Mr. St. André's apologist observes, that "he cannot be reckoned to have been ignorant of any thing." But the contrary may justly be suspected, and for no inconclusive reason. I aver, that on whatever subject he was haranguing, the moment he discovered any of the company present understood it as well as himself, he became silent, never choosing to descant on art or science but before people whom he supposed to be utter strangers to all their principles. For this reason, he would have entertained Sir Joshua Reynolds with remarks on the genera and cultivation of plants, and talked to Linnæus about the outline and colouring of pictures.
That he died poor (for such was really the case), should excite no astonishment. His fortune, like his good qualities, was chiefly in supposition. Much of his wealth he had expended on buildings, which he never long inhabited, and afterwards sold to disadvantage. His first essays in architecture were made at Chepstow on the Severn, an estate purchased by Lady Betty Molyneux immediately after the death of her husband. In short, our hero was a fugitive inhabitant of several counties, and never settled till he reached Southampton; for in no other place did he meet with that proportion of flattery which was needful to his happiness, if not to his existence.—About a mile from hence he erected the whimsical baby-house dignified by him with the title of Belle-Vue, a receptacle every way inconvenient for the purposes of a family. Being once asked if this was not a very singular mansion,—"Singular!" (replied he) "by G—I hope it is, or I would pull it down immediately. I would have you to know, Sir, that it is constructed on the true principles of anatomy." The attempt to apply anatomical principles to the arrangement of passages, doors, and windows, is too glaring an absurdity to need animadversion, or to render it necessary for me to deny in form, that he could ever be "admired for his knowledge in architecture," except by such as knew not wherein its excellencies consisted.—He had, however, another dwelling within the walls of the town already mentioned. Here he pretended that his upper apartments were crowded with rarities, which he only wanted space to exhibit. But, alas! after his decease, Mr. Christie's auction-room bore abundant witness to the frivolity of his collections. What became of his boasted library of books, which he always said was packed up in boxes, I am yet to learn. Perhaps it existed only in his description.[5]
"Those who found out he loved praise (says his apologist) took care he should have enough of it." I discover little cause for disputing this assertion, and shall only observe on it, that adulation is a commodity which weak old men, reputed rich, and without ostensible heirs, are seldom in danger of wanting, though they may not enjoy so much of it as fell to St. André's share.
His disbursements to the poor might be proportioned to the real state of his fortune; but yet they were conducted with excess of ostentation. He may be said to have given shillings away with more parade than many other men would have shown in the distribution of as many guineas.—What honour his apologist means to confer on him by saying that "the names of those whom he maintained might be written alphabetically," is to me a secret, because names of every kind may be arranged according to the series of the letters.—Suspected characters, however, often strive to redeem themselves by affectation of liberality. Few are more generous than opulent wantons toward their decline of life, who thus attempt to recover that respect which they are conscious of having forfeited by the misdeeds of their youth. The benefactions of such people may in truth be considered as expiatory sacrifices for past offences, having no foundation in a natural propensity to relieve the indigent, or indulge the heart in the noblest luxury, that of doing good.
St. André was accused in J. N.'s pamphlet of having frequently larded his pleasantry with obscene expressions. This is a truth which his defender makes not the slightest effort to deny; but adds, that his conversation was hardly ever tinctured with prophaneness. We hence at least may infer that our hero's humour had sometimes this imperfection, which indeed might have escaped notice, but for the zeal of his apologist.—As I am on this subject, I cannot forbear to mention a particular in Mr. St. André's behaviour, which hitherto has been overlooked. When at any time he received a reproof from women of sense, fashion, and character, whose ears he had insulted with his ribaldry, his confidence in a moment forsook him, nor had he a word to offer in extenuation of his offence. My informant has more than once beheld, with secret satisfaction, how effectually the frown of steady virtue could awe this "mighty impudent" into silence. Notwithstanding what has been already said concerning that indifference to censure which appeared in him towards the end of his life, I am mis-informed, if at an earlier period he was able to brave the ridicule of the place where he had been once employed and caressed. When the imputations consequent on his marriage, &c. had rendered him still less an object of respect, he retired with his bride, and amused himself at a distance from London with additions to his house, and improvements in his garden; nor did he appear in public again till what was known and suspected of him had ceased to be the object of general enquiry and animadversion.
It is difficult for a profligate man of an amorous constitution to grow old with decency. J. N.'s pamphlet had taxed St. André with lasciviousness unbecoming his years. This is silently admitted by his apologist, who adds, that the intrigues of his hero were "sometimes with the lower part of the sex." He gives us reason also to suppose that our antiquated enamorato was a dupe to females in the very last stage of a life so unusually protracted. Is St. André's memory much honoured by such revelations? Do not circumstances like these increase that stock of "injurious insinuations" which our apologist professes to diminish?
Our panegyrist, more than once in the course of his letter, has expressed himself in favourable terms of St. André's colloquial talents. Now, as the memory of my entertaining opponent in respect to circumstances is remarkably tenacious, 'tis pity he has preserved no splendid ebullition of his hero's wit, no sample of that satire and irony that seasoned his conversation, or of that wisdom which so often rendered it instructive. I flatter myself, that if any specimens of these distinct excellencies could have been recollected, they would certainly have been arranged and recorded.
That St. André expired without signs of terror, is but a doubtful proof of his innocence. Being, at best, a free-thinker, he might regard death as annihilation, might have been insensible to its immediate approaches, or have encountered it with a constitutional firmness that was rather the gift of nature than the result of conscience undisturbed. He who is become indifferent to the value of reputation, will not easily be inclined to suppose that a want of the virtues on which it is founded will be punished in a future state.