Mr Holcroft, as he had intended, let part of his house, in Southampton Buildings, to lodgers. Among other inmates, were Miss Kemble (afterwards Mrs. Whitelocke) and his friend N——. Holcroft used to take frequent opportunities of urging this gentleman to devote his talents to works of taste and imagination, and his mind teemed with the plots of comedies and subjects of novels, which he wished his friend to write. But as Mr N——’s pursuits were of a totally different kind, it generally happened that Holcroft himself, in the end, executed the works which he had planned for another. Of this kind was his first novel, entitled Alwyn, or, the Gentleman Comedian, which it was originally intended that Mr N. should compile from materials to be furnished by Holcroft, but of which he, in fact, only wrote a few short letters, evidently very muchagainst the grain.
This novel came out in the year 1780, in two small volumes, and was printed for Fielding and Walker. What terms he procured for it with the bookseller, I do not know: its success was very moderate; and it was to his own novel that Mr Holcroft alludes, when he complains, in Hugh Trevor, that Wilmot’s novel had been characterized in the Monthly Review, as ‘a vulgar narrative of uninteresting occurrences.’
The most curious part of it is the account which Mr Holcroft has inserted of some of his own adventures as a strolling actor; for he himself is not theGentleman Comedian. He has disguised his own name under that of Hilkirk, and Alwyn is the hero of the piece. The story is as follows: Alwyn, a young man, who is patronized by a Mr Stamford, in consequence of the friendship which had subsisted between him and Alwyn’s father, who had saved his life, falls in love with Maria, the daughter of his guardian or master. His passion preys upon his health; and, in order to conceal it from the family, and to try what absence may do towards effecting a cure, he determines to leave his patron’s house, andcommence comedian. Young Stamford, Maria’s brother, is alone in the secret, and is the person to whom Alwyn addresses the account of his subsequent adventures. Mr Hilkirk, on whose story our author has chosen to ingraft his own, in like manner, falls in love with his master’s niece, is on this account, and for his frequenting sporting clubs and billiard rooms, discarded from his service as a clerk, and betakes himself to the stage. These two romantic youths correspond together, and endeavour to console one another, by comparing their mutual mishaps,—the pains of absence, poverty, and hopeless love. Alwyn proceeds to Kendal, where he is received by the inhabitants with extraordinary marks of attention; is supposed to be a gentleman in disguise; is envied by the players; and being invited to the assembly (a distinction never before allowed to any comedian), dances with a young, rich, lively widow, a West-Indian, who falls in love with him, and makes him an offer of her hand and fortune. This the youth politely declines, his affections being irrevocably engaged to another; and, in consequence of this, the lady being piqued by his refusal, enters into a plot against him in concert with one of the players (a veteran in the corps, who was offended that the part of Romeo, which he had playedfor fifty years, should be taken from him, and given to Alwyn). His pocket-book is searched; the name of the lady’s rival is discovered; and a letter is dispatched to old Stamford, informing him of the liberties which Mr Alwyn is said to have taken with his daughter’s name, and the equal presumption he had shewn in paying his addresses to the anonymous writer of the epistle. This letter, which is believed, gives a death-blow to his hopes. Maria Stamford, who had secretly returned his passion, is ashamed of her folly; the father is shocked; and the brother is incensed at the baseness and ingratitude of his friend. Another lover is now provided for Alwyn’s mistress, the son of a Mr Maitland, a rattling, thoughtless young fellow, who is not half sentimental enough for the young lady; and is accordingly rejected by her. The father of young Maitland is represented as an odd character, a half-crazy humourist, who, like the people of Laputa, makes every thing a subject of mathematical demonstration. He calculates the height and size of meteors, and is made to follow everyignis fatuusthat he sees, through bog and briar. His graceless son ties a lantern to the house-dog’s tail, and sends his father on a bootless chase after it: the dog escapes from his keeper, gets in at the library window with his meteorological apparatus about him, and sets fire to the house. Maitland-Hall is converted into a heap of ruins; and what is worse, Mr Maitland’s strong-box, containing nearly all his property, is lost. Mr Stamford, his son, and daughter,are on a visit there at the time; and Maria Stamford must have perished in the flames, but that Alwyn, the ungrateful, the supposed worthless Alwyn, who had left the Kendal company, and was travelling homeward, happens, at that instant, to be passing by, and comes in time to rescue his lovely mistress from the flames. He however remains unknown, and pursues his journey. Tom Maitland’s fortune being thus dissipated by his frolic, it becomes a point of honour that Maria should give up her scruples, and join her hand to his; when this, now almost inevitable event, is put a stop to by a discovery,—that it was not the dog Pompey that had set fire to the house, but a gang of thieves, who had committed this flagrant act in order to carry off old Maitland’s strong box: that they had been detected, and their prize secured by the vigilance and activity of Alwyn’s friend, Hilkirk, who now appears to be the son of his former master, Seldon, and who is rewarded with the hand of his old sweet-heart, Julia Gowland, for the difficulties he has had to encounter, and to which he was purposely exposed by his father to enable him to bear adversity, and make a man of him. At the same time, Alwyn is recognized by a rich uncle, who adopts him as his heir; the story of the anonymous letter, and of his pretended treachery, is cleared up, and the whole ends happily in marriage.
There is in this story neither much probability nor much invention. The characters, such as they are, are tolerably supported: but some of the attempts at humour which are inserted, shock all common sense. Such are the accounts of the school-master, the methodist parson, the mathematical calculation of the reasons for marrying, etc. These however were not written by Holcroft, but by his friend. The reason, why men of real and great abilities do not succeed in different kinds of writing, is perhaps, less for want of power, than of industry and inclination. They naturally set the highest value on that department of taste or genius, to which they have devoted themselves, and they have not respect enough for any other to take the pains necessary to excel in it. Thus the philosopher and man of science is apt to think he pays a sufficient compliment to the efforts of humour or fancy, if he only unbends his mind to engage in them; that any thing is good enough for a novel, or poem; and that the absence of wisdom is wit.
The character of Handford, Alwyn’s uncle, is the most amusing and original in the work: let it speak for itself.
This gentleman had conceived the idea of establishing a humane asylum for animals, the consequences of which he describes thus:
‘I am pestered, plagued, teazed, tormented to death. I believe all the cats in Christendom are assembled in Oxfordshire. I amobliged to hire a clerk to pay the people, and the village where I live, is become a constant fair. A fellow has set up the sign of the three Blind Kittens, and has the impudence to tell the neighbours, that if my whims and my money only hold out for one twelve-month, he shall not care a fig for the king. I thought to prevent this inundation, by buying up all the old cats, and secluding them in convents and monasteries of my own: but the value of the breeders is increased to such a degree, that I do not believe my whole fortune is capable of the purchase.—Besides, I am made an ass of. A rascal, who is a known sharper in these parts, hearing of the aversion I had to cruelty, bought an old, one-eyed horse, that was going to the dogs, for five shillings. Then taking a hammer in his hand, watched an opportunity of finding me alone, and addressed me in the following manner: “Look you, master, I know that you don’t love to see any dumb creature abused, and so, if you don’t give me ten pounds, why I shall scoop out this old rip’s odd eye, with the sharp end of this here hammer, now, before your face.” Aye, and the villain would have done it too, if I had not instantly complied: but what was worse, the abominable scoundrel had the audacity to tell me, when I wanted him to deliver the horse first, for fear he should extort a farther sum from me, that he had more honour than to break his word. A whelp of a boy had yesterday caught a young hedgehog, and perceiving me, threw it into the water to make it extend its legs; then with the rough side of a knotty stick, sawed upon them till the creature cried like a child; and when I ordered him to desist, told me he would not, till I had given him six-pence. There is something worse than all this. The avaricious rascals, when they can find nothing that they think will excite my pity, disable the first animal which is not dignified with the title of Christian; and then bring it to me as an object worthy of commiseration; so that in fact, instead of protecting, I destroy. The women have entertained a notion that I hate two-legged animals: and one of them called after me the other day, to tell me I was an old rogue, and that I had better give my money to the poor, than keep a parcel of dogs and cats that eat up the village. I perceive it is in vain to attempt carrying on the scheme much longer, and then my poor invalids will be worse off than they were before.’
This account was probably intended by the author as an indirect satire upon his friend Ritson’s arguments on the inhumanity of eating animal food.
Mr Holcroft may now be considered as having commenced regular author; or in other words, he now began to write constantly for the booksellers. He was employed by them to write a pamphlet,under the name of Wm. Vincent, Esq. of Gray’s Inn, containing an account of the riots in 1780. For this purpose he had attended the trials at the Old Bailey, where he was the means of saving the life of an innocent man, who was brought there as a prisoner. I have heard Mr Holcroft mention this circumstance, with tears of pleasure at the recollection. One of his most habitual feelings was a strong sense of the value of human life; and his having been in more than one instance an instrument in saving it, was a subject of the most grateful reflection to him.
A young man was brought to the bar, and tried as one of the rioters. The witness against him swore, that as he was standing in a shop, where he had taken refuge, at the bottom of Holborn, he saw the prisoner coming down Holborn Hill, at the head of a body of rioters, with a drawn sword in his hand, which he brandished furiously in the air. The witness swore positively to the facts, and there is little doubt that the prisoner would have been found guilty, if by great good fortune Mr Holcroft, who was taking notes of the evidence, had not recollected the prisoner’s face. He felt himself much agitated while the evidence was giving; and when it was over, he addressed the judge, and begged that he might be admitted as an evidence, for that he had something very material to depose to the prisoner’s innocence. He then declared that he had been present at the real transaction; that he had been standing at the corner of one of the streets near the bottom of Holborn, when the rioters passed; that the prisoner was not one of them, but that some time after they were gone by, he had seen the prisoner, who was walking quietly along the street, pick up a sword, which had probably been dropped in some scuffle by one of the rioters, and carry it away with him. This he said was the whole of the transaction, and that the circumstances of his marching at the head of the mob, and brandishing the sword in a threatening manner, were utterly false. This evidence was so clear and satisfactory, that the man was acquitted. Loughborough was the judge on this occasion. Mr Holcroft used to mention another anecdote which happened at the same time, when the prisoners were tried and convicted in that wholesale way, and upon such slender evidence, that it was not easy for them to escape, whether guilty or not. A man with a strong, stern, sensible countenance, after sentence of condemnation had been passed upon him, muttered to himself, in a scarcely audible voice, and evidently without intending to excite any one’s notice; ‘Short and sweet—innocent by G—d!’
CHAPTER II
Mr Holcroft’s first comedy, called Duplicity, was acted in October, 1781. It had been offered to Mr Harris, and came out at Covent Garden. The prologue was written by Mr Nicholson. The applause it met with, both on the first night and afterwards, was very great. Mr Holcroft’s feelings on this occasion he has expressed in a manner honourable to himself in a letter to Mr Greville, dated October 18, the day after it was acted.
‘Sir, I received your very obliging letter last night, just as I was going to the theatre, and had not time to answer it till to-day. Indeed, Sir, I do not find myself so much flattered by the very favourable opinion which, as far as I am able to come at the truth, the town entertains of me, as I am by your friendship and kindness. It is true I have had great difficulties to encounter, and the unhappy effects of a narrow education to surmount: but to be thus distinguished is more than a compensation for the labour I have taken, and the conflicts I have had with poverty, obscurity, and their dismal attendants. I am successful—I am happy—I shall acquire the means of making my father, my family, and some of my friends happy. These are the purest sources of pleasure, and which, as I have reason to know, both you and Mrs. Greville most intimately feel. My greatest danger is the possibility of not supporting the new character I have undertaken, with that equanimity, moderation, and ease, which are so essential to real worth. Vanity is continually spreading the net for pride, and those who are never entrapped, are either very strong or very cunning. To be successful, I have now only to be industrious: having escaped the Dog of Hell, the Elysian Fields are before me, if I have but taste and prudence to select the sweets. But this egotism is a species of the folly I have been declaiming against.’
Mr Greville, it may be necessary to add here, had perused Mr Holcroft’s piece before it came out, and had suggested some alterations both in the plot and language. Several were also made by Mr Holcroft in the course of the rehearsals, and more by Mr Harris; some of them against the author’s judgment.
Mr Holcroft now considered his fame as established, and his fortune as already made. The author of a successful and admired comedy he thought had a passport which would carry him securelythrough the world. In these flattering hopes, he was unhappily deceived.
He also wrote on the same day to his father, in terms which his success and the warmth of his affection dictated.
‘My Dear Father, I know that a short letter will be acceptable to you rather than none, especially on this occasion. My piece is come out at Covent Garden Theatre under the title of Duplicity. You may perhaps have heard some account of its reception from the newspapers: its success has been very flattering, and no circumstance relative to it gives me more satisfaction than that I shall now be enabled to provide for my dear father.’
Only three days after the date of the preceding letters, his brilliant prospects were dissipated, and we find him addressing the following letter to Mr Harris.
‘Sir, It is with reluctance I begin to write to you on the present subject: but my feelings are too powerful to be resisted. My labours have been great; my cares, hopes, and fears innumerable, and just at the moment when I was to be rewarded, to see my golden dreams vanish, to have the blessings I had so hardly earned snatched from me, is more than I can support in silence. It is not now, Sir, vanity in me to say the comedy is deserving of reward, every body says so, many say much more, at least to me. Had it been brought out at a good time of the year, I should not have gained less than five hundred pounds by it. But to be played at the most barren of all seasons, and when the fineness of the weather concurs to make it still worse, is certainly a severe fate; and I appeal to you, Sir, whether it is a misfortune, the whole weight of which should be borne by a man who has strained every faculty, and endured every kind of mental torture to give others pleasure. Again, though I have no doubt but you thought it best, yet it is the opinion of every body that the playing the piece at intervals, so contrary to the established mode, has thrown a damp upon it of the most stagnating kind. There is not a person I meet, who does not ask the reason with a face of wonder. This you know was not with my judgment, nay, I was exceedingly vexed when I first saw another play advertised over its head. What added still more to the surprise of the town, was to hear it given out for Tuesday, and to see it put off till Wednesday, in order to give place to an old piece, of which they therefore concluded you had greater expectations than of the new comedy. They could not know your real motive. The concluding stroke thus far finishes this melancholy tragedy. You told me mynight should be on the Friday or Saturday; I objected to the first, and you agreed to the other: but circumstances alter—you allege the business of the theatre—I am obliged to take the Friday, and King Arthur, with every force of novelty, dress, decoration, etc. etc. is opposed to me at a time when there is scarcely one full audience of play-going people in town. The consequence is, the profits of my first and best night are twenty pounds. I appeal to you, Sir, whether I have not a claim to some reparation. I wish you to allow me a certain sum for my nights; what, I leave to your candour. My hopes are so lowered that my views now are not very extravagant. If you think I have reason, you will be kind enough to inform me what you think proper to give; and then, Sir, you will do with the piece whatever you think fit.’
The next night that the comedy was played for the author’s benefit, it did not clear the expenses of the house; and Mr Harris then said, that unless it was commanded by the king, he should not think of playing it any more; but, at the same time, desired Mr Holcroft to draw on the theatre for a hundred pounds. This sum, with the price which he got for it from the booksellers, was all that he cleared by this his first comedy. It was shortly after published with a very well written preface.
Mr Harris appears to have behaved in a liberal and friendly manner on this occasion. Mr Holcroft afterwards called on him, and he proposed that the play should be laid by for a time, till he had a strong afterpiece to play with it. This set Mr Holcroft’s imagination at work again, and he conceived the idea of writing a pastoral, and laying the scene in Ireland, so as to have an opportunity of introducing all the good Irish music. I do not know whether he ever executed this idea.
After the appearance of Duplicity, Mr Holcroft wrote to Mr Linley to decline singing in the choruses and oratorios. His salary had been raised by Mr Sheridan to two pounds a week, but still Mr Holcroft seems to have been dissatisfied with not being brought forward in considerable parts; and he entertained thoughts of going to Ireland as an actor, unless a more respectable class of characters was assigned him at the theatre. He seems to have thought it inconsistent, not only with his dignity, but with his interest, as an author, to appear only in the lowest and most insignificant parts. I ought to have mentioned above, that when his own play of Duplicity was acted at the other house, Mr Wewitzer being taken ill, he had played the part of Vandervelt at an hour’s notice, which he continued to do afterwards. He also tried to procure an engagementwith Mr Colman this year at the Haymarket, but I believe ineffectually.
A project, which about this time engaged a good deal of Mr Holcroft’s attention, and excited very sanguine hopes in him, was the pretended discovery of the polygraphic art. The person who set this plan on foot, as we have before noticed, was Booth, the manager of one of the theatrical companies to which Mr Holcroft had belonged. He undertook, by some mechanical process, to produce copies of the old masters, such as Titian and Rubens, which, both in colour and execution, should not be distinguishable from the originals, and which were to be sold as cheap, or cheaper, than a common coloured print. This certainly was promising great things, if the performance had been answerable. Mr Holcroft was so full of this scheme, and of the golden advantages it held out, that Booth having applied to him to assist him in it, and become a partner in the profits, he wrote to Mr Greville, informing him of his sudden good fortune; and indeed offering him a share in so lucrative an undertaking. Mr Greville, however, seems to have thought the success not so certain; and it was not long before Mr Holcroft began to incline to his opinion. In his next letter to this gentleman, he confesses that he entertained some doubts on the subject, especially since he had heard that the same scheme had been tried before, and had failed; and farther, that there were not half a dozen artists in the kingdom,who could copy the best pictures well enough to make it an object. In fact, this last observation betrayed the real secret: after an imperfect outline, or rude sketch, had been struck off by a mechanical operation, any bungling artist, who could be found to do it cheap enough, was employed to finish the picture. So that, after all, this new mode of superseding the necessity of copying the old masters, was nothing more than an attempt to set up a cheap wholesale manufactory of bad copies of good pictures.—Mr Holcroft, however, though his ardour very soon cooled, was willing to wait till he had seen the specimens which Mr Booth was busy in making of some famous picture, but which he was very backward in producing. The subsequent fate of this polygraphic scheme is well known to the public. To excuse Mr Holcroft’s credulity on this occasion, it may be remarked, that it was long before he had paid any particular attention to the subject of painting; that he was really and truly a novice in the art; and, probably, would not have been much struck himself with the difference between one of these polygraphic imitations and a real Titian or Rubens.
CHAPTER III
In the years 1781 and 1782, Mr Holcroft published a poem called the Sceptic, and the Family Picture,[5]a collection of tales, partly compiled, and partly original. Neither of these works seems to have held a very high place in his estimation. Of the former he says, in a letter to a friend, that it was written in haste; that he believes it ought to have been treated according to Horace’s maxim, ‘Prematur nonum in annum’; and that though he was pleased with some parts in the writing, he is afraid he should not be so in the reading of them. Of theTaleshe says, that he did not expect to increase his reputation by them, though he hoped he should not lessen it.
About this time an offer was made him by Mr Greville to reside in his house, which he had the good sense respectfully to decline. He observed, that it was difficult for people with the best tempers and intentions, and who are upon a perfect equality, to live together, without harbouring little disgusts, or fancying supposed neglects; and that with respect to himself, he was conscious of whims and peculiarities which it was his duty to keep behind the curtain as much as possible. His sole reason, therefore, for declining Mr Greville’s offer, he declared, was the fear of declining in his good opinion by accepting it.
His mind now teemed with dramatic projects, plots, characters, and incidents. His ambition was to write elegant comedy; and he was sensible of the disadvantages under which he laboured in this respect, both from education, and the sphere of life in which he had hitherto chiefly moved. He wished to get a nearer and more intimate view of the manners of high life, that he might be able to describe its refinements, or ridicule its absurdities, with more effect. He also wished, for the same reason, to acquaint himself, by actual observation, with foreign manners. Both these ends would be answered by obtaining admission into the Ambassador’s suite, which was then (1783) setting off for Paris; and he made application to several persons of consequence for this purpose, but withoutobtaining his immediate object. He however so far succeeded as to obtain some respectable introductions abroad.
Lord Carmarthen was at first talked of as Ambassador; and Mr Holcroft, by the interest of Mrs. Harcourt and Mrs. Greville, had an interview with his lordship; in which he was informed, that another person had been fixed upon to go to Paris. This was the Duke of Manchester; and he now applied to the Duchess of Devonshire, I believe through Mrs. Siddons, for a recommendation to the Duke to go out with him as under-secretary, or in any other situation, in which he might be of service as a literary man. He stated that a salary was not his object, and that his only motive was to gain some little knowledge of the manners of a court, and of foreign countries. The only advantage he reaped from this application was, that he obtained the honour of some commissions to execute for her Grace at Paris, and the notice of one or two persons of consequence while he was there.[6]
Mr Holcroft being still determined on a visit to the continent, procured an engagement with the editor of a newspaper, the Morning Herald, to send over paragraphs, relating to the events of the day, public amusements, fashions, etc. for which he was to have a guinea and a half a week; and a similar engagement with a printer, Mr John Rivington, to furnish him with notices of new works, translations, etc. It was so arranged, that his salary from the newspaper office should be received by Mrs. Holcroft in his absence, for the immediate use of the family, and Rivington was to supply him with money for his expenses at Paris.
Mr Holcroft’s family consisted, at this time, of his wife and four children, only one of whom, Fanny, was by his present wife. Ann, the eldest, was by his first wife, and Sophy and William were by his second wife, whom he lost just before he left the country.
The two children, after her death, were for some time under the care of their uncle and aunt, Mr and Mrs. Tipler, at Nottingham. When Mr Holcroft became settled in Southampton Buildings, they were sent for up to town. The boy William was his greatest favourite: he was now (1783) between nine and ten years old; he was a very forward and intelligent child, could speak French with tolerable fluency, and his father, in order to perfect him in the language, determined to take him with him, and afterwards to leave him at a boarding-school in France.
Matters being thus arranged, Mr Holcroft set out for Paris in the beginning of April, 1783, which place he reached a few days after. The first appearance of this capital does not seem to have answeredhis expectations. He complained of the narrowness and dirtiness of the streets, of the meanness of the shops, and of the unfinished state of the principal public buildings. His chief attention, however, was directed to the discovery of new publications, of several of which he proposed translations to Rivington, most of which he afterwards executed for another bookseller. Among these were the Tales of the Castle, by Madam Genlis, Caroline of Litchfield, The Amours of Peter the Long, Memoirs of De Tott, Savary’s Travels in Egypt, An Account of the Manners and Treatment of Animals, by D’Obsonville, etc. This last publication he recommends as a curious work in a letter to Mr Greville; and observes, that from the account there given, it is evident that the Newmarket jockeys had learned the first principles of their art from the Arabs. His translation of the Tales of the Castle went through several editions, and introduced Mr Holcroft to a correspondence, and afterwards to a personal acquaintance with the authoress. Most, if not all of these translations, were done for the Robinsons.
Mr Holcroft made several friends at Paris, the chief of whom were Mercier, and a Mr Bonneville, (the translator of the Theatre Allemand) of whom he had a high opinion; but Bonneville afterwards came to England, and they quarrelled. Of Mercier, the celebrated author of the Dramas, andThe Year 2500, there will be occasion to speak hereafter. Either through these friends, or through the letters he brought with him, he was introduced to several persons of rank and literary pretension. Among them were the Duke and Duchess of Chartres, the Count de Catuelan, the Chevalier Macdonald, the Marquis de Dampiere, and others. He was desired by the Duke and Duchess of Chartres to read some scenes of Shakspeare to themselves and friends, with which he says they seemed more than satisfied. He appears afterwards to have entered into some discussion with the Count de Catuelan with respect to the comparative merits of Shakspeare and the French poets; for on the 24th of June, he addressed a short note to the Count, with a poem enclosed, on this subject. I shall here insert both, as well to shew the zeal with which Mr Holcroft defended his great countryman while abroad, as for the sake of the manner in which it is done.
‘Sir, The conversation we had on Sunday morning concerning Rousseau, Voltaire, Shakspeare, etc. started an idea as I was returning home, which I immediately put into the form you see. I would not have you suppose, Sir, I mean to depreciate the talents of Voltaire; that is far from my intention; I would only vindicate the poet who of all others within my sphere of knowledge, and as far as myjudgment extends, is infinitely the greatest. I should have sent you the verses before, because I know your reverence for my favourite bard,[7]but that I kept them to see if after sleeping two or three nights I still thought them fit to be read. I am yet in doubt; for any thing middling on such a subject is contemptible. However, I have not yet shewn them to any person, except you, Sir, and Mr Bonneville, at whose lodgings they were written.
‘Clad in the wealthy robes his genius wrought,In happy dreams was gentle Shakspeare laid;His pleas’d soul wand’ring through the realms of thought,While all his elves and fairies round him play’d.‘Voltaire approach’d—strait fled the quaint-eyed band,For Envy’s breath such sprites may not endure:He pilfer’d many a gem with trembling hand;Then stabb’d the bard to make the theft secure.‘Ungrateful man! Vain was thy black design:Th’ attempt and not the deed thy hand defiled.Preserv’d by his own charms and spells divine,Safely the gentle Shakspeare slept and smiled.’
‘Clad in the wealthy robes his genius wrought,In happy dreams was gentle Shakspeare laid;His pleas’d soul wand’ring through the realms of thought,While all his elves and fairies round him play’d.‘Voltaire approach’d—strait fled the quaint-eyed band,For Envy’s breath such sprites may not endure:He pilfer’d many a gem with trembling hand;Then stabb’d the bard to make the theft secure.‘Ungrateful man! Vain was thy black design:Th’ attempt and not the deed thy hand defiled.Preserv’d by his own charms and spells divine,Safely the gentle Shakspeare slept and smiled.’
‘Clad in the wealthy robes his genius wrought,In happy dreams was gentle Shakspeare laid;His pleas’d soul wand’ring through the realms of thought,While all his elves and fairies round him play’d.
‘Clad in the wealthy robes his genius wrought,
In happy dreams was gentle Shakspeare laid;
His pleas’d soul wand’ring through the realms of thought,
While all his elves and fairies round him play’d.
‘Voltaire approach’d—strait fled the quaint-eyed band,For Envy’s breath such sprites may not endure:He pilfer’d many a gem with trembling hand;Then stabb’d the bard to make the theft secure.
‘Voltaire approach’d—strait fled the quaint-eyed band,
For Envy’s breath such sprites may not endure:
He pilfer’d many a gem with trembling hand;
Then stabb’d the bard to make the theft secure.
‘Ungrateful man! Vain was thy black design:Th’ attempt and not the deed thy hand defiled.Preserv’d by his own charms and spells divine,Safely the gentle Shakspeare slept and smiled.’
‘Ungrateful man! Vain was thy black design:
Th’ attempt and not the deed thy hand defiled.
Preserv’d by his own charms and spells divine,
Safely the gentle Shakspeare slept and smiled.’
The conception of this little allegorical fiction, is certainly a very happy one, and the execution is no less spirited and elegant. With respect however to the enthusiasm with which Englishmen generally endeavour to persuade foreigners of the superlative excellence of our great dramatist, unless where it is taken up in self-defence, it is undoubtedly a species of quixotism, and of the most hopeless kind.
The remittances which Mr Holcroft was to receive from his employer, were not so regular as he had expected. Indeed there seems to have been some unaccountable neglect on the part of Rivington,[8]and Mr Holcroft would have been reduced to verygreat distress, had it not been for the generous assistance afforded him by his friend Bonneville, who was himself in no very affluent circumstances. He was at last wearied out with the state of suspense and dependence in which he was kept, and in October he took the resolution of again returning to England. He however left his son behind him at a school, in or near Paris.
Before Mr Holcroft went from England, he had left an opera, called the Noble Peasant, in the hands of Mr Colman, then manager of the Haymarket theatre. This had been accepted; and such was Mr Colman’s opinion of it, that on his return, he advanced Mr Holcroft a hundred pounds, in the expectation of its future success. This piece was acted the ensuing season, (in 1784). The evening it was acted, Mr Holcroft had placed himself behind the scenes, as authors generally do, to watch the progress of the piece, or be of occasional assistance. At the end however of the first act, the effect produced on the audience seemed so discouraging, and disapprobation began to manifest itself so strongly, that Mr Holcroft could no longer stand it. He left the theatre, quite hopeless of success, and went and walked for an hour in St. James’s Park. He had by this time so far mastered the agitation of his spirits, that he returned to the Haymarket, tolerably resigned to his fate. He got in just at the conclusion of the third act, and was most agreeably surprised, when he heard the house resounding with applause, and saw himself surrounded by the actors and others, who came to congratulate him on the complete success of the piece.—It however only ran eleven nights. It was then stopped by Mr Colman, in consequence of a disagreement with the author, whom he had without reason suspected of writing some paragraphs in the Morning Herald against The Connoisseurs. Mr Holcroft soon after vindicated himself so fully from this charge, that Mr Colman was satisfied.[9]
The success of this opera was not certainly equal to its merits, which are considerable. It seems to have given rise to a succession of plays of the same kind, the scene of which is laid in the ages of chivalry, and which represent the costume, characters, and manners of remote times. Such particularly have been the Battle of Hexham, The Mountaineers, The Venetian Outlaw, etc. This opera is in facta romance dramatised.—A young peasant joins some outlaws, who are no other than the famous archers, Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and Will Cloudesley; and soon after, has an opportunity together with them, to defeat a band of Danes, who were proceeding to attack the castle of Earl Walter, which lies in the neighbourhood of Sherwood. The cause of this quarrel is, that Anlaff the Dane had demanded Edwitha, the daughter of Earl Walter, in marriage, and had been refused. On this he determines to enforce his claim, and in the battle which ensues, Earl Walter’s men under his son Harold are nearly vanquished, when they are unexpectedly joined by the outlaws and Leonard, the noble peasant, who slays Alric, the brother of the Danish chief. This youth who in addition to his warlike achievements, is represented with all the grace and amiableness of an Arcadian swain, is the first who by chance communicates the news of the victory to Edwitha, and her cousin Adela, who had wandered to a little distance from the castle. Edwitha is immediately smitten with the manly appearance, and modest demeanour of Leonard, the peasant, and is rallied a good deal on the subject, by her witty and merciless cousin, who puts the reader somewhat in mind of the character of Beatrice. Adam Bell, and his renowned compeers, in consequence of their service in the battle, conceive a plan for being reconciled to Earl Walter; and for this purpose, Adam Bell goes to the castle in the disguise of a Friar, to watch for some favourable opportunity of obtaining a pardon. Harold and his followers return, and one of these, Earl Egbert, a ridiculous, cowardly braggart, pretends to have slain Anlaff, whose sword and armour he has carried in a pompous manner before him by his Dwarf. This story is contradicted by the pretended friar, who says that he had shrieved a young peasant an hour before, who confessed that he had slain the Danish warrior. However, on the strength of the boasted service he had done, Earl Egbert lays claim to Earl Walter’s daughter; and his pretensions are admitted by the father, in opposition to the most earnest remonstrances of the young lady. The valiant Earl accordingly remains at the castle, to court his froward mistress, while Harold, with his chosen friends, sets out to hunt for a few days on Cheviot Hills. The Danes hearing of his absence, and in revenge for the death of Alric, once more attack the castle, through which the greatest terror prevails, and particularly in the breast of Egbert; when Adam Bell takes the opportunity to discover himself to Earl Walter, and on obtaining promise of pardon, winds his bugle-horn, and is immediately joined by his friends who had watched without the castle, and among the rest by Leonard. A challenge is now sent from Anlaff, to the conqueror of hisbrother, to meet him in single combat, on the conditions, that if defeated, his followers are immediately to withdraw from the castle, but that if victorious, he is to bear off Edwitha as his prize. This message startles Earl Egbert, and he is going to disclaim his share in the death of Alric; when Leonard persuades him to accept the challenge, by offering to exchange armour privately with him, and meet the haughty Dane in his stead. They fight, and victory declares in favor of Leonard. Just before the battle, a letter conveyed by an arrow, had fallen at the feet of Edwitha, conjuring her to pray for the success of Leonard the peasant, which had occasioned some surprise. The riddle is now explained, and Leonard, the conqueror of Anlaff and Alric, and the preserver of her house, lays claim to the hand of Edwitha, as his reward. To this there are insuperable obstacles in the meanness of his origin; but this difficulty is soon removed by a discovery, that though disguised as a peasant, he is the son of a noble warrior. Harold returns, the marriage is celebrated, the outlaws are pardoned, and nothing but happiness reigns through the castle of Earl Walter.
The story of this little piece is interesting, and natural, as far as a romantic story can be so. The dialogue is well supported throughout, particularly in the comic parts; and though there are frequent imitations of Shakespeare, both in the incidents, characters, and speeches, yet they are very happily executed, with much wit and fancy; which shew that the author had imbibed the spirit of the poet, in whose steps he treads. The songs, both the serious and humorous ones, have great merit; and were most of them set by Shield, to whom Mr Holcroft, in his preface to the opera, pays a very high and deserved compliment. I should add here, for the sake of those who take an interest in dramatic retrospections, that Parsons played Earl Egbert, and that the part of the Fool was performed by Edwin.
Mr Holcroft’s next piece came out at Covent Garden, and was called The Choleric Fathers. This opera is inferior to the last. The scene is supposed to be in Spain, and the business of the play turns upon the testy disposition of two fathers, who suddenly break off a match between their children, just as they are going to sign the marriage-settlement. The merit of the piece consists chiefly in the easy impudence and vivacity of a valet, who forms a number of schemes, and acts different characters, to out-wit the old gentlemen, and bring about a reconciliation. The plot is formed after the manner of the Spanish school, full of intrigue and difficulties: these are at last overcome with a good deal of ingenuity; and the denouement is both natural and unexpected.
Mr Holcroft had for some time been concerned in the Wit’s Magazine, for which he wrote a number of amusing articles: but he now declined his share in it, seeming determined to bend his mind wholly to works of greater moment.