"Let him laugh now, who never laugh'd before;
And he who always laugh'd, laugh now the more."
[Illustration: THE LAUGHING AUDIENCE.]
From the first print that Hogarth engraved to the last that he
published, I do not think there is one in which character is more
displayed than in this very spirited little etching. It is much
superior to the more delicate engravings from his designs by other
artists, and I prefer it to those that were still higher finished by
his own burin.
The prim coxcomb with an enormous bag, whose favours, like those of
Hercules between Virtue and Vice, are contended for by two rival
orange girls, gives an admirable idea of the dress of the day; when,
if we may judge from this print, our grave forefathers, defying
nature and despising convenience, had a much higher rank in the
temple of Folly than was then attained by their ladies. It must be
acknowledged that since that period the softer sex have asserted
their natural rights; and, snatching the wreath of fashion from the
brow of presuming man, have tortured it into such forms--that were it
possible, which certes it is not, to disguise a beauteous face!--But
to the high behest of fashion all must bow.
Governed by this idol, our beau has a cuff that for a modern fop
would furnish fronts for a waistcoat, and a family fire-screen might
be made of his enormous bag. His bare and shrivelled neck has a close
resemblance to that of a half-starved greyhound; and his face,
figure, and air, form a fine contrast to the easy and _degagée_
assurance of the grisette whom he addresses.
The opposite figure, nearly as grotesque, though not quite so formal
as _its_ companion, presses _its_ left hand upon _its_ breast,[173]
in the style of protestation, and eagerly contemplating the
superabundant charms of a beauty of Rubens' school, presents her with
a pinch of comfort.[174] Every muscle, every line of his countenance,
is acted upon by affectation and grimace, and his queue bears some
resemblance to an ear-trumpet.
The total inattention of these three polite persons to the business
of the stage, which at this moment almost convulses the children
of Nature who are seated in the pit, is highly descriptive of that
refined apathy which characterizes our people of fashion, and raises
them above those mean passions that agitate the groundlings.
One gentleman, indeed,[175] is as affectedly unaffected as a man
of the first world. By his saturnine cast of face and contracted
brow, he is evidently a profound critic, and much too wise to
laugh. He must indisputably be a very great genius; for, like
Voltaire's Poccocurante, nothing can please him; and while those
around open every avenue of their minds to mirth, and are willing
to be delighted, though they do not well know why, he analyzes
the drama by the laws of Aristotle, and finding those laws are
violated, determines that the author ought to be hissed instead of
being applauded. This it is to be so excellent a judge; this it is
which gives a critic that exalted gratification which can never
be attained by the illiterate: the supreme power of pointing out
faults where others discern nothing but beauties, and preserving a
rigid inflexibility of muscle while the sides of the vulgar herd are
shaking with laughter. These merry mortals, thinking with Plato that
it is no proof of a good stomach to nauseate every aliment presented
them, do not inquire too nicely into _causes_; but, giving full scope
to their risibility, display a set of features more highly ludicrous
than I ever saw in any other print. It is to be regretted that the
artist has not given us some clue by which we might have known
what was the play which so much delighted his audience: I should
conjecture that it was either one of Shakspeare's comedies, or a
modern tragedy. Sentimental comedy was not the fashion of that day.
The three sedate musicians in the orchestra, totally engrossed by
minims and crotchets, are an admirable contrast to the company in the
pit.