"Here tumult wild and rude confusion reign,
And hoodwink'd party heads the senseless train;
Here meets her motley tribe--here holds her court,
For pamper'd Gluttony, the grand resort.
From orgies so profane--stern Freedom flown,
Corruption mounts her abdicated throne.
Unhappy Britain--thy degenerate tribe,
Like Esau, barter birthright for a bribe."--E.
[Illustration: THE ELECTION, PLATE I. THE ENTERTAINMENT.]
The first act of this popular farce is very properly a dinner, which
in all public transactions ought to precede every other business.[58]
The scene is laid in a country town, at an inn, which in these piping
times of peace is kept open for the friends of the Court candidate.
All the party, except the divine and the mayor, have ended their
repast; but episcopal dignity, or prætorian distinction, gives a
right to more indulgence than is allowed to the unhallowed multitude.
The highly polished and accomplished gentleman[59] who aspires to the
honour of a seat in the British senate demands our first notice. He
has what an Hibernian would call a face of much promise. His dress,
air, and grace proclaim that he has travelled. Pope has described him
exactly as if he had sat for the picture:
"He saunter'd Europe round,
And gathered every vice on Christian ground,
Saw every court, heard every king declare
His royal sense of operas, or the fair.--
See now half-cured, and perfectly well-bred,
With nothing but a solo in his head,
As much estate, and principle, and wit,
As Jansen, Fleetwood, Cibber, shall think fit;
Stol'n from a duel, follow'd by a nun,
And if a Borough choose him,--not undone," etc.
At this time of general equality and universal levelling, when
knight and vassal, esquire and mechanic, are of equal rank, our
paragon of politeness is lending an attentive ear to a disgusting
old beldam, who from her rotundity may be a descendant of Sir John
Falstaff's. In her hand, which is behind him, she holds a letter
directed to Sir Commodity Taxem; this we may naturally suppose
contains either a request of a favour or an offer of a service, in
the sure and certain hope of a return to it. Be that as it may, the
gallant knight shows her every attention, and has stretched his long
arm half round her ample waist:
"Thus the bold eagle leaves his azure way,
And takes the carrion carcase for his prey;
There dips his beak--but when the banquet's done,
Replumes his wings, and rises to the sun."
While a little girl dazzled with the splendour of his brilliant
ring attempts to make it a prize, a fellow who stands upon a chair
behind him, with all that easy familiarity which the time warrants,
strikes the Baronet's head against that of the old woman, and shakes
the ashes out of his tobacco-pipe upon his powdered hair. This is
election wit.
The next group form a trio, and are made up by a grinning cobbler, a
dirty-faced barber, and a mawkish gentleman, whose hand the son of
St. Crispin grasps with an energy that almost cracks the bones. The
barber, equally friendly, pinches his arm, and resting one hand upon
his shoulder blows the hot fumes from a short tobacco-pipe into his
eye. This also is election wit.
A pyramidical group behind is composed of an officer, a drunken
counsellor, and a pleasing young woman, over whose head the maudlin
advocate, flourishing a bumper of wine, roars out an obscene toast.
This is the third and most finished specimen of election wit. At
a table a little beneath, stewing "the last lov'd remnant of the
forest haunch," sits an oily divine,[60] holding his canonical
periwig in his right hand, and wiping his forehead with the left.
Behind him is a Scotch bagpiper, who, at the same time that he is
pressing out his harsh and unmusical tones, enjoys the _royal_
luxury of scratching.[61] A female player on the violin,[62] and a
most consequential performer on the bass viol, when aided by the
Caledonian pipe, must form a most melodious concert.
A fourth votary of St. Cecilia holds his musical instrument under his
arm, ceasing all dulcet sounds, while he drinks a glass of Burgundy
with a gentleman who seems much gratified at seeing a chin of more
extravagant length than his own. Adjoining are two country fellows
delighted beyond measure at a person[63] making the representation
of a face by wrapping a napkin round his hand, and singing, "An old
woman clothed in grey," etc. This face, ingeniously designed with
charcoal blots for eyes and mouth, bears a strong resemblance to the
poor gouty old fellow on his left hand, whose violent contortions
lead us to suspect that he feels some disagreeable internal emotion.
Behind, is a fellow pouring the contents of a vessel through a
window amongst a crowd made up of the opposite party, in return for a
shower of stones they are hurling into the room. To annoy and repel
these troublesome assailants, a man at the opposite corner throws out
a three-legged stool. At the upper end of the table sits a gentleman
in a tye-wig, whom we presume to be the Right Worshipful Mr. Mayor.
He has ate oysters until his breath is stopped, and is now under
the hands of a barber-surgeon. This village _Sangrado_ attempts to
breathe a vein; "But ah! the purple tide no more will flow."
Notwithstanding this suspension of vital powers, our absolute monarch
of his own corporation, true to the cause, and actuated by his ruling
passion, even in death, grasps a fork, on which he has impaled an
oyster. Immediately behind him an electioneering agent offers a
bribe to a puritanic tailor; but this conscientious wielder of the
needle, lifting up his eyes with horror, refuses the money, maugre
the terrific threats of his _amiable_ wife, who, while she raises her
right fist in a menacing style, rests her left hand on the head of
their barefooted boy.
On an opposite chair is an unfortunate man of the law, who, intent on
casting up the sure and doubtful votes, is, like the mighty Goliah,
struck in the forehead with a stone, and falls prostrate to the
floor. "Where be his quirks and quiddits now?"
A champion of the same party, generally called a bludgeon-man,[64]
having met with a similar accident in the cause of his country, is
taken in hand by a patriotic butcher, who, assuming the office of
surgeon, pours gin into the wound. A little boy filling a mashing-tub
with punch,[65] and a trading Quaker reading a promissory note,
conclude the catalogue. This note is from the candidate to Mr. Abel
Squat for fifty pounds, payable six months after date, and probably
offered in payment for ribands, gloves, etc., which are to be
presented to the electors' wives and daughters. With this note honest
Abel is much dissatisfied; and by the manner one hand is laid upon
his little bale of goods, it does not seem probable that he will part
with them for paper security.
Coming in at the door we see a band of assailants from the opposite
party, determined to attack the enemy in their entrenchments; most
of them flourish their cudgels, but one of the heroes brandishes a
sword. The stag's horns over the door may perhaps be intended to
convey some allusion to the trembling Puritan. A party, whom their
enemies at that time distinguished by the name of Jacobites, to
show _their_ respect for Revolution principles, have mangled the
portrait of King William the Third. The escutcheon with the Elector's
arms, A CHEVRON SABLE BETWEEN THREE GUINEAS OR, with the crest of a
gaping mouth, and motto "Speak and Have," is very applicable to a
parliamentary canvas. The landscape over the candidate's head may,
it has been observed, be intended as a representation of the town
where this business is transacting. On the flag, which is entwined
with laurels, is inscribed "Liberty and Loyalty," which cabalistic
words, like the Abracadabra, are a sort of charm to the eyes of
your Englishman. On another flag, which lies upon the ground, is
written, "Give us our Eleven Days."[66] In the tobacco tray is a
paper of Kirton's best,[67] and a slip from the Act against Bribery
and Corruption is torn to light pipes with. A lobster appears to be
creeping towards a mutton chop, which lies unheeded in a corner. A
procession in the street are following an effigy,[68] on the breast
of which is inscribed, "No Jews." The mottoes on their flags are
equally curious: "Liberty and Property, and no Excise;" and, "Marry
and Multiply, in spite of the devil."
An inscription on the butcher's cockade is infinitely more classical
and elegant: "Pro Patriæ" has a chance of general admiration, because
it is not generally understood.
As to the characters of the _dramatis personæ_. The face and air of
the Baronet are perfectly of Lord Chesterfield's school; a fellow
scattering ashes on his head, and the cobbler at the table, are
marked with mischief. The fat old woman is of Mother Cole's family;
and the divine has the corpulence and consequence of a bishop. He
must "lard the lean earth as he walks along." The two country fellows
looking with delighted eyes at Mr. Parnell, and an old man tortured
by the gout, are admirably discriminated. The barber-surgeon and his
brother butcher have so much _sang froid_, and display so little
feeling for their suffering patients, that we naturally infer each
of them is in great practice.
Hogarth was fond of making experiments; and it has been said, that
when engraving this plate he determined to attempt what no artist
had ever performed, _i.e._ to finish the plate without taking a
single proof during the process. The consequence was such as might
be expected; he made some mistakes that it was scarcely possible
to rectify, and on discovering the errors, violently exclaimed
that he was ruined. On his passion subsiding, a brother engraver
assisted him to correct the faults occasioned by trying to perform
an impossibility. It is, however, the highest finished print he ever
engraved.
In the first state of the plate were some lemons and oranges lying
on a paper by the side of the tub; but Hogarth being informed that
vitriol and cream of tartar are the usual acids in election punch,
erased them from the copper.