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The Adventures of Hugh Trevor

T >> Thomas Holcroft >> The Adventures of Hugh Trevor




'If so,' said I, 'Mr. Turl, how did it happen that you felt no
aversion to the confutation, as you suppose, of a man for whom you had
professed a regard?'

He replied, 'You, Mr. Trevor, are well acquainted with my answer:
"Socrates is my friend, Plato is my friend, but truth is more my
friend." If I myself had written falsehood yesterday, and now knew it
to be such, I would answer it to day. Would not you?'

It was a home question, and I was silent.

This subject ended, he made some kind and cordial inquiries
concerning my present pursuits, and these furnished the opportunity
of unburthening my heart. I related to him, with all the indignation
which resentment inspired, my whole history; and ended with informing
him of my determination to publish the vice and infamy of all the
parties to the world. On this a dialogue began.

'Which way will you publish them?'

'In a narrative, that I am now writing.'

'A sense of duty has obliged me to tell you that, in my opinion you
have been guilty of several mistakes already: you are now intent upon
another.'

'How so?'

'The excess of your anger perverts your judgment, and you cannot
write such a narrative without keeping your passions in a vitiated
state. Owing to the prejudices of mankind, you will impeach your own
credibility. Moderate men will think you rash, the precise will call
you a detractor, and the partisans, who are numerous, of the persons
you will attempt to expose will raise a cry against you, that will
infinitely overpower the equivocal proofs you can produce. It will
become a question of veracity, and yours will be invalidated by the
improbability, if not of the guilt, at least of the folly of your
persecutor's conduct. You cannot reform them, will do yourself much
harm, and the world no good. You will not only misemploy your time for
the present, but impede your power for the future.'

'If such be the consequences of honestly speaking the truth, what is
the conduct that I am to pursue? Am I to be a hypocrite, and listen
with approbation while men boast of their vices, glory in their
false principles, and proclaim the destructive projects they mean to
pursue?'

'No.'

'Is not silence approbation?'

'Yes.'

'Yet your system will not allow me to speak!'

'You accuse my system unjustly: it is the manner of speaking to which
it attends. The precaution of speaking so as to produce good, not bad,
consequences is the doctrine I wish to inculcate. He that should sweep
the streets of pea-shells, lest old women might break their necks,
would doubtless have good intentions; yet his office would only be
that of a scavenger. Speak, but speak to the world at large, not
to insignificant individuals. Speak in the tone of a benevolent
and disinterested heart, and not of an inflamed and revengeful
imagination! otherwise you endanger yourself, and injure society.'

'What, shall any cowardly regard to my own safety induce me to
the falsehood of silence? For is it not falsehood, of the most
contemptible and atrocious kind, to forbear publishing such miscreants
to the world? It is this base this selfish prudence, that encourages
men like these to proceed from crime to crime. Had they been exposed
in their first attempt, their effrontery could never have been so
enormous. No! I am determined! Were my life to be the sacrifice, I
will hold them up a beacon, alike to the wicked and the unwary! Will
paint them in the gross and odious colours that alone can characterize
their actions, and drive them from the society of mankind!'

'Do you conceive you are now speaking in the spirit of justice, or of
revenge?'

'Of both.'

He who is resolved not to be convinced does not wish to hear his last
argument answered. With this short reply, therefore, I rose, took my
hat, made some aukward apology, was sorry we were fated to differ so
continually in principle, but each man must act from his own judgment;
was obliged to him nevertheless for his sincerity and good intention,
and once more took my leave, more angry than pleased, much in the same
abrupt manner that I had formerly done. The similarity indeed forced
itself upon me as I was quitting the door, and I knew not whether to
accuse myself of pettishness, obstinacy, and want of candour; or him
of singularity, and an inflexible sternness of opposition. At all
events, my purpose of publishing my pamphlet as soon as it should be
written was fixed; and to that labour I immediately returned.




CHAPTER VI


_Story of Miss Wilmot concluded: Olivia not forgotten: A gaming-table
friend characterized: Modern magicians: Suspicious principles: The
friend's absence, and return: Allegorical wit, and dangerous advice_


Various causes induced me to take the first opportunity of again
visiting Miss Wilmot; her story had inspired compassion and respect.
She might be in want, and to relieve her would give me pleasure.
Beside which I had a number of questions to ask, especially concerning
this Wakefield; and some desire to know who and what the young lady,
who was so great a favourite with Mary, might be.

In the evening I saw Miss Wilmot; and, in offering her with as much
delicacy as possible pecuniary aid, she informed me that fortunately
she had found a friend; generous, beneficent, and tender; not less
prudent than kind; and, though very young, possessed of a dignity of
understanding such as she had never before met in woman. Miss Wilmot
spoke with so much enthusiasm that I, whose imagination readily caught
fire, felt a redoubled wish to see this angel.

I hinted it to Miss Wilmot, but with apologies; and she replied that
the young lady had expressly requested her visits might be private,
and her name concealed. I inquired how they had first become
acquainted, and learned that it was in consequence of the friendly
zeal of Mary, who had a countrywoman that lived servant in the family
of this young lady, and from whom she gained intelligence of the
liberal and noble qualities of her mistress. The first retreat of Miss
Wilmot, after leaving the house of the bishop, was to a poor lodging
provided by Mary. From this she was removed by the friendly young lady
to her present asylum, till she could find the means of maintaining
herself; and had since been supplied with necessaries through the same
channel. 'The favours she confers on me,' said Miss Wilmot, 'are not
so properly characterised by delicacy, as by a much higher quality;
an open and unaffected sensibility of soul; a benevolent intention
of promoting human happiness; and an unfeigned heart felt pleasure
which accompanies her in the performance of this delightful duty.
The particulars I have now related,' continued she, 'were all that
remained to be told when I was interrupted by Mary, at our last
meeting; and you are now acquainted with my whole story.'

Every conversation that I had with Miss Wilmot confirmed the truth of
her own remark, that her intellect had been greatly awakened by the
misfortunes in which her mistakes had involved her; and particularly
by the deep despondency of her brother. He, Wakefield, and the young
lady were the continual topics of her discourse; but her brother the
most and oftenest. I was several times a witness that the papers were
daily perused by her, with all those quick emotions of dread which she
had so emphatically described. The terror of his parting resolution
was almost too much for her, and it was with difficulty she preserved
her mind from madness. I saw its tendency, and took every opportunity
to sooth and calm her troubled spirit; and my efforts were not wholly
ineffectual.

In the mean time I did not forget that I was not possessed of the
purse of Fortunatus. On the contrary, I had a mighty task before me.
The image of Olivia incessantly haunted me. The ineffable beauty of
her form, the sweet and never to be forgotten sensibility that she
displayed when I first saw her in the presence of Andrews, at Oxford,
and the native unaffected dignity of her mind were my constant themes
of meditation. Must I behold her in the arms of another? The thought
was horror! Yet how to obtain her? If I studied the law, preliminary
forms alone would consume years. From the church I was banished. A
military life I from principle abhorred; even my half ripe philosophy
could not endure the supposition of being a hireling cut-throat.
Literature might afford me fame, but of riches gained from that source
there was scarcely an example.

From literary merit however men had obtained civil promotion; it must
not therefore be neglected. Of such neglect indeed my passionate love
of letters would not admit. With respect to law, though infinitely too
slow for the rapidity of my desires, still it was good to be prepared
for all events. I therefore entered myself of the Temple, and thus
began another snail-pace journey of term keeping.

Youth is a busy season, and, though occupations are forced upon it
of a nature too serious for its propensities, it fails not to find
time for amusement. In St. James's-street, near the palace, was
a billiard-table, to which when an inmate with Lord Idford I had
resorted. It was frequented by officers of the Guards, and other
persons who were chiefly supposed to be men of some character and
fashion. Among them I had met a young gentleman of the name of
Belmont, remarkable for the easy familiarity of his address, an
excellent billiard player, and who had in a manner attached himself to
me, by a degree of attention that was engaging. I thought indeed that
I discovered contradictory qualities in him; but the sprightliness of
his imagination, and the whimsicality of his remarks, compensated
for a looseness of principle, which was too apparent to be entirely
overlooked.

He frequently turned the conversation on the county of which I was a
native, having, as he informed me, and as his discourse shewed, many
acquaintance in that county. Since my return to town I had again met
him, and he had sought my company with increasing ardour.

Flattered by this preference, and often delighted with the flights
of his fancy, I returned his advances with great cordiality. His
appearance was always genteel, but from various circumstances I
collected that he was not at present rich. His expectations, according
to his own account, were great; and his familiar habits of treating
every man, be his rank or fashion what it might, seemed to signify
that he considered himself their equal.

When we first met, after my return to town, he was desirous I should
relate to him where I had been, and what had befallen me: and when he
heard that I had visited the county of--he became more pressing to
know all that had happened. To encourage me, he gave me the following
account of himself.

'For my own part, Mr. Trevor, I am at present under a cloud. I shall
sometime or another break forth, and be a gay fellow once again: nor
can I tell how soon. I love to see life, and I do not believe there
is a man in England of my age, who has seen more of it. Perhaps you
will laugh when I tell you that, since we last parted, I have been
_vagabondizing_. You do not understand the term? It offends your
delicacy? I will explain.'

He saw he had raised my curiosity, and with a loquacity that sat easy
on him, and a vivacity of imagery in which as I have said he excelled,
he thus continued.

'Perhaps you will think a gentleman degraded, by having subjected
himself to the denomination of a vagrant? Though, no; you have wit
enough to laugh at gray-beards, and their ridiculous forms and absurd
distinctions. Know then, there is a certain set or society of men,
frequently to be met in straggling parties about this kingdom, who,
by a peculiar kind of magic, will metamorphose an old barn, stable,
or out-house, in such a wonderful manner that the said barn, stable,
or out-house, shall appear, according as it suits the will or purpose
of the said magicians, at one time a prince's palace; at another a
peasant's cottage; now the noisy receptacle of drunken clubs and
wearied travellers, called an inn; anon the magnificent dome of a
Grecian temple. Nay, so vast is their art that, by pronouncing audibly
certain sentences which are penned down for them by the head or master
magician, they transport the said barn, stable, or out-house, thus
metamorphosed, over sea or land, rocks, mountains or deserts, into
whatsoever hot, cold, or temperate region the director wills, with as
much facility as my lady's squirrel can crack a nut. What is still
more wonderful, they carry all their spectators along with them,
without the witchery of broomsticks.

'These necromancers, although whenever they please they become
princes, kings, and heroes, and reign over all the empires of the vast
and peopled earth; though they bestow governments, vice-royalties,
and principalities upon their adherents, divide the spoils of nations
among their pimps, pages, and parasites, and give a kingdom for a
kiss, for they are exceedingly amorous; yet, no sooner do their
sorceries cease, though but the moment before they were reveling and
banqueting with Marc Antony, or quaffing nectar with Jupiter himself,
it is a safe wager of a pound to a penny that half of them go
supperless to bed. A set of poor but pleasant rogues! miserable but
merry wags! that weep without sorrow, stab without anger, die without
dread, and laugh, sing, and dance to inspire mirth in others while
surrounded themselves with wretchedness.

'A thing still more remarkable in these enchanters is that they
completely effect their purpose, and make those who delight in
observing the wonderful effects of their art laugh or cry, condemn or
admire, love or hate, just as they please; subjugating the heart with
every various passion: more especially when they pronounce the charms
and incantations of a certain sorcerer called Shakspeare, whose
science was so powerful that he himself thus describes it.

--'I have oft be-dimm'd
The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt: the strong-bas'd promontory
Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up
The pine and cedar: graves, at my command,
Have wak'd their sleepers; op'd, and let them forth
By my so potent art.'

'I understand you,' said I; delighted with the picture he had drawn.
'Your necessities have obliged you to turn player?'

'Not altogether my necessities,' answered he: 'it was more from a
frolic, and to know the world. That is my study, Mr. Trevor. But can
you tell me why players, by following their profession, act in some
places contrary to all law, and are called strollers, vagabonds, and
vagrants, and in others are protected by the law, and dignified with
the high and mighty title of his Majesty's Servants?'--

'Indeed I cannot,' said I.

He continued: 'Mark my words; the day will come, Mr. Trevor, when you
will discover that there are greater jugglers in the world than your
players, wonderful as their art of transformation is. The world is all
a cheat; its pleasures are for him who is most expert in legerdemain
and cajolery; and he is a fool indeed who is juggled out of his share
of them. But that will not I be.'

He then turned the conversation to me, and what had happened during my
visit in the country. I was beginning my short narrative, but we were
interrupted by an acquaintance, who joined us; and we two or three
times met again in the billiard-room, before any opportunity presented
itself.

One evening however he followed me out, and required me to discharge
my promise. Accordingly I told him all that had occurred; but not
without those feelings of indignation which the subject always
awakened. He rather seemed diverted than to sympathize in my angry
sensations, and asked me 'whether I thought those men, whom the world
call swindlers, black-legs, and other hard names, were not at least as
honest as many of their neighbours?'

He paid most attention to my mother's story; and, I having
characterized Wakefield according to the traits my mother and Miss
Wilmot had given me, he observed that 'this Wakefield must certainly
be a cunning fellow, and of no mean abilities.'

'In my opinion,' I replied, 'he is an unprincipled scoundrel; and
indeed a greater fool than knave; for, with the same ingenuity that he
has exerted to make all mankind his enemies, he might have made them
all his friends.'

Belmont's answer was remarkable. 'You have this ingenuity yourself,
Mr. Trevor; talents which you have exerted, in your own way. Have you
made all men your friends?'

I was silent, and after a moment's pause he added--'Come, come! You
have spirit and generosity; I will tell you how you can serve me. I
have a relation, from whom I could draw a good supply at this moment,
if I had but a small sum for travelling expences. Lend me ten guineas:
I will be back in a week and repay you.'

The pleasantness of his humour, and the manner in which he had gained
upon me, were sufficient to insure him a compliance with this request.
I had the money in my pocket, gave it him, and we bade each other
adieu; with a promise on his part that 'he would soon be in town
again, new moulted and full of feather.'

I must not omit to notice that, having had occasion to hint at Miss
Wilmot, in the story I had told him, but without mentioning her name,
which he never indeed seemed desirous to know, he put many questions
relating to her. He inquired too concerning her brother; and, though
he gave no tokens of deep passion, was evidently interested in the
whole narrative. His queries extended even to the bishop, and the
earl; and he discovered a great desire to be minutely informed of all
that related to me. His interrogatories were answered without reserve,
for I understood them as tokens of friendship.

In less than a fortnight, I met him again, at the usual place:
for he had always been averse to visit me at my lodgings. This I
had attributed to motives of vanity; for example, his not having
apartments perhaps, such as he wished, to invite me to in return. His
appearance, the moment I saw him, spoke his success. His dress was
much improved, he sported his money freely, and being engaged at play
more than once betted ten pounds upon the hazard. He was successful
in his match, in high spirits, welcomed me heartily, and was full of
those flights in which his vigorous imagination was so happy.

'Life,' said he, 'Trevor,' putting on his coat after he had done play,
'life is a game at calculation; and he that plays the best of it is
the cleverest fellow. Or, rather, calculation and action are husband
and wife; married without a possibility of divorce. The greatest
errors of Mrs. Action proceed from a kind of headstrong feminine
propensity, which she has to be doing before her husband, Mr.
Calculation, has given her proper directions. She often pours a
spoonful of scalding soup into his worship's mouth, before the
relative heat between the liquid and the papillary nerves has been
properly determined; at which, in the aforesaid true feminine spirit,
she is apt, while he makes wry faces, to burst into a violent fit of
laughter.

'Not but that Mrs. Action herself has sometimes very just cause of
complaint against her spouse; as most wives have. For example: If, in
coming down stairs, Mr. Calculation have made an occasional error but
of a unit, and told her ladyship she had only one step more to descend
when she had two, she, coming with an unexpected jerk in the increased
ratio of a falling body, is very much alarmed; and when the tip of
her rose-coloured tongue has happened, on such occasions, to project
a little beyond the boundaries prescribed by those beautiful barriers
of ivory called her teeth, it has suffered a sudden incision; nay
sometimes amputation itself: a very serious mischief; for this is
wounding a lady in a tender part.

'What is error? Defect in calculation. What is ignorance? Defect in
calculation. What is poverty, disgrace, and all the misfortunes to
which fools are subject? Defect in calculation.'

By this time we were in the street, walking arm in arm toward the
park, and he continued his jocular allegory.--

'You tell me you have a mind to turn author; and this makes me suspect
you understand but little of the algebra of authorship. Could you but
calculate the exact number of impediments, doubts, and disappointments
attending the trade, could you but find the sum of the objections
which yourself, your friends, and your employers will raise, not only
against your book but against the best book that ever was or will be
written, the remainder would be a query, the produce of which would be
a negative quantity, which would probably prevent both Sir and Madam
from reading either the nonsense or the good sense, the poetry or the
prose, the simple or the sublime, of the rhapsodical, metaphorical,
allegorical genius, Hugh Trevor: for in that case I suspect Hugh
Trevor would find a more pleasant and profitable employment than the
honourable trade of authorship. I have read books much, but men more,
and think I can bring my wit to a better market than the slow and
tedious detail of an A, B, C, manufactory.'

I laughed and listened, and he presently broke forth with another
simile.

'In what is the maker of a book better than the maker of a coat?
Needle and thread, pen and ink; cloth uncut and paper unsoiled; where
is the preference? except that the tailor's materials are the more
costly. In days of yore, the gentlemen of the thimble gave us plenty
of stay-tape and buckram; the gentlemen of the quill still give us
a _quantum sufficit_ of hard words and parenthesis. The tailor has
discovered that a new coat will sit more _degage_, and wear better,
the less it is incumbered by trimmings: but though buckram is almost
banished from Monmouth-street, it is still on sale in Paternoster-row.

'I once began to write a book myself, and began it in this very
style: Fable, said I, is the cloth, and morality the lining; a
good diction makes an excellent facing, satire ensures fashion,
and humour duration; and for an author to pretend to write without
wit and judgment were as senseless as for a tailor to endeavour to
work without materials, or shears to cut them. Periods may aptly be
compared to buttons; and button holes are like--

'I could find no simile for button holes, and thank heaven! left off
in despair and never wrote another line.

'Take my advice, Trevor; quit all thoughts of so joyless and
stupifying a trade! Every blockhead can sneer at an author; the title
itself is a sarcasm; and Job, who we are told was the most patient of
men, uttered the bitterest wish that ever fell from lips: "Oh that
mine enemy had written a book!"

'Beside you are a fellow of spirit, fashion, form, and figure; and if
you will but keep company with me may learn a little wit. How many
fools are there with full purses, which if you be not as great a fool
as any of them, you might find the means to empty? He that is bound by
rules, which the rich make purposely to rob the poor of their due, is
like crows, scared from picking up the scattered corn by rags and a
manikin.'

This discourse gave me no surprise; it was what I imagined to be
a free loose mode of talking, that did not correspond with his
principles of action. I deemed it a love of paradox, a desire to
shew his wit and original turn of thought, and was confirmed in
the supposition by his ironical and ludicrous replies, whenever I
attempted a serious answer. Such was the history of the beginning of
an acquaintance of which the reader will hear more.




CHAPTER VII


_An important secret betrayed by Mary: Transporting intelligence: The
reverse, or rain after sunshine: The reader entrusted with a secret:
Strange behaviour of a false friend: Lover's vows_


I did not suffer a day to pass without either seeing or sending to
inquire after Miss Wilmot; so that our intercourse was continual. One
afternoon, being in my own room, after hearing as I thought footsteps
and female voices on the stairs, Mary knocked at my door, and,
entering as desired, shewed marks of eagerness on her countenance, the
meaning of which a question from me immediately caused her to explain.
'Lord! Sir,' said she, 'you cannot think what a hurry and flurry I be
in! And all about you!'

'Me, Mary?'

'You shall hear, Sir. My mistress is gone out to take a walk in the
park, as I _avised_ her to _divart_ her _mellicholy_; and so the dear
young lady has _bin_ here; Miss--! I had forgotten! I _munna_ tell her
name. But if ever there _wur_ an angel upon _arth_ she is one; she
says such kind things to my dear mistress, and does not blame her for
her fault; for, _thof_ she be as innocent herself as the child unborn,
she can pity the _misfortins_ of her own _sect_, when they a _bin_
betrayed by false hearted men; and all that she says is that we _mun_
take care to be more be-cautioned for the time to come: and then she
says it in so sweet, and yet so _serus_ a manner, that I am sure no
Christian soul if they'd a heard her would dare do other than as she
says. And as for a doing a good turn, I do verily believe she would
give the morsel out of her mouth afore a poor creature should be
driven to sin and shame for want--'

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