, nor is even a moderate fortune to be acquired here, without more assiduity and time than the generality of English persons can be induced to believe or think of as absolutely necessary; but this Idea, painful as it is to many adventurers who’ve no notion of the difficulties they are to encounter in the road to wealth, would not affect me considerably, if I had not some very material reasons for wishing to leave the Climate expeditiously. My health is much prejudiced by a Residence in it, my affection for an only child, strongly induces me to bid farewell to it before it is too late to benefit by a change of scene. Mr Draper will in all probability be obliged to continue here some years longer, but, as to myself, I hope to be permitted to call myself an inhabitant of your country before I am two years older.”

MRS DRAPER TO MRS ANNE JAMES

“Bombay, _April 15th, 1772_.

“You wonder, my dear, at my writing to Becket--I’ll tell you why I did so. I have heard some Anecdotes extremely disadvantageous to the Characters of the Widow and Daughter [of Sterne], and that from Persons who said they had been personally acquainted with them, both in France and England.... Some part of their Intelligence corroborated what I had a thousand times heard from the Lips of Yorick, almost invariably repeated.... The Secret of my Letters being in her hands, had somehow become extremely Public: it was noticed to me by almost every Acquaintance I had in the Ships, or at this Settlement--this alarmed me, for at that time I had never communicated the circumstance and could not suspect you of acting by me in any manner which I would not have acted in by myself--One Gentleman in particular told me that both you and I should be deceived, if we had the least reliance on the Honor or Principles of Mrs Sterne, for that, when she had secured as much as she could for suppressing the Correspondence she was capable of selling it to a Bookseller afterwards--by either refusing to return it to you--or taking Copies of it, without our knowledge--and therefore He advised me, if I was averse to its Publication, to take every means in my Power of Suppressing it--this influenced me to write to Becket and promise Him a reward equal to his Expectations if He would deliver the letters to you....

“My dear Friend, that stiffness you complain’d of, when I called you Mrs James I said I could not accost you with my usual Freedom entirely arose from a Depression of Spirits, too natural to the mortified, when severe Disappointments gall the Sense--You had told me that Sterne was no more--I had heard it before, but this Confirmation of it truly afflicted me; for I was almost an Idolator of his Worth, while I found Him the Mild, Generous, Good Yorick, We had so often thought Him to be--to add to my regret for his loss his Widow had my letters in her Power (I never entertained a good opinion of her), and meant to subject me to Disgrace and Inconvenience by the Publication of them. You know not the contents of these letters, and it was natural for you to form the worst judgment of them, when those who had seen ’em reported them unfavourably, and were disposed to dislike me on that Account. My dear girl! had I not cause to feel humbled so Circumstanced--and can you wonder at my sensations communicating themselves to my Pen?

“Miss Sterne’s did indeed, my dear, give me a great deal of pain--it was such a one as I by no means deserved in answer to one written in the true Spirit of kindness, however it might have been constructed.--Mr Sterne had repeatedly told me, that his Daughter was as well acquainted with my Character as he was with my Appearance--in all his letters wrote since my leaving England this Circumstance is much dwelt upon. Another, too, that of Mrs Sterne being in too precarious a State of Health, to render it possible that she would survive many months. Her violence of temper (indeed, James, I wish not to recriminate or be severe just now) and the hatefulness of her Character, are strongly urged to me, as the Cause of his Indifferent Health, the whole of his Misfortunes, and the Evils that would probably Shorten his Life--the visit Mrs Sterne meditated, some time antecedent to his Death, he most pathetically lamented, as an adventure that would wound his Peace and greatly embarrass his Circumstances--the former on account of the Eye Witness He should be to his Child’s Affections having been alienated from Him by the artful Misrepresentations of her Mother under whose Tutorage she had ever been--and the latter, from the Rapacity of her Disposition--for well do I know, says he, ‘that the sole Intent of her Visit is to plague and fleece me--had I Money enough, I would buy off this Journey, as I have done several others--but till my Sentimental Work is published I shall not have a single sou more than will Indemnify People for my immediate Expenses.’ The receipt of this Intelligence I heard of Yorick’s Death. The very first Ship which left us Afterwards, I wrote to Miss Sterne by--and with all the freedom which my Intimacy with her Father and his Communications warranted--I purposely avoided speaking of her Mother, for I knew nothing to her Advantage, and I had heard a great deal to the reverse--so circumstanced--how could I with any kind of Delicacy Mention a Person who was hateful to my departed Friend, when for the sake of that very Friend I wished to confer a kindness on his Daughter--and to enhance the value of it, Solicited her Society and consent to share my Prospects, as the highest Favor which could be shown to Myself--indeed, I knew not, but Mrs Sterne, from the Description I had received of her, might be no more--or privately confined, if in Being, owing to a Malady, which I have been told the violence of her temper subjects her to.”[19]

[19] British Museum, Add. MSS. 34527.

It has been stated by many writers that the cause of the unhappy life led by the Drapers at Bombay was the fault of Sterne, whose insidious flatteries undermined the lady’s moral rectitude. This, not to put too fine a point on it, is a conclusion as absurd as it is unwarrantable. Mrs Draper was far too intelligent not to realise that Sterne was a sentimentalist, and not to understand that such allusions as to her being his second wife were, if in bad taste, at least meant to be playful, seeing that he was, and knew he was, standing on the threshold of the valley of the shadow of death. Mrs Draper left her husband six years after she had said farewell to Sterne, not because of the author’s influence on her, but because her patience, weakened by a long course of unkind behaviour, was finally outraged by her husband’s obvious partiality for her maid, Mrs Leeds. She had long desired to leave Draper, and now a legitimate excuse was furnished, which in the eyes of all unprejudiced persons justified the step.

Draper, who seems to have had some suspicion of her intention, watched her closely, and for a while it was impossible for her to get away. At last she escaped from Mazagon on board a King’s cutter, and it was stated that she had eloped with one of her admirers, Sir John Clark. The truth was that she accepted his escort to the house of her uncle, Thomas Whitehall, who lived at Masulipatam.

MRS DRAPER TO THOMAS MATHEW SCLATER

“Rajahmundy, 80 miles from Masulipatam,
“_January 20th, 1774_.

“... I will let you into my present situation. I live entirely with my uncle, and I shall continue to do so to the last hour of my life if he continues to wish it as much as he does at present.”

Whether her uncle did not continue to desire her company, or whether she tired of the life, cannot be determined, but later, in the year 1774, Mrs Draper returned to England. There she took up her friendship with the Jameses from the point at which it had been interrupted by her departure seven years earlier for India, and she was soon the centre of a distinguished circle. The publication, in 1775, of some of Sterne’s letters to her made her somewhat unpleasantly notorious, and she withdrew from London to the comparative seclusion of Bristol, where she remained until her death, three years later. She was buried in Bristol Cathedral, where a monument, depicting two classical figures bending over a shield, one bearing a torch, the other a dove, was erected in her honour. The shield bore the inscription:

Sacred
To the Memory
of
MRS ELIZA DRAPER,
in whom
Genius and Benevolence
were united.
She died August 3, 1778,
aged 35.

The Demoniacs

’Twas at Jesus College, Cambridge,” Sterne wrote in the last year of his life, “I commenced a friendship with Mr H----, which has been most lasting on both sides.” This “Mr H----” was the notorious John Hall, who added to his patronymic the name of Stevenson after his marriage in 1739 with an heiress, Anne, daughter of Ambrose Stevenson of Manor House, in the parish of Lanchester, county Durham. Born in 1718, the second son of Joseph Hall, counsellor-at-law of Durham, by his wife, Catherine, eldest daughter of Edward Trotter of Skelton Castle, near Guisborough, John Hall-Stevenson, to call him by the name by which he is best known, went in his eighteenth year to the University, for which, though he did not there distinguish himself, he cherished to the end of his days a sincere regard. “I should recommend Cambridge as a place infinitely preferable to the Temple,” he wrote to his eldest grandson, on 17th February 1785, “and particularly on account of the connections you may form with young gentlemen of your own age, of the first rank, men that you must live with hereafter: it is the only time of life to make lasting, honourable, and useful friendships. These advantages were lost to me and blasted by premature marriage, the scantiness of my fortune forced me to vegetate in the country, and precluded me from every laudable pursuit suggested by ambition.”

The friendship between Sterne and Hall-Stevenson must have been of rapid growth, as Hall-Stevenson went to Jesus College in June 1835, and Sterne left the University when he took his degree in the following January. Hall-Stevenson has been, no doubt accurately, described as a very precocious lad, with Rabelaisian tastes, and again and again his influence with Sterne has been made an excuse for the humorist’s lapses from morality and decency. This, however, is most unfair, for when the young men became acquainted Hall-Stevenson was only seventeen years of age, whereas Sterne was two-and-twenty. Be this as it may, of their intimacy at this time there is no doubt, and tradition tells how they studied together--it would be interesting in the light of subsequent events to know what they studied. They called each other cousin, though the relationship, if any, was most remote. “Cousin Anthony Shandy,” Hall-Stevenson in days to come signed himself, and Sterne, in the famous dog-Latin letter written a few months before he died, addressed him: “_mi consobrine, consobrinis meis omnibus carior_.”

Hall-Stevenson remained at Cambridge until 1838, then went abroad for a year, and on his return made the “premature marriage” to which allusion has been made. When he and Sterne met again is a problem not easy to solve. Sterne, writing to Bishop Warburton in June 1760, mentioned that he did not know Hall-Stevenson’s handwriting. “From a nineteen years’ total interruption of all correspondence with him,” he said, “I had forgot his hand.” Since Sterne is so precise in giving the number of years, it would seem as if he and his college friend had written to each other until 1741, and that in this year the youthful intimacy, after the manner of its kind, had lapsed. Probably for some years they may have drifted apart, but there is an abundance of evidence to show that long before 1760 they were again on the best terms.

The threads of the college friendship, it has generally been stated, were gathered together when Skelton Castle came into the possession of Hall-Stevenson, who thenceforth resided there. As to when this happened the writers on Sterne only agree in remarking that it was not until after 1745, in which year, after the rebellion, Lawson Trotter, the owner of the castle and a noted Jacobite, fled the country; some say that then the property passed to his sister, Hall-Stevenson’s mother, and at her death to her son; others that it passed direct to the nephew as the next in tail. All these statements are inaccurate. Lawson Trotter sold Skelton Castle to Joseph Hall in 1727, and Hall-Stevenson, his elder brother having died in childhood, inherited the estate at the death of his father six years later.

Skelton Castle, which is believed to date back before the Conquest, had been added to, a square tower here, a round tower there, by many of its occupiers, Bruces, Cowpers, Trotters, until, when it came into the hands of Hall-Stevenson, it was a quaint patchwork edifice, erected on a platform supported by two buttressed terraces, which raised it high above the surrounding moat. Hall-Stevenson, amused by the picture presented by its medley of architectural styles, christened it “Crazy Castle,” and wrote some humorous verses descriptive of it, well worthy to be preserved, especially as they are almost the only lines from his pen that can be printed in this respectable age:

“There is a Castle in the North,
Seated upon a swampy clay,
At present but of little worth,
In former times it had its day.

This ancient Castle is call’d CRAZY,
Whose mould’ring walks a moat environs,
Which moat goes heavily and lazy,
Like a poor prisoner in irons.”

Skelton Castle was at this date more than half ruined, as the owner was at some pains to indicate:

“Many a time I’ve stood and thought,
Seeing the boat upon this ditch,
It look’d as if it had been brought
For the amusement of a witch,
To sail amongst applauding frogs,
With water-rats, dead cats and dogs.

The boat so leaky is, and old,
That if you’re fanciful and merry,
You may conceive, without being told,
That it resembles Charon’s wherry.

A turret also you may note,
Its glory vanish’d like a dream,
Transform’d into a pigeon-coat,
Nodding beside the sleepy stream.

From whence, by steps with moss o’ergrown,
You mount upon a terrace high,
Where stands that heavy pile of stone,
Irregular, and all awry.

If many a buttress did not reach
A kind and salutary hand,
Did not encourage and beseech,
The terrace and the house to stand,
Left to themselves, and at a loss,
They’d tumble down into the foss.

Over the Castle hangs a Tow’r,
Threat’ning destruction every hour;
Where owls, and bats, and the jackdaw,
Their vespers and their Sabbath keep,
All night scream horribly, and caw,
And snore all day in horrid sleep.

Oft at the quarrels and the noise
Of scolding maids or idle boys,
Myriads of rooks rise up and fly,
Like legions of damn’d souls,
As black as coals,
That foul and darken all the sky.”

Hall-Stevenson was, as has been remarked, a poor man, and could not afford to undertake the task of repairing the vast structure, though once he thought of making an effort to do so. When Sterne heard of this he wrote protesting against any interference with the fine old structure, and seasoned his letter with a touch of worldly wisdom that comes quaintly from him:

“But what art thou meditating with axes and hammers?--‘_I know the pride and the naughtiness of thy heart_,’ and thou lovest the sweet visions of architraves, friezes and pediments with their tympanums, and thou hast found out a pretence, _à raison de cinq livres sterling_ to be laid out in four years, &c. &c. (so as not to be felt, which is always added by the d----l as a bait) to justify thyself unto thyself. It may be very wise to do this--but ’tis wiser to keep one’s money in one’s pocket, whilst there are wars without and rumours of wars within. St ---- advises his disciples to sell both coat and waistcoat--and go rather without shirt or sword, than leave no money in their scrip to go to Jerusalem with. Now those _quatre ans consecutifs_, my dear Anthony, are the most precious morsels in thy _life to come_ (in this world), and thou wilt do well to enjoy that morsel without cares, calculations, and curses, and damns, and debts--for as sure as stone is stone, and mortar is mortar, &c., ’twill be one of the many works of thy repentance.--But after all, if the Fates have decreed it, as you and I have some time supposed it on account of your generosity, ‘_that you are never to be a monied man_,’ the decree will be fulfilled whether you adorn your castle and line it with cedar, and paint it within side and without side with vermilion, or not--_et cela étant_ (having a bottle of Frontiniac and glass at my right hand) I drink, dear Anthony, to thy health and happiness, and to the final accomplishments of all thy lunary and sublunary projects.”

Notwithstanding this sage counsel, Hall-Stevenson called in an architect, presently to be referred to as “Don Pringello,” who, to his credit, declined to tamper with the building, and succeeded in inducing the owner to abandon the plan of reconstruction.

Hall-Stevenson from time to time visited London, and made acquaintance with Horace Walpole, and also with Sir Francis Dashwood and John Wilkes, who introduced him to the Monks of Medmenham and also gave him a taste for politics, that afterwards found vent in some satirical verses. Lack of means, however, prevented his taking any considerable part in metropolitan gaieties, and he lived most of his life on his estate, making an occasional stay at Scarborough or some other northern watering-place. At Skelton, as William Hutton phrased it happily, he “kept a full-spread board, and wore down the steps of his cellar.” Steeped in Rabelaisian literature, he caught something of the spirit of the books he had perused; and, inspired by the example of the deceased Duke of Wharton and of his friend Dashwood, he gathered round him a body of men with similar tastes, and founded, in imitation of the Hell-fire Club and the Monks of Medmenham, a society which has passed into history as the Demoniacs.

The number of members of this convivial community cannot have been considerable. Hall-Stevenson in “Crazy Tales” gives eleven stories, each supposed to have been told by one of the band, the identity of the narrator being veiled under a nickname; and if this may be accepted as a guide, then there were but eleven Demoniacs in 1862--though, in a later edition, were added, “Old Hewett’s Tale,” and “Tom of Colesby’s Tale.” In most cases it has been easy to discover the names of the members. “Anthony” of the “Crazy Tale” was, of course, the host; and “My Cousin” Sterne, though he was also known among the fraternity as “The Blackbird,” probably because of his clerical attire, and under this _sobriquet_ was made the subject of one of Hall-Stevenson’s “Makarony Fables.” “Zachary” was Zachary Moore, of Lofthouse, a fashionable man about town, who spent a great fortune in riotous living; though the only story of his extravagance that has been handed down is, that his horses were always shod with silver, and that when a shoe fell off or was loose, he would have it replaced with a new one. He was a jovial fellow, and popular.

“What sober heads hath thou made ache!
How many hath thou kept from nodding!
How many wise ones, for thy sake,
Have flown to thee, and left off plodding.”

Thus he was apostrophised by Hall-Stevenson, who subsequently indited an epitaph for him, which while it does much credit to the writer’s heart, does less to his head: such a prodigal as Moore was lucky to be presented with an ensigncy.

“Z. M. Esq.” (thus runs the epitaph), “A Living Monument, of the Friendship and Generosity of the Great; After an Intimacy of Thirty Years With most of The Great Personages of these Kingdoms, Who did him the Honour to assist him, In the laborious Work, Of getting to the far End of a great Fortune; These his Noble Friends, From Gratitude For the many happy Days and Nights Enjoyed by his means, Exalted him, through their Influence, In the forty-seventh year of his Age, To an Ensigncy; which he actually enjoys at present at Gibraltar.”

The “Privy Counsellor” of the “Tales” has been said to be Sir Francis Dashwood, but upon what grounds this statement has been made is not clear: if the assumption is accurate, the “Privy Counsellor” cannot often have attended the gatherings of the brethren, being usually otherwise engaged in London. “Panty,” an abbreviation of Pantagruel, is known to have been the Rev. Robert Lascelles, subsequently the incumbent of Gilling, in the West Riding; and “Don Pringello,” whose name has not transpired,[20] has his niche in “Tristram Shandy,” where it is mentioned: “I am this moment in a handsome pavilion built by Pringello upon the banks of the Garonne.” Don Pringello also receives honourable mention in a scholium to the Tale inscribed to his name by “Cousin Anthony.”

[20] It has hitherto been assumed that “Don Pringello” was the playful form given by the Demoniacs to one Pringle. The present writer has been so fortunate as to enlist the kind offices of Mr W. J. Locke and Mr Rudolf Dircks in an endeavour to trace this architect; but neither an English Pringle nor a Spanish Don Pringello has been discovered.

“Don Pringello” (Hall-Stevenson wrote) “was a celebrated Spanish Architect, of unbounded generosity. At his own expense, on the other side of the Pyrenean Mountains, he built many noble castles, both for private people and for the _public_, out of his own funds; he repaired several palaces, situated upon the pleasant banks of that delightful river, the Garonne, in France, and came over on purpose to rebuild CRAZY-CASTLE; but, struck with its venerable remains, he could only be prevailed upon to add a few ornaments, suitable to the stile and taste of the age it was built in.”

“Old Hewett” was that eccentric William Hewett, or Hewitt, introduced into “Humphrey Clinker” by Smollett, who prophesied that, “his exit will be as odd as his life has been extravagant.” Smollett’s anticipation was justified, even before the novel was published, as the author mentions in a footnote. Hewett in 1767, being then over seventy years of age, was attacked by an internal complaint, and, to quote Smollett,

“he resolved to take himself off by abstinence; and this resolution he executed like an ancient Roman. He saw company to the last, cracked his jokes, conversed freely, and entertained his guests with music. On the third day of his fast, he found himself entirely freed from his complaint; but refused taking sustinence. He said the most disagreeable part of the journey was past, and he should be a cursed fool indeed to put about ship when he was just entering the harbour. In these sentiments he persisted, without any marks of affectation; and thus finished his course with such ease and serenity, as would have done honour to the firmest stoic of antiquity.”

There are still unaccounted for, “Captain Shadow,” “The Student of Law,” “The Governor of Txlbury,” “The Lxxb,” “The Poet,” and “Tom of Colesby”; and against these may be placed other frequenters of Skelton Castle--though it is possible some may not have been of the brotherhood. There were Garland, a neighbouring squire; and Scroope, whom Sterne referred to as “Cardinal S.” and who was probably a parson; and “G.” of the printed letters, whose name in the originals is given as Gilbert. More likely to have been Demoniacs were Hall-Stevenson’s younger brother, Colonel George Lawson Hall (who married a daughter of Lord William Manners), and Andrew Irvine, called by his familiars “Paddy Andrews,” master of the Grammar School at Kirkleatham. Because Dr Alexander Carlyle met at Harrogate in the company of Hall-Stevenson that Charles Lee who subsequently became a general in the American army, and fought against his countrymen in the War of Independence, Lee has been written down one of the society; but it is improbable he was enrolled, if only because, leaving England in 1751 at the age of twenty, he was not again in his native land before “Crazy Tales” was written, except for a few months in the spring of 1761.

The Demoniacs (and the title may for the nonce be taken to include all the frequenters of Skelton Castle) have been damned by each succeeding writer who has taken them for his subject; but it is extremely doubtful if they were as black as they have been painted. Had they been merely vulgar debauchees, it is inconceivable that Sterne would have let them make the acquaintance, not only of his wife, but also of the young daughter he cherished so tenderly; and it is only one degree less unlikely that they would have won and retained his affectionate regard for a score of years, or that he would have read to them “Tristram Shandy” and have desired their opinion of the various instalments of that work. His letters are full of references to the Demoniacs, and he rarely wrote to “dear Cousin Anthony” without sending greetings to his associates, and expressing the wish that he was with them.

“Greet the Colonel [Hall] in my name, and thank him cordially from me for his many civilities to Madame and Mademoiselle Sterne, who send all due acknowledgments” (he wrote from Toulouse, 12th August 1762; adding in a postscript:) “Oh! how I envy you all at Crazy Castle! I would like to spend a month with you--and should return back again for the vintage.... Now farewell--remember me to my beloved Colonel--greet Panty most lovingly on my behalf, and if Mrs C---- and Miss C----, &c. are at G[uisborough], greet them likewise with a holy kiss--So God bless you.”

A couple of months later, Sterne, still at Toulouse, addressed Hall-Stevenson:

“If I had nothing to stop me I would engage to set out this morning, and knock at Crazy Castle gates in three days less time--by which time I should find you and the Colonel, Panty, &c. all alone--the season I most wish and like to be with you.”

Again and again are allusions to the Crazelites, as Sterne often called them:

“I send all compliments to Sir C. D[ashwoo]d and G----s. I love them from my soul. If G[ilber]t is with you, him also” (he wrote from Coxwold, 4th September 1764; and from Naples, two years later:). “Give my kind services to my friends--especially to the household of faith--my dear Garland--to the worthy Colonel--to Cardinal S[croope], and to my fellow-labourer Pantagruel.”

Even in the last year of his life he looked forward to being present at a reunion at the castle: “We shall all meet from the east, and from the south, and (as at the last) be happy together.”

Faults the Demoniacs certainly had; but there is no reason to believe, indeed there is not a jot or tittle of evidence to support the suggestion, that they performed the blasphemous rites associated with the more famous institutions that served as their model. Their indulgences were limited to coarse stories and deep potations; which, after all, were regarded as venial sins in the eighteenth century. Even so, of course, it must be admitted they were not fit company for clergymen, and it is a matter for regret that Sterne should have been of the party. Doubtless Laurence told his story of “A Cock and a Bull” with the best of them; but he was no drunkard, and tried to induce Hall-Stevenson to give up the habit of heavy drinking.

“If I was you, quoth Yorick, I would drink more water, Eugenius” (so runs a passage in “Tristram Shandy”). “And, if I was you, Yorick, replied Eugenius, so would I.”

On the other hand, several of the Demoniacs were men of intelligence. With all his vices, Dashwood had brains of no mean order; Irvine, the schoolmaster, and a Cambridge D.D., had, at least, some reading; and Lascelles, a keen fisherman, could write verses--not very good verses, it is true--in Latin and English. It is doubtful, however, if he was that Robert Lascelles who in 1811 wrote the “Letters on Sporting,” in which he treated of angling, shooting, and coursing; although this rare work has been attributed to him. William Hewett, too, was a cultured man; he had been tutor to the Marquis of Granby, and was a friend of Voltaire. He had a pretty wit. It has been told how being in the Campidoglio at Rome, Hewett, who owned “no religion but that of nature,” made up to the bust of Jupiter, and, bowing very low, exclaimed in the Italian language, “I hope, sir, if ever you get your head above water again, you will remember that I paid my respects to you in your adversity.” Indeed that carousals at Skelton Castle were confined to the evening is shown by Hall-Stevenson’s account of his guest’s occupations during the day.

“Some fell to fiddling, some to fluting,
Some to shooting, some to fishing,
Some to pishing and disputing,
Or to computing by wishing.

And in the evening when they met
(To think on’t always does me good,)
There never met a jollier sett,
Either before, or since the Flood.”

Nor was Hall-Stevenson a mere voluptuary. Even though the critic may have exaggerated who wrote of him: “He could engage in the grave discussions of criticism and literature with superior power; he was qualified to enliven general society with the smile of Horace, the laughter of Cervantes; or he could sit on Fontaine’s easy chair, and unbosom his humour to his chosen friends”; yet there is no doubt that he was a good classical scholar, and, for an Englishman, exceptionally well read in the _belles lettres_ of Europe, in a day when such knowledge was rare.

“ANTHONY, Lord of CRAZY Castle,
Neither a fisher, nor a shooter,
No man’s, but any woman’s vassel,
If he could find a way to suit her”;

so he wrote himself down; and the description is good so far as it goes. But though “My Cousin Anthony” thus indicates that, unlike Sterne, he has no liking for field sports, he does not mention that he found his pleasure at home in the great library, that was so rich in what Bagehot has described as “old folio learning and the amatory reading of other days.” There the owner browsed for hours together, and he wrought better than he knew when he introduced his friend Sterne to the apartment and made him free of it, for there it was that Sterne found in many quaint forgotten volumes much of that strange lore with which the elder Shandy’s mind was packed. Dr Carlyle found Hall-Stevenson a “highly-accomplished and well-bred gentleman,” and Sterne’s opinion of his old college friend is clearly shown not only in his letters but in the character of “Eugenius” in “Tristram Shandy.” There must have been virtues in the man who stood for Eugenius, else Sterne, who had as keen an eye for the weaknesses of his fellows as any author that ever lived, would not have immortalised him as the wise, kindly counsellor of Yorick. How tenderly Sterne rallied “Cousin Anthony” upon his hypochondria.

“And so you think this [letter] cursed stupid--but that, my dear H., depends much upon the quotâ horâ of your shabby clock, if the pointer of it is in any quarter between ten in the morning or four in the afternoon--I give it up--or if the day is obscured by dark engendering clouds of either wet or dry weather, I am still lost--but who knows but it be five--and the day as fine a day as ever shone upon the earth since the destruction of Sodom--and peradventure your honour may have got a good hearty dinner to-day, and eat and drink your intellectuals into a placidulish and blandulish amalgama--to bear nonsense, so much for that.”

So he wrote from Coxwould in August 1761; and rather more than a year later, when he was at Toulouse, he reverted to the subject:

“I rejoice from my heart, down to my reins, that you have snatched so many happy and sunshiny days out of the hands of the blue devils. If we live to meet and join our forces as heretofore, we will give these gentry a drubbing--and turn them for ever out of their usurped citadel--some legions of them have been put to flight already by your operations this last campaign--and I hope to have a hand in dispersing the remainder the first time my dear cousin sets up his banners again under the square tower.”

Once, indeed, Sterne tried to cure his friend. Hall-Stevenson had a great fear of the effect of the east wind upon his health, and he had a weather-cock placed so that he could see it from the window of his room, and he would consult it every morning. When the wind blew from that quarter he would not get up, or, being up, would retire to bed. During one of Sterne’s visits to Skelton Castle he bribed a lad to climb up one night and tie the vane to the west; and Hall-Stevenson, after the customary inspection of the weather-cock, joined his guests the next day without any ill effect, although as a matter of fact an east wind was blowing. The trick was subsequently explained; but it is doubtful if it cured the _malade imaginaire_.

Hall-Stevenson was as devoted to Sterne as Sterne to him, and he made agreeable reference to their affection:

“In this retreat, whilom so sweet,
Once _Tristram_ and his cousin dwelt,
They talk of _Crazy_ when they meet,
As if their tender hearts would melt.”

When the first two volumes of “Tristram Shandy” were published, Hall-Stevenson indicted a lyric epistle “To my Cousin Shandy, on his coming to Town,” that, through its indecency, brought in its train more annoyance than pleasure to Sterne; and subsequently (in 1768) parodied the style of the book under the title of “A Sentimental Dialogue between two Souls in the Palpable Bodies of an English Lady of Quality and an Irish Gentleman,” introduced by a note: “Tristram Shandy presents his compliments to the Gentlemen of Ireland, and begs their acceptance of a Sentimental Offering, as an acknowledgment due to the Country where he was born.” A year after Sterne’s death Hall-Stevenson, over the signature of “Eugenius,” issued a continuation of “A Sentimental Journey,” for which he made the following excuse:

“The Editor has compiled this Continuation of his Sentimental Journey, from such motives, and upon such authority, as he flatters himself will form a sufficient apology to his readers for its publication.

“The abrupt manner in which the Second Volume concluded, seemed forcibly to claim a sequel; and doubtless if the author’s life had been spared, the world would have received it from his own hand, as he had materials already prepared. The intimacy which subsisted between Mr Sterne and the Editor, gave the latter frequent occasion of hearing him relate the most remarkable incidents of the latter part of his last journey, which made such an impression on him, that he thinks he has retained them so perfectly as to be able to commit them to paper. In doing this, he has endeavoured to imitate his friends stile and manner, but how far he has been successful in this respect, he leaves the reader to determine. The work may now, however, be considered as complete; and the remaining curiosity of the readers of Yorick’s Sentimental Journey, will at least be gratified with respect to facts, events, and observations.”

The book opens with an apostrophe to his dead friend:

“Delightful Humourist! thine were unaccountable faculties. Thy Muse was the Muse of joy and sorrow,--of sorrow and joy. Thou didst so exquisitely blend fancy with feeling, mirth with misfortune; thy laughter was so laughable; and thy sighs so sad; that--thou never wast, never will be equalled.--Thou hadst the _Key of the Heart_.--Lend it to a Friend.

“O Yorick, hear me! _Half_ thy work is left unfinished, and _all_ thy spirit is fled.--Send part of it back. Drop one remnant of it to a Friend.”

The prayer was not granted. The mantle of Yorick did not fall upon Eugenius, who had neither the power of humour or pathos, but only the indelicacy a hundredfold increased, of the great man. Indeed, the writings of Hall-Stevenson rendered poor service to his friends, for it was their publication that brought about the forcible condemnation of the Demoniacs: the flagrant indecency of “Crazy Tales” being accepted as a clue to the thoughts and actions of the members of the society. Yet of that little production, which appeared in 1762, the author thought very highly.

“As long as CRAZY Castle lasts,
Their Tales will never be forgot,
And CRAZY may stand many blasts,
And better Castles go to pot.”

Thus Hall-Stevenson in his Prologue, doubtless reflecting that since Skelton Castle had endured through seven centuries, it might well brave the breeze for many generations to come. His prophecy was not falsified, for “Crazy Tales” were not forgot until the Castle went to pot--which event, however, took place three years after his death, when his grandson substituted for the unique and picturesque structure a house in which it was possible to live in comfort. Nay, the “Tales” outlived the Castle, being reprinted in 1796, and again four and twenty years later, when they were assigned on the title-page to Sheridan. A glance at the catalogue of the British Museum Library shows that some singularly ill-advised person thought fit in 1896 to reissue the book for private circulation.

That Sterne should find a word of praise for “Crazy Tales” was but natural:

“I honour the man who has given the world an idea of our parental seat--’tis well done--I look at it ten times a day with a _quando te aspiciam_” (he wrote to his friend from Toulouse soon after the publication of the volume; adding), “I felicitate you upon what messr. the Reviewers allow you--they have too much judgment themselves not to allow you what you are actually possessed of, ‘talents, wit, and humour.’--Well, write on, my dear cousin, and be guided by thy fancy.”

It is more surprising to find Horace Walpole enlisting himself among Hall-Stevenson’s admirers. “They entertained me extremely,” he wrote to a friend, returning some verses, “as Mr Hall’s works always do. He has a vast deal of original humour and wit, and nobody admires him more than I do.... If all authors had as much parts and good sense as he has, I should not be so sick of them as I am.” The critics as a body were not so kind, and incurred the resentment of the author, who lashed them in “Two Lyric Epistles,” which Gray, writing to the Rev. James Brown,thought “seemed to be absolute madness.” The works, which were collected in 1795, were declared by Sir Walter Scott to be witty; but even that tribute has since been denied them. Bagehot dismissed them as having “licence without humour, and vice without amusement,” and Whitwell Elwin, in his masterly essay on Sterne, stigmatised the “Crazy Tales” as infamous.

William Beckford of Fonthill Abbey