Necessity is very soon brought to bed, when a man puts his fingers into
his pockets, finds them untenanted, and remembers that the only friend
who would consent to lend him five shillings is gone out of town; and
the infant, Invention, presently smiles into the nurse's face. But it
was no uncommon thing in those days for gentlemen to invite themselves
where they listed, and stay as long as they liked. It was only necessary
for them to make themselves really agreeable, and deceive their host in
some way or other. Hook's friend, little Tom Hill, of whom it was said
that he knew everybody's affairs far better than they did themselves,
was famous for examining kitchens about the hour of dinner, and quietly
selecting his host according to the odour of the viands. It is of him
that the old 'Joe Miller' is told of the 'haunch of venison.' Invited to
dinner at one house, he _happens_ to glance down into the kitchen of the
next, and seeing a tempting haunch of venison on the spit, throws over
the inviter, and ingratiates himself with his neighbour, who ends by
asking him to stay to dinner. The fare, however, consisted of nothing
more luxurious than an Irish stew, and the disappointed guest was
informed that he had been 'too cunning by half,' inasmuch as the venison
belonged to his original inviter, and had been cooked in the house he
was in by kind permission, because the chimney of the owner's kitchen
smoked.
The same principle often actuated Theodore; and, indeed, there are few
stories which can be told of this characteristic of the great frolicker,
which have not been told a century of times.
For instance: two young men are strolling, towards 5 P.M., in the then
fashionable neighbourhood of Soho; the one is Terry, the actor--the
other, Hook, the actor, for surely he deserves the title. They pass a
house, and sniff the viands cooking underground. Hook quietly announces
his intention of dining _there_. He enters, is admitted and announced by
the servant, mingles with the company, and is quite at home before he is
perceived by the host. At last the _dénouement_ came; the dinner-giver
approached the stranger, and with great politeness asked his name.
'Smith' was, of course, the reply, and reverting to mistakes made by
servants in announcing, &c., 'Smith' hurried off into an amusing story,
to put his host in good humour. The conversation that followed is taken
from 'Ingoldsby':--
'But, really, my dear sir,' the host put in, 'I think the mistake on the
present occasion does not originate in the source you allude to; I
certainly did not anticipate the honour of Mr. Smith's company to-day.'
'No, I dare say not. You said _four_ in your note, I know, and it is
now, I see, a quarter past five; but the fact is, I have been detained
in the City, as I was going to explain--'
'Pray,' said the host, 'whom do you suppose you are addressing?'
'Whom? why Mr. Thompson, of course, old friend of my father. I have not
the pleasure, indeed, of being personally known to you, but having
received your kind invitation yesterday,' &c. &c.
'No, sir, my name is not Thompson, but Jones,' in highly indignant
accents.
'Jones!' was the well-acted answer: 'why, surely, I cannot have--yes I
must--good heaven! I see it all. My _dear_ sir, what an unfortunate
blunder; wrong house--what must you think of such an intrusion? I am
really at a loss for words in which to apologize; you will permit me to
retire at present, and to-morrow--'
'Pray, don't think of retiring,' rejoined the host, taken with the
appearance and manner of the young man. 'Your friend's table must have
been cleared long ago, if, as you say, four was the hour named, and I am
too happy to be able to offer you a seat at mine.'
It may be easily conceived that the invitation had not to be very often
repeated, and Hook kept the risible muscles of the company upon the
constant stretch, and paid for the entertainment in the only coin with
which he was well supplied.
There was more wit, however, in his visit to a retired watchmaker, who
had got from government a premium of £10,000 for the best chronometer.
Hook was very partial to journeys in search of adventure; a gig, a
lively companion, and sixpence for the first turnpike being generally
all that was requisite; ingenuity supplied the rest. It was on one of
these excursions, that Hook and his friend found themselves in the
neighbourhood of Uxbridge, with a horse and a gig, and not a sixpence to
be found in any pocket. Now a horse and gig are property, but of what
use is a valuable of which you cannot dispose or deposit at a
pawnbroker's, while you are prevented proceeding on your way by that
neat white gate with the neat white box of a house at its side? The only
alternative left to the young men was to drive home again, dinnerless, a
distance of twenty miles, with a jaded horse, or to find gratuitous
accommodation for man and beast. In such a case Sheridan would simply
have driven to the first inn, and by persuasion or stratagem contrived
to elude payment, after having drunk the best wine and eaten the best
dinner the house could afford. Hook was really more refined, as well as
bolder in his pillaging.
The villa of the retired tradesman was perceived, and the gig soon drew
up before the door. The strangers were ushered in to the watchmaker, and
Hook, with great politeness and a serious respectful look, addressed
him. He said that he felt he was taking a great liberty--so he was--but
that he could not pass the door of a man who had done the country so
much service by the invention of what must prove the most useful and
valuable instrument, without expressing to him the gratitude which he,
as a British subject devoted to his country's good, could not but feel
towards the inventor, &c. &c. The flattery was so delicately and so
seriously insinuated, that the worthy citizen could only receive it as
an honest expression of sincere admiration. The Rubicon was passed; a
little lively conversation, artfully made attractive by Hook, followed,
and the watchmaker was more and more gratified. He felt, too, what an
honour it would be to entertain two real gentlemen, and remarking that
they were far from town, brought out at last the longed-for invitation,
which was, of course, declined as out of the question. Thereupon the old
gentleman became pressing: the young strangers were at last prevailed
upon to accept it, and very full justice they did to the larder and
cellar of the successful chronometer-maker.
There is nothing very original in the act of hoaxing, and Hook's way of
getting a hackney-coach without paying for it, was, perhaps, suggested
by Sheridan's, but was more laughable. Finding himself in the vehicle,
and knowing that there was nothing either in his purse or at home to pay
the fare, he cast about for expedients, and at last remembered the
address of an eminent surgeon in the neighbourhood. He ordered the
coachman to drive to his house and knock violently at the door, which
was no sooner opened than Hook rushed in, terribly agitated, demanded to
see the doctor, to whom in a few incoherent and agitated sentences, he
gave to understand that his wife needed his services, immediately, being
on the point of becoming a mother.
'I will start directly,' replied the surgeon; 'I will order my carriage
at once.'
'But, my dear sir, there is not a moment to spare. I have a coach at the
door, jump into that.'
The surgeon obeyed. The name and address given were those of a
middle-aged spinster of the most rigid virtue. We can imagine her
indignation, and how sharply she rung the bell, when the surgeon had
delicately explained the object of his visit, and how eagerly he took
refuge in the coach. Hook had, of course, walked quietly away in the
meantime, and the Galenite had to pay the demand of Jehu.
The hoaxing stories of Theodore Hook are numberless. Hoaxing was the
fashion of the day, and a childish fashion too. Charles Mathews, whose
face possessed the flexibility of an acrobat's body, and who could
assume any character or disguise on the shortest notice, was his great
confederate in these plots. The banks of the Thames were their great
resort. At one point there was Mathews talking gibberish in a disguise
intended to represent the Spanish Ambassador, and actually deceiving the
Woolwich authorities by his clever impersonation. At another, there was
Hook landing uninvited with his friends upon the well-known,
sleek-looking lawn of a testy little gentleman, drawing out a note-book
and talking so authoritatively about the survey for a canal, to be
undertaken by Government, that the owner of the lawn becomes frightened,
and in his anxiety attempts to conciliate the mighty self-made official
by the offer of dinner--of course accepted.
[Illustration: THEODORE HOOK'S ENGINEERING FROLIC.]
Then the _Arcades ambo_ show off their jesting tricks at Croydon fair, a
most suitable place for them. On one occasion Hook personates a madman,
accusing Mathews, 'his brother,' of keeping him out of his rights and in
his custody. The whole fair collects around them, and begins to
sympathise with Hook, who begs them to aid in his escape from his
'brother.' A sham escape and sham capture take place, and the party
adjourn to the inn, where Mathews, who had been taken by surprise by the
new part suddenly played by his confederate, seized upon a hearse, which
drew up before the inn, on its return from a funeral, persuaded the
company to bind the 'madman,' who was now becoming furious, and who
would have deposited him in the gloomy vehicle, if he had not succeeded
in snapping his fetters, and so escaped. In short, they were two boys,
with the sole difference, that they had sufficient talent and experience
of the world to maintain admirably the parts they assumed.
But a far more famous and more admirable talent in Theodore than that of
deception was that of improvising. The art of improvising belongs to
Italy and the Tyrol. The wonderful gift of ready verse to express
satire, and ridicule, seems, as a rule, to be confined to the
inhabitants of those two lands. Others are, indeed, scattered over the
world, who possess this gift, but very sparsely. Theodore Hook stands
almost alone in this country as an improviser. Yet to judge of such of
his verses as have been preserved, taken down from memory or what not,
the grand effect of them--and no doubt it _was_ grand--must have been
owing more to his manner and his acting, than to any intrinsic value in
the verses themselves, which are, for the most part, slight, and devoid
of actual wit, though abounding in puns. Sheridan's testimony to the
wonderful powers of the man is, perhaps, more valuable than that of any
one else, for he was a good judge both of verse and of wit. One of
Hook's earliest displays of his talent was at a dinner given by the
Drury Lane actors to Sheridan at the Piazza Coffee House in 1808. Here,
as usual, Hook sat down to the piano, and touching off a few chords,
gave verse after verse on all the events of the entertainment, on each
person present, though he now saw many of them for the first time, and
on anything connected with the matters of interest before them. Sheridan
was delighted, and declared that he could not have believed such a
faculty possible if he had not witnessed its effects: that no
description 'could have convinced him of so peculiar an instance of
genius,' and so forth.
One of his most extraordinary efforts in this line is related by Mr.
Jerdan. A dinner was given by Mansell Reynolds to Lockhart, Luttrell,
Coleridge, Hook, Tom Hill, and others. The grown-up schoolboys, pretty
far gone in Falernian, of a home-made, and very homely vintage, amused
themselves by breaking the wine-glasses, till Coleridge was set to
demolish the last of them with a fork thrown at it from the side of the
table. Let it not be supposed that any teetotal spirit suggested this
inconoclasm, far from it--the glasses were too small, and the poets, the
wits, the punsters, the jesters, preferred to drink their port out of
tumblers. After dinner Hook gave one of his songs which satirized
successively, and successfully, each person present. He was then
challenged to improvise on any given subject, and by way of one as far
distant from poetry as could be, _cocoa-nut oil_ was fixed upon.
Theodore accepted the challenge; and after a moment's consideration
began his lay with a description of the Mauritius, which he knew so
well, the negroes dancing round the cocoa-nut tree, the process of
extracting the oil, and so forth, all in excellent rhyme and rhythm, if
not actual poetry. Then came the voyage to England, hits at the Italian
warehousemen, and so on, till the oil is brought into the very lamp
before them in that very room, to show them with the light it feeds and
make them able to break wine-glasses and get drunk from tumblers. This
we may be sure Hook himself did, for one, and the rest were probably not
much behind him.
In late life this gift of Hook's--improvising I mean, not getting
intoxicated--was his highest recommendation in society, and at the same
time his bane. Like Sheridan, he was ruined by his wonderful natural
powers. It can well be imagined that to improvise in the manner in which
Hook did it, and at a moment's notice, required some effort of the
intellect. This effort became greater as circumstances depressed his
spirits more and more and yet with every care upon his mind, he was
expected, wherever he went, to amuse the guests with a display of his
talent. He could not do so without stimulants, and rather than give up
society, fell into habits of drinking, which hastened his death.
We have thrown together the foregoing anecdotes of Hook, irrespective of
time, in order to show what the man's gifts were, and what his title to
be considered a wit. We must proceed more steadily to a review of his
life. Successful as Hook had proved as a writer for the stage, he
suddenly and without any sufficient cause rushed off into another branch
of literature, that of novel-writing. His first attempt in this kind of
fiction was 'The Man of Sorrow,' published under the _nom de plume_ of
_Alfred Allendale_. This was not, as its name would seem to imply, a
novel of pathetic cast, but the history of a gentleman whose life from
beginning to end is rendered wretched by a succession of mishaps of the
most ludicrous but improbable kind. Indeed Theodore's novels, like his
stage-pieces, are gone out of date in an age so practical that even in
romance it will not allow of the slightest departure from reality. Their
very style was ephemeral, and their interest could not outlast the
generation to amuse which they were penned. This first novel was written
when Hook was one-and-twenty. Soon after he was sent to Oxford, where he
had been entered at St. Mary's Hall, more affectionately known by the
nickname of 'Skimmery.' No selection could have been worse. Skimmery
was, at that day, and, until quite recently, a den of thieves, where
young men of fortune and folly submitted to be pillaged in return for
being allowed perfect licence, as much to eat as they could possibly
swallow, and far more to drink than was at all good for them. It has
required all the enterprise of the present excellent Principal to
convert it into a place of sober study. It was then the most
'gentlemanly' residence in Oxford; for a gentleman in those days meant a
man who did nothing, spent his own or his father's guineas with a
brilliant indifference to consequences, and who applied his mind solely
to the art of frolic. It was the very place where Hook would be
encouraged instead of restrained in his natural propensities, and had he
remained there he would probably have ruined himself and his father long
before he had put on the sleeves.
At the matriculation itself he gave a specimen of his 'fun.'
When asked, according to the usual form, 'if he was willing to sign the
Thirty-nine Articles,' he replied, 'Certainly, sir, _forty_ if you
please.' The gravity of the stern Vice-Chancellor was upset, but as no
Oxford Don can ever pardon a joke, however good, Master Theodore was
very nearly being dismissed, had not his brother, by this time a
Prebendary of Winchester, and 'an honour to his college, sir,'
interceded in his favour.
The night before, he had given a still better specimen of his
effrontery. He had picked up a number of old Harrovians, with whom he
had repaired to a tavern for song, supper, and sociability, and as usual
in such cases, in the lap of Alma Mater, the babes became sufficiently
intoxicated, and not a little uproarious. Drinking in a tavern is
forbidden by Oxonian statutes, and one of the proctors happening to pass
in the street outside, was attracted into the house by the sound of
somewhat unscholastic merriment. The effect can be imagined. All the
youths were in absolute terror, except Theodore, and looked in vain for
some way to escape. The wary and faithful 'bulldogs' guarded the
doorway; the marshal, predecessor of the modern omniscient Brown,
advanced respectfully behind the proctor into the room, and passing a
penetrating glance from one youth to the other, all of whom--except
Theodore again--he knew by sight--for that is the pride and pleasure of
a marshal--mentally registered their names in secret hopes of getting
half-a-crown a-piece to forget them again.
No mortal is more respectful in his manner of accosting you than an
Oxford proctor, for he may make a mistake, and a mistake may make him
very miserable. When, for instance, a highly respectable lady was the
other day lodged, in spite of protestations, in the 'Procuratorial
Rooms,' and there locked up on suspicion of being somebody very
different, the over-zealous proctor who had ordered her incarceration
was sued for damages for £300, and had to pay them too! Therefore the
gentleman in question most graciously and suavely inquired of Mr.
Theodore Hook--
'I beg your pardon, sir, but are you a member of this university?'--the
usual form.
'No, sir, I am not. Are you?'
The suavity at once changed to grave dignity. The proctor lifted up the
hem of his garment, which being of broad velvet, with the selvage on it,
was one of the insignia of his office, and sternly said,--'You see this,
sir.'
'Ah!' said Hook, cool as ever, and quietly feeling the material, which
he examined with apparent interest, 'I see; Manchester velvet: and may I
take the liberty, sir, of inquiring how much you have paid per yard for
the article?'
A roar of laughter from all present burst forth with such vehemence that
it shot the poor official, red with suppressed anger, into the street
again, and the merrymakers continued their bout till the approach of
midnight, when they were obliged to return to their respective colleges.
Had Theodore proceeded in this way for several terms, no doubt the
outraged authorities would have added his name to the list of the great
men whom they have expelled from time to time most unprophetically. As
it was, he soon left the groves of Academus, and sought those of Fashion
in town. His matriculation into this new university was much more
auspicious; he was hailed in society as already fit to take a degree of
bachelor of his particular arts, and ere long his improvising, his fun,
his mirth--as yet natural and over-boiling--his wicked punning, and his
tender wickedness, induced the same institution to offer him the grade
of 'Master' of those arts. In after years he rose to be even 'Doctor,'
and many, perhaps, were the minds diseased to which his well-known mirth
ministered.
It was during this period that some of his talents were displayed in the
manner we have described, though his great fame as an improvisatore was
established more completely in later days. Yet he had already made
himself a name in that species of wit--not a very high one--which found
favour with the society of that period. We allude to imitation, 'taking
off,' and punning. The last contemptible branch of wit-making, now
happily confined to 'Punch,' is as old as variety of language. It is not
possible with simple vocabularies, and accordingly is seldom met with in
purely-derived languages. Yet we have Roman and Greek puns; and English
is peculiarly adapted to this childish exercise, because, being made up
of several languages, it necessarily contains many words which are like
in sound and unlike in meaning. Punning is, in fact, the vice of English
wit, the temptation of English mirth-makers, and, at last, we trust, the
scorn of English good sense. But in Theodore's day it held a high place,
and men who had no real wit about them could twist and turn words and
combinations of words with great ingenuity and much readiness, to the
delight of their listeners. Pun-making was a fashion among the
conversationists of that day, and took the place of better wit. Hook was
a disgraceful punster, and a successful one. He strung puns together by
the score--nothing more easy--in his improvised songs and conversation.
Take an instance from his quiz on the march of intellect:--
'Hackney-coachmen from _Swift_ shall reply, if you feel
Annoyed at being needlessly shaken;
And butchers, of course, be flippant from _Steele_,
And pig-drivers well versed in _Bacon_.
From _Locke_ shall the blacksmiths authority brave,
And gas-men cite _Coke_ at discretion;
Undertakers talk _Gay_ as they go to the _grave_,
And watermen _Rowe_ by profession.'
I have known a party of naturally stupid people produce a whole century
of puns one after another, on any subject that presented itself, and I
am inclined to think that nothing can, at the same time, be more
nauseous, or more destructive to real wit. Yet Theodore's strength lay
in puns, and when shorn of them, the Philistines might well laugh at his
want of strength. Surely his title to wit does not lie in that
direction.
However, he amused, and that gratis; and an amusing man makes his way
anywhere if he have only sufficient tact not to abuse his privileges.
Hook grew great in London society for a time, and might have grown
greater if a change had not come.
He had supported himself, up to 1812, almost entirely by his pen: and
the goose-quill is rarely a staff, though it may sometimes be a
walking-stick. It was clear that he needed--what so many of us need and
cannot get--a certainty. Happy fellow! he might have begged for an
appointment for years in vain, as many another does, but it fell into
his lap, no one knows how, and at four-and-twenty Mr. Theodore Edward
Hook was made treasurer to the Island of Mauritius, with a salary of
£2,000 per annum. This was not to be, and was not, despised. In spite of
climate, mosquitoes, and so forth, Hook took the money and sailed.
We have no intention of entering minutely upon his conduct in this
office, which has nothing to do with his character as a wit. There are a
thousand and one reasons for believing him guilty of the charges brought
against him, and a thousand and one for supposing him guiltless. Here
was a young man, gay, jovial, given to society entirely, and not at all
to arithmetic, put into a very trying and awkward position--native
clerks who would cheat if they could, English governors who would find
fault if they could, a disturbed treasury, an awkward currency, liars
for witnesses, and undeniable evidence of defalcation. In a word, an
examination was made into the state of the treasury of the island, and a
large deficit found. It remained to trace it home to its original
author.
Hook had not acquired the best character in the island. Those who know
the official dignity of a small British colony can well understand how
his pleasantries must have shocked those worthy big-wigs who, exalted
from Pump Court, Temple, or Paradise Row, Old Brompton, to places of
honour and high salaries, rode their high horses with twice the
exclusiveness of those 'to the manner born.' For instance, Hook was
once, by a mere chance, obliged to take the chair at an official dinner,
on which occasion the toasts proposed by the chairman were to be
accompanied by a salute from guns without. Hook went through the list,
and seemed to enjoy toast-drinking so much that he was quite sorry to
have come to the end of it, and continued, as if still from the list, to
propose successively the health of each officer present. The gunners
were growing quite weary, but having their orders, dared not complain.
Hook was delighted, and went on to the amazement and amusement of all
who were not tired of the noise, each youthful sub, taken by surprise,
being quite gratified at the honour done him. At last there was no one
left to toast; but the wine had taken effect, and Hook, amid roars of
laughter inside, and roars of savage artillery without, proposed the
health of the waiter who had so ably officiated. This done, he bethought
him of the cook, who was sent for to return thanks; but the artillery
officer had by this time got wind of the affair, and feeling that more
than enough powder had been wasted on the health of gentlemen who were
determined to destroy it by the number of their potations, took on
himself the responsibility of ordering the gunners to stop.