Memoir of Francis Hodgson
James Montgomery to Francis Hodgson, [1822?]
Reverend and dear Sir,—If the will were always to be
taken for the deed, I believe I should be set down for the best correspondent
in the world, but if the will must be judged by the deed, assuredly I should
pass for the worst; and yet in neither case would my friends do justice to
themselves or me, for in the first they would have nothing to forgive, and in
the second would forgive nothing. I cannot stay to explain the ambiguity of
this introduction, for I must proceed at once to state the case of debtor and
creditor, as it stands in my mind, between you and me, on the subject of a very
kind and valuable letter, received from you in February last. I
wished—for Fortunatus himself was not
a heartier wisher than I am, only not having his cap ![]()
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I cannot have my desire without a
further effort—I wished to answer that letter immediately, and I thought
that I could thus have answered effectually your very powerful objections
against some hazardous assertions of mine on the comparative state of
intelligence between the ancient people of Athens and the men of Hallamshire in
the present day. But at the very time, I was suddenly called upon to prepare,
at a few days’ notice, an opening lecture for our Institution. This, of
course, occupied my time intensely during the interval, and was no small
performance, for it took upwards of two hours in the delivery, and yet
comprehended only half the subject which I had meditated, and sketched out in
the rough draft. No sooner was this task completed, than I was required by the
Leeds Institution to furnish a paper which I had long promised. Accordingly I
set to work, and produced an essay nearly as long as my Sheffield lecture. Your
idle fellows work hardest when they are put to it, as cowards fight most
fiercely when there is no escape. Idleness is my constitutional and, by long
indulgence, my habitual infirmity also; so that I always toil like a
galley-slave, or sleep like an Indian when there is neither battle nor chace to
rouse him into activity. When I had achieved this second Hercu-![]()
| 98 | MEMOIR OF REV. F. HODGSON. | |
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lean feat for a pigmy mind, I really was so tired that I
determined to lie down and rest a while, let who would disturb me with claims
or duties unfulfilled. Since then I have been continually, and sometimes
overwhelmingly, exercised with other engagements, not directly literary, but
such as have required study and personal exertion, till both thought and
feeling, strength and courage, have seemed to fail, and I have been ready to
renounce everything beyond the more ordinary drudgery of newspaper editing.
This is an honest confession of the employment of my time since the receipt of
your letter, except that I have omitted to inform you that the said letter has
lain on my desk or been within reach of my hand all the while, and I have often
as resolutely purposed to answer it forthwith, as I have impotently wished that
I had answered it. This morning, having a few minutes thrown upon my hands,
which I was grievously tempted to throw away after millions of their
predecessors, in doing next to nothing—for nothing itself I cannot do
with all my powers of indolence—your letter suddenly cried out from under
the litter of papers that covered it, and demanded justice; its voice, which
had often been raised in vain on like occasions, was not to be resisted, and I
in-![]()
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stantly complied; the more
readily, I must acknowledge, because I had long ago abandoned the first idea of
formally replying to your objections, and vindicating my sentiments. With the
same freedom, therefore, as the former were offered by you, I will make such
remarks as occur in noticing them here. I must, however, state, that a few days
after the receipt of your favour, I sent a verbal acknowledgment of it by
Dr. Knight, who incidentally told me
that he expected to see you soon, and it was with the less uneasiness of
conscience that I deferred a written reply till a more convenient opportunity.
Dr. Knight perhaps forgot to deliver my message, and I
never inquired after the fate of it. I only mention the circumstance to show
that not from the remotest deficiency either of respect or gratitude have I
remained so long, and perhaps so unpardonably, under the suspicion of both,
unless you have exercised the charity of hoping the best when only the worst
appeared. Better late than never, you may yet be kind enough to think.
You are aware, and I pretend not to conceal it, that in the
argument which I held on the occasion alluded to I was taking the part of an
advocate, whose duty it was to show to the utmost advantage ![]()
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the cause of his clients without the wilful violation of truth or justice.
The merits and claims of the Hallamshire people I therefore advanced as boldly
as I durst, while those of the ancients were only contingently introduced; and
though they were acknowledged to be transcendent, their superiority was lowered
as much as appeared to me consistent with fact, if not with the general
favourable prejudice, which all who are acquainted with Greek and Roman
history, but especially the learned, feel. In the latter class, of course, I
include you; and, though you may deem it miserable logic, I am disposed to
contend that you, with an intimate acquaintance and enthusiastic admiration of
the reliques of classic literature, have a bias on that side of the question
which disqualifies you from being a perfectly impartial judge, especially when
I consider that you are comparatively a stranger to the state of intelligence
among a population such as that in this neighbourhood. For more than thirty
years I have had opportunities of observing the indications of this with no
ordinary advantage, both under political and religious excitement. You will
acknowledge that into whatever extravagances weak men may be deluded on either
religion or politics, no two topics are calculated so ![]()
| APPRECIATION OF ELOQUENCE BY ALL CLASSES. | 101 |
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suddenly and so greatly to
awaken and exercise the faculties of persons not early or severely disciplined
by a college education. The occupations of many of our artisans are favourable
to thought, and the bodily exercise of these is not such as to enervate those
who use it. Now, I have witnessed, formerly in political and latterly in
religious assemblies, nearly similar effects of popular eloquence on the minds
of all gradations of our artisans as you refer to in the case of the Athenians
under Pericles. It is not so uncommon a thing as mere scholars imagine, for men
in middling and humble life to enjoy and to understand intellectual displays
far above their own power of imitating, particularly when they come in the
captivating form of eloquence, with all its adventitious accompaniments at once
speaking to the eye, and the ear, and the mind. Pure English is intelligible
among all the peasantry from Berwick to Penzance, though not one in ten could
speak a sentence in it. This is a fact almost entirely overlooked by authors
and play-writers, who imagine that they must address the vulgar in the vulgar
tongue. In like manner, the meaning of the finest argument may be perfectly
comprehended by ordinary minds accustomed to thinking ![]()
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for
themselves in however humble a way; and the most elegant diction will yield
genuine delight to a popular audience of whom few, perhaps, could express
themselves grammatically. Nay, persons of very mean capacity can frequently
distinguish in common discourse between a good pronunciation, that is habitual
to the speaker, and an affected one in a half-learned coxcomb; and they will
instinctively prefer the former. There appears, therefore, nothing very
extraordinary in an Athenian audience hanging with rapture on the tongue of a
splendid and energetic orator, especially when we consider the corrupt and
servile character of that ‘fierce democratic’ (notwithstanding
their passion for glory), who of all the people of antiquity, except, perhaps,
the later Romans, were the readiest dupes and sycophants to any who could pay
the price of enslaving them. The bulk of the actual population were literally
slaves, and the rest were virtually so, in the best days of Greece. The vulgar
also were held in avowed contempt by the learned, which makes little in favour
of popular intelligence.
My own firm opinion is that among the ‘thinking
part,’ and it is now no small one, of the people in this country,
especially among religious persons, ![]()
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there is more practical and influential
knowledge than could be possessed by any heathen populace. This might require a
great deal of illustration (not by argument so much as facts) to convince one
who has not been long and intimately conversant with this numerous and
increasing proportion of our countrymen. This I have
been, and this, it is no disparagement to you as a minister in the Church to
say, you have not. You know these people only by report
and by books. Through such media they cannot be well known. I have never
pretended to compare those who are or have been great in Hallamshire with the
truly great and glorious names of antiquity. I have only ventured the opinion
that the middling and lower classes here are, on the average, quite equal in
intelligence to the corresponding ranks in Greece and Rome, and, so far as they
can be put in competition, I believe history will bear me out. I am compelled
to break off here.
Believe me truly and ever your obliged friend and servant,
P.S.—With respect to Greek Tragedy, I think that
the best parts of Shakespeare would
surely be ![]()
| 104 | MEMOIR OF REV. F. HODGSON. | |
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as good a test, both of taste and moral
feeling, in an audience, as those of Sophocles; and, from my recollection, the gallery critics
of Sheffield were wont to applaud most what was
best. No objection to the irregularity of
Shakespeare’s drama will invalidate this.
Even you would not argue that because French audiences can bear cold
declamation in an artificial tone for hours together, that they are
therefore more virtuous and intelligent than Englishmen who can appreciate
the exquisite nature and pathos of their own old writers, when brought home
to them by the consummate acting of John
Kemble and Mrs.
Siddons.
I don’t expect that you will be at the trouble of
answering this rhapsody; it will be quite enough if you read and forgive
it.
John Philip Kemble (1757-1823)
English actor renowned for his Shakespearean roles; he was manager of Drury Lane
(1783-1802) and Covent Garden (1803-1808).
James Knight (1793-1863)
Of Lincoln College, Oxford; he was perpetual curate of St Paul's Church, Sheffield
(1824-1860).
James Montgomery (1771-1854)
English poet and editor of the
Sheffield Iris (1795-1825); author
of
The Wanderer of Switzerland (1806) and
The
World before the Flood (1813).
Sarah Siddons [née Kemble] (1755-1831)
English tragic actress, sister of John Philip Kemble, famous roles as Desdemona, Lady
Macbeth, and Ophelia. She retired from the stage in 1812.
Sophocles (496 BC c.-406 BC c.)
Greek tragic poet; author of
Antigone and
Oedipus Rex.
