F I NAL THOUGHTS

The Public

William Hazlitt

ANDwhat is the public? What is that great leviathan which is greater than kings, and wiser than philosophers, and more just than judges? Which is arbiter of all controversies, to which is the last appeal of the injured; which looks calmly, deliberately, and sagaciously on all the agitations and conflicts of humanity; to which the mightiest of men look up for support; and to which the most learned look for applause and the most sagacious for countenance; from which the conqueror receives his laurels and the poet his bays; which finds in every individual a most humble and obedient servant; which pronounces the irreversible decree by which the poet lives or the rhymester dies; which, by its fiat, gives immortality to the artist or consigns the dauber to contempt; which consists of myriads of contradictory elements, and yet holds one even tenor of its way? What is this wondrous thing called –The public? Is it fish, flesh, or fowl? Where is the place of its abode? Where its awful presence-chamber? Hath it any favourite vizier, or prime minister, or confidential valet, or kept mistress, whereby its ear may be slily gained and its favour indirectly purchased? Hath it passions to which appeal may be made for the purpose of blinding its judgment? Hath it deep feelings of resentment that it may be provoked to anger, that it may hate, persecute, and exterminate those who hold its wisdom in contempt? Is it ruffled and disturbed by the unhandsome language with which it is oftentimes assailed by its disappointed suitors? Hath the public any heart, any bowels of compassion –is there anything in it? Can it be moved to pity, or is it not as hard as

PALINDROME FOR A PATRON; OR, CAUTION: THIS DOOR SWINGS BOTH WAYS

Master, yours is righteousness. No evil do you grasp. All mercy. Yours are morals empty of obloquies. This God did – for, truthfully, you are joy without dishonour.

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Dishonour without joy are you, truthfully. For did God this – obloquies of empty morals are yours. Mercy! All grasp you do evil. No righteousness is yours, Master.

Yehuda Alharizi (1165-1225) trans. Peter Cole

the iron man, TALUS, whom SPENSERsweetly singeth? It is composed of human elements, but it hath nothing human in its composition; no relentings, no forgivings, no resentments, no caprices. Compounded of fallible beings, it is infallible in its judgements. Made up of passionate beings, it is most dispassionate. Consisting of partial beings, it is most impartial. A combination of impatient beings, it is of all animals the most patient; the long-eared quadruped that drags sand and cabbages so perseveringly along the many-sounding streets of the metropolis, bears not the heartless cudgellings of its unfeeling driver with a more exemplary patience than does the public bear the rudeness and insults with which it is hourly and daily assailed. The public is never ashamed of itself. It never blushes for anything it has said or done. It is never put out of countenance. It makes no apologies, and cares for none that are made to it. It receives the incense of flattery, but heeds it not. And if mighty indignation vent itself upon the public, the public takes not of it notice enough to laugh at it. Surely the public is an ass! For hath it not long ears, wherewith it gathereth in rumours and swalloweth intelligence? Hath it not a tough hide that will bear much cudgelling? Hath it not a strong back that will support heavy burdens? Hath it not a grave aspect that smileth not at a joke, and that is inapprehensive of the wisdom of a hoax? Is it not exceedingly pertinacious in going its own gait and keeping its own pace? Is it not despised by those who drive it, and contemned by those it toileth for? Furthermore, is not the public a most useful animal? What could we all do without it? Hath it not much moral power, restraining offences which ropes cannot reach, and exercising an undefined and undefinable influence upon every individual? Who is there that is totally insensible to public applause, or absolutely reckless of public censure? What multitudes are there who owe one half of their negative virtue to the wholesome fear in which they stand of the public? And is not the public the promoter of much positive good? Is it not the prompter of patriotism, the patron of the artist, the muse of inspiration to the poet, the tongue of eloquence to the senator, and the pen of wisdom to the philosopher? It is a puzzle to say what the public is, but we guess it may be defined to be what the wise men of Gotham defined a lobster to be, viz. –it is a something.

This recently-discovered essay is one of 205 pieces featured in New Writings of William Hazlitt, edited by Duncan Wu, published by Oxford University Press in October.

64 | The Liberal | Autumn 2007