"It is worth your while to come to England, were it only to
see an election and a cock-match. There is a celestial spirit
of anarchy and confusion in these two scenes that words cannot
paint, and of which no countryman of yours can form even an
idea."--_Sherlock's Letters to a friend at Paris._
[Illustration: THE COCKPIT.]
Mr. Sherlock is perfectly right in his assertion, that neither of
these scenes can be described by words; but where the writer must
have failed, the artist has succeeded, and the Parisian who has never
visited England may, from Mr. Hogarth's Prints, form a tolerably
correct idea of the anarchy of an election, and the confusion
of a cockpit. To the right learned and laborious successors of
Master Thomas Hearne, it would be matter of curious speculation,
and worthy of deep research, to inquire which of these "popular
sportes was fyrste practysed in fair Englonde." To their grave and
useful investigations I leave the decision of this knotty point.
The earliest information of this _gentile_ and _royal_ game which
my reading supplies, I find in a treatise, published in 1674, and
entitled _The Complete Gamester_, containing instructions how to play
at Billiards, Trucks, Bowls, Chess, etc. "To which is added, The
Artes and Mysteries of Riding, Racing, Archery, and Cock Fighting.
Printed by A. M. for R. Cutler, and to be sold by Henry Brome, at
the Gun, at the west end of St. Paul's." To this curious little
_vade mecum_ there is a frontispiece divided into five compartments.
One of them represents a cockpit, in the centre of which two of
the feathered tribe, not unlike ducks, are fighting. The pit is
surrounded by a company of crop-eared figures in round hats, with
faces as demure and sanctified as are to be seen at a Quakers'
meeting. Before many of these most sedate personages are heaps of
gold, and (alluding to the print) the following sublime verses:--
"After these three, the cockpit claims a name;
A sport _gentile_, and call'd a royal game.
Now see the gallants crowd about the pit,
And most are stock'd with money more than wit;
Else sure they would not, with so great a stir,
Lay ten to one on a cock's faithless spur."
To the respect which our ancestors had for this _kingly_ amusement,
the author beareth ample testimony in his 38th chapter, some extracts
from which I venture to insert, with the hope that they will be both
pleasant and profitable to the lovers of this very refined and humane
divertisement:--
"It is a sport or pastime so full of delight and pleasure, that I
know not any game in that respect is to be preferred before it;
and since the fighting cock hath gained so great an estimation
among the gentry, in respect to this noble recreation, I shall
here propose it before all the other games of which I have afore
succinctly discoursed. That, therefore, I may methodically give
instructions to such as are unlearned, and add more knowledge
to such who have already gained a competent proficiency in this
pleasing art, I shall, as briefly as I can, give you information
how you shall choose, breed, and diet the fighting cock, with
what choice secrets are thereunto belonging, in order thus:--
"In the election[100] of a fighting cock, there are four things
principally to be considered; and they are: shape, colour,
courage, and a sharp heel.
"Observe the crowing of your chickens; if you find them crow too
soon, that is, before six months old, or unseasonably, and that
their crowing is clear and loud, fit them as soon as you can for
the pot or spit, for they are infallible signs of cowardice and
falsehood: on the contrary, the true and perfect cock is long
before he obtaineth his voice, and when he hath got it, observeth
his hours with the best judgment."
After much more which I have not room to insert, the author addeth,
"To conclude, make your choice of such a one that is of shape strong,
of colour good, of valour true, and of heel sharp and ready."
Leaving the book to the study of those whom it may concern, let us
now attend to the plate.
The scene is probably laid at Newmarket;[101] and in this motley
group of peers, pickpockets, butchers, jockeys, ratcatchers,
gentlemen,--gamblers of every denomination,--Lord Albemarle
Bertie,[102] being the principal figure, is entitled to precedence.
In a former print[103] we saw him an attendant at a boxing match;
and here he is president of a most respectable society assembled
at a cockpit. What rendered his Lordship's passion for amusements
of this nature very singular, was his being totally blind. In this
place he is beset by seven steady friends, five of whom at the same
instant offer to bet with him on the event of the battle. One of
them, a lineal descendant of Filch, taking advantage of his blindness
and negligence, endeavours to convey a bank note, deposited in our
dignified gambler's hat, to his own pocket. Of this ungentleman-like
attempt his Lordship is apprised by a ragged postboy and an honest
butcher: but so much engaged in the pronunciation of those important
words, "Done! done! done! done!" and the arrangement of his bets,
that he cannot attend to their hints; and it seems more than probable
that the stock will be _transferred_ and the note _negotiated_ in a
few seconds.
A very curious group surround the old nobleman, who is adorned
with a riband, a star, and a pair of spectacles. The whole weight
of an overgrown carpenter being laid upon his shoulder, forces our
illustrious personage upon a man beneath; who being thus driven
downward, falls upon a fourth; and the fourth, by the accumulated
pressure of this ponderous trio--composed of the _upper and lower
house_--loses his balance, and tumbling against the edge of the
partition, his head is broke, and his wig, shook from the seat of
reason, falls into the cockpit.
A man adjoining enters into the spirit of the battle--his whole
soul is engaged. From his distorted countenance and clasped hands,
we see that he feels every stroke given to his favourite bird in
his heart's core, ay, in his heart of hearts! A person at the old
Peer's left hand is likely to be a loser. Ill-humour, vexation, and
disappointment are painted in his countenance. The chimney-sweeper
above is the very quintessence of affectation. He has all the airs
and graces of a boarding-school miss. There are those who remember
the man, and declare that his character is not heightened in the
portrait. The sanctified Quaker adjoining, and the fellow beneath,
who, by the way, is a very similar figure to Captain Stab in "The
Rake's Progress," are finely contrasted.
A French marquis, on the other side, astonished at this being called
amusement, is exclaiming _Sauvages! sauvages! sauvages!_ Engrossed by
the scene, and opening his snuff-box rather carelessly, its contents
fall into the eyes of a man below, who, sneezing and swearing
alternately, imprecates bitter curses on this devil's dust, that
extorts from his inflamed eyes "a sea of melting pearls, which some
call tears."
Adjoining is an old cripple with a trumpet at his ear, and in this
trumpet a person in a bag-wig roars in a manner that cannot much
gratify the auricular nerves of his companions; but as for the object
to whom the voice is directed, he seems totally insensible to sounds,
and if judgment can be formed from appearances, might very composedly
stand close to the clock of St. Paul's Cathedral when it was striking
twelve.
The figure with a cock peeping out of a bag is said to be intended
for Jackson, a jockey. The gravity of this experienced veteran, and
the cool sedateness of a man registering the wagers, are well opposed
by the grinning woman behind, and the heated impetuosity of a fellow,
stripped to his shirt, throwing his coin upon the cockpit, and
offering to back Ginger against Pye for a guinea.
On the lower side, where there is only one tier of figures, a sort
of an apothecary, and a jockey, are stretching out their arms and
striking together the handles of their whips in token of a bet. An
hiccuping votary of Bacchus, displaying a half-emptied purse, is not
likely to possess it long; for an adroit professor of legerdemain has
taken aim with an hooked stick, and by one slight jerk will convey it
to his own pocket. The profession of a gentlemen in a round wig is
determined by a gibbet chalked upon his coat. An enraged barber, who
lifts up his stick in the corner, has probably been refused payment
of a wager by the man at whom he is striking.
A cloud-capt philosopher at the top of the print, coolly smoking
his pipe, unmoved by this crash of matter and wreck of property,
must not be overlooked: neither should his dog be neglected; for the
dog, gravely resting his fore-paws upon the partition,[104] and
contemplating the company, seems more interested in the event of the
battle than his master.
Like the tremendous Gog and terrific Magog of Guildhall, stand the
two cock-feeders; a foot of each of these consequential purveyors is
seen at the two extremities of the pit.
As to the birds whose attractive powers have drawn this admiring
throng together, they deserved earlier notice--
"Each hero burns to conquer or to die,
What mighty hearts in little bosoms lie!"
Having disposed of the substances, let us now attend to the shadow on
the cockpit, and this it seems is the reflection of a man drawn up
to the ceiling in a basket, and there suspended[105] as a punishment
for having betted more money than he can pay. Though suspended, he
is not reclaimed; though exposed, not abashed; for in this degrading
situation he offers to stake his watch against money in another wager
on his favourite champion.
The decorations of this curious theatre are, a portrait of Nan
Rawlins,[106] and the King's arms.
In the margin at the bottom of the print is an oval, with a fighting
cock, inscribed "Royal sport," and underneath it is written, "Pit
ticket."
Of the characteristic distinctions in this heterogeneous assembly, it
is not easy to speak with sufficient praise. The chimney-sweeper's
absurd affectation sets the similar airs of the Frenchman in a most
ridiculous point of view. The old fellow with a trumpet at his ear
has a degree of deafness that I never before saw delineated; he might
have lived in the same apartment with Xantippe, or slept comfortably
in Alexander the coppersmith's first floor. As to the nobleman in the
centre, in the language of the turf, he is a mere pigeon; and the
Peer, with a star and garter, in the language of Cambridge, we must
class as--a mere quiz. The man sneezing, you absolutely hear; and the
fellow stealing a bank note has all the outward and visible marks of
a perfect and accomplished pickpocket; Mercury himself could not do
that business in a more masterly style.
I hope it will not be thought irrelevant to my subject if I here name
a man whose periods have polished the English language, and given to
poesy a harmony before unknown.
To Alexander Pope, Hogarth had an early dislike. Pope was the friend
of Lord Burlington,--Lord Burlington was the patron of Kent, and Kent
was the rival of Sir James Thornhill, who was the father-in-law of
William Hogarth. In two of his miscellaneous prints, our mellifluous
poet is exhibited in very degrading situations. In one[107] he is
represented as whitewashing the gate of Burlington House, and in the
violence of his operation bespattering the carriage of his Grace of
Chandos, etc.; and in the other, picking John Gay's[108] pocket.
Had the artist been acquainted with a circumstance mentioned by Mr.
Tyers in his _Rhapsody_, our British Horace would very probably have
had a place in this group. Tyers tells us that "Pope, while living
with his father at Chiswick, before he went to Binfield, took great
delight in cock-fighting, and laid out all his schoolboy money, and
little perhaps it was, in buying fighting cocks. From this passion,
but surely not the play of a child, his mother had the dexterity to
wean him."
Admitting the fact, for which I have no other authority than the
pamphlet above quoted, it does not tell in favour of that delicate
and tender humanity which this elegant poet so much affected. On his
conduct to Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, Lord Bolingbroke, Mr. Addison,
and Mr. Broome, I will make no comment; but his bitter satire on the
Duke of Chandos,[109] while it exalts his poetical powers, dishonours
his moral character. The animation, energy, and elegance of the
stanzas would atone for almost anything--but _ingratitude_!
Lord Orrery observes: "If we may judge of Mr. Pope from his works,
his chief aim was to be esteemed a man of virtue." When actions
can be clearly ascertained, it is not necessary to seek the mind's
construction in the writings; and I regret being compelled to believe
that some of Mr. Pope's actions, at the same time that they prove him
to be querulous and petulant, lead us to suspect that he was also
envious, malignant, and cruel. How far this will tend to confirm
the assertion, that when a boy he was an amateur[110] of this royal
sport,[111] I do not pretend to decide: but were a child in whom
I had any interest cursed with such a propensity, my first object
would be to correct it; if that were impracticable, and he retained
a fondness for the cockpit, and the still more detestable amusement
of Shrove Tuesday,[112] I should hardly dare to flatter myself that
he could become a merciful man. The subject has carried me further
than I intended. I will, however, take the freedom of proposing one
query to the consideration of the clergy, should any of that sacred
order do me the honour of perusing this volume. Might it not have a
tendency to check that barbarous spirit, which has more frequently
its source in an early acquired habit arising from the prevalence
of example than in natural depravity, if every divine in Great
Britain were to preach at least one sermon every twelve months on our
universal insensibility to the sufferings of the brute creation?[113]
[Illustration: (end of chapter floral icon)]