Chapter LXIX: Act IV: Scene 5

364. ‘_Some trick not worth an egg._’ _Coriolanus_, Act IV. Scene 4.

365. ‘_Spy abuses._’ ‘It is my nature’s plague to spy into abuses.’
_Othello_, Act III. Scene 3.

_Emery’s acting._ John Emery (1777–1822). See Hazlitt’s Dramatic
Essays, where he speaks of Emery in similar terms.

366. ‘_Fools rush in where angels fear to tread._’ Pope’s _Essay on
Criticism_, l. 625.

367. _‘A jest’s prosperity,’ etc._ _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, Act V. Scene
2.

‘_Quite chop-fallen._’ _Hamlet_, Act V. Scene 1.

368. _Russell._ Samuel Thomas Russell (1769?–1845), famous for his
acting of Jerry Sneak in Foote’s _Mayor of Garratt_ (1763), a
part created by Thomas Weston (1737–1776). Edward Shuter
(1728?–1776), whom Garrick described as the greatest comic
genius he had ever seen. For Joseph Shepherd Munden (1758–1832),
John Bannister (1760–1836), and John Liston (1776?–1846), see
the volume containing Hazlitt’s Dramatic Criticisms.

368. ‘_Men of no mark or likelihood._’ _Henry IV._, Part I. Act III.
Scene 2.

369. ‘_Bare to weather._’ _Cymbeline_, Act III. Scene 3.

‘_Poison in jest._’ _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 2.

370. ‘_A soul supreme_,’ _etc._ _Epistle to Robert, Earl of Oxford_,
ll. 23–26.

‘_Lay the flattering unction to their souls._’ _Hamlet_, Act III.
Scene 4.

_The author of ‘Waverley.’_ Scott publicly acknowledged his
authorship at a dinner on behalf of the Theatrical Fund on Feb.
23, 1827. See Lockhart (ix. 79–84).

371. ‘_In conscience and tender heart._’ ‘Al was conscience and tendre
heart.’—Chaucer,

_Prologue_, 150.

372. _Mandeville._ Bernard Mandeville (1670?–1733), author of ‘The
Fable of the Bees’ (1714).

377. ‘_To snatch a grace_,’ _etc._ Pope’s _Essay on Criticism_, l. 153.

378. _Video meliora, etc._ Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_, 7, 21.

382. ‘_Minute drops from off the eaves._’

Cf. ‘His tears run down his beard, like winter’s drops
From eaves of reeds.’ _Tempest_, Act V. Scene 1.

383. _Lord Egmont._ John Perceval (1711–1770), 2nd Earl of Egmont (in
the peerage of Ireland). The passage quoted is from a speech
delivered in the House of Commons, against the Bill for the
Naturalisation of Jews, on May 22, 1753 (not 1750). See _Parl.
Hist._, XIV., 1366–1430. Hazlitt included a part of the speech
in his _Eloquence of the British Senate_ (ii. 519–21), where the
year is also wrongly given. In a note on the passage quoted in
the text he says: ‘This passage discovers more real depth of
thought than any thing else I have met with in the course of
these debates. There may be observations of equal value in
Burke, but there is no single observation in any part of his
works more profound, original, acute, and comprehensive: it may
indeed be said to contain the germ of all his political
reasoning. (See his French Revolution, etc.) In this speech we
find the first denunciation of the intrusion of abstract
theorems and metaphysical generalities into the science of
politics.’

391. ‘_My wife! I have no wife._’ _Othello_, Act V. Scene 2.

_Huckman._ James Hackman (1752–1779) shot Martha Ray, mistress of
the 4th Earl of Sandwich, on April 7, 1779, as she was leaving
Covent Garden Theatre. According to his own story, he intended
to kill neither Miss Ray nor Lord Sandwich, but himself. He had
two pistols, a circumstance which led to a violent dispute
between Dr. Johnson and Topham Beauclerk. See Boswell’s _Life_
(ed. G. B. Hill, iii. 383–85). Boswell accompanied him to
Tyburn. Sir Herbert Croft in 1780 published an account of the
tragedy in a series of fictitious letters entitled _Love and
Madness_. Johnson disapproved of this ‘mingling real facts with
fiction’ (_ibid._ iv. 287).

392. ‘_Where we must live_,’ _etc._ _Othello_, Act IV. Scene 2.

‘_Age cannot wither_,’ _etc._ _Antony and Cleopatra_, Act II.
Scene 2.

393. _Fontenelle said._ ‘Si je tenais toutes les vérités dans ma main,
je me donnerais bien de garde de l’ouvrir aux hommes.’

395. _A second divorced his wife, etc._ Hazlitt here sums up the story
of _Liber Amoris_.

398. _Mr Opie._ John Opie (1761–1807).

400. _And vindicates, etc._ Pope’s _Essay on Man_, Ep. 1. l. 16.

402. _Denner’s._ Balthasar Denner, a mechanical German painter
(1685–1749).

405. ‘_Baited with the rabble’s curse._’ _Macbeth_, Act V. Scene 8.

‘_Monstrum ingens, biforme._’

‘Monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.’

_Aeneid_, III. 658.

409. ‘_Men’s judgments_,’ _etc._ _Antony and Cleopatra_, Act III. Scene
13.

413. _The Pleasures of Hope._ Thomas Campbell’s _The Pleasures of Hope_
was published in 1799; _The Pleasures of Memory_, by Samuel
Rogers, in 1792.

415. _The Blacks, etc._ Joseph Black (1728–1799), Professor of Medicine
and Chemistry in Edinburgh University; Antoine Laurent Lavoisier
(1743–1799); Joseph Priestley (1733–1804); Charles Davenant
(1656–1714), son of the poet; John De Witt (1625–1672); Jean
Baptiste Say (1767–1832); David Ricardo (1772–1823), and his
disciple John Ramsay M’Culloch (1789–1864); Thomas Robert
Malthus (1766–1834), author of the famous

_Essay on the Principle of Population_, etc. (1798).

416. _Rochefoucault observes._ Maxims, No. 261.

417. _The picture of ‘The Misers.’_ _Les deux Avares_ of Quentin Metzys
or Massys (1466–1531). Hazlitt describes the picture in his
_Sketches of the Principal Picture Galleries in England_
(Pictures at Windsor Castle).

Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, (late) Printers to Her Majesty at the
Edinburgh University Press

-----

Footnote 1:

Mr Holcroft has made use of this incident in the first Volume of Hugh
Trevor, see p. 40.

Footnote 2:

One Keys, who was also a contemporary of Mr H. in Stanton’s company,
and has since been a dancing-master, was the father of Mrs. Mills, who
played the Spoiled Child, Sophia, in The Road to Ruin, etc.

Footnote 3:

Weston is celebrated for his unrivalled power of face, for looking the
fool more naturally than any one else. Mr Holcroft speaks of him in
the following manner in the Theatrical Recorder.—‘As an actor, I
remember him well: to think of a few unrivalled performers, and to
forget Weston, is impossible. The range of characters that he
personated was confined. The parts in which he excited such uncommon
emotion, were those of low humour. He was the most irresistible in
those of perfect simplicity: his peculiar talent was the pure
personification of nature. I do not think it possible for an actor to
be less conscious than Weston appeared to be, that he was acting.
While the audience was convulsed with laughter, he was perfectly
unmoved: no look, no motion of the body, ever gave the least
intimation that he knew himself to be Thomas Weston. Never for a
moment was Thomas Weston present: it was always either Jerry Sneak,
Doctor Last, Abel Drugger, Scrub, Sharp, or the very character,
whatever it was, he stood there to perform; and it was performed with
such a consistent and peculiar humour, it was so entirely distinct
from any thing we call acting, and so perfect a resemblance of the
person whom the pencil of the poet had depicted, that not only was the
laughter excessive, nay sometimes almost painful, but the most
critical mind was entirely satisfied. I doubt if Garrick, or any other
actor, had so complete a power of disguising himself, and of assuming
a character with so little deviation from the conception he had
previously formed. It was not only a perfect whole, but it was also
unique.

‘He first appeared in tragedy, which he always considered as his
forte, though he was utterly unqualified for it. It was much against
his will that he was accidentally forced to play Scrub in the Beaux’
Stratagem, when he threw every one into raptures, except himself. Even
the very boys followed him in the streets, exclaiming, “There—that’s
he that played Scrub!” His first appearance in London was at a booth
in Bartholomew Fair. He was afterwards engaged by Foote, who was the
first person who introduced him to public notice, and who wrote the
part of Jerry Sneak expressly for him. Several stories are told of the
readiness of his wit, and presence of mind.

‘Shuter had long been the favourite of the galleries; and Weston,
before he was well known, appeared as a substitute for Shuter, in the
part of Sharp. Shuter’s name was in the play-bills; and when Weston
appeared, the galleries vociferated, “Shuter, Shuter!” Mrs. Clive
played the part of Kitty Pry, and was no less a favourite than the
other. The uproar continued, and nothing could be heard but “Shuter,
Shuter!” As soon as it was possible to be heard, Weston, in his own
inimitable and humourous manner, asked aloud, in a seriously stupid
amazement, and pointing to Mrs. Clive,—“Shoot her! Shoot her! Why
should I shoot her? I am sure she plays her part very well!” The
apparent earnestness and simplicity with which he asked this question,
were so inimitable, and it so truly applied to the excellent acting of
Mrs. Clive, that the burst of laughter was universal, and the applause
which Weston deserved, attended him through the part.

‘Weston was no less remarkable for his dissipation and poverty, than
for his comic excellence. It happened on a day that his name was in
the play-bills, that he was arrested for a small sum, which he applied
to the managers to discharge, which request they refused. Being known
to the bailiff, Weston prevailed on him and his follower to go with
him to the play, where he placed himself and them in the front of the
two-shilling gallery.—Before the curtain drew up, an apology was made,
that Mr Weston, being ill, could not possibly attend; and it was
therefore hoped, another performer might supply his place. Weston
rose, as he intended, and declared aloud, the apology was entirely
false; he was there, well, and ready to do his part, but that he was
in custody for a small debt, for which, though entreated, the managers
had refused to give security. Weston had well foreseen the
consequences: the managers were obliged to set him free. Another actor
would have immediately been expelled the theatre; but for Weston no
substitute could be found.’—Vol. ii. p. 112.

The reason has often been asked, why actors are imprudent and
extravagant. An answer may be found in the very nature of their
profession. They live in a world of fancy, of artificial life and
gaiety, and necessarily become careless of the real consequences of
their actions. They make realities of imaginary things, and very
naturally turn realities into a jest. Besides, all persons are so, who
have no settled prospects in life before them.

Footnote 4:

_Hugh Trevor_, vol. iii.

Footnote 5:

The Family Picture, I think, from memory, was published by Lockyer
Davis, in 1781, and the Sceptic a year or more afterwards. The latter
work has no plan, but in some parts it shews a more extensive power of
imagination and strength of general induction, than he had before
exhibited in any of his writings.—The colloquial language of the
connecting parts of his Family Picture, is poor and inelegant; and has
none of that easy, clear, and unaffected spirit which characterizes
his Tales of the Castle, and still more his Hugh Trevor.

Footnote 6:

To dance attendance on the great seems, at this period of his life, to
have been very much Mr Holcroft’s fate; but it certainly was an office
for which he was by nature but indifferently fitted. In the present
instance, his chief solicitude was to obtain an insight into the
character and pursuits of the fashionable world. The ordeal he went
thro’ for this purpose, must frequently have been a severe one to his
feelings. But as far as his present object was concerned, even the
repulses he met with, or the distance at which he was kept, would
still in some measure advance him towards the end he had in view. He
seems to have profited by his experience, and has left several lively
sketches of that part of the manners of the great, which relates to
their intercourse with men of letters. I do not know that the
following picture is true in all its particulars, but the general
feelings it describes, were suggested to him by the reception he met
with on his application to the Duchess of Devonshire.

‘On another occasion, an actress, who, strange to tell, happened, very
deservedly, to be popular; and whom, before she arrived at the dignity
of a London theatre, I had known in the country, recommended me to a
duchess. To this duchess I went day after day; and day after day was
subjected for hours to the prying, unmannered insolence of her
countless lacqueys. This time she was not yet stirring, though it was
two o’clock in the afternoon; the next, she was engaged with an
Italian vender of artificial flowers; the day after, the prince, and
the devil does not know who beside, were with her; and so on, till
patience and spleen were at daggers drawn. At last, from the hall I
was introduced to the drawing-room, where I was half amazed to find
myself. Could it be real? Should I, after all, see a creature so
elevated; so unlike the poor compendium of flesh and blood with which
I crawled about the earth? Why, it was to be hoped that I should!
Still she did not come; and I stood fixed, gazing at the objects
around me, longer perhaps than I can now well guess. The carpet was so
rich, that I was afraid my shoes would disgrace it! The chairs were so
superb, that I should insult them by sitting down! The sofas swelled
in such luxurious state, that for an author to breathe upon them would
be contamination! I made the daring experiment of pressing with a
single finger upon the proud cushion, and the moment the pressure was
removed, it rose again with elastic arrogance; an apt prototype of the
dignity it was meant to sustain. Though alone, I blushed at my own
littleness! Two or three times the familiars of the mansion skipped
and glided by me; in at this door, and out at that; seeing, yet not
noticing me. It was well they did not, or I should have sunk with the
dread of being mistaken for a thief, that had gained a furtive
entrance, to load himself with some parcel of the magnificence, that
to poverty appeared so tempting! This time, however, I was not wholly
disappointed: I had a sight of the duchess, or rather a glimpse. “Her
carriage was waiting. She had been so infinitely delayed by my lord
and my lady, and his highness, and Signora!—Was exceedingly
sorry!—Would speak to me another time, to-morrow at three o’clock, but
had not a moment to spare at present, and so vanished!” Shall I say
she treated me proudly, and made me feel my insignificance? No; the
little that she did say was affable; the tone was conciliating, the
eye encouraging, and the countenance expressed the habitual desire of
conferring kindness. But these were only aggravating circumstances,
that shewed the desirableness of that intercourse which to me was
unattainable. I say to me, for those who had a less delicate sense of
propriety, who were more importunate, more intruding, and whose
forehead was proof against repulse, were more successful. By such
people she was besieged; on such she lavished her favours, till report
said that she impoverished herself; for a tale of distress, whether
feigned or real, if obtruded upon her, she knew not how to
resist.’—Hugh Trevor, Vol. iii.

Footnote 7:

The Count was at the head of that party in France, who either did, or
affected to admire Shakspeare.

Footnote 8:

It was not Rivington the Bookseller, but John Rivington, the Printer,
of St. John’s Square, who died about the time of Mr Holcroft’s return,
or (I believe) before it. He was one of the sons of Mr Rivington, then
bookseller of St. Paul’s Church Yard, whose other sons still carry on
the business of book-selling. Mr John Rivington engaged in an
agreement, or adventure with Mr Holcroft, that works were to be
selected, and translated by him, and published for their joint and
equal account, he (Mr Rivington,) advancing money to Mr Holcroft, as a
loan for his expenses.—The reason why he was not punctual in his
remittances was, that he was much distressed for money to carry on his
own extensive business of printing. John Rivington was a good-natured,
worthy man, much esteemed by his friends. He died before the middle
period of life, of a typhous fever, some time about the year 1785, or
1786.

Footnote 9:

I believe it is in The Connoisseurs, that a yawning scene was
introduced by the author, who being also the manager, found great
difficulty in getting it acted to his mind. He was met one morning by
Macklin, coming out from a rehearsal, and looking rather discontented,
the other asked what was the matter? ‘I can’t get these fellows to
yawn,’ was the answer. ‘Oh if that’s all, said Macklin, you have only
to read them the first act of The Man of Business’; a dull play of
that name, by Colman.

Footnote 10:

Mr Holcroft, as it appears from this letter, had brought his son
William with him from France.

Footnote 11:

Mr Holcroft long projected a work, of which Frederick II. was to have
been the hero, and the subject the effects of war and despotism. He
made considerable preparations for this work; for he had completely
lined a large closet with books, which were to furnish the materials,
direct or collateral, for writing his history of _bad_ governments.

Footnote 12:

Sophy, Mr Holcroft’s second daughter, had a little before been married
to Mr Cole, a merchant at Exeter.

Footnote 13:

The remainder of Mr Holcroft’s pamphlet is taken up with Letters to
different persons concerned in the prosecution, and the larger defence
which he had prepared in case he should be brought to a trial. They
evidently shew more virtue, firmness, and honesty, than prudence or
management, and denote something of the raised tone of the public
mind. In the letter to Erskine, which is a truly eloquent composition,
the following _trait_ is mentioned. While Erskine was examining the
spy Alexander, who, had he not been detected, might have sworn away
the life of Hardy; this eminent barrister, observing his downcast
countenance, and suddenly interrupting him, exclaimed—‘Look at the
jury, Sir! Don’t look at me. I have seen enough of you.’

Mr Holcroft, in the second part of his defence, labours the point of a
parliamentary reform; and among other proofs of the corrupt state of
representation, cites the following curious one.

‘The Borough of Gatton, within these two years, was publicly
advertised for sale by auction: not sold for a single parliament; but
the fee-simple of the Borough, with the power of nominating the two
representatives for ever. On the day of sale, the celebrated
auctioneer scarcely noticed the value of the estate. The rental, the
mansion, the views, the woods and waters, were unworthy regard,
compared to what he called _an elegant contingency_! Yes, the right of
nominating two members to parliament, without the embarrassment of
voters, was _an elegant contingency_! “Need I tell you, gentlemen,”
said he, glancing round the room with ineffable self-satisfaction, and
exulting in what he called “the jewel, the unique, which was under his
hammer; need I tell you, gentlemen, that this _elegant contingency_ is
the only infallible source of fortune, titles, and honours, in this
happy country? That it leads to the highest situations in the state?
And that, meandering through the tempting sinuosities of ambition, the
purchaser will find the margin strewed with roses, and his head
quickly crowned with those precious garlands that flourish in full
vigour round the fountain of honour? On this halcyon sea, if any
gentleman who has made his fortune in either of the Indies chooses
once more to embark, he may repose in perfect quiet. No hurricanes to
dread; no tempestuous passions to allay; no tormenting claims of
insolent electors to evade; no tinkers’ wives to kiss; no impossible
promises to make; none of the toilsome and not very clean paths of
canvassing to drudge through: but, his mind at ease and his conscience
clear, with this elegant contingency in his pocket, the honours of the
state await his plucking, and with its emoluments his purse will
overflow.”

Footnote 14:

The above passage was written in a state of perfect security against
the return of that pleasant phrase, _divine right_. Every thing is by
comparison.

Footnote 15:

Though the character of Mr Windham, as a statesman and orator, was
less developed at that time, than it has been since, it seems to have
been justly appreciated by our author. He considered him as the
disciple of Mr Burke; and it is certainly some distinction to be able
to understand the arguments, and follow the enthusiastic flights of
that great, but irregular mind. He is at present (with one exception)
the ablest speaker in the House of Commons: but he is still, and ever
will be nothing more than an imitator of Burke. There is in all his
speeches, an infinite fund of wit, of information, of reading, of
ingenuity, of taste, of refinement, of every thing but force and
originality: but of these last, there is a total absence. All is
borrowed, artificial, cast like plaster figures in a mould. The
creations of his mind are as multiplied, and they are as brittle.
Perhaps it may be thought that the want of originality is the last
thing which should be objected to this delightful speaker, all whose
sentences sparkle with singularity and paradox. But this effect is
equally mechanical with the rest. Real originality produces
occasional, not systematic paradox. He who always waits to contradict
others, has no opinion of his own. It is as easy to predict the side
which Mr Windham will take on any question as to guess what the first
old woman you meet, would think on the same subject; for you may be
sure that his opinion will be the contrary of hers. His creed is a
sort of antithesis to common sense, and he is as much the slave of
vulgar prejudices in always opposing, as if he always yielded to them.
Originality consists in considering things as they are, independently
of what others think, singularity is mere common-place transposed. The
one requires the utmost exercise of the judgment, the other suspends
the use of it altogether. [These remarks were written in 1810, before
Mr Windham’s death.]

Footnote 16:

The late Rev. Joseph Fawcett, author of The Art of War, &c. It was he
who delivered the Sunday evening lectures at the Old Jewry, which were
so popular about twenty years ago. He afterwards retired to Hedgegrove
in Hertfordshire. It was here that I first became acquainted with him,
and passed some of the pleasantest days of my life. He was the friend
of my early youth. He was the first person of literary eminence, whom
I had then known; and the conversations I had with him on subjects of
taste and philosophy, (for his taste was as refined as his powers of
reasoning were profound and subtle) gave me a delight, such as I can
never feel again.

The writings of Sterne, Fielding, Cervantes, Richardson, Rousseau,
Godwin, Goethe, &c. were the usual subjects of our discourse, and the
pleasure I had had, in reading these authors, seemed more than
doubled. Of all the persons I have ever known, he was the most
perfectly free from every taint of jealousy or narrowness. Never did a
mean or sinister motive come near his heart. He was one of the most
enthusiastic admirers of the French Revolution; and I believe that the
disappointment of the hopes he had cherished of the freedom and
happiness of mankind, preyed upon his mind, and hastened his death.

EDITOR.

Footnote 17:

The Pantisocrasy Scheme.

Footnote 18:

The Marquis de Dampierre, with whom I was very intimate at Paris in
1783. He received a mortal wound on the 8th of May, 1793, of which he
died on the 10th, when he was Commander in Chief, and which battle the
French gained.

T. H.

Footnote 19:

This letter is a translation from the French.

Footnote 20:

‘Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year.’

So they begin. It was the month of May; the cuckoo sang shrouded in
some woody copse; the showers fell between whiles; my friend repeated
the lines with native enthusiasm in a clear manly voice, still
resonant of youth and hope. Mr Wordsworth will excuse me, if in these
circumstances I declined entering the field with his profounder
metaphysical strain, and kept my preference to myself.

Footnote 21:

There is a pleasant instance of this mentioned in the Tatler. There
was an actor of that day who could play nothing but the Apothecary in
Romeo and Juliet. He succeeded so well in this, that he grew fat upon
it, when he was set aside; and having then nothing to do, pined away
till he become qualified for the part again, and had another run in
it.

Footnote 22:

Milton was a beautiful youth, and yet he wrote Paradise Lost.

Footnote 23:

‘Leviathan.’

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. 2. Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. 3. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers and collected together at the end of the last chapter. 4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. 5. Enclosed bold font in =equals=. 6. Superscripts are denoted by a caret before a single superscript character or a series of superscripted characters enclosed in curly braces, e.g. M^r. or M^{ister}.