Mr Holcroft soon after went abroad. On his arrival at Hamburgh, he went to lodge at the house of his daughter and her husband, Mr Cole, who was settled there in trade. He afterwards went to reside at the house of ——, where he paid five pounds a week; and as his remittances from England were often interrupted, he would have been reduced to great distress, had it not been for the generous exertions of a stranger, a Mr Schuckmacher. This gentleman, who was a merchant, advanced 250l. to Mr Holcroft, on his note of hand. The first literary attempt which Mr Holcroft made after he was settled on the continent failed. This was to set up a journal, (the European Repository) containing an account of the state of foreign literature, and anecdotes of celebrated characters. It only reached the second number.
It is certain that Mr Holcroft’s introductions, and his connexions with literary men abroad, would have afforded every opportunity for executing such a work well, had it met with encouragement. While at Hamburgh, he visited Klopstock, Voss, Sander, &c. &c. On his first introduction to Klopstock, the latter laboured to shew the superiority of the German to every other language in conciseness; and challenged Mr Holcroft to translate with equal conciseness into English. To which he replied, that Klopstock might be easily supposed to overcome Holcroft, but that the English language ought not to suffer on that account. He told Mr Holcroft a story of Voss, the celebrated classic; that at a time when he was too ill even to hear a scholar read and parse a few lines in the classics, familiar as they were to him, he was still able and desirous to continue his translation of Ovid in Hexameters, and found relief from this laborious task. When Baron Stolberg (the superintendant of the academy) came to visit him, he hid his papers, lest he should be accused of neglect of duty, or blamed for disregarding his health. Sander, a Dane by birth, informed Mr Holcroft that the Road to Ruin, and the Deserted Daughter, had been translated into the Danish language, and that the latter had been the most popular of the pieces brought out the preceding winter at Copenhagen.
The admiration of the Germans for English literature, and their contempt for the French, are well known. Molière is the only man among the latter, to whom they allow much genius. Their notions of excellence are indeed rather hypercritical than common-place. They seem in general to assign the highest stations to the greatest men, but their list of great men is short. There are only four whom they consider as poets, that is to say, inventors of a new style, namely, Homer, Dante, Shakspeare, and Goethe. Why the last should have this high rank assigned him, I do not know. He is placed by the Germans themselves far above Schiller. Mr Holcroft while abroad, translated his poem of Herman and Dorothea. A note from the author to the translator on this subject, will be found among the letters at the end of the volume.—Mr Holcroft also, while he was at Hamburgh, finished and sent over the comedy of ‘Hear both Sides,’ and his translation of ‘Deaf and Dumb,’ which were afterwards acted with success, at Drury-Lane.
On his departure from England, he had renounced all idea of picture-dealing, and connoisseurship. He however attended several picture-sales, but without attempting to bid. One day as he was strolling along the street, his attention was caught by a small picture, which lay among some lumber at a broker’s shop. He went in, asked the price of it, and was answered three guineas. Mr Holcroft made no bargain, but determined to go home, and get Mrs. Holcroft to come and look at it, to see whether any one else must not be as much struck with it as he was. On re-examining the picture, his confidence in its being an original increased, and he paid the money for it. As he was returning home in triumph with the picture under his arm, he met Mercier, (Mrs. Holcroft’s father) who had himself been a dabbler in pictures, and who, laughing, exclaimed, ‘A ce trait je connois mon sang.’
The first step being got over, they consulted together, how to turn this accident to advantage; they henceforward frequented auction-rooms, and ransacked brokers’ shops, to make mutual discoveries of original pictures, which might be had for a song. Mr Holcroft, in this manner, laid out between four and five hundred pounds, by which he expected to clear at least double the sum.
In this expectation he was once more wretchedly disappointed. Not that the pictures were in themselves bad, they were many of them excellent, and in general by the masters to whom they were attributed; but they were not the finest specimens of those masters, and with respect to second rate pictures, it requires either an acquaintance with the particular master who happens to be in vogue for the time, or regular connexions with other picture-dealers, to secure the purchaser against loss. The pictures which Mr Holcroft sent over to England, were fifty-seven in number. They were entrusted to the care of Mr Godwin. He prevailed on some professional friends, to go and look at them, who thought they would hardly sell for the amount of the custom-house-duties, which were a hundred-and-fifty pounds. A few of them were however brought away, and left in the care of Mr Opie. The following friendly letter to Mr Holcroft, was written on this subject.
‘I am quite ashamed that your letter should have remained so long unnoticed; but being at Norwich when it arrived, I thought it better to wait till I came to town, and had seen the pictures mentioned in it, that I might at the same time I answered it, give you some account of them.
‘The pictures I found, through the care of Mr Gillies, safely lodged in my house on my return to town, which was only three days ago. With the sketch by Rubens, I am quite charmed; it is really a most exquisite thing. The portrait is a good one; but is not the likeness of Lord Stratford, nor painted by Vandyke. The other two are not at first view so much to my taste, nor am I convinced they were painted by the master to whom you attribute them; but I cannot speak decisively, till I have examined them with more attention. Care shall be taken of all, but the Rubens I have mounted into my painting room, as it contains a great deal worth studying.
‘You will do great injustice to the sentiments of esteem and friendship, which both Mrs. Opie and myself feel for you, if you do not rest assured that to hear of your health and welfare, will at all times give us pleasure; and we have only to beg that in your next, you will make no other use of your bridle, than to lay its reins on the neck of your affection, in the utmost confidence, that all that comes from you, will be received with a most hearty welcome.
These pictures were all of them afterwards redeemed from the custom-house; and with those which Mr Holcroft had bought in at his first sale, and other purchases he made on the continent, sold for near 700l.
While at Hamburgh, Mr Holcroft met with one of those alarming accidents, of which, in the course of his life, a more than usual number fell to his share. He had been recommended to bathe his feet in hot water, and mix a certain quantity of aquafortis in the bath. As he was pouring the aquafortis into the tub, the steam of the water caused the bottle, which was of very thin glass, to burst; the aquafortis flew up to his face, burned his wrists to the bone; but luckily his spectacles saved his eyes. The state he was in was dreadful, yet not a single complaint escaped him. ‘Thank God,’ he exclaimed to his terrified wife, who just before the accident had wished to pour the aquafortis in, but was prevented from doing so, ‘You and the child (whom she held in her arms) are safe!’ His daughters, who were undressing in the next room, alarmed by the shrieks of Mrs. Holcroft, rushed into the apartment, which was filled with steam; and the distraction of the youngest at seeing the condition her father was in, deprived her of all presence of mind. ‘For Heaven’s sake, Fanny,’ said her father, ‘calm yourself; and do you, Sophy, listen to what I say. Let Dr. Maclean be immediately fetched: he lives in such a street. Your violent grief, my dear girls, instead of good, does harm. Be collected, and act like rational beings.’ It was more than two hours before he was attended by his friend, Dr. Maclean. Till he arrived, Mr Holcroft supposed himself deprived of sight; and the joy which the assurance that he was not blind excited may be easily imagined. During a long and painful confinement, he was perfectly cheerful, and his mind always employed and active.
Two years before this accident, Mr Holcroft was so dangerously ill as to be given over by his physicians: and at that time his fortitude and presence of mind saved his life. One night the spasms, to which he was subject, were so violent, that he felt, if they continued, he could not live. Dr. Pitcairn had advised him to take a very small quantity of laudanum, beginning with five drops, which he might increase to fifteen or twenty at the utmost, should the pain become worse. Finding the pain grow more and more violent, he desired his amanuensis who attended him, to give him fifteen, then twenty drops at a time. This he took to the amount of 140 in the course of the night. Mr Ralph expostulated, and said he was afraid to give them; but Mr Holcroft insisted—‘If these pains continue,’ said he, ‘it is impossible I should live, and I can but die.’ This bold but dangerous experiment succeeded.
Mr Holcroft’s stay at Hamburgh lasted above a year. He had some difficulty in procuring a passport to Paris from the French minister at the Hague, (as we were then at war with France), but on a second application he succeeded. He had also met with some impediment in obtaining one from Mr Frere, before he went abroad. While he was at Hamburgh, a paragraph appeared in one of our morning papers, directly charging him with being a spy of the French government. To this paragraph he condescended to make a public answer.
Mr Holcroft remained above two years at Paris. While here, he seems to have been chiefly occupied in collecting materials for the large work on the manners, &c. of this capital, which he published after his return, in 1804. Of this work (Travels in France, &c.) it is only just to say, that it is one of the most interesting and instructive books of travels in the language. Its fault perhaps is, that it bears too hard on the foibles of the French, which Mr Holcroft seems to have regarded too much with the eye of an Englishman. Their own self-sufficiency, it is true, is enough to provoke and justify considerable severity of criticism. With respect to the question itself of the difference between the two nations, all that can be said upon it, I think, amounts only to this, that the one has too much gravity, and the other too much levity. Our gravity frequently degenerates into phlegm, coldness, reserve, pride, obstinacy, and sullenness; as their constitutional levity is productive of frivolity, pertness, unmeaning loquacity, self-conceit, fickleness, and indifference to good or evil. The feelings of the French are more quick and lively; those of the English more deep and permanent: again, their apprehensions have more facility and nicety of observation; our own countrymen have shewn greater strength and comprehension of mind. France has, I am persuaded, produced more clever men than England; but that she has produced more great men than England, cannot be pretended. The mind of a Frenchman is, in general, more easily moved, and by slighter causes; an Englishman’s feelings are, for the very reason that they require a greater momentum to bring them out, more steady and more strong. I do not here inquire into the superiority of the French or English character. I only state what I conceive to be the difference with a view to those among the French, who, setting up an exclusive claim to certain qualities, will not allow others the superiority in things which are totally distinct, and who are ready to grasp all excellence, however incompatible, to themselves. Those who wish to be furnished with facts illustrative of the peculiar manners and character of the French, will find ample materials for this purpose, accompanied with refined and discriminating reflections, in the Travels of our author.
I shall insert only two examples, which may shew the pointed felicity with which Mr Holcroft has selected his traits of national character. ‘My wife,’ says Mr Holcroft, ‘was one day buying some fish; and while she was undetermined, the girl said to her—“Prenez cela, car votre mari est un brave homme.” My wife replied,—“Oui, cela se peut bien; mais comment savez-vous qu’il est un brave homme?” “C’est égal,” answered the girl, “cela fait plaisir à entendre.” This girl’s maxim is sound morality wherever I have been in France.’ The difference between words and things is certainly less marked in France than in England: how far this is an advantage or a disadvantage, I do not, for my own part, pretend to decide.
The other story is highly honourable to, as well as characteristic of the French. Their humanity, whatever else we may think of it, costs them less than it does the English.
‘A poor musician, who usually brought a small pianoforte in the afternoon to the Champs Elysées, and played, that those who were pleased might reward him by a trifle, having played in vain one evening, was sorrowfully retiring home. He was seen by Elleviou, (a famous actor) remarked, and questioned. The poverty and ill success of the wandering musician moved the pity of the actor, who desired the instrument might again be put down; and stepping aside, he said he would return instantly. His wife and friend had passed on, and he brought them back. It was nearly dark. Pradere, his friend, sat down to the pianoforte, and accompanied Elleviou, who began to sing, to the astonishment of numbers that were soon assembled. The men had drawn the hat over the brow: Madame Elleviou put down her veil, and went round to collect; the pleasingness of her manner, the little thankful curtsies she dropt to all who gave, the whiteness of her hand, and the extraordinary music they heard, rendered the audience so liberal, that she made several tours, and none ineffectually. Elleviou, however, could not long remain unknown; and finding themselves discovered, Madame Elleviou gave all, and it was supposed, more than all, she had collected from the crowd, to the poor musician: the sum amounted to thirty shillings; and among the pence and halfpence there were crown pieces, which no doubt were given by the actors. The feelings of the scene as the audience dispersed, are not easily to be described. The unexpected relief, afforded to the man who was departing so disconsolate, was great indeed: but it was forgotten in the charming behaviour of those who relieved him, in their almost divine music, and in the strangeness of the adventure. The surrounding people were scarcely less moved; so kind an act from a man in such high public estimation, excited more than admiration; and the tears of gratitude, shed by the musician, drew sympathizing drops from many of the spectators. This event gave birth to two new musical pieces, which were both successful.’
This was certainly an action of which an Englishman is incapable, but to which every Englishman will give his warmest tribute of applause. When people dispute and cavil about one another’s actions, it is only because there is something wrong or absurd on both sides.
The Travels through France, &c. were published by Phillips, and Mr Holcroft received 1500l. for the copy-right.
After Mr Holcroft’s return from the Continent, in the summer of 1803, almost the first undertaking in which he embarked was the establishment of a printing-house, in connexion with his brother-in-law, Mercier. Mr Holcroft found unexpected difficulties in this business, owing to the want of sufficient capital to carry it on. Meeting also with many heavy losses in publications which he undertook to print on his own account, he found himself under the necessity, in order to satisfy the pressing demands of his creditors, to dispose of the printing-office, having previously obtained his partner’s consent to do so.
Mr Holcroft brought out six dramatic pieces while he was abroad, or after his return to England: Deaf and Dumb, The Escapes, Hear both Sides, a Tale of Mystery, the Lady of the Rock, and lastly, The Vindictive Man. All of them, except the last, were successful.
Those which became the greatest favourites with the public, were, Deaf and Dumb, and the Tale of Mystery, a melo-drama. Both of these are certainly exquisite in their kind, but of the first it is not too much to say, that it is one of the most beautiful and affecting stories that ever was exhibited on any stage. It is taken from the French play of M. Bouilly, which was itself founded on an incident in the life of the famous Abbe de l’Epée, instructor of the Deaf and Dumb.
Julio, the heir of the lord of Harancour, who is born deaf and dumb, is left an orphan, when he is only eight years old; and the helplessness of his situation suggesting the possibility of getting rid of him, he is taken from Thoulouse to Paris by his guardian and maternal uncle, assisted by a servant in the family, and there lost in the streets at night. Dupre, the accomplice of his uncle Darlemont, swears to his death; and at their return home, Darlemont is invested with the estates and honours of the house of Harancour. Meantime, poor Julio is found in the streets of Paris in a coarse dress, which does not denote him to be any thing but a beggar; and it being discovered that he is deaf and dumb, he is taken to the asylum of the Abbe de l’Epée for children who are born with this defect. The melancholy observed in his countenance and manner, the delicacy of his complexion, and other circumstances, soon lead to a suspicion that he is the child of rich parents, and has been purposely lost by some person who wished to usurp his rights. He is taught the use of artificial signs, and learns to read and write. One day being with De l’Epée, when a judge is passing by dressed in his full robes, Julio is violently agitated, and makes signs to his instructor, that his father used to be dressed in this manner. Another time, passing through the Barriere d’Enfer, the recollection suddenly struck him that this was the very gate through which he entered Paris. This produced a conviction in the mind of L’Epée that he came from some city in the south of France, of which in all likelihood his father had been chief magistrate. Yet how to proceed in his behalf? The youth had never heard his father’s name, he did not know his family, or the place of his birth. After some ineffectual researches, De l’Epée resolves at last to take his pupil with him, and traverse in person and on foot the whole of the south of France. They embrace each other, invoke the protection of heaven, and set forward. After a journey, long, fatiguing, hopeless, they at length arrive at the gates of Thoulouse. Julio knows the place, seizes his benefactor’s hand, and uttering wild cries of joy, leads him quickly, here and there, through various quarters of the city. At last they come to the square in which the palace of Harancour stood; he stops, points to the mansion, shrieks, and falls senseless into the arms of L’Epée. This is the foundation of the story, the rest may be easily divined by the reader.—The Vindictive Man was the last, and certainly not the best of Mr Holcroft’s dramatic productions. It was condemned at Drury-lane. From the state of his circumstances at the time, this failure was felt as a severe blow, by the author. With what feelings he bore it, may be learned from a short, but beautiful dedication of the play to Miss Holcroft.
‘To you, my dear, I inscribe this comedy, because you approved, nay, was partial enough to admire the scenes, progressively, as they were written, and the play, when it became a whole. I inscribe it to you, because you have dedicated your talents, by your literary efforts, to the cause of morality, and have need of that patient resignation to which every writer is doomed. I inscribe it to you, and in this sense to my whole family, with sympathetic tenderness, as a solitary testimony of true and ardent affection: as such, I am well persuaded you will all receive it, though it has been publicly condemned. You will remember the giver; and the gift, though barren, will be welcome.’
Besides the plays which have been enumerated, Mr Holcroft, after his return to England, published ‘the Theatrical Recorder,’ in two volumes, a small volume of Poems, called ‘Tales in Verse,’ and the novel of ‘Brian Perdue.’
Mr Holcroft, at the time of the failure of his last play, had several dramatic, as well as other manuscripts in hand, which, had he been allowed to finish them, would have easily relieved him from his temporary embarrassments. He had however a young and increasing family to maintain; and the ill health, with which he had long struggled, now encreased fast upon him, and rendered all his efforts vain.
Mr Holcroft had, for nearly a year, been so much troubled with an asthma, as to render walking difficult to him. He was not, however, confined to his house till about half a year before his death. His disorder was violent spasms, accompanied with spitting of blood, and an enlargement of the heart, occasioned, as was supposed, by continual anxiety. It was during the two last months of his illness, when he could no longer rise from his bed, and when every effort to speak was almost convulsive, that he dictated the account of his own life, which has been inserted in the beginning of these volumes. Let it remain a proof of the energy of his character, and of that superiority of the mind over the body, which was one of his strongest sentiments. Through the whole time he discovered a fortitude in suffering, which has rarely been equalled: nor did he till the very last relinquish the hopes of recovering. If any thing could exceed the patient courage with which he passed through this trying scene, it was the affectionate, unwearied assiduity with which Mrs. Holcroft attended him night and day, through the whole. For the last six weeks, she scarcely once quitted his bed-side for a quarter of an hour together. The task was one, to which duty and affection were alone equal. In any other circumstances, her strength would have failed under such exertions: but Mr Holcroft was not satisfied unless she was with him, and that consideration prevailed over every other. Colonel Harwood, his son-in-law, was with him from the Sunday evening before he died; on which day, his physicians, Dr. Buchan and Dr. Hooper, had given him over. Many of the following particulars are taken from Colonel Harwood’s account.
There was not the shortest interval in which he was not in complete possession of himself. The only slight indication to the contrary was that he once said to the Colonel, ‘I have great difficulty sometimes in rousing my mind; therefore, if at any time I stop in speaking to you, do you remember my last word, and join it to the next that I shall afterwards say to you.’ This however rather implied his strong efforts to preserve his intellects, than the failure of them. His stopping at any time in the midst of a sentence appeared to be always owing to the difficulty of articulation, rather than the loss of memory. When he was so far gone, that it was difficult to understand him, he desired those who were with him to repeat his words, that he might be sure they were heard, and then nodded assent.
On Sunday he expressed a wish to see Mr Godwin, but when he came, his feelings were overpowered. He could not converse, and only pressed his hand to his bosom, and said, ‘My dear, dear friend!’ On Monday, he again wished to see Godwin, and all his friends that could be sent to: but he had not strength sufficient to hold a conversation: he could only take an affectionate leave, and then he said, he had nothing more to do in this world. He afterwards frequently spoke, or moved his lips, as taking a most affectionate leave. A little before he died, he called for wine, and refused it from every hand that held it to him, till his eldest daughter took it into hers, he then bowed his head to her, and drank it; thus, in some way or other, shewing signs of regard to all, till his last moments approached. Hearing a noise of children on the stairs, he said to his wife, ‘Are those your children, Louisa?’ as if he was already disengaged from human ties. On Thursday night, about half past eleven, he seemed in great pain, and said to Mrs. Holcroft, ‘How tedious, My affections are strong.’ It was thought from this that it would be a relief to his feelings, that they should retire: they all went into the next room, Colonel Harwood still keeping his eye upon him; but seeing his struggles increase, and being desirous to spare his wife and daughter a sight they could not have borne, he returned into the bedroom, and gradually shut and fastened the doors, which Mr Holcroft observing, shewed evident signs of satisfaction. And seeming then easier, he smiled, and fixing his eyes on his friend, took them no more from him, till they were closed for ever.—Thus died a great and good man, who shewed in the last and most trying scene of all the same firmness of mind, and warmth of affection, which had distinguished him through life.
Mr Holcroft died on Thursday, the 23rd of March, 1809, at the age of 63.
The following is the report which Dr. A. P. Buchan, and Mr A. Carlisle, favoured Colonel Harwood with, who also attended the examination.
‘The examination took place twenty-four hours after decease. The body was considerably emaciated, and slightly anasarcous throughout. An extensive cicatrix at the upper part of the sternum, and at the junction of the neck with the breast, indicated some long continued chronic abscesses. The cavity of the abdomen contained about a pint of dropsical water. The stomach, intestines, mesenteric glands, kidneys, and bladder, were free from diseased structure. The liver was about twice the natural bulk, hard and tuberculated on its surfaces. The peritoneal covering of this viscous substance was marked by numerous opake spots, where the membrane was drawn into folds, and this appearance seemed to characterize a series of inflammations. The interior texture of the liver was tuberculated. The gall-bladder was much distended. The outer surface of the spleen had much of the appearance displayed by the liver. The cavities of the thorax contained about two quarts of dropsical water. The lungs were soft, and their air-cells free. The heart was large, and bore the relaxed character which often occurs after a long-continued laborious circulation. The coronary arteries had begun to ossify. The arch of the aorta was dilated, approaching to aneurism, and the texture of its coats had become hard and inelastic. The descending aorta and the primary iliac arteries had become completely ossified in several parts, and were unduly dilated. From the facts here adduced, it may be considered, that the diseased structure of the liver, and of the heart, and its principal arteries, led to the dropsy of the chest, which might be the Immediate cause of death, although in a frame so disorganized, life could not have been much longer protracted. Whether the disease of the liver preceded that of the heart and its vessels, or the contrary, and whether they were distinct diseases, and which of these led most decidedly to the fatal event, are subjects for uncertain speculation.’