"Yes! sometimes they comes for their baggage, that is, their trunks and boxes and women and children. Sometimes the poor souls on 'un come in the wagon themselves. Sometimes when it's a holliday we 'un, they walk out to Stapleton and other parts to kill time, being very idle people; then they stop to take beer here, and they talk such nonsense that I can't abide the tuoads. Lauk! thee why Jack, thee know'st I would not flatter thee now—thee art a king to some on 'un that talks ten times as big as king George could for the life o' him."
This intelligence given by the honest simpleton, in all likelihood for the purpose of disgusting our adventurer with the stage, communicated to him the first proud presentiment he felt of what afterwards occurred. The thought instantly struck him, "If performers, so very despicable as this man describes, are endured upon a public stage, thought he, why may not I?—cannot I be as useful as them? besides I can—but these men sing, I suppose—do not they sing John, much better than me?" "Noa, I tell thee they doan't: sing better than thee! they can't sing at all. A tinker's jackass is as good at it as any of them I see here. When they are on the stage (I went three or four times with our Sall to the play) od rot 'un—they make a noise by way of a song, and the musicianers sing for them on their fiddles." The man to whom honest John alluded, arrived from Bath that very day, execrating the injustice of the Bath and Bristol managers, who though they could not but be convinced of his talents, refused to give him even a trial. Our adventurer surveyed him from head to foot, and from the information of the man's face, voice, deportment, language, and person, concluded with himself that he had little to fear; "If, said he, this man has ever been received as an actor by any audience in this world, I'll offer myself to the first company I meet." He was precisely such as the ostler had described him—he wanted an eye, and was frightfully seamed by the small-pox, which not only had deprived him of that organ, but given him a snuffling stoppage of the nose. Such as this, was the whole man in every point, who actually boasted that he was allowed by all judges to play Jaffier better than any man that ever lived, but Barry, and who, disgusted with the British managers for their want of taste, took shipping that very evening for Cork.[A]
Without imparting a hint of his intention to the ostler who vowed, "as he hoped to be saved" that he would never betray him (a vow which he religiously fulfilled) Hodgkinson resolved to introduce himself in some shape or other, to the company of the theatre as soon as they should return from Bath to Bristol; an event which was to take place according to the course of their custom, in two days. Meantime he walked frequently to the theatre, in order to indulge himself with looking at the outside of it; and he made the fine square before it, his promenade, where he gave a loose to his imagination, and anticipating his future success, built castles in the air from morning till night.
He was at this work when the players returned from Bath. He saw the gates laid open, and having taken his post at the passage to the stage-door, resolved first to reconnoitre those who entered, and collect from circumstances as they might occur, some clue to guide him in his projected enterprise. As this was one of the eras in his life on which he loved to ruminate and converse, he was more than commonly circumstantial in his account of it. "There is a long passage," said he, "that goes up to the stage-door at Bristol. For the first two days I stood at the outside, but becoming more impatient, and impatience making me bold, I took my station in the passage, with my hat under my left arm stood up with my back to the wall, and as the actors and people of the theatre passed by to rehearsal, I made a bow of my head to those whose countenances and manners seemed most promising. For several days not one of them took the least notice of me. There was one of them who looked so unpromising that I should hardly have given him the honour of my bow, if it were not for his superior age and venerable aspect; and I believe when I did give it to him, it was but a mutilated affair. There was a starched pompous man, too, whose aspect was, to my mind, so forbidding and repulsive that I never condescended to take much notice of him. From a loquacious, good-natured and communicative old Irish woman who sold fruit at the door I gained the intelligence that the former of these was Mr. Keasberry the manager—the other Mr. Dimond. That Mr. D. said I to her, seems to be a proud man. "Och, God help your poor head!" said my informant; "it's little you know about them; by Christ, my dear, there's more pride in one of these make-games that live by the shilling of you and me, and the likes of us, than in all the lords in the parliament house of Dublin, aye and the lord-lieutenant along with them, though he is an Englishman, and of course you know as proud as the devil can make him:—not but the old fellow is good enough, and can be very agreeable to poor people," My first act of extravagance in Bristol was giving this poor woman three half-pence for an orange, and making her eat a piece of it; a favour which many years after she had not forgotten."
"I believe it was on the fourth day of my standing sentinel," continued H. "that the old gentleman passing by me, I made him a bow of more than ordinary reverence. The Irishwoman's character of him had great weight with me, and my opinions and feelings were transferred to my salute. He walked on a few steps, halted, looked back, muttered something to himself and went on. I thought he was going to speak, and was so dashed, I wished myself away; yet when he did not speak, I was more than ever unhappy. He returned again with two or three people about him in conversation; his eye glanced upon me, but he went on without speaking to me, and I left the place—for, said I to myself, if this man does not notice me, none of them will. Discouraged and chop fallen I returned to Broad-mead, and on my way began, for the first time, to reflect with uneasiness upon my situation.
"Next day, however, I returned to the charge, and assumed my wonted post in the way to the stage-door of the theatre. Instinctively I took my stand further up the passage, and just at the spot where the old gentleman had the day before stopped and turned to look at me—after some minutes I saw him coming—I was ashamed to look towards him as he advanced, but I scanned his looks through the corner of my eye—my mind misgiving me at the moment, that I had a mean and guilty look, so that when he came up, I made my reverence with a very grave, I believe indeed, a very sad face. The old gentleman stopped, and my heart beat so with shame and trepidation that I thought I should have sunk. He saw my confusion, yet addressed me in a manner which, though not unkind nor positively harsh, was rather abrupt. "I have observed you, boy, for several days," said he, "standing in this passage, and bow to me as I go by; do you wish to say anything to me? or do you want anything?" I hesitated, and was more confused than I remember to have ever been before or since:—"Speak out, my boy, said he, do not be afraid!" These words which he uttered in a softened, kinder tone, he accompanied with an action which gave the most horrible alarm to my pride, and suggested to my imagination a new and frightful idea. He passed his hand into his pocket as if feeling for cash. Great God! said I to myself, have I incurred the suspicion of beggary! the thought roused all of the man that was within me, and I replied, "No, sir, I am not afraid; nor do I want anything." He afterwards owned that the words, and still more the delivery of them, made a strong impression upon him. Well then, my good boy, what is it you wish for? coming here successively for so many days, and addressing yourself to me by a salute, you must surely either want or wish for something. "Sir," replied I, "I wish to go upon the stage." "Upon the stage," said he emphatically, "how do you mean? oh to look at the scenery I suppose"—"No, sir—I wish to be an actor.""
Thus far the words of Hodgkinson himself are given. The name of the old gentleman had entirely escaped the writer of this, who, when he heard the relation from Hodgkinson, little thought that it would ever devolve upon him to pay this posthumous tribute to his memory. Upon the facts being since related, and the description of the person being given to some gentlemen long and well acquainted with the affairs of the Bath and Bristol theatres, they have cleared up the point to the writer, whose recollection, though faint, perfectly coincides with their assurance that it must have been Mr. Keasberry, who was at that time manager, and with whose character this account is said to agree accurately.
"I wish to be an actor," said our adventurer. The confidence and firmness with which the boy spoke, surprised and greatly diverted the old manager, who after eyeing him attentively a minute or two, exclaimed, "You an actor, you young rascal!" then laughed heartily, and continued, "An actor indeed! and what the devil part would you think of acting?" By this time some of those who attended the theatre, doorkeepers or supernumeraries, came up, and Mr. K. said to them, laughing, "Here's a gentleman proposes to be an actor." And again addressing the boy he said to him with an affected solemnity, "Pray, sir, what character have you yet thought of enacting?" The jibing manner in which this was spoken by the manager, and the sneering, scornful looks of the sycophants about him, who, to curry favour with him, chuckled at his cleverness, had nearly disconcerted the poor boy; however, he was naturally resolute, and replied, "If I can do nothing else I can snuff candles, or deliver a message, or do anything that young lads do." "You can indeed?" "Yes, sir, and I can do more, I can play the fiddle and sing a good song." "A good song! I dare say—but d——d badly I'll answer for it." "Won't you give me a fair trial, sir?" "Fair trial indeed!" repeated the old man laughing, and walking on a step—"fair trial! a pretty trial truly—however," said he, turning round and beckoning to the boy, as he got to the stage-door, "Come this way, and let's hear what further you have to say for yourself!"
Hodgkinson followed the manager, and for the first time in his life set his foot on the stage of a public theatre. The actors were rehearsing; and ensconced behind one of the side scenes he looked on, and "with the very comment of my soul I did observe them," said he, "and not to conceal anything from you, I thought I could have done a great part of it much better myself! oh that I were but a little bigger and had a beard! said I to myself twenty times while the actors were going through the business." Had they thought of infant Rosciuses at the time, his bread had been buttered on both sides, as the saying is. The rehearsal being over, Mr. K. advanced to him and said, "You wish to be an actor, eh!"—then turning to one of the actors, "Here is a person," continued he, "who desires to go upon the stage, and is content by the way of a beginning, to snuff the candles—humble enough you'll say. But he says he can sing;" then ironically to H. "Now, pray sir, do us the favour to say what song you can sing—you perceive the gentlemen of the band are in the orchestra—or perhaps you would rather accompany yourself, as you say you play the fiddle." Then without giving him time to answer he said to one of the band, "hand this gentleman a fiddle, as he calls it." Hodgkinson took the fiddle, and pitching upon the beautiful Finale at the end of the first act of the farce of the Padlock, he played and sung it not only to the astonishment of them all, but so much to their satisfaction and delight, that Mr. K. after asking him whether he thought he could sing accompanied by the band, and being answered in the affirmative, spoke to the orchestra to go over the Finale with him, and desired H. to sing it again. Emboldened by this mark of approbation, John asked permission to sing another song: Mr. K. assented: the boy then stepped forward to the orchestra and asked the leader whether it would suit him to play one of the songs of Lionel? Certainly, he replied, which of them? "Oh dry those Tears," said our juvenile hero: a murmur escaped them all, as if they thought his vanity was carrying him too far. "Try him, by all means try him," said Mr. K.—The boy sung—their surprise was now raised to astonishment—and Mr. K. patting him on the head, emphatically said to him, "My boy, you'll never be a candle snuffer. For the present, however, you may carry a letter—or something more perhaps." He then interrogated him—"have you ever been about a theatre:—perhaps your parents are?"—"No sir, I never had the sole of my foot on a stage till now." "Where then did you first learn to sing?" "In our church sir." "Your church! where is your church?" Here finding that he had got into a dilemma, he hesitated and blushed: "a number of other boys and I practised music together, sir." "But where?"—then perceiving the boy's distress, Mr. K. shifted the question and said, "So much for your singing, but where, in God's name, did you learn to accompany your singing with such action; which I declare, said he, turning to the people on the stage, wants little to be what I should call perfect for a singer?" "We boys, sir, acted plays together." "And you played—" "Several parts, sir." "You surprise me, boy!" "Well," said he, "call upon this gentleman tomorrow morning betimes, and he will converse with you." He then turned to the person who was acting as prompter, and whispered him, when Hodgkinson, after getting the gentleman's direction, made his bow. As he was going down the passage a lad followed him and told him the manager had sent to let him know that if he pleased he might come on the stage that evening during the performance.