Life of Edmond Malone/Chapter 5
CHAPTER V.
1781–1783.
Plays, however, even when successful, seldom run altogether smoothly. There are too many tastes to to consult—and opinions in which to agree. Happy the man never condemned to pass through such an ordeal of patience and temper as the theatre! To write up to the ideas of one man and down to those of another; to find a manager of one opinion, and the performers directly opposed to it; to be denied credit on points to which he himself has given much consideration, and they who differ from him, probably little or none; to omit this and alter that—is the every-day fate of a dramatist by a decree as irreversible as a law of nature. Some alarm of this description influenced the author, at which Walpole hints in the following letter to Malone, written a few days after the representation:—
Strawberry Hill, Nov. 23rd, 1781.
Sir,—I have just received the honour of your letter, and do not lose a minute to answer it, though my hand is so nervous and shaking so much, that I have difficulty to write.
If you remember, sir, Mr. Harris sent for me out of the box on the first night. I found Dr. Francklin in the green room, and some of the players. The former was just come out of the pit, and said the audience there disliked the death of Hortensia, and thought it most unnatural that she should die so suddenly of grief. The actors, too, agreed with him, and it was proposed that she should be carried off, to leave it at least doubtful whether she was dead or not.
I am sure I have never taken the liberty of making any alterations in Mr. Jephson’s excellent tragedy. It is as true that I have not set up my own judgment against those who have, and must have, more knowledge of stage effect; and, whenever I have acquiesced with them, it has been with the sole view of serving and contributing to the success of the play, or with the view of contenting Mr. Harris in little points, who had so readily consented to bring out the play. I flatter myself, too, that it has not suffered by those little compliances of mine.
It is likewise true, sir, and I have no objection to Mr. Jephson’s knowing, that I approve the alterations you have made, and which you do me the honour of proposing to me, to be inserted in the printed copy; but I fear I am not at liberty to agree to that idea, as, since I saw you, I have received another letter from Mr. Jephson, in which he desires me to deliver the last copy to you, sir, which I had done, and adds these words, “that he (Mr. Malone) may be requested not to suffer any alteration of the text, excepting as to printing, which he understands better than I do.” I confess I think Mr. Jephson too tenacious. He has produced such a treasure of beauties, that he could spare one or two. My frankness and sincerity, sir, speak this from the heart, and not in secret. I would not for the world say one thing to you and another to Mr. Jephson; and, therefore, have no objection to your communicating my letter to him. You have shown yourself so zealous a friend to him, and I hope have found me so too, that I am sure you will understand what I say as it is meant, and not as flattering to either, or as double dealing; of which I trust I am incapable.
I read with pleasure in the papers, sir, that your epilogue succeeded as it deserved; but I am much surprised at what you tell me, that the audiences have been less numerous than there was every reason to expect. If any burlesque of what is ridiculous can erase taste for genuine poetry, the age should go a little further, and admire only what is ridiculous. I am much obliged to you, sir, for the notices you are pleased to send me, which I shall certainly insert in my own trifling works.
Voltaire’s letter to me was printed in one of the later miscellaneous volumes; I do not recollect in which. I do not doubt but that it will be reproduced in the general edition preparing. Hereafter, perhaps, another letter of his may appear, in which that envious depredator of Shakspeare and Corneille may be proved to have been as mean and dirty as he was envious. I have the honour to be, sir, with great respect, your most obedient humble servant,
Hor. Walpole.
The next note refers to some complimentary lines applied to him by Mr. Gardiner, already noticed as one of the theatrical amateurs of Dublin:—
December 22nd, 1781.
I am very sure, sir, that the four lines with which Mr. Gardiner has honoured me, are much too great a compliment, and will be thought so by all who have not some friendly partiality for me. I am not a poet; and though I have written verses at times, more of them have been bad than good. However, as next to vanity I should dislike to be thought guilty of affected modesty, and as I have no right that, in compliment to either, Mr. Gardiner’s beautiful lines should be suppressed, though he was so obliging as to sacrifice them at the representation, which I confess I could not have stood, I will take no more liberties, nor object to the publication. Yet should I be taxed with consenting, I must comfort myself that I did not acquiesce till I had no right to refuse.
I very seldom go out in a morning, sir, but will certainly have the honour of waiting on you soon: and am, sir, with great respect,
Your most obedient humble servant,
Hor. Walpole.
At what period and through whom this acquaintance commenced does not appear; probably after the publication of the supplement to Shakspeare. Walpole was then well on in life; had retired a good deal from general society; was of delicate health, and sought amusement in his “Castle” of Strawberry in reading, writing, and printing of books. He had the reputation of being somewhat exclusive in the selection of intimates. Malone soon became on the most friendly terms; paid him and often received morning visits; found in his visitor those stores of details of men and manners of his earlier days, or of those recently removed from the world, which have equally informed and amused readers of every class. Few persons or events, as we find in his letters, appear to have escaped observation at some period of life. Those with whom he associated he seems to have known well; so that if not always accurate or absolutely impartial in his sketches, he is rarely ignorant; and none can be more amusing.
What Malone first thought of him we find in his memoranda:—
“When Mr. Horace Walpole came from abroad about the year 1746, he was much of a Fribble in dress and manner. Mr. Colman, at that time a schoolboy, had some occasion to pay him a visit. He told me he has a strong recollection of the singularity of his manner; and that it was then said that Garrick had him in thought when he wrote the part of Fribble, in Miss in her Teens. But I doubt this much; for there is a character in a play called Tunbridge Wells, in which that of Fribble seems to be evidently formed. However, Garrick might have had Mr. Walpole in his thoughts.
“This gentleman (Mr. Walpole) is still somewhat singular in manner and appearance; but it seems only a singularity arising from a very delicate and weak constitution, and from living quite retired among his books, and much with ladies. He is always lively and ingenious; never very solid or energetic. He appears to be very fond of French manners, authors, &c. &c, and I believe keeps up to this day a correspondence with many of the people of fashion in Paris. His love of French manners, and his reading so much of their language, have I think infected his style a little, which is not always so entirely English as it ought to be. He is, I think, a very humane and amiable man.
“He regrets much that he wrote the tragedy of the Mysterious Mother; he printed only a hundred copies of it at Strawberry Hill, and cannot be prevailed upon to suffer it to be published. But it is in vain now to think of suppressing it, for these one hundred copies being dispersed immediately after his death it will certainly be reprinted.[1] No work of his does him more credit.
“He has printed, I believe, at his own press a complete edition of all his writings in quarto. On examining the late Mr. Cole’s papers, a sheet of this new edition was found among them, which he took (it is imagined) without the knowledge of Mr. Walpole from Strawberry Hill.”
In 1782 Malone was elected into the Literary Club—an object of ambition to the most eminent men of the day. Temper and taste had well fitted him for superior associations of this description. The suavity of Burke, Reynolds, Nugent and Percy, curbed the sourness or coarseness of inferior men, such as Hawkins; while the reproofs of Johnson kept in check the wildness of wit in Beauclerc and Colman. Conversation and argument ran freely—not always perhaps unruffled—but like pebbles in the brook, just sufficient to impart animation to the scene.
Before publication of the supplementary plays, he had hinted the wish for admission to Lord Charlemont, who in reply wrote: “For my own sake I wish you every success in your endeavours to get into the Turk’s Head Club. Why am I not in London to vote for you?” It is rather remarkable that this celebrated social assemblage of talent might almost date its origin from the Irish Peer. Some words had dropped from him on the subject to Reynolds. The latter mentioned it to Johnson, proposing his lordship as one of the first members. “No,” was the reply; “we shall be called Charlemonts Club; let him come in afterwards.”
Just about this time a letter came from that nobleman to Queen Anne Street, complaining of incessant duties, civil and military—the latter as general of Irish Volunteers. Such were the claims upon his time that he had scarcely a moment even to open one of the last packets of books received from his critical friend—for it appears that whatever else was in hand, the acquisition and examination of old authors was not intermitted.
“Gascoigne,” he says, “notwithstanding his ominous setting out, arrived safe and sound, in excellent plight, and perfectly uninjured by their long journey—a piece of good fortune which, considering their great age and consequent debility, was rather to be hoped than expected.
“I know but of one thing you have omitted—that is, to send me some sheets of Spenser, containing his letters to Sir W. R. (Raleigh) and the commendatory verses. These were meant to complete my first edition of the Fairy Queen. You, I remember, set it apart for me, but have I suppose forgotten it, as well you might in the multiplicity of matters undertaken for me. You have sent the second volume of Warton’s Pope. I once had the first, but have lost it, and must beg that you will procure it for me. The size of the old plays exactly matches—the colour rather paler, and the gilding something different. One may be easily altered; time no doubt will change the other.”
The Club formed a new tie to intimacy between Malone and Dr. Johnson. In the spring of the year he invited the latter to meet Dr. Farmer and others at dinner, and sent him his pamphlet on Chatterton. The invitation Johnson could not accept, on account of illness. For the pamphlet he is thankful; comments on the wild adherence to Chatterton as even more strange than that to Ossian; and hopes to be able soon to meet his friends in society. Boswell dilates upon the esteem felt by his great friend for Malone, “whose elegant hospitality” he compliments, and truly adds, “who the more he is known is the more highly valued.”
Previous to this, both critics appear to have had several communications on certain anecdotes and notices on Shakspeare and in the Lives of the Poets, of which only a few remain. Malone considered Johnson right in some disputed notes, as in “Asses of great charge,” and wrong in “To be, or not to be.” Like Johnson and Pope, he deemed rhyme necessary for the full effect of English poetry. Like the former, he entertained dislike to the politics, temper, and conduct of Milton; and on another occasion is violent against Milton’s master, Cromwell. He told Johnson that he had censured Lord Marchmont wrongly for not taking care of Pope’s papers; for Lord Bolingbroke alone had been entrusted with that charge. But Johnson forgot on this as on some other occasions to make the necessary corrections in a new edition. He corroborated the fact tated by Johnson though doubted by others, of Addison having put an execution into Steele’s house for debt. Burke was his authority; he having heard the story from one of Steele’s personal acquaintance, Lady Dorothea Primrose.
All communication with the great moralist added to his veneration for one so worthy of it; and to familiar friends often became the subject of conversation in future life. A lady now resident in Ireland, who more than twenty years afterwards accompanied her father on a visit to Malone in London, thus adverts to the subject in a communication to the writer:—
“Next to Shakspeare, Dr. Johnson appeared to be the great object of his admiration. He had often visited him in Bolt Court, and in a morning’s stroll took me to view the exterior of the house. On one occasion, the doctor, during the decline of his health, proving unusually silent, Malone rose to retire, believing him to be in pain or his presence inconvenient. ‘Pray, sir,’ said Johnson, ‘be seated. I cannot talk, but I like to see you there.’ On two or three occasions, also, he had managed the breakfast tea-kettle when Levett was absent or otherwise engaged. Mr. Malone had several engravings of Dr. Johnson in his study.”
It is probable that admiration of Johnson’s conversational powers first led Malone about this period, to new employment for leisure hours. This was to record his occasional remarks—those impressive droppings of wisdom and genius which left something on the mind for future remembrance, and use at fitting moments. Often pithy, always powerful, they were conveyed in language which most of his auditors felt to be elegant and aimed to preserve. At this time, Malone knew not Boswell, neither probably had heard of his biographical projects. But they became intimate soon afterward; and the collector freely furnished the biographer with such notes as were new and useful for the purpose he had in view.
Further consideration on this subject induced desire on the part of the critic to give notes of anything remarkable heard from other eminent men.—Not personal matters merely, but on books, manners, general and literary anecdotes, historical facts, matters amusing or instructive, yet too unimportant for more methodical record. Several of these in the form of diary, written down at the moment, naturally make part of the present narrative. Others, of more miscellaneous character, will be found at the conclusion of the volume.
Almost the first passage in these “Maloniana,” as he designates them, is given to Johnson:—
“March, 1783.
“Dr. Johnson is as correct and elegant in his common conversation as in his writings. He never seems to study either for thoughts or words; and is on all occasions so fluent, so well-informed, so accurate, and even eloquent, that I never left his company without regret. Sir Josh. Reynolds told me that from his first outset in life, he had always had this character; and by what means he had attained it. He told him he had early laid it down, as a fixed rule, always to do his best, on every occasion and in every company, to impart whatever he knew in the best language he could put it in; and that by constant practice, and never suffering any careless expression to escape him, or attempting to deliver his thoughts without arranging them in the clearest manner he could, it was now become habitual to him.
“I have observed, in my various visits to him, that he never relaxes in this respect. When first introduced I was very young; yet he was as accurate in his conversation as if he had been talking to the first scholar in England. I have always found him very communicative; ready to give his opinion on any subject that was mentioned. He seldom however starts a subject himself; but it is very easy to lead him into one.
“When I called about two months ago, I found him in his arm-chair by the fireside, before which a few apples were laid. He was reading. I asked him what book he had got. He said the History of Birmingham. Local histories, I observed, were generally dull. ‘It is true, sir; but this has a peculiar merit with me; for I passed some of my early years and married my wife there.’ I supposed the apples were preparing as medicine. ‘Why, no, sir; I believe they are only there because I want something to do. These are some of the solitary expedients to which we are driven by sickness. I have been confined this week past; and here you find me roasting apples, and reading the History of Birmingham.’
“I asked him if he had seen Mr. Mason’s translation of Du Fresnoy (which was just then published), and what he thought of it. He said he had read some pages, and that he thought it was executed with as much fidelity as was consistent with taste, and with as much elegance as could be employed without departing from fidelity; but that the epistle to Sir J. Reynolds was a very poor thing.
“Mr. Cole, of Milton near Cambridge, had died a few days before. He was a great antiquary and collector of books. On examining his library, his books[2] were found to contain a great many sarcastic remarks against persons now living, and with whom he had lived in intimacy, particularly Mr. Horace Walpole, who had been at school with him (as Mr. Walpole himself told me), and who used to send him a copy of every piece printed at Strawberry Hill.
“On mentioning this circumstance to Dr. Johnson, he said that ‘if Mr. Cole had scribbled in the margin of his books merely to give vent to his thoughts, it was a very harmless amusement; but then he ought to have ordered them to be burnt at his death: that if it arose from malignity, it argued a very base disposition, especially in the case of Mr. Walpole, with whom he kept up a friendly correspondence to the last. If however a man found he could not restrain his ill-humour within bounds, it would be much the shortest and fairest way’ (he added, with a smile) ‘to keep one fair paperbook, for the purpose of abusing all his acquaintance.’
“This Mr. Cole had another practice that seems hardly justifiable[3] in the extent to which he carried it. He kept all the letters he received, especially from literary persons, and pasted them into a large book. This, with all his other manuscript collections, he has devised to the British Museum, but ordered them not to be opened for thirty years. By that time, the anecdotes they contain will have little value; and most of those who take an interest in them will be dead. I should like much to see Mr. Walpole’s letters, he being a very lively and entertaining writer. My friend, Mr. Jephson, the author of several excellent tragedies, has had many letters from him, some of which I have seen, containing much good criticism on plays and playwriters.”
On a subsequent occasion we are informed:—
“In a conversation a few days ago with Dr. Johnson (April 24th, 1784), I asked him whether he was personally acquainted with Mr. Colley Cibber. He said he had not lived in any intimacy with him, but had sometimes been in his company; and that he was much more ignorant even of matters relating to his own profession, than he could well have conceived any man to be who had lived nearly sixty years with players, authors, and the most celebrated characters of the age.
“I asked also whether he could recollect all the pieces written by him since he first came to London? He said he believed he could; but this I doubt very much. I mentioned his proposals for a translation of Father Paul’s History of the Council of Trent, He said such a thing had been agitated, but he very soon relinquished the design. However, Mr. Henry, partner with the late Mr. Cave, Johnson’s first employer and patron, positively says that he saw six sheets of it actually printed, as Mr. Nichols, Henry’s present partner, informed me.”
Amid patriotic fervours nearly at the boiling point, yet with all the good nature that made them amusing, Lord Charlemont found time for a letter on those graceful and peaceful pursuits calculated to smooth even the rugged front of political contention. Thus he writes from his beautiful villa on Dublin Bay:—
Marino, October 4th, 1782.
My dear Malone,—You will probably be surprised and perhaps a little displeased, at being so long without an answer to your last kind letter. Indeed, I would not wish you to be entirely satisfied, and I cannot desire you should bear any apparent neglect on my part without some degree of displeasure; yet when you reflect on the busy scene in which I have been a principal actor, or the various occupations, civil and military, which have occupied my mind and body, you will, I doubt not, pardon and perhaps pity me, whose whole time has been taken up in occupations different from those you know to be my favourite amusements; more especially when you consider that I have been thus obliged to interrupt a constant correspondence which has ever been one of my most pleasing occupations. But my comfort is, that I have been doing my duty. From that I trust no fatigue either of mind or of body shall ever be able to deter me. I have now, however, a moment of leisure, indeed but a moment; and that I give to you and to our own pleasing subjects of literary intercourse.
Since I last wrote, I have had time only to peruse two books, idle ones indeed, and that by snatches: Warton’s Pope, and Bryant’s Rowley. The former is, I think, the most extraordinary work I ever read, and is indeed everything but what it promises. The writer seems to have copied, and impudently enough printed, his commonplace book of anecdotes and remarks upon various writers. Some parts are indeed critical, but his criticisms are not in my opinion always just, and there is but little anywhere to be found that can be called new.
As to Bryant, he ought, I think, to be answered by some of your Chattertonians, or Rowley may still have some chance with posterity, though the laugh be now against him. The arguments of his defenders are sometimes weak, but in many instances, if not answered critically, and not merrily, are strong enough to support a claim at least to some part of what is attributed to him. Indeed the whole controversy appears to me in some respects like that of Boyle and Bentley respecting the Epistles of Phalaris. All the wit and genius are on one side, together with some good argument, but the weight of proof seems to be on the other. In the case of Phalaris, wit supported the supposed imposture, which in the present controversy it endeavours to lay open; but the laugh is now forgotten, and the arguments remembered. Phalaris, after the reign of a few years, has lost his station, and perhaps in the same manner Rowley may resign his rank among English bards.
Now for the topic which has already given so much trouble. It is impossible for me at present to send you the catalogue you mention. Indeed I have not time to make it out, so that you may still purchase upon the hazard of your memory. I have a copy of Lydgate’s Troy, printed by Must. If that, however, which was offered to you be an earlier edition, I should be glad to have it; I cannot insert your fragment of Spenser without unbinding a very well-bound book, so I should be glad if you could procure any other piece of that author which I have not already, either in prose or verse, to which I might affix it, so as to form a supplemental volume.
Will you be so kind to ask Mr. Walpole how many numbers were published of the Strawberry Hill Collection, of old [Greet’s?] He gave me two, and I should wish to make up the lot; and if there be any more, beg you would procure them for me. I forget how much I owe you; please to let me have it in your next. Send me also in the next parcel Potter’s translations, and Chatterton’s avowed works, the former well-bound, and the latter in boards, as I wish to bind uniform.
The ladies desire their best compliments. My most affectionate and sincere good wishes to my dear Mr. Walpole; and the best compliments to all friends, particularly my brethren of the Club, and most particularly to Sir Joshua.
His brother, in the annual spring visit to London, came furnished with more than the usual number of recommendations from affectionate relatives to the wanderer to return. But this was more hopeless than ever. He had tasted of new life in a new region; and as certain animals cannot contentedly forego food to which they have heen once accustomed, so neither could he resign those mental feasts enjoyed in London libraries and societies.
Poor Dublin! what could she yield in return? Whiteboys (in her vicinity)—faction-fights—hostile religions—homely, if not coarse manners and customs—little literature—angry party spirit—narrow views—and now with an army of volunteers, influenced by genuine patriotism indeed, but without great care on the part of their leaders, likely to run wild and try to disconnect themselves from the only country that could advance their wealth and civilization. Amid her wit and her ease she was merely provincial; and provincialism is but another name for inferiority of every description, from a halfpenny ballad to an epic poem! Bishop Percy, in one of his letters, had injured the island materially in his opinion:—“In this remote part of the kingdom (Dromore) nothing could afford me a higher gratification than to be honoured with a few lines from you or any other of my good friends, to inform me what is doing in the literary world, of which I can seldom get intelligence sooner than it would reach to the East Indies.”
Toward the latter part of the year was commenced the main business of our Critic’s life—the edition of Shakspeare. A pretty long course of preliminary training, as we have seen, pointed to this as the natural result of the days and nights, the thought and research, devoted to the study of the poet and his age. Whatever new light had been thrown upon either, much obscurity remained. A steady, persevering advance into the mists of antiquity could alone render objects distinct. Connecting circumstances likewise demanded all the sagacity of the most deliberate inquirer. Each topic touched upon inevitably led to another. From the few known incidents of the poet’s life, it was necessary to glean and analyze such as were doubtful; to investigate the chronology of his plays; to furnish notices of the stage; of actors, authors, managers, facts, names, dates; and of family as well as of theatrical history. The subject necessarily grew by what it fed on. To keep each within moderate compass—to throw the clearest light upon the times, language, and allusions of the great writer without overpowering the patience or memory of the reader—became the test of the artist’s skill.
Antiquarian reading became a daily duty; but zeal made it a labour of love. His range proved unusually extensive. No sportsman followed the chase with more spirit than he did black-letter authorities; and if the game thus bagged did not always prove of the value he hoped, no question existed of the energy shown in the pursuit. Histories, poems, plays, pamphlets, letters, every species of paper, printed or manuscript, before, during, or after the age of Elizabeth, were sought out and consulted for such incidents or anecdotes as they could supply. He particularly dreaded being misled by careless predecessors. In the true spirit of such as write for futurity, no second-hand statements satisfied him where original authorities were known to exist.
The labour thus incurred became extreme. He travelled from library to repository; from private papers to public records; from universities to the British Museum and Stationers’ Hall in order to be exact. His heart yearned to his theme. Unlike the task set before the necessitous or unwilling workman, whose position incites a hasty glance and a running pen, he sat down deliberately to the enjoyment of his tastes amid the pleasures of social life, good company, and pecuniary ease. He was cut out for the work, and the work for him. To such men, when we can conveniently find them, seems of right to belong the business of research in matters critical, antiquarian, or of doubtful authority. They best can afford the leisure where leisure is essential to the elucidation of truth; and where, as in the instance before us, labour is seconded by judgment and discretion. If not always the highest effort of mind, inquiry is indispensable to the acquisition of accurate as of useful knowledge.
No obstacle appeared to stand in the way of the undertaking,—no rival was now in the field to confront. Steevens, by his own account, had been disgusted—“I never mean,” he wrote to Malone, “to appear again as editor of Shakspeare; nor will such assistance as I am able to furnish go towards any future gratuitous publication. Ingratitude and impertinence from several of the booksellers have been my reward for conducting two laborious editions, both of which are sold.”
In April, 1783, he goes further, and recommends Malone in a long letter to edit Shakspeare, as he has quite done with the pursuit. He is offended with Isaac Reed; requests his correspondent to draw up the account for the Gentleman’s Magazine, which he will transcribe “so that not even Nichols shall know the author.”
Towards the end of the year Malone was applied to by the Reverend Mr. Whalley, then preparing an edition of Ben Jonson, for such assistance as he could afford. But he had formed no love for that writer or his productions. Other commentators have expressed similar feelings. Some believe him to have been a personal enemy of his great contemporary—jealous, envious, and spiteful toward a genius superior to his own. This is perhaps unfair to “rare” Ben after the excellent poem written to his great contemporary’s memory. While living, indeed, many unhappy contentions arise among brethren; but after death, comes, or should come, truth. Yet little as either of their lives are known, it is scarcely fair to affix the passion of envy upon one who in the rivalries of a theatre may believe he has just cause for complaint. A passage from the reply of Malone fairly states his views: “I shall with great pleasure add my mite of contribution to your new edition of Ben Jonson, though I have very little hopes of being able to throw any light on what has eluded your researches. At the same time I must honestly own to you that I have never read old Ben’s plays with any degree of attention, and that he is an author so little to my taste that I have no pleasure in perusing him.” It appears by the same letter that he was then busy upon the “Second Appendix to my Supplement to Shakspeare.”
Accession to office of the Coalition Ministry gave him new occupation in trying to allure one of his friends into its ranks in Ireland. This was the celebrated Henry Flood—one of the men of whom she boasts; but who appears to have been deficient in the temper or tact necessary to attain the very highest success in political life.
Born in 1732 previous to the marriage ceremony, he was the son of Warden Flood, afterwards Lord Chief Justice of the Irish King’s Bench, and the first native who obtained that honour. The accident of birth did not mar his fortunes. From Trinity College, he removed to Christ Church, Oxford, under Dr. Markham, afterwards Archbishop of York; became from an idler a man of study; delighted in translating Greek orators and poets; and at length was said to read Greek as fluently as English. He als wrote good verses; a few fellow-students deemed his genius marred by entry at the Middle Temple; but summons to Ireland meant him to represent his native county in Parliament, or if that failed, the borough of Callan. Fond of the drama, he commenced at Farmley, his father’s seat, near Kilkenny, a course of private theatricals which have since become more celebrated; married Lady Frances Beresford, with a fortune of ten thousand pounds; and by the deaths of a brother, sister, and of his father who died in 1764, inherited a fortune of five thousand pounds per annum.
Such an outset in life left no opening for the lures of the Irish Secretary. He chose his seat upon the Opposition benches, assumed a lead upon all Irish topics; and acting with moderation, his patriotic reputation rose with his fame as an orator. Inconsistencies were laid to his charge, but the then complexities of Irish politics render it difficult to form an opinion. He opposed strenuously the government of Lord Townshend; and Malone, as we have seen, became an occasional assistant. But an unhappy event, then too common in Irish life, awaited him. He killed in a duel an opponent in the borough of Callan, Mr. Agar, who, having escaped in one encounter with him in the field, unluckily insisted upon a second.
In 1775 he accepted the office of Vice-Treasurer, and became Privy Councillor in both kingdoms. Under Lord Buckingham and Mr. Secretary Heron (1781) he resigned; no attention having been paid, as he urged, to certain previous stipulations. While in office he was nearly silent. Out of it he became an active opponent; till at length, in consequence of strenuous efforts against Lord Carlisle’s government, he was recommended to be dismissed from the honours of the Privy Council both in England and Ireland. On this occasion, the friendship of Lord Charlemont, which had cooled during his retention of office, broke forth with fresh enthusiasm on its close. In writing to Malone he says: “With Flood on our side, it is impossible to despair. Our sun has broke out from the cloud with redoubled lustre. His unparalleled conduct would scarcely be believed but by us who know the man; and his abilities are, if possible, greater than ever. Yet Grattan still shines with unabated brightness; and if numbers be against us, we have at least the satisfaction of having the weight of abilities entirely on our side. You may judge, as you know my heart, of the pleasure I feel from my friend’s conduct, from my friend’s return!”
It is creditable to the enlarged views of Flood, that he early contemplated removal from the Irish to the English House of Commons. First-class men are often lost in secondary positions; and local legislatures, such as was that of Ireland, must ever be so considered. They lie under the disadvantage of contracted views; are hampered by family interests, local influences, mistaken opinions, and are rarely in communion with the great interests of nations. How much would not the genius of Burke have been stunted had the chances of life thrown him into the Irish House of Commons? That wisdom which throughout his career made the politics of Europe but the echo of his opinions, would have fallen unheeded among an oligarchy of his country obedient to power, and a democracy pursuing place—where it has been said by native writers there were but sixty of the representative body independent of the influences of Administration. Isolation among such would be fatal to the utility of superior men. Great assemblages often bring forth, while they support, great intellects. A useful or an ambitious man should seek his station as near as possible to the fountain of power. Thence he may best distinguish the mistakes and dangers which obstruct his career. Who does not climb the hill for the largest extent of view? Who is content to disport in a pool with the open sea before him?
So early as 1767 he hinted the wish for removal to Lord Chatham through Mr. John Pitt, but it came to nothing. Other attempts also failed. They were renewed when the star of Grattan became in the ascendant and his own proportionally declined, till in 1783, the Duke of Chandos procured his return for Winchester. The dissolution consequent on the dismissal of the Coalition again sent him adrift on the popular waters; and his Grace was said to have shuffled out of a positive engagement so unfairly that a challenge from his Irish acquaintance was the result. Seaford was then tried; and on the third election he succeeded.
Fortune failed him in rendering the change conducive to increase of fame. Why, it is not easy to say; excepting that the reputation earned in one place does not necessarily accompany its possessor to another. He reached St. Stephen’s for the first time during the discussion of Fox’s India Bill. Insufficiently prepared, he was imprudent enough to take part against it;[4] and on avowing such insufficiency, paid the penalty of frankness to the ridicule and sarcasm of one of his countrymen (Courtenay[5]), who concluded the debate by telling the House, among other severe things, that here was an honourable member who by his own confession had just arrived from violent party contentions in his own country, and now, without the loss of an hour, exerted all his powers to embroil the senate of another!
From whatever cause, his advent became a failure. This—and perhaps the conviction that he stood alone in the House unconnected with either party—may have repressed future exertion save on important occasions. These were chiefly the Irish propositions, French commercial treaty, and reform in Parliament. Upon the latter he had previously laboured in Ireland, and Fox now pronounced his present measure the best yet proposed on that subject. On all these, his speeches were as good, his vigour and ingenuity as great, and his political views such as he had usually professed. But the claim of perfect independence of all party ties left him, as may be supposed, without supporters from either.
Without doubt, he was one of the ablest men which Ireland had produced—learned, acute, logical, earnest, and bold; his manner in debate perhaps more slow and sententious than is usual in England. As a statesman of general powers, he was often mentioned by Curran as far superior to Grattan.[6] He was probably self-willed, difficult to manage, desirous to think on all things for himself. Something of this escapes in defence of his tenure of the vice-treasurership against the invective of Grattan: “I felt myself a man of too much situation to be a mere placeman. If not a minister to serve my country, I would not be a mere tool of salary. What was the consequence? I voted with government in matters where they were clearly right, and against them in matters of importance where they were clearly wrong. In questions of little moment I did not vote at all.”
He was transplanted, too, at fifty, when new roots are difficult to strike. He saw the scene occupied by men of vast abilities whom he could not expect to surpass or displace. He had been a leader, and could not gracefully descend to the condition of subordinate. Or he may have refused to modify those opinions which, having long enunciated as truths in Ireland, he could not now unsay, however at variance with the larger and clearer views of another—and it must be admitted superior—assemblage of statesmen.
- ↑ It was reprinted in Dublin in 1791.
- ↑ They were sold to Benjamin White, the bookseller, and resold by him in one of his annual catalogues. Mr. Steevens picked out the most curious.
- ↑ Why not? Literary history without them would be of little interest. How much should we lose in authentic contemporary history and anecdote, were those of one of the parties mentioned here (Walpole) suppressed?
- ↑ Horace Walpole’s sagacity in immediately foreseeing the result of this imprudence upon Flood’s future reputation, is not a little remarkable. He writes to the Earl of Strafford, December 11, 1783:—“Mr. * * * (Flood), the pillar of invective, does not promise to re-erect it (the character of Parliament)—not, I conclude, from want of having imported a stock of ingredients, but his presumptuous début on the very night of his entry was so wretched, and delivered in so barbarous a brogue, that I question whether he will ever recover the blow Mr. Courtnay gave him. A young man may correct and improve, and rise from a first fall; but an elderly formed speaker has not an equal chance.”—Private Correspondence, vol. iv. p. 357. 1820.
- ↑ Well known in the political and literary societies of London. He had been in the army; afterwards held office in Ireland under the Marquis of Townshend; also under Whig administrations in England; mostly in Parliament. He wrote A Poetical Review of the Literary and Moral Character of Dr. Johnson, and other works. Became a great friend of Malone, though their politics after the French Revolution differed essentially.
- ↑ So I have been told by my late eminent friend, Charles Phillips, to whom Curran often spoke of him with high praise.