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John Bull
An old song, made by an aged old pate,
Of an old worshipful gentleman who had a great estate,
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate.
With an old study fill'd full of learned old books,
With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks,
With an old buttery-hatch worn quite off the hooks,
And an old kitchen that maintained half-a-dozen old cooks.
Like an old courtier, etc.--Old Song.
THERE is no species of humor in which the English more excel than
that which consists in caricaturing and giving ludicrous
appellations or nicknames. In this way they have whimsically
designated, not merely individuals, but nations, and in their
fondness for pushing a joke they have not spared even themselves.
One would think that in personifying itself a nation would be apt
to picture something grand, heroic, and imposing; but it is
characteristic of the peculiar humor of the English, and of their
love for what is blunt, comic, and familiar, that they have
embodied their national oddities in the figure of a sturdy,
corpulent old fellow with a three-cornered hat, red waistcoat,
leather breeches, and stout oaken cudgel. Thus they have taken a
singular delight in exhibiting their most private foibles in a
laughable point of view, and have been so successful in their
delineations that there is scarcely a being in actual existence
more absolutely present to the public mind than that eccentric
personage, John Bull.
Perhaps the continual contemplation of the character thus drawn
of them has contributed to fix it upon the nation, and thus to
give reality to what at first may have been painted in a great
measure from the imagination. Men are apt to acquire
peculiarities that are continually ascribed to them. The common
orders of English seem wonderfully captivated with the beau ideal
which they have formed of John Bull, and endeavor to act up to
the broad caricature that is perpetually before their eyes.
Unluckily, they sometimes make their boasted Bullism an apology
for their prejudice or grossness; and this I have especially
noticed among those truly homebred and genuine sons of the soil
who have never migrated beyond the sound of Bow bells. If one of
these should be a little uncouth in speech and apt to utter
impertinent truths, be confesses that he is a real John Bull and
always speaks his mind. If he now and then flies into an
unreasonable burst of passion about trifles, he observes that
John Bull is a choleric old blade, but then his passion is over
in a moment and he bears no malice. If he betrays a coarseness of
taste and an insensibility to foreign refinements, he thanks
Heaven for his ignorance--he is a plain John Bull and has no
relish for frippery and knick-knacks. His very proneness to be
gulled by strangers and to pay extravagantly for absurdities is
excused under the plea of munificence, for John is always more
generous than wise.
Thus, under the name of John Bull he will contrive to argue every
fault into a merit, and will frankly convict himself of being the
honestest fellow in existence.
However little, therefore, the character may have suited in the
first instance, it has gradually adapted itself to the nation, or
rather they have adapted themselves to each other; and a stranger
who wishes to study English peculiarities may gather much
valuable information from the innumerable portraits of John Bull
as exhibited in the windows of the caricature-shops. Still,
however, he is one of those fertile humorists that are
continually throwing out new portraits and presenting different
aspects from different points of view; and, often as he has been
described, I cannot resist the temptation to give a slight sketch
of him such as he has met my eye.
John Bull, to all appearance, is a plain, downright,
matter-of-fact fellow, with much less of poetry about him than
rich prose. There is little of romance in his nature, but a vast
deal of strong natural feeling. He excels in humor more than in
wit; is jolly rather than gay; melancholy rather than morose; can
easily be moved to a sudden tear or surprised into a broad laugh;
but he loathes sentiment and has no turn for light pleasantry. He
is a boon companion, if you allow him in to have his humor and to
talk about himself; and he will stand by a friend in a quarrel
with life and purse, however soundly he may be cudgelled.
In this last respect, to tell the truth, he has a propensity to
be somewhat too ready. He is a busy-minded personage, who thinks
not merely for himself and family, but for all the country round,
and is most generously disposed to be everybody's champion. He is
continually volunteering his services to settle his neighbor's
affairs, and takes it in great dudgeon if they engage in any
matter of consequence without asking his advice, though he seldom
engages in any friendly office of the kind without finishing by
getting into a squabble with all parties, and then railing
bitterly at their ingratitude. He unluckily took lessons in his
youth in the noble science of defence, and having accomplished
himself in the use of his limbs and his weapons and become a
perfect master at boxing and cudgel-play, he has had a
troublesome life of it ever since. He cannot hear of a quarrel
between the most distant of his neighbors but he begins
incontinently to fumble with the head of his cudgel, and consider
whether his interest or honor does not require that he should
meddle in the broil. Indeed, he has extended his relations of
pride and policy so completely over the whole country that no
event can take place without infringing some of his finely-spun
rights and dignities. Couched in his little domain, with these
filaments stretching forth in every direction, he is like some
choleric, bottle-bellied old spider who has woven his web over a
whole chamber, so that a fly cannot buzz nor a breeze blow
without startling his repose and causing him to sally forth
wrathfully from his den.
Though really a good-hearted, good-tempered old fellow at bottom,
yet he is singularly fond of being in the midst of contention. It
is one of his peculiarities, however, that he only relishes the
beginning of an affray; he always goes into a fight with
alacrity, but comes out of it grumbling even when victorious; and
though no one fights with more obstinacy to carry a contested
point, yet when the battle is over and he comes to the
reconciliation he is so much taken up with the mere shaking of
hands that he is apt to let his antagonist pocket all that they
have been quarrelling about. It is not, therefore, fighting that
he ought so much to be on his guard against as making friends. It
is difficult to cudgel him out of a farthing; but put him in a
good humor and you may bargain him out of all the money in his
pocket. He is like a stout ship which will weather the roughest
storm uninjured, but roll its masts overboard in the succeeding
calm.
He is a little fond of playing the magnifico abroad, of pulling
out a long purse, flinging his money bravely about at
boxing-matches, horse-races, cock-fights, and carrying a high
head among "gentlemen of the fancy:" but immediately after one of
these fits of extravagance he will be taken with violent qualms
of economy; stop short at the most trivial expenditure; talk
desperately of being ruined and brought upon the parish; and in
such moods will not pay the smallest tradesman's bill without
violent altercation. He is, in fact, the most punctual and
discontented paymaster in the world, drawing his coin out of his
breeches pocket with infinite reluctance, paying to the uttermost
farthing, but accompanying every guinea with a growl.
With all his talk of economy, however, he is a bountiful provider
and a hospitable housekeeper. His economy is of a whimsical kind,
its chief object being to devise how he may afford to be
extravagant; for he will begrudge himself a beefsteak and pint of
port one day that he may roast an ox whole, broach a hogshead of
ale, and treat all his neighbors on the next.
His domestic establishment is enormously expensive, not so much
from any great outward parade as from the great consumption of
solid beef and pudding, the vast number of followers he feeds and
clothes, and his singular disposition to pay hugely for small
services. He is a most kind and indulgent master, and, provided
his servants humor his peculiarities, flatter his vanity a little
now and then, and do not peculate grossly on him before his face
they may manage him to perfection. Everything that lives on him
seems to thrive and grow fat. His house-servants are well paid
and pampered and have little to do. His horses are sleek and lazy
and prance slowly before his state carriage; and his house-dogs
sleep quietly about the door and will hardly bark at a
housebreaker.
His family mansion is an old castellated manor-house, gray with
age, and of a most venerable though weather-beaten appearance. It
has been built upon no regular plan, but is a vast accumulation
of parts erected in various tastes and ages. The centre bears
evident traces of Saxon architecture, and is as solid as
ponderous stone and old English oak can make it. Like all the
relics of that style, it is full of obscure passages, intricate
mazes, and dusty chambers, and, though these have been partially
lighted up in modern days, yet there are many places where you
must still grope in the dark. Additions have been made to the
original edifice from time to time, and great alterations have
taken place; towers and battlements have been erected during wars
and tumults: wings built in time of peace; and out-houses,
lodges, and offices run up according to the whim or convenience
of different generations, until it has become one of the most
spacious, rambling tenements imaginable. An entire wing is taken
up with the family chapel, a reverend pile that must have been
exceedingly sumptuous, and, indeed, in spite of having been
altered and simplified at various periods, has still a look of
solemn religious pomp. Its walls within are storied with the
monuments of John's ancestors, and it is snugly fitted up with
soft cushions and well-lined chairs, where such of his family as
are inclined to church services may doze comfortably in the
discharge of their duties.
To keep up this chapel has cost John much money; but he is
staunch in his religion and piqued in his zeal, from the
circumstance that many dissenting chapels have been erected in
his vicinity, and several of his neighbors, with whom he has had
quarrels, are strong papists.
To do the duties of the chapel he maintains, at a large expense,
a pious and portly family chaplain. He is a most learned and
decorous personage and a truly well-bred Christian, who always
backs the old gentleman in his opinions, winks discreetly at his
little peccadilloes, rebukes the children when refractory, and is
of great use in exhorting the tenants to read their Bibles, say
their prayers, and, above all, to pay their rents punctually and
without grumbling.
The family apartments are in a very antiquated taste, somewhat
heavy and often inconvenient, but full of the solemn magnificence
of former times, fitted up with rich though faded tapestry,
unwieldy furniture, and loads of massy, gorgeous old plate. The
vast fireplaces, ample kitchens, extensive cellars, and sumptuous
banqueting-halls all speak of the roaring hospitality of days of
yore, of which the modern festivity at the manor-house is but a
shadow. There are, however, complete suites of rooms apparently
deserted and time-worn, and towers and turrets that are tottering
to decay, so that in high winds there is danger of their tumbling
about the ears of the household.
John has frequently been advised to have the old edifice
thoroughly overhauled, and to have some of the useless parts
pulled down, and the others strengthened with their materials;
but the old gentleman always grows testy on this subject. He
swears the house is an excellent house; that it is tight and
weather-proof, and not to be shaken by tempests; that it has
stood for several hundred years, and therefore is not likely to
tumble down now; that as to its being inconvenient, his family is
accustomed to the inconveniences and would not be comfortable
without them; that as to its unwieldy size and irregular
construction, these result from its being the growth of centuries
and being improved by the wisdom of every generation; that an old
family, like his, requires a large house to dwell in; new,
upstart families may live in modern cottages and snug boxes; but
an old English family should inhabit an old English manor-house.
If you point out any part of the building as superfluous, he
insists that it is material to the strength or decoration of the
rest and the harmony of the whole, and swears that the parts are
so built into each other that if you pull down one, you run the
risk of having the whole about your ears.
The secret of the matter is, that John has a great disposition to
protect and patronize. He thinks it indispensable to the dignity
of an ancient and honorable family to be bounteous in its
appointments and to be eaten up by dependents; and so, partly
from pride and partly from kind-heartedness, he makes it a rule
always to give shelter and maintenance to his superannuated
servants.
The consequence is, that, like many other venerable family
establishments, his manor is incumbered by old retainers whom he
cannot turn off, and an old style which he cannot lay down. His
mansion is like a great hospital of invalids, and, with all its
magnitude, is not a whit too large for its inhabitants. Not a
nook or corner but is of use in housing some useless personage.
Groups of veteran beef-eaters, gouty pensioners, and retired
heroes of the buttery and the larder are seen lolling about its
ways, crawling over its lawns, dozing under its tree, or sunning
themselves upon the benches at its doors. Every office and
out-house is garrisoned by these supernumeraries and their
families; for they are amazingly prolific, and when they die off
are sure to leave John a legacy of hungry mouths to be provided
for. A mattock cannot be struck against the most mouldering
tumble-down tower but out pops, from some cranny or loophole, the
gray pate of some superannuated hanger-on, who has lived at
John's expense all his life, and makes the most grievous outcry
at their pulling down the roof from over the head of a worn-out
servant of the family. This is an appeal that John's honest heart
never can withstand; so that a man who has faithfully eaten his
beef and pudding all his life is sure to be rewarded with a pipe
and tankard in his old days.
A great part of his park also is turned into paddocks, where his
broken-down chargers are turned loose to graze undisturbed for
the remainder of their existences--a worthy example of grateful
recollection which, if some of his neighbors were to imitate,
would not be to their discredit. Indeed, it is one of his great
pleasures to point out these old steeds to his visitors, to dwell
on their good qualities, extol their past services, and boast,
with some little vain-glory, of the perilous adventures and hardy
exploits through which they have carried him.
He is given, however, to indulge his veneration for family usages
and family encumbrances to a whimsical extent. His manor is
infested by gangs of gypsies; yet he will not suffer them to be
driven off, because they have infested the place time out of mind
and been regular poachers upon every generation of the family. He
will scarcely permit a dry branch to be lopped from the great
trees that surround the house, lest it should molest the rooks
that have bred there for centuries. Owls have taken possession of
the dovecote, but they are hereditary owls and must not be
disturbed. Swallows have nearly choked up every chimney with
their nests; martins build in every frieze and cornice; crows
flutter about the towers and perch on every weather-cock; and old
gray-headed rats may be seen in every quarter of the house,
running in and out of their holes undauntedly in broad daylight.
In short, John has such a reverence for everything that has been
long in the family that he will not hear even of abuses being
reformed, because they are good old family abuses.
All these whims and habits have concurred woefully to drain the
old gentleman's purse; and as he prides himself on punctuality in
money matters and wishes to maintain his credit in the
neighborhood, they have caused him great perplexity in meeting
his engagements. This, too, has been increased by the
altercations and heart-burnings which are continually taking
place in his family. His children have been brought up to
different callings and are of different ways of thinking; and as
they have always been allowed to speak their minds freely, they
do not fail to exercise the privilege most clamorously in the
present posture of his affairs. Some stand up for the honor of
the race, and are clear that the old establishment should be kept
up in all its state, whatever may be the cost; others, who are
more prudent and considerate, entreat the old gentleman to
retrench his expenses and to put his whole system of housekeeping
on a more moderate footing. He has, indeed, at times, seemed
inclined to listen to their opinions, but their wholesome advice
has been completely defeated by the obstreperous conduct of one
of his sons. This is a noisy, rattle-pated fellow, of rather low
habits, who neglects his business to frequent ale-houses--is the
orator of village clubs and a complete oracle among the poorest
of his father's tenants. No sooner does he hear any of his
brothers mention reform or retrenchment than up he jumps, takes
the words out of their mouths, and roars out for an overturn.
When his tongue is once going nothing can stop it. He rants about
the room; hectors the old man about his spendthrift practices;
ridicules his tastes and pursuits; insists that he shall turn the
old servants out of doors, give the broken-down horses to the
hounds, send the fat chaplain packing, and take a field-preacher
in his place; nay, that the whole family mansion shall be
levelled with the ground, and a plain one of brick and mortar
built in its place. He rails at every social entertainment and
family festivity, and skulks away growling to the ale-house
whenever an equipage drives up to the door. Though constantly
complaining of the emptiness of his purse, yet he scruples not to
spend all his pocket-money in these tavern convocations, and even
runs up scores for the liquor over which he preaches about his
father's extravagance.
It may readily be imagined how little such thwarting agrees with
the old cavalier's fiery temperament. He has become so irritable
from repeated crossings that the mere mention of retrenchment or
reform is a signal for a brawl between him and the tavern oracle.
As the latter is too sturdy and refractory for paternal
discipline, having grown out of all fear of the cudgel, they have
frequent scenes of wordy warfare, which at times run so high that
John is fain to call in the aid of his son Tom, an officer who
has served abroad, but is at present living at home on half-pay.
This last is sure to stand by the old gentleman, right or wrong,
likes nothing so much as a rocketing, roistering life, and is
ready at a wink or nod to out sabre and flourish it over the
orator's head if he dares to array himself against parental
authority.
These family dissensions, as usual, have got abroad, and are rare
food for scandal in John's neighborhood. People begin to look
wise and shake their heads whenever his affairs are mentioned.
They all "hope that matters are not so bad with him as
represented; but when a man's own children begin to rail at his
extravagance, things must be badly managed. They understand he is
mortgaged over head and ears and is continually dabbling with
money-lenders. He is certainly an open-handed old gentleman, but
they fear he has lived too fast; indeed, they never knew any good
come of this fondness for hunting, racing revelling, and
prize-fighting. In short, Mr. Bull's estate is a very fine one
and has been in the family a long while, but, for all that, they
have known many finer estates come to the hammer."
What is worst of all, is the effect which these pecuniary
embarrassments and domestic feuds have had on the poor man
himself. Instead of that jolly round corporation and smug rosy
face which he used to present, he has of late become as
shrivelled and shrunk as a frost-bitten apple. His scarlet
gold-laced waistcoat, which bellied out so bravely in those
prosperous days when he sailed before the wind, now hangs loosely
about him like a mainsail in a calm. His leather breeches are all
in folds and wrinkles, and apparently have much ado to hold up
the boots that yawn on both sides of his once sturdy legs.
Instead of strutting about as formerly with his three-cornered
hat on one side, flourishing his cudgel, and bringing it down
every moment with a hearty thump upon the ground, looking every
one sturdily in the face, and trolling out a stave of a catch or
a drinking-song, he now goes about whistling thoughtfully to
himself, with his head drooping down, his cudgel tucked under his
arm, and his hands thrust to the bottom of his breeches pockets,
which are evidently empty.
Such is the plight of honest John Bull at present, yet for all
this the old fellow's spirit is as tall and as gallant as ever.
If you drop the least expression of sympathy or concern, he takes
fire in an instant; swears that he is the richest and stoutest
fellow in the country; talks of laying out large sums to adorn
his house or buy another estate; and with a valiant swagger and
grasping of his cudgel longs exceedingly to have another bout at
quarter-staff.
Though there may be something rather whimsical in all this, yet I
confess I cannot look upon John's situation without strong
feelings of interest. With all his odd humors and obstinate
prejudices he is a sterling-hearted old blade. He may not be so
wonderfully fine a fellow as he thinks himself, but he is at
least twice as good as his neighbors represent him. His virtues
are all his own--all plain, homebred, and unaffected. His very
faults smack of the raciness of his good qualities. His
extravagance savors of his generosity, his quarrelsomeness of his
courage, his credulity of his open faith, his vanity of his
pride, and his bluntness of his sincerity. They are all the
redundancies of a rich and liberal character. He is like his own
oak, rough without, but sound and solid within; whose bark
abounds with excrescences in proportion to the growth and
grandeur of the timber; and whose branches make a fearful
groaning and murmuring in the least storm from their very
magnitude and luxuriance. There is something, too, in the
appearance of his old family mansion that is extremely poetical
and picturesque; and as long as it can be rendered comfortably
habitable I should almost tremble to see it meddled with during
the present conflict of tastes and opinions. Some of his advisers
are no doubt good architects that might be of service; but many,
I fear, are mere levellers, who, when they bad once got to work
with their mattocks on this venerable edifice, would never stop
until they had brought it to the ground, and perhaps buried
themselves among the ruins. All that I wish is, that John's
present troubles may teach him more prudence in future--that he
may cease to distress his mind about other people's affairs; that
he may give up the fruitless attempt to promote the good of his
neighbors and the peace and happiness of the world, by dint of
the cudgel; that he may remain quietly at home; gradually get his
house into repair; cultivate his rich estate according to his
fancy; husband his income--if he thinks proper; bring his unruly
children into order--if he can; renew the jovial scenes of
ancient prosperity; and long enjoy on his paternal lands a green,
an honorable, and a merry old age.
Washington Irving's short story: John Bull
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